Those of you who know me well, know I have a tendency to overexplain pretty much everything. I’m a believer in the power of context! So forgive me if this gets a bit convoluted.

I was sitting in the cozy living room of my sister Molly’s UWS New York apartment getting ready to walk around central park when my phone gives a *ping* – it’s a facebook message from my cousin Josefien. In the craziness of our packing and moving and cramming in as many last minute shows as possible, I realize, I haven’t messaged her in almost a month and yet, she’s expecting our arrival in the Hague in less than 48 hours. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t set the phone back on the table and busy myself with a few other things momentarily to put off reading this message because I’m mortified that I hadn’t written her sooner. And I have a terrible habit of ignoring the stuff I’m scared of.

For the last 5 years of my life, I’ve been telling myself I was going to figure out a way to move abroad. I spent about 2 years futilely attempting to get my British Citizenship through my dad, only to find that because he was born while his father was working abroad in Brunei, he himself is technically a British Subject by descent. And for various technical reasons I won’t get into, the three oldest siblings in my family ARE eligible for British Citizenship, while the three youngest are NOT. I spent the next 3 years searching other my visa issues and also falling head over heels for a man named Christopher even though I promised myself I wouldn’t let a guy keep me from my quest. A couple of things happened along the way, and eventually I told him, yes I will marry you IF we can then move abroad! Then, as life happens, my best friend, Melissa, also got married 4 months after we did and things were postponed yet again. But since I will not be deterred, either by various life events or by my lack of ability to get a visa and actually stay here once I’m here, and quite possibly because I am just a little more than a bit mad (having a british roommate just might be bringing back my habit of incorporating british vernacular), Chris and I bought tickets on a whim and set our date to just be spontaneous and travel to the Netherlands!

Once I posted this on facebook, remarkably, my Dutch cousin that lives in The Hague whom I haven’t seen since 1997 when she was 8 and I was 10, messaged me on facebook to say, in not so many words (and not even in English), “what are you going to be doing in Holland, where will you be staying? & Do you want to stay at my place while I go on vacation at the end of July?”

Finally, someone who doesn’t think I’m insane and also wants to possibly help me sort out a semblance of a plan? I already loved her. For the few months leading up to our departure, she and I wrote back and forth and she was beyond wonderfully inviting and helpful and patient, with my questionable Dutch and my lack of solid plans. So, when she wrote me a day before we were to fly out and I realized I hadn’t gotten back with her in a month, I was so worried I might have unintentionally lost my only advocate. I finally look at the message and it says simply – “Libby hoelaat landen jullie woensdag?” (- What time do you land on Wednesday”) Phew – she doesn’t hate me! Also, thats a really Great question! To which I didn’t even know the answer.

I sent her our information and asked if she thought it would be easy for us to figure out how to take a train from the airport in Amsterdam to The Hague about an hour away. She said she would look up the times and help me with it and then she offered to pick us up at the airport! The hugeness of this gesture was absolute not lost on me. I was floored. I haven’t seen this girl in over 15 years and she’s already done SO much helping us to find a place to stay and now she’s offering to pick us up from the airport? I couldn’t have been more excited and grateful. And did I mention we’re not even actually related?

Which is where the strange title of this post comes in. Josefien’s grandmother was my grandmother’s best friend.

During WWII and the Nazi occupation of The Netherlands, our grandmothers worked clerical positions together in a governmental office in The Hague. My grandmother was an only child and her father had passed away years earlier so it was just her and her mother. I grew up listening to my grandmother tell horrible stories about living in The Netherlands during the war. She and her mother nearly starved to death. During that time, my grandmother Frida & Josefien’s grandmother Hetty worked together and became close friends. She said that once a week or so they would collude to try to break their typewriters in a small attempt to help the Dutch resistance during the war. After that, she said Hetty was the closest thing she ever had to a sister. And my dad grew up in The Hague knowing her as Tante Hetty and her children as his cousins. Although when they immigrated to the United Stated in the late 60s, my dad didn’t see them again until we came to visit in the 90s.

In The few weeks we’ve been here, Chris and I have been to multiple museums about the Dutch resistance during WWII and the general impact of the war on the Netherlands and specifically The Hague. A portion of it was bombed accidentally by the English and the Nazi’s tore down thousands of homes to make a path for the tanks to travel to that part of the Atlantic Wall, which we were amazed to see still remains in certain parts of the beach as an eerie reminder that this country, so full of life and beauty and kindness, was so recently ravaged by war. What’s amazing to me though is that a simple close friendship that was forged during these incredibly difficult years could transcend generations and impact my life after both of the women who met all those years ago have now passed away. Josefien and her whole family, The Noskes, have treated both Chris and I with so much kindness and love that it feels just like my own close knit family back in Texas. Love is a powerful thing.