in the courtyard of summer

When looking forward is difficult, I look forward to sitting in a certain courtyard.

It is sheltered from the wind and heated by the sun. Around it are old houses and a tall tower made of red brick, looking incongruous and mysterious. I have kicked off my shoes and my feet are bare against warm cobble-stones. I sit in the shade and I have someone with me and a large mug of coffee. Maybe even chocolate cake.

any excuse to enter a hotel

TV topics I browsed during half an hour on the cross-trainer at the gym:

* Norwegian relationship advice
* Over-moist pasta
* Sheepdogs who sheep-surf
* Whining hockey wives

Actually, it wasn't half an hour. It was 28 minutes exactly. Then I stumbled off to find the nearest café.

Tiny and windowless is the gym I go to nowadays. Hidden away in the middle of a large hotel. I enjoy walking through the airy lobby in my not-so-posh gym attire, past theatre-goers and foreign businessmen. I like the quiet emptiness of the gym, the daytime TV and the possibility of meeting foreigners.

I cross-train anxiety and worry and try to learn how to breathe again.

the sun has lost its coldness

The blackest darkness, the time when we go to work and return home in darkness, has left us.

We have entered the time of the white desert - afternoons with a blinding sun over a vastness of snow and ice. 

The time of comfort when the sunlight warms your cheek, even if just a little, and despair turns to hope and skiing is wonderful.

extraordinary, perhaps

“Breathe, my friend. You are not old, you are young. You are not a mess, you are normal. Extraordinary, perhaps. In the blink of an eye your life will change. And it will continue to change for decades to come. Enjoy it, embrace it… be grateful for the ride. You are not old, you are young. And faith will get you everywhere. Just you wait.”

(Abby Larson)

my cup runs over

I may be standing in the midst of darkness, but I see a hundred shining paths leading out.

I feel the sun begin to warm up. The ducks in the icy pond look at me with something like sympathy. My friend's sofa embraces me with peace as we laugh over memories of the blond French child I once babysat and couldn't stand.

Birds are twittering everywhere and no sound could make me more hopeful. I have a new shoulder bag in Persian blue and I can walk for miles. My phone beeps with compassion.

My fumbling hands pick up a favourite book, The Shack, and I feel loved. I may be walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

liquorice tea and a criminal

When you're down and out, go on a road trip with a large mug of liquorice tea.

I did that. Actually, I drove a friend a hundred kilometers so that he could attend his own trial for battery. I also ate a hamburger, talked to a friend not seen for years, and walked through an abandoned park while the sun did something good to my soul.

Then I collected the criminal and his suspended sentence and drove back.

tastes of folly and bewilderment

“My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”

(Hermann Hesse: Demian)

a tale of two cities

This winter has been strange in so many ways.

One of them is how slow the days have become, not in a bad way. I have time to feel the chilly wind against my skin, to enjoy the softness and warmth of wool mittens, to watch the shifting clouds. To sit quiet and peaceful, doing nothing except watch people around me instead of hurrying home to distract myself with entertainment.

Today I sat in the expensive Fazer Café, sipping a latte macchiato with beautiful foam art and discussing mental problems with a wise woman under the golden glow of trendy light bulbs.

Then I wandered, slowly, along cold and grey streets with a hulk of a man beside me. Each step felt balanced and peaceful, despite the troubled heart inside both of us, despite the wind slapping snow in our faces. Twilight fell as we meandered through an empty park and stopped to greet a pair of enthusiastic dogs.

We ended up outside a small church where a few quiet people already waited. Several more gathered as we stood there, all patiently waiting and chatting in low voices. This was the city's breadline. People with worn clothes and worn faces, unassuming and cautiously friendly. When the church opened its door, we were served hot soup with sandwiches, and food bags were distributed. I'm not poor enough for breadlines so I didn't take any food, except some soup which I paid for, but my friend eagerly accepted his share.

The contrast with the glamourous café was startling, but the atmosphere in the dark church was welcoming. We all sat there, huddling in our winter coats despite the warmth, eating tasty lentil soup and exchanging a few words with the strangers next to us. A new world to me, populated by brave people.

Another strange dimension to my strange winter.