Consume yourself

We have had busy weeks here at Montecanino. Partly, that had to do with my sixtieth birthday; partly, it was a result of the fact that the house is now—more or less—finished and therefore can and must be used for guests.

For instance, we hosted a lovely drinks gathering for all our neighbours; an incredible party week with children, their partners, grandchildren, and our brothers and sister, 25 people in total; a fantastic weekend with eleven of my best friends from Eindhoven; and finally, our German neighbours from South Africa, with whom (joined by some lovely locals) we actually celebrated my birthday on the 3rd of October. And all of that in the space of three weeks.

Now everyone has left. Lydia and I are back to just the two of us for a moment. We are catching our breath. For Lydia, this summer wasn't easy: her mother is doing poorly, and in between everything else, she travelled back and forth to Amsterdam a lot.

For me, it didn't go smoothly either. Although I seemed to have recovered from the pneumonia earlier this year, my health remained fragile. Periods of feeling ill and having limited energy kept presenting themselves, alternating with moments when I truly felt well again. Right before the whole family descended upon us, I was sweating and shivering. I wondered if I could handle it all.

Fortunately, the adrenaline—and some alcohol—pulled me through those days with flying colours. It was so much fun! But the last child hadn't even left before a terrible cold struck. And only three days later, my friends from Eindhoven were due to arrive. I decided to take antibiotics preventatively, to stop the cold from turning into the usual infection again. With my friends, I took things as easily as possible, but I was the host and Lydia was in Amsterdam, so lying in bed wasn't an option either.

Anyway, I think I managed to avert a further escalation of illness. But I am absolutely shattered.

Initially, it made me depressed. What kind of life is this, where I am constantly punished for the enjoyable things? I cannot undertake a single social activity without falling ill. For more than half the year, I cannot show my face in my home country without a mask. I can only meet up with people there provided we see each other on heated outdoor terraces or during a walk through the city or a park.

And it's not just infection; excessive exertion can also lead to illness. Cycled or walked too much yesterday, perhaps?

It is a battle against invisible enemies with unclear boundaries. It drives me mad. And in the meantime, I live in fear that I can only fight this battle a limited number of times. That one day, the antibiotics will stop working. As if I have a punch card with a finite number of punches, determining the length of my life. It depresses me.

But on the other hand: I do experience a lot, after all. Perhaps those beautiful memories are worth the punishment.

And life IS finite. I have already experienced that firsthand. Or at least, I have become acutely aware of it. So how bad is it if my punch card gets a little shorter again? Shouldn't life be filled with enjoyable things instead?

I could also retreat here on my hill, like a hermit. Avoid infections, lead a lonely existence, and stretch out my life that way. But is that fun? Does that bring fulfilment?

Perhaps the secret to life is that you consume yourself. Bite by bite, you eat yourself up until there is nothing left. Just as people proverbially eat up their houses, I am eating myself up.

The question remains whether I can live with all those days of feeling ill. But do I have a choice? I am who I am. I attract guests and I organise parties. So I just have to deal with it.

I am eating myself up. With plenty of salt and pepper; it has to taste good, after all.