For Daan

‘May, if I don’t see you again, I’m going into this apartment building now.’ I received a screenshot of a location somewhere deep in Amstelveen. Leave it to my dearest Daan to track down elusive toys. My oldest daughter (a special specimen with a specific fondness for toys that was taken off the market years ago) has set her sights on all the characters from Toy Story. She calls them ‘my friends’, and she repeats about seventy times a day that she will find her friends in Italy.

Nothing opportunistic is foreign to me, so I immediately seize my chance to make it a smooth flight. Honestly crossing over, so when she puts on her seatbelt in the plane (little trauma, just read this), I’ll arrange her friends. That’s what I said. A bit too easy. But there was Daan. Within an hour she had seven addresses with forgotten Toy Story figures. And a talking Jessie doll (think a lot of ‘Howdy’, ‘Yeehaah’ and ‘We’re gonna ride that horse today, my friend’) to boot. ‘Just in time at home, May,’ she let me know via a video message, because in the meantime, she was vacuuming the ski suits out of the vacuum because really she was also going on vacation and still had four hundred thirty-eight things to arrange.

The flight was a breeze thanks to Daan and the friends. For the journey, she also advised me on some movies I could buy on iTunes. Superjuffie! and Trolls. ‘But May,’ she texted me in her typical texting style where she uses one line per message, ‘I’m just a bit scared…’ – pause – …’that she will want all those Trolls figures too.’

I fear so too. But one thing I know for sure. With Daan around, salvation is near. Always.