don't thank me

My linguist brain struggles with the fact that the English word 'thank' cannot stand alone. You can't just thank. You have to thank someone.

Linguistics aside, everyone says being thankful is good for your mental health. And how can you be thankful unless you have someone to be thankful to?

So goodbye self-sufficiency. Hello believing in something outside of myself.

Today's spiritual reflection was brought to you courtesy of the Christmas blues and an overdose of chocolate-covered almonds.

take this opportunity to thank someone, anyone, for

The Arctic snow that makes noise when I walk on it and the friends I don't call but who answer when I do and the candles I light in the evening and the thriller I read in bed when I can't sleep and the cider I drink when I can't afford wine and the wheat warmer and the mornings I get to sleep in and the busy days in the shop when it's easy to smile again and the volleyball.

The dreams of exploring new shores and the people who really see me and the wool skirt that flatters my legs and my niece who educates me on Justin Bieber and my nephew who draws me pictures of horses and my other nephew who quotes interesting trivia and the fact that I never have money yet never lack any good thing and my mother who loves me and my work for a good cause and the sea outside my window and the DVDs I watch and the birds that remind me of God and the languages and the music in my body and soul and the hope that I glimpse occasionally.

And the fact that I am saved by grace.

at the gates of Heaven

I went there. To the place, an insignificant parking lot outside a community hall in a suburb, where God came down to get you. Where your soul left the earth.

What an unthinkable, unfathomable thing that happened here. There should be some divine brightness over the place, a holy atmosphere, at least a sign with a black cross on it. But. Nothing to indicate this ever happened. A winter evening, snow and Christmas decorations, commuters returning home for dinner and helping kids with homework and drowsing in front of the telly. I cried for a while and then left.

Life goes on. What a comfort and what a cruelty.

but a walking shadow

Fairy lights. Candlelight. Laptop screen light. Street light reflected on snow.

The light inside me is burning low.

Spent some time with my family. In the middle of life. A children's dance show, my beautiful niece did herself justice. Lots of proud fathers and beaming mothers and bored siblings in the audience. I pretended to be a part of it. I would have laughed at the dancers who were more preoccupied with twirling their pretty skirts than focusing on their dance number. But the laughter couldn't find its way to me. I could see and hear love in the voices of my family. But I could neither feel nor taste it, it stopped somewhere short. My darkness is impenetrable.

But this is just one day of sorrow. Tomorrow there will be a slight shift towards the future. A brief nuance of a brighter light.

what world is this? what kingdom?

Is it really real? That you are laid in a hole deep down in frozen ground, covered with dirt and flowers and a layer of snow, and darkness...

That you just ceased to breathe and suddenly found yourself in another place, warm and joyful, and face to face with those you said farewell to years and years ago?

I have never thought about this before.

famous last gifts

Dad (pleased with himself): "I just bought you two Christmas presents!"
Me (skeptical and amused, because it's always Mum who does the shopping): "You bought me presents?"
Dad: "Yes. Motor oil and a spade."
Me: "Noooo, you're not supposed to tell me! ... Did you say motor oil and a spade?"

One day later, he was dead. As last conversations go, it was certainly memorable.

R.I.P., Dad. You were always my hero. I will love you all the way to heaven.

myself until the end

Everybody else is happy. Everybody else picks themselves up when they are not happy. Everybody else gets back on track when their life spirals out of control. Everybody else just makes it.

I am not everybody else. I am a reluctant rebel in the land of Personal Success One Way Or Another. If I am a failure I bloody well have the right to be a failure and PROUD OF IT. I raise my flag and sing my rebel song: I will not pretend. Myself until the end. 

overheard in a church pew

"Are you pregnant?"
"Of course! You?"
"No. Worms!"

november, Bach and a prayer

If you are real, then I want:

To rest against your shoulder and feel loved.
To be led by you somewhere, unthinking, in trust.
Eyes open in peaceful wonder.

the Despicable List

People I am sick of:

* arrogant people
* people who want to change you
* people who expect you to be like them (especially in religious contexts)
* people who pity you if you are not like them (in any context)
* people who expect God to be like them
* unreliable people
* liars, thiefs, hustlers and plain old cheats
* wife-beaters and men who don't even realise they see women as inferiour (plain old passive women-haters are ok though, at least they are honest)
* bloggers who post lots of pics of their kids
* people who tell you how happy they are and expect you to be happy for them. And peg you as a "negative person" if you don't succeed in being quite as happy.
* people of one-track-minds
* people who are "tolerant" (unless you have conservative views)
* people who voice strong opinions on matters they know nothing about
* people who laugh at you when you are emotional (even "lovingly")

I feel as if I have met at least one of each category during the past week. Does that mean:
a) I am a negative person,
b) I attract the worst kind of people, or
c) I need a holiday?

with my body, I thee worship

The good book says: "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit?"

No, I did not know. Until someone came to worship and lit the candles on the altar, burned some incense, let the vaults echo with the harmonies of hymns. Made it glow.

Life is not lived solely in the mind.

midnight, and I'm with the sweet prince

Frailty, thy name is woman. Hamlet, in the middle of the night. Kenneth Branagh, I shall love thee forever.

No, really. I've never been a fan of Shakespeare. Or Shakespeare films. Until you started making them.

one of those invisible nights

Regenerating hair spray, new nail polish and a drink. I'm good to go. To sleep.

What is this life, when no-one sees you? Neither at your best nor your worst.

joy and other unmentionable things

The tragedy of our wealthy, self-realising society is that you never dare to voice your innermost dream to anyone anymore - not even yourself. The kind of dream that you don't know if you dare or even really want to realise even if you had the chance. Because if you mention your dream, people say: "What's stopping you? Go for it!"

