moonlight and love songs - never out of date

The icy darkness of the Nordic winter can't stop me.

My nervousness almost does, sometimes.

Still, I wrap myself in layers of white and green wool every Monday evening and go out, sheet music clasped in thick mittens. I walk with the certainty that as I play this week's song for my teacher I will experience the miracle: A collection of difficult chords that made little sense a week ago have been transformed, through her advice and my own persistence, into music.

There's a small, bright room with a piano at the end of my walk - a portal into an unknown world. There's someone to teach me to play that piano, and there's music that flows - greater than the sum of its parts, wild with emotions.

silence the pianos, let the mourners come

In the dark corridor of the English Department at the university, just outside the literature library where forgotten books were gathering dust, a poster hung on the wall. It had a poem, "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden, on it.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Passing by this poem every day, was it then I realised that my blood always sighs with melancholy - of either the happy or the sad kind?

stay scared as hell

“Get scared. It will do you good. Smoke a bit, stare blankly at some ceilings, beat your head against some walls, refuse to see some people, paint and write. Get scared some more. Allow your little mind to do nothing but function. Stay inside, go out - I don’t care what you’ll do; but stay scared as hell. You will never be able to experience everything. So, please, do poetical justice to your soul and simply experience yourself.”

(Albert Camus)

the buzzing at week's end

Saturday, the day of possibilities. Of sleeping late, of setting out on adventures, of partying in glitzy clothes and smoky eyes.

I used to love Saturdays as a child. I got up early in the morning to watch a long and boring Swedish talk show (it was before the time of children's morning TV) just to see a Tom and Jerry cartoon that appeared somewhere midway through. I didn't even like Tom and Jerry - too violent! - but it was my own Saturday morning ritual. I sat quietly, played with my toys and listened to the boring drone of the talk show, peaceful and happy. The house was quiet. A long day of freedom lay before me.

During my years in the hotel business I fell out of love with Saturday. It was a busy, long day of work and sometimes parties that were just a little too wild. During my time as a shop assistant, Saturday turned out to be a short and sweet workday, full of interesting people and with freedom dawning when I locked the door mid-afternoon.

Now I spend my Saturdays working hard at my laptop at home, looking forward to free days ahead. Watching people through the window, often still in my pyjamas. Taking a walk in the early evening on streets still quiet but brewing excitement for the party night to come. Returning home for a movie night with friends or in blissful solitude. If it's the latter, I still feel the Saturday night fever in the air - faraway friends suddenly message me and distant laughter is heard.

purple dusk

Red stars are twinkling in my kitchen and a hot oven heats a chilly flat with the aroma of melted cheese.

I eat a plate of roasted vegetables while typing furiously on my computer and dreaming of adventure. A purple dusk is falling. If the world has purple dusks, anything is possible.

my heart is an old house

“But my heart is an old house
(the kind my mother
grew up in)
hell to heat and cool
and faulty in the wiring
and though it’s nice to look at
I have no business
inviting lovers in.”

(Clementine von Radics)

heart winter

It's what the Finns so beautifully named sydäntalvi - heart winter, midwinter.

The sounds: snow ploughs, crows and sparrows and jackdaws, indoor parties - and the snow itself.

And on starry, ice-cold nights, the deep silence of outer space.

2017: the year of breaking, mending and knitting

* Started the year with an impromptu midnight party with wine and meringue-and-persimmon cake.
* Fell into despair of the worst kind, then fell in love - all in one night.
* Rescued road kill - an Edam cheese.
* Contributed to a businessman's memoirs.

* Bought rescue spray and heard God speak.
* Took anti-depressants and talked to a therapist for months.
* Stood in a bread line with a criminal and drove him to his trial.
* Ate pizza from the 80s, courtesy of my boss.
* Stopped for a hitch-hiker.
* Had a moving weekend in Tampere.
* Finished my cross-stitch project not touched for 20 years.
* Pledged eternal friendship and prayed on a cold April beach.

* Taught myself how to knit scarves.
* Realised that I'm good at trust.
* Had Easter brunch with sourdough croissants, rhurbarb juice and friends.
* Got a new nickname: The P-filter.
* Attended a book release party with blue cookies.
* Took a guided tour of the pathology department at the hospital - tissue studies, the autopsy room and a forgotten fetus in a jar.
* Celebrated my birthday: care label composition, hospital lunch (more fun than it sounds), parties: with wine, pizza and rowdy friends in a bohemian attic, with silver pear-and-strawberry cake and quieter friends, with luxury chocolate cake and family.
* Tried to fix my knees, without much success.
* Was compared to the common houseleek ("letting no nonsense through").
* Babysat a fluffy cat.
* Discovered new worlds in the town museum.
 * Went to a police auction (bought  none).
* Took a road trip to the world heritage site of Rauma old town.
* Enjoyed days of nostalgia and free-spirited roaming in my beloved city of Turku: wine by the river, organ concerts, prison visits and exloring the best castle in the world.

