The presented order of my songs here is not coincidental, but shows the story behind it. During the covid period, I started playing the guitar again. The first song I composed myself was Insane Behavior, a song about the vulnerability of friendship. Not autobiographical, but inspired by examples from my circle of friends. Only very recently did the song find its final form, partly thanks to the contribution of Alies on violin. That's why my first song is presented here as the last.

The second song was Stranger In My House. When it came about in June 2021, I didn't understand who that Stranger was: An alter ego? Kind of conscience? When a month later the first tumor in my neck was discovered on a CT scan one of my sons said: "You have unconsciously written about your cancer and told yourself how to deal with it". That meant: not to see it as an enemy, but as something you have to live with.

Before the inevitable chemo of more than a year would start in September, we were allowed to go to France with the caravan for a few weeks. There, sitting in the grass at the campsite, the song Survive was created in my state of despair. A kind of prayer with phrases like "Poison poison in my veins, let it not be in vain" and "Help me to be strong".

During the chemo therapy, the guitar was my great support, next to Karin. When I felt bad, in the pit, I admonished myself, and that's how the song Stand Up You Fool came about. To prevent me from withdrawing too much into my shrinking world. Songs as conversations with myself. Halfway through chemo, spring 2022, I was really down and out for once and even felt like giving up. From

that state the song I Lay Down My Worried Head was born. Again, a kind of prayer. And as was said, the start of my collaboration with Alies.

But the chemo has two faces: it also intensifies the appreciation for life and forces self-examination: what am I doing with it? This life is given, do I make it happen? And so the seemingly light-hearted I Like Drinking was born. Just swallow the message. 

In October 2022, the chemo was over, and I would still receive immunotherapy every 4 weeks, which is still effective. Oscar, one of my grandchildren, made me a cardboard guitar as a surprise for Sinterklaas. I had just made a song about how we make a mess of this world and leave it for our grandchildren: I Sat Down With My Grandson. For him, I translated the song into Dutch: Ik Zat Laatst Met Mijn Kleinzoon and made a video of it, supposedly playing on his cardboard guitar. You can find it on my YouTube channel. The song leaves nothing to be desired in terms of clarity.

Looking back on the chemo year, it has become clear to us that misery has two sides and, depending on your attitude, among other things, it can also be experienced as a deepening. To be clear: I am lucky about the effectiveness and

wearability of my treatments, it can be much worse, and then it can become much more difficult to stay in touch with the positive sides of misery. But it inspired me to write the song Misery Can Give Good Things. And there was another song that looked back on the chemo year: The Year of the Rose. Because in that year, 2022, the roses flourished more exuberantly than usual, such a year being called a rose year. Oúr rose year, because chemo is something you have together, at least if you are in the fortunate circumstance of having a life partner. It therefore became self-evident that we sang this together, Karin the first voice, because of the beauty of it. The up-tempo parts in this song reflect the outside world, as an invitation not to retire oneself in a shrinking world and isolate oneself, as many are seduced to, when the load to carry becomes too heavy.