Ton Rolex
From a bench up there in heaven, neighbor Ton looks down on me with great displeasure. He was an enthusiast, a collector, and had a drawer full of expensive Rolex watches worth a hundred thousand euros. Neighbor Ton is no longer there and now sits up there with all my family, friends, and acquaintances, unable to use his watches down here. I wonder if he's forgiven my teasing.
A few months ago, while walking through the Molenbosch woods with a hiking buddy and their dogs, I came across a woman dressed too neatly for the woods with a bouquet of flowers. I recognized her immediately after all these years but was surprised to see her here. She and her husband used to live next door, and we had lost touch, as often happens after moves. After greeting each other, I asked where she was heading. She told me to go the other way, but I'd taken the wrong route. I told her the way and asked if she was going to visit her husband. "No," was the answer, he passed away last January. At which point I was speechless and comforted her. The remarkable thing about that moment was that less than five minutes earlier, sitting on a bench behind Huis Molenbosch, I had told my walking friend the following story. Coincidence?
A few years ago, we'd have drinks with a group of neighbors almost every week. As in many conversations, the topic here was everything that had happened the past week. It also revolved around things and the brands they carry. I told them I wasn't attached to brands, that I'd rather remove them, and that I didn't need to show them off. I do show off my Saskia, named Pronk. Something has to be functional, it's either beautiful or not, just like a glass of wine that doesn't have to be expensive but should be delicious.
But my neighbor disagreed. He was crazy about brands and enthusiastically shared this with the whole group. He told me he loved Rolex watches, collected them, and already owned a few. That afternoon, he'd driven from Zeist to a specialized Rolex watchmaker in Huizen to pick up one of his repaired timepieces. The repair cost a small fortune of €1,500.
Teasingly, as a jerk as I can be, and trying to provoke him, I asked what time it was on his watch. He told me it was 10:11 PM, and I looked at my watch and said, "Damn, it's 10:11 PM for me too." I bought this watch for €29.50 at Kijkshop, and if the battery dies or it breaks, I'll just buy a new one and have a different model. You can buy a lot of watches for that €1,500.
As if stung by a wasp, with a red face and bloodshot eyes, my neighbor responded by arguing that his watch was much better. "That's not true," I told him. "They both tell the same time, so they're both equally good." "Yes, but mine is much better on the inside," I teased again, "you can't see the inside anyway." "Neighbor," I said again, "but mine is nicer than yours," to which I countered with, "That's a very personal thing. I find Rolex watches bulky, flashy, ugly, and even if I had the money, I wouldn't want to own one. There's no accounting for taste." What's beautiful to one person might be ugly to another, and that's a good thing, because otherwise everyone would look the same and live the same way.
We never made up when it came to watches, but otherwise we remained good neighbors, and watches were never a topic of conversation again. No, watches aren't my thing, and for many years I haven't worn them because you can't escape time anymore; it forces itself upon you, haunts you at a maddening, furious pace. As in Herman van Veen's song: Make way, make way, make way, make way, we're in an incredible hurry. Make way, make way, because we're almost late. We only have a few minutes. We have to run, jump, fly, dive, fall, get up, and keep going. We can't stay here, we can't stand still any longer. Maybe another time.
Father Time, where does the time go? You can read it everywhere: on your mobile phone, oven, car, bicycle computer, laptop, tablet, and yes, even high up on the old church towers in our village. Tick, tock, tick tock, yes, we live with the times and, as we age, become out of date. Life is fleeting, and we can't take anything with us up there except our naked bodies. Up there, the material from down here is of no use. With the money those watches cost, many good and fun things could have been done. They're just things.
Father Time with a Scythe (without the "t"), but with an Hourglass
For me, the figure and abstract concept of "Father Time," the personification of time, is evocative in this story. He is depicted as a winged, bearded old man holding a scythe or sickle and with an hourglass or clock beside him. Father Time represents our fragile relationship with time, our transience, and with the passing of hours, days, months, and when we celebrate New Year's Eve, we seem to want to reflect on time. We age rapidly and see people around us fall away through illness and death. The way Father Time is depicted relates to this. The scythe or sickle signifies the way time cuts everything off, death. Wings refer to tempus fugit, time flies. The scales represent a defining point in time: that opportune moment that suddenly appears but can also quickly pass, the point at which a swift and sound decision is necessary. The snake symbolizes the year, and because it bites its own tail, it also reflects infinity and time devouring itself. The hourglass reminds us of the brevity of earthly life, the transience and insignificance of earthly existence, with grains of sand representing the passing hours. But also: a new beginning; after all, an hourglass can be turned over. And that is precisely what we reflect on during New Year's Eve.
No Rolex, but on time
My attitude to life is "be there and be good to each other with care and respect." Things, or luxuries, are there to enhance our lives but do not guarantee a more beautiful and better life. Life is not about what and who we are, but about who we are and about being there for each other, sharing, and not impressing each other with appearances. Our motto during my last fourteen years working at the Salvation Army was "Living together is not something you do alone," not "Me, me, me, and the rest can go to hell." Even on the road with the electric Golden Coach, it's quite a feat for us and our thirty volunteers to lift elderly people out of loneliness and bring them to their destination every fifteen minutes, on time and without a Rolex.
After all, living together isn't something you do alone.
Zeist is so beautiful, and we're so lucky to live here.
Arnie Della Rosa
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