the java is lava

Scientific observation of the day:

If you forget to turn off the coffee-maker overnight and there is coffee left in the pot, in the morning it will look like solidified bubbly lava and make an impressive hissing sound when you try to rinse the pot out with water.

when in doubt, don't ask a poodle

The good thing with Finland is that the wilderness is never far away.

Two minutes walk from my suburban residence, you will find yourself seeing nothing but wide, flat fields and the occasional old farmhouse. And the ancient barns for storing hay, so typical for this region and so beautiful.

Leave the fields and go into the forest and you can really get lost. I used to wander here as a teenager, for miles and hours. Even with my good sense of direction, I often found myself not sure of the way back. But my faithful companion, a Labrador, only needed to hear the command "go home!" and in the middle of whatever unknown part of this vast forest, he would unerringly set a straight course and lead me home.

My present companion, the poodle, just gives me a confused look in the same situation, and brings me a stick to throw instead.

the accidental resident

"Thank God this is not my real life" is a thought that goes through my head often as I, the temporary resident, walk through suburbia. The pastel-coloured houses all have a matching pastel-coloured garage and a pastel-coloured little shed to hide the garbage bins.

I seem much better suited to take up  temporary residence  in other people's houses, preferably small flats with views over rooftops or other beautiful landscapes. A house with many rooms seems too vast. I shiver with cold and vulnerability when I have to walk through the kitchen to get from the guest room to the bathroom in the morning. I retreat to that particular corner of the sofa, that particular chair at the large kitchen table, and the rest is part of the outside world to me. I make my home in these tiny spots, venture out to explore the world around and then come back to read and write. Alone. With few possessions - the fewer the better - and  plenty of freedom.  A good life, in its unique way, but how did it become mine?

Trying out the little luxuries that are not part of my usual life feels oddly risky and I have to tackle them one at a time. Today I made espresso for the first time in my life. Yesterday I lit a fire in the fireplace. There is joy in each new exploit.

Even in clearing snow off the driveway this morning. The poodle was barking at me, my mittens got wet, I was a little out of breath. And I was happy.

dictionary of aniseed, odour and zagreb

The owners of the house and the poodle that I'm babysitting for the next couple of weeks wrote me a  manual  from A to Z to cover any information I might require to operate the boiler, flatscreen, poodle etc. A lot of useful information, certainly. But apparently there wasn't enough information for every letter of the alphabet, so they added some.

A is for Aniseed ( where to find ), a spice I have never had any need for in my entire life ( a fact they know very well ).

A is also for Axe: "Wait a second now! Ask yourself first, why do I need an axe? A can opener is found in the top drawer. An axe is found in the garage but we're not telling you where...."

C is for Candy: "See 'Craving'."

C is also for Craving: "See 'Candy'."

I is for Irresponsible: "If you suddenly start feeling irresponsible and wild, no cause for panic! It's the wilderness of the 'burbs getting to you. Put the TV and Facebook on, and you should feel an immediate relief."

O is for Odour: "The shower is for your use. Please wipe the floor afterwards ( we said afterwards! )"

S is for Stubbornness: "A frequent occurrence in the poodle. Can be cured by cuddling, and additional cuddling."

W is for Water: "If water is coming out of places it's not supposed to, don't act out 'Singing In The Rain' but TURN OFF THE MAIN VALVE."

X is for Xantippa ( followed by facts about Socrates' wife ). Cross-referenced with the name of a mutual acquaintance.

Z is for Zagreb, Archdiocese of ( followed by an excerpt from Wikipedia ). Apparently in case I have a sudden urge to go to Croatia and find religion.

mud and espresso in the 'burbs

Curled up in a red sofa. I'm in an empty, rather chilly house on a dark winter evening so I chose the room that has the sofa and a flatscreen and gathered around me my laptop, a novel, my diary, my phone, a glass of wine, a dog, and the remote to the flatscreen.

I seem to have acquired a reputation as the go-to woman for people who need someone to babysit their pets and house when they go on holiday. Last time it was the quaint cottage and the sheepdog in a summer village, before that a messy house with two indifferent cats. This time it's midwinter and I'm stationed in a suburb of pastel-coloured houses, in a house that feels much too large for me and shows the wear and tear and clutter of a family with several children. My companion is a high-strung but ultra-cute poodle.

I claim a couple of spots in the house for myself - the kitchen table, the guest bedroom, a shelf in the bathroom for my stuff, and this red sofa. It's a bit like camping ( including a rather uncomfortable bed ) but there are things to enjoy here. Like the espresso maker, a real fireplace, the sauna, and a garage door that can be remotely opened as you pull up in the driveway. ( This last detail I enjoy with childish pleasure. My car, which has always had to endure winter storms and summer heat parked out in the street, probably thinks it has died and gone to Citroën heaven ).

