When we sold our house a few years ago, we temporarily moved to a retirement home, or as they call it here a senior luxury apartment complex. Now these luxury apartments are home to residents who have generally never saved to get money into their bank account, their bank account was already filled to the brim at birth. (the only thing they have saved are airline miles). You can see from everything that these people grew up in luxury. The majority still have a worker (that's what it's still called) that come from 1 times until 5 work once a week and serve as company in the lost hours. But when family or friends come to visit, the apron has to be put back on and the worker is back in the kitchen with full dedication to provide the visitors with tea or coffee and the accompanying chocolate or biscuit.. This apartment complex also has a chic restaurant (overlooking the forest garden) where you can order “á la carte” with the accompanying wine arrangement. There is also a cinema (cinema) a fitness room where you can exercise under the supervision of an instructor and a beauty salon. There is also a meeting room where church and receptions are held. And don't forget the garden room (the place to be) where after dinner while enjoying a Whiskey , Chardonay or sometimes also a bubble, piano and bridge are played. Last week I arrived at our temporary home address around ten o'clock in the evening. I parked the car at the back entrance of the complex, When I got out I noticed that I had forgotten the keys to our apartment. I was standing by the car and heard the cheerful tones of the piano echoing through the twilight evening from the garden room. While I took a small pigeon basket from the car, I realized that the garden doors were open otherwise you wouldn't be able to hear the piano outside very well. I didn't think twice and with the pigeon basket in hand I walked towards the garden room where the doors were indeed open so I could walk to our apartment via this road.. When I walked in I was approached by a stately lady with silver-gray hair and a beautiful cobalt blue silk blouse., beige linen trousers and silver mules with bows. She asked me in an imperious tone where the trip was going. I told her that we were living here temporarily and that I had forgotten the key, and wanted to walk to our apartment through the garden room. She looked at me and then asked what was in that basket, I told her that I had racing pigeons and that I had brought some young pigeons for an acquaintance. Oh, she said, "Do they still exist?" My husband also used to have carrier pigeons, she continued. We were still living in our villa “Et Porta Coeli” at the time. (which means gate to heaven) she continued, My husband kept racing pigeons on the top floor of the villa, whom he also allowed to participate in competitions, which he did not do unluckily. Together with a friend veterinarian, they spent hours in the pigeon enclosure philosophizing about pigeons. My husband said them, was convinced that only healthy pigeons could perform and regularly called in the help of his friend veterinarian. I have also heard them talk about remedies that made the pigeons fly faster and have longer endurance. With a smile she said that her husband was a passionate pigeon fancier, who saw performance decline after the death of a friend veterinarian. A year after his death he stopped pigeon racing. He could no longer share his passion. During our last move, she continued, I came across pigeon carriers and clocks in the garage. I also found a booklet with all kinds of numbers and detailed descriptions of the pigeons and prizes they had won. She looked a little ahead and sighed, everything has been thrown on the container, nothing has been preserved. Are there still many pigeon fanciers, she asked, I told her that membership numbers had rapidly declined in recent years. I further told her that the Dutch Racing Pigeon Organization is working hard to adapt pigeon racing to current standards.. She looked at me and said I hope it will work. The pianist had listened a bit during our conversation and when I walked out of the garden room he accompanied me musically with the song “all pigeons on the dam”. Later, as I sat on the couch in our apartment, I wondered what remedies the frozen vet had already managed to produce., to influence the performance of the pigeons. As my mother sometimes said, “a bad performance is also an achievement and a prelude to doing better next time. I will say again the next time.
STATE LADY
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