My upstairs neighbor (89), walking stick in hand, walks to her dark green Saab. The driver’s seat has a large cushion – it has shrunk over the years. She’s going to a birthday party out of town. Only when she stops in front of the door does she see the clouds of steam coming out from under the hood. “I was shocked,” she tells me a day later. Called ANWB, towed the car and picked up a loaner car.
She can’t wait, she says, until she has ‘her cart’ back. That loaner car is a Toyota. She pronounces the word displeased. “Such wheels”, the neighbor sighs – she keeps her two index fingers ten centimeters apart. “You don’t get 130 with it.”
The garage calls with the announcement that the repair of its 1998 Saab will cost a few thousand euros. It’s actually not worth the trouble anymore, says the garage owner. She says: “Find another one. Second-hand. A Saab, that speaks. Preferably exactly the same.”
A few days later a station wagon, big enough for a family with three children, arrives at the door. “That’s it,” she says proudly. “It wasn’t necessary to be that big. Now that I have it, it’s handy. Can I throw my walker in the back?”
A few days later I drive to the weekly coffee morning to get to know the car. Deftly she backs into parking under a flat. The place is reserved for residents, it says on a sign. They are still working, she thinks. “I’m only here for two hours. Free.”
Her car means freedom, she says, as we walk into the coffee room. Ladies and gentlemen of age sit at a long table, chatting. Neighbor: “If corona breaks out again and everything closes, I can leave. You don’t have to wear a hood in your own car.”
“Are you talking about corona?” one of the men asks. “Lord, help me.”
“We are not afraid.”
“After all, we have been pricked.”
Then the conversation turns to February, the moment when the Netherlands suddenly opened again: the terraces, restaurants and clubs. Festivals and parties were allowed again. Except for them. To be on the safe side, outings and activities for the elderly were postponed. Yes, drinking coffee together from a distance, that was allowed.
Until day spending coach Irene van Kouwen had had enough in May. She arranged a hall, catering, a Rotterdam folk singer and announced a “grand party”. Dress code: Festive. Everyone was excited. If I put on a “decent dress,” my neighbor said, I could come too.
That day everyone walked the polonaise.
“We don’t let ourselves be locked up,” says a woman.
I can drive on the way back. The traffic light turns orange. “Give it up!” says my neighbor.
Sheila Kamerman replaces Petra de Koning this week
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of 11 August 2022