And someone else's extensive CD collection, an unexplored bookshelf and even a miniature pool table.

I love having a daily life that is all new to me. Even the most boring morning routine seems like an opportunity to reinvent yourself into the person you always wanted to be. And there is a new neighbourhood to explore.

So today's tasks included negotiating a pot-holed road to work, wiping mud off poodle paws and listening to Sigur Rós.

change and dog bite

The end has not yet arrived. I still go to the office every day to watch the boss try to save the company.

I pretend to be like everyone else, silently chewing nails, trying to not go into hysterics about unemployment and money problems. But inside, I secretly cherish the thought of change in almost any form. Am I odd? Just a symptom of a boring life?

In the meantime, this February is a diluted version of winter. No bright sunshine on white snow, so cold it burns your skin. Instead, the occasional wet blanket of slush that quickly melts into a thick grey soup of mud and water.

Yesterday I moved furniture around my tiny flat and was bitten by the dog that I hug so often. Talked to a friend who probably thought I was distracted and incoherent. Today I will dye my hair brighter, make oven sandwiches, play volleyball and prepare myself for a week of temporary and maybe permanent change.

( Photo by Linda Strömberg-Yucak for Vasabladet )

the hostile time of day

I wish I liked mornings. Mornings are beautiful, fresh, the promise of new possibilities.

But I'm always so tired - or, even when I'm not tired, during that time of the day I'm weak and vulnerable. And mornings are also hostile, always out to get me.

Today, the morning was giving me a break. Out earlier than I usually would be on a Saturday, walking a borrowed poodle, there was  a cessation of hostilities.  The morning, the poodle and I walked in peaceful silence. 

tea, then the end

Statistics and tea of fragrant spices.
The murmur of the radio in the other room.
The peace of an almost empty office and snow falling outside.

The strange harmony in not knowing whether all this is coming to an end on Friday. On Monday, I might be collecting unemployment. Until then, I create pie charts and drink more tea.

let's cancel Sundays

I'm sick of Sundays.

They are supposed to be so good. You know, sleep in, lazy brunch, big mugs of good coffee. So far, usually so good. But then comes the afternoon and I'm browsing my favourite websites, reading a novel, looking out over the sea, enjoying my solitude. And I want to write something. And I can't.

And I'm painfully aware of the fact that in a few hours, my precious weekend is over and it's back to work. I sit here, wanting to be creative and not capable of it. Going for a walk puts me in a worse mood, at least when the weather is bad ( as it always is in February ). Meeting a friend ruins the rare me-time that I so desperately need. Nothing entertains me, I just want to MAKE SOMETHING.

Suddenly, the wonderful Sunday is just an empty, dull stretch of time. The clock ticking down towards Monday morning.

olympics and reeks

Watching the Olympic opening ceremony and wondering, once again, how anyone can accept that their country goes by the name of Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia.

It sounds very pretty in French, though.

Someone reminded me today that there is a mountain range in Ireland named Macgillycuddy's Reeks. Now that's a name I can fully stand behind. Put me in a good mood instantly.

you shall love your crooked neighbour with your crooked heart

In deep midwinter, the little old lady next door to me died.

I suspected it had happened but couldn't find anyone who could confirm it or tell me how it happened. At last, there was a death notice in the paper. The funeral was already done.

Now I can spend summer evenings on the balcony without anyone peeking in from the next balcony to coax me into a chat I don't feel like having. Now I won't be late for appointments because I was held up by the elevator by a lonely little lady talking about her aches and pains.

I feel a little colder, a little more lonely, a bit like bursting into tears.

glitter zipper comfort

When you are losing your job and are really scared, you should go and buy yourself a glitter skirt with a golden zipper. On your lunch break. So I did.

( But only if you need it. And it's on massive sale. I'm an anti-consumerist. )

( And I'm a woman. In need of comfort. )

only lasting thing

“The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because it’s only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. If you can change the way people think, the way they see themselves, the way they see the world — you can change the way people live their lives. That’s the only lasting thing you can create.”

( Chuck Palahniuk: Choke )

the lazy, lovely weekend of doom

After a year of long working weeks and of weekends that always ended too soon, this weekend is endless.

I slouch on the sofa, eat pizza slices and read fanfic. Dragged myself out of the house twice, for zumba and volleyball, then went back to the sofa and the pizza. I have slept in, pondered the meaning of life and made some progress reading a difficult novel. And somewhere among all this even found the time to hoover the flat and do laundry. This is more than I usually accomplish in an entire week. And the weekend is not even over yet.

Fascinating, the new perspective you get on weekends, on everything, when you know that on Monday morning, your safe and slightly boring job may no longer exist.