* Experienced a summer in paradise: rain and chilly air, wild rabbits and herons, feeding the fire with A Farewell to Arms, bike race in rain-heavy forest, boat race in sunny harbour, partying with fireworks and barbecue and family, lazy introspection in the company of wine and a poodle and a wide open sky, and a delicious day with butter-fried perch.
* Started food fights in the local hospital.
* Celebrated midsummer with the Midsummer People, sauna and French toast.
* Had visits by a death-defying kitten.
* Organized balcony parties, a summer favourite.
* Bought a grandma bicycle.
* Took a road trip to Helsinki to watch beachvolley on a sunny beach and drink mojitos.

* Painted a house yellow.
* Experienced the Night of the Arts with friends, the best nachos in town, and cider and low conversation by a darkening sea.
* Drove across the country on summery roads to watch the beachvolley championships: hot sun and huddling in pouring rain under umbrellas, princess cake in bed and old Batman reruns in a crowded budget hotel room - inspiration for the autumn ahead.
* Cut down on volleyball, took up pilates and the piano and some difficult dancing instead.
* Had an unexpected encounter with the finance minister.
* Did an art excursion with art-lovers in coffee-smelling studios with rainy windows.
* Waved goodbye to my shepherd and guiding light.
* Enjoyed a Per Gessle concert with coworkers, beer, a long skirt, a VIP badge and a plus one.
* Had some lovely, dark autumn evenings with Harry Potter, friends and wine.

* Was commanded to go on a training day at work: a boat trip to the outer archipelago with ancient history, wilderness and a great steak.
* Explored the secret rooms of the city: Mannerheim's bedroom, a haunted theatre and a wig studio, a top-secret cigar room, a cupola on the roof, the Court of Appeal with chandeliers and Finland's oldest flag.
* Visited the dog shelter and fell in love more than once.
* Had an October picnic by the sea with an old lady.
* Lighted my winter mornings with a daylight lamp.
* Enjoyed a suspiciously happy November.
* Did an All Saint's Eve with a difference: drove north under a gigantic moon to see long-lost relatives and listen to a private organ concert in a deserted church.
* Was whisked away to an office party with luxury, gold and burlesque dancers.
* Drank my way through a tea calendar in December.
* Played at being a shop assistant selling Danish design.
* Had a nightclub outing with new friends and half the town, much frustration and some joy.
* Dined on fine steaks and wine with one volleyball team, hamburgers and beer with another.
* Wandered through a winter weekend in Tallinn with medieval feelings and honey beer. Found the gates of heaven.
* Celebrated Christmas in two places at once and almost crashed my mother's new retro Fiat.
* Had a Nepalese New Year's dinner with new friends and Lambrusco while other people's children ran rampage in my home.

A year of anxiety and exhaustion - but also the end of the Reign of Terror in my life. Seeking help, rooting out buried secrets, learning to listen to my body and live as loved. Looking for God, facing up to demons, daring to be weak, growing stronger.

A year of gym, pilates, piano, knitting scarves and seeking help, physical and mental therapy, troubled back, troubled knees, troubled hair, book club, volleyball  - but no beachvolley.

Social events: pool in pubs, "Finlandia" and hot tuna sandwiches, cocktail testing, gingerbread cookie baking, office parties, Harry Potter nights.

Work: talk show, teenage gaming slang, Bogart movies, other 40s movies, Puccini and his white beans, English for a child show competition, care labels and inspection certificates, the law, what to do in the event of nuclear fallout, googling assassin terminology.

do the salsa and let it snow

I'm swinging my hips together with salsa dancers on a cold, grey evening.

The weather outside is frightful. But since we've no place to go, let's have some tapas with delicious red wine, do the salsa and let it snow.

except you, you badass. welcome.

I listen quietly as yet another foreigner complains about Finland, the Finns and the climate.

I like foreigners, but why do they stay here if the only thing they can do is complain?

Finland is for badasses only. Most people can't cope here, much less find any beauty in its winter darkness. But there is beauty and adventure in this wild and rough country and in its quirky, smart people - lots of it. If you can't find a way to see it - well, I'm sorry, you're just not as tough as you think.

 
 (Banner from annual Slush conference in Helsinki)

pomegranate day, without actual pomegranates

"As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks ..." was the Bible verse I dreamily quoted today. The context was a pomegranate poster and a discussion on the pomegranate's meaning in Jewish culture.

The Song of Solomon really is delicious. It also contains far more racy comparisons with the pomegranate.

broken piece of lovely

“And the best thing you might be able to do today is get outside, thank the skies for this day, and be the best darn broken piece of lovely you can be. Broken loveliness is the world’s most common language. We all speak it so we might as well get fluent.”

(Hannah Brencher)

2018 bubbles

A proper champagne-and-dog-hair New Year in my old hoods. In my home, where I wasn't, children were rampaging.