My aunt Anne saved her empty appelstroop tins and stacked them into a tower in her kitchen. Nobody asked her to. She liked how it looked, so it stayed.
That was Anne. She saw beauty in things other people threw away, and in people other people overlooked. She wanted to know what everyone thought, especially the ones who saw the world differently. She learned Arabic to talk with her neighbours, and went to church and to Quran classes to understand both.
My brother and I spent magical childhood weekends in her little house in Amsterdam, and it was always full. Full of creativity, full of wonder, and full of people who would never have met anywhere else.
Anne loved poetry and music, and books were one of the ways she stepped outside her own world. She found art in the most ordinary things and never ranked it. If someone had made something with care, it was worth her full attention.
I think everyone has a bit of Anne in them. The part that is curious about a stranger, and open to an idea that isn't their own. These days that part of us doesn't get much room. Our feeds show us people who already agree with us, and we rarely sit across from someone who doesn't. We need places where we do.
So I built this place around her spirit, and gave it her name. A table for people from different worlds, and a stage for the art, music and stories that sometimes get overlooked.
Anne died in 2022. She once gave me a little felt bag of cards, each with a wish in her blue ballpoint. I still have it. Our wines are named after them.
dana
