AWC Going Dutch Sept Oct 2021

What Did I Do This Summer?
by Roberta Enschede
This summer I worked on the 4th of July Picnic. For the first time in years, we were
going to actually have the picnic on the 4th and we were psyched! That was until the
morning of the 3rd, with everything ready to go: the BBQ, DJ, raffle, bouncy castle,
circus kids, Uncle Sam, Marines, Scouts, reader of the Declaration of Independence and
singer for God Bless America―everything. Marja Verloop, the US Chargé d’Affaires and
AWC Honorary President, was going to make a speech and her brother even volunteered to
organize children’s games.
It was all a go until about 11 a.m. when I started getting phone calls and emails. “Are
you really going to have the picnic? Have you seen the weather forecast?” I answered, “Yep,
it’s going on.” Then I spoke with Georgia Regnault and Anneke Beeuwkes from Overseas
Americans Remember (OAR). They also had calls and emails, so we decided we had to
cancel! “Who’s going to come and sit in the mud and play games in the rain?” That was the
first time the picnic was ever cancelled, and I hope it will be the last! As it turned out, the
predictions were wrong―wrong on all counts! It didn’t pour the entire day. There was just
a little drizzle in the early evening. How could we know? We got lots more calls and emails.
“Why did you cancel? There were only a few drops of rain.” Anyways, the good news is that
by the time you read this, we will have had the 4th of July Picnic in August.
What else did I do? I went to the US and
saw my 6-year-old granddaughter for the
first time in 2 years and my son, sister and
19-year-old granddaughter for the first time
in 1.5 years. I knew I had missed them, but
I didn’t realize how much until I saw them,
touched them and put my arms around them.
I didn’t realize what I actually had been feeling.
I just held them and cried for our lost
time together. I think that’s how we are all
getting through this pandemic. If we were to
really stop to feel and think about our emptiness,
we probably couldn’t cope.
48 GOING DUTCH
Our trip was an emotional rollercoaster.
We practically didn’t get there. When we were
packing, out of the blue Ernst asked, “Do you
know where our marriage certificate is?” I said,
“What do ya need a marriage certificate for? You
need your passport and COVID-19 credentials.”
He kept insisting, so I said, “Okay, I’ll look in
two places. If I don’t find it, it’s done.” I found
it immediately and he dutifully made a copy.
I thought it was his meticulous lawyer’s brain
that prompted such a useless exercise.
We left the next morning for Washington,
DC. Our taxi picked us up at 6:30 a.m. for a
9:30 a.m. flight, leaving enough time just in
case. Well, the “just in case” started at the check-in counter. After I checked in, Ernst stepped
up to the counter. About a minute later, he turned to me and said, “My visa waiver has been
revoked!” “What?” I said, “You just renewed your ESTA and got a confirmation!” Evidently
the US government sent a “timely” email to him at 9:45 p.m., when we were packing and
copying our marriage certificate! To make a long story short, his visa was finally straightened
out with the help of United Airlines and Marja Verloop. Fortunately, I had her number
because I had called her the week before to tell her the picnic was cancelled. And, by the
way, my husband did have to produce our marriage certificate, not once but twice. His meticulous
lawyer mentality paid off. Somehow after all these years, it didn’t occur to the US
government that he was married to a US citizen. By the time we got to security, we had to
ask everyone to please let us get ahead as we were about to miss our plane.
We made it to DC after a two-hour stopover in Newark stretched to five hours. When we
finally arrived, the family was waiting at the airport. Our granddaughter was a tiny four-yearold
the last time we saw her; now she was a thin, feisty, darn cute and tall six-year-old. We
got to know her again by swimming together, playing games, building with Legos, listening
to her sing songs she likes to make up and watching her dance. She even beat Grandpa at
Monopoly! We wanted to sop up every single minute with her. Then I went to Chicago to
spend time with my sister. Leaving her was hard!
When I returned, we had three days left. I was determined to visit the Martin Luther
King, Jr. Memorial, which opened in 2011. We finally went late one afternoon when it was
around 100°F. We walked through the Mountain of Despair, the massive white granite rocks
of the monument’s Memorial Canyon. It reminded me of walking through the red rock desert
canyon at ancient Petra in Jordan. I felt a sense of the everlasting, of timelessness, of the
inevitability of Dr. King’s message. At the canyon’s end stands Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
chiseled in granite. His arms are folded. He is A Stone of Hope looking across the Potomac
at Thomas Jefferson; on the horizon, the Washington Monument gleams.
What a country, I found myself thinking. Presidents Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson and
FDR and now also Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. together on the National Mall. For my sixyear-old
granddaughter and generations of Americans to come, Dr. King on the Mall will be
the way it is and the way it always should be.
So, what did I do this summer? I walked on the soil of America, heard the cacophony of
American voices and touched the people I love. I hope I’ll never have to be separated again;
I hope that none of us will. I felt the same optimism I’ve always felt. Coronavirus won’t
defeat it! The US with all its pains, turmoil, divisions, agonies and, yes, injustices, is still
“A Stone of Hope” to millions.
SEPTEMBER / OCTOBER 2021 49