And then you realise that you are too scared or lazy or overwhelmed by the task or afraid of disappointment... so you don't. And feel shame. Because everyone else seems to make their dreams come true. So your self-esteem sinks a little bit lower and your dream fades a little bit further.

So. I will voice my dreams. The ones that I don't know if I really want to remain only dreams or not:

* Sail in a (sub)tropical archipelago (biggest obstacle: afraid of big waves).
* Travel around the world - slowly - with a handsome, awesome and incredibly rich man and stay in five-star tree lodges and swim in pools with a view (biggest obstacle: don't know any handsome and awesome millionaires).
* Be a joyful woman who dances, rides horses, does new things all the time and fascinates people (biggest obstacle: simply not possible).
* Have a completely flat stomach (biggest obstacle: laws of biology).

being smart AND romantic

I gave myself two surprises today. Downloaded iTunes. And spoke French. NOT at the same time.

I have to go and lie down now.

call of the wild

My neighbour two floors down goes clubbing every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday night.

I know because she has a dog that howls when he's home alone.

I can't decide whether I should go clubbing too or get a dog.

ex post facto

I dreamed you had left me a note letting me know how to find you again. It's been nine years. I still wonder what could have been, sometimes.

stop and stare

Holy crap, I have not changed at all in five years!

my father and the cats

"Let's go see if we can see any cats."

One of my earliest memories - perhaps because it was a recurring event: I am little, crying because of fever or ear infection. The darkness in the middle of the night, no lights on, the helplessness of pain when you are too little to understand it, the exhaustion. But also my long-suffering father's arms around me, carrying me around and around the house in the middle of the night, trying to lull me back to sleep. His soothing whisper in my ear as we approach the living room windows. I always stopped crying as we looked out into the dark garden. There could be a cat out there, stalking around. I loved cats.

Now, many years later, with my father at a difficult and heartbreaking mental distance, I suddenly remember this. And I start crying again.

coloured lights and stampeding elephants

My circus history:

age 8-15: wanted to run away with a circus (because I had read that kind of books). I visualized being a breathtakingly beautiful lion tamer and living a dramatic life in a yellow circus wagon.
age 14 (approx): visited my first circus. It was tiny, far from glamorous, and the only animals were a couple of poodles but I was spellbound.
age 25: abandoned my circus dream definitely when a friend laughed his head off and said I would end up cleaning elephant droppings and forever regretting a destructive marriage to a violent knife-thrower called Vlad.
age 31: my second visit to a circus, this one English and genuine and huge, with all the right circus attributes and atmosphere. I took up my dream again, but this time my circus wagon would be one of those expandable caravans that looked so luxurious and I would share it with a very athletic lover. We would be carefree vagabonds lit by coloured lights.
age 35: read Water for Elephants by S. Gruen and realised the most romantic life imaginable would be spent on a circus train (staying clear of sociopaths and stampeding elephants of course).
age 37: my third visit to a circus. Was spellbound, analyzed the role of the circus as a critical voice in society and ate too much popcorn.

this will: - remind you

When you: - walk through the woods
you think: - is summer already gone?
and you: - miss the place that you call home
because you: - don't know if you belong where you are
so you: - doubt

But then you: - remember the good days and the good years
that are: - still so real in your mind
because they: - are part of you and therefore never lost
and you have: - not failed in any way
that is why: - a voice is whispering

Your best days and your blessed days are: - ahead of you

summer truths

* I find it hard to see the whole picture at a glance because my world view is made up of details.
* I have become a little bit shrivelled and closed by life's betrayals.
* Being loved is being allowed to feel sad or angry or grumpy or quiet or miserable or shameful - without having to fix it or pretend.
* One lie I have always believed is that I can expect happiness - thus, if I'm not happy, I've failed.
* I may be taking the road less travelled - I want to enjoy finding out where it leads without bitterness.
* I have the right to be accepted as I am.
* It is better to express your doubts than to lie to yourself.

to drive and drink

Drove for one hour due east with a friend to have a glass of white wine and then drove back.

But there was also the sunset over endless golden fields, harvesters, a sleepy museum, some delicious canapés, girl talk and the anticipation of coming home.

fine, fresh, fierce

At the beach:

Sun, summer, a world of smiles. A beautiful brunette with curly hair and long, suntanned legs is playing a tough game of beach volley with two handsome men who asked her to join them because they needed a skilled player. She dives into the sand to save a ball and later takes a swig from a water bottle before using the rest of the water to rinse off a scraped knee with an unconcerned air. She is among strangers but makes new friends and seems to be at ease with sweat and sand covering her tanned skin. But why shouldn't she? She is gorgeous and she knows what she is doing.

Oh to be that cool, that happy, at peace with yourself. I wish I was her. All the time.

it starts in my soul

That quality I love above all else in a man: a calm self-confidence, without a hint of arrogance or need to prove himself to anyone. That quiet harmony that allows him to care for others. To assume authority where needed or humble himself in order to put others at ease. That peace of mind that makes him seem fearless.

It is utterly irresistible. Literally makes my heart race and my knees feel wobbly.

I found that yesterday. The man in question also has lovely eyes, a gorgeous body, a sweet voice, a practical intelligence, a caring attitude, an incredible love of life, a cool job, fascinating interests, a boat, and a car with tinted windows.

And a gorgeous girlfriend.

right back after this commercial

The Kvarken World Heritage site - where the rocks are lining up in neat ridges.

the doctor is IN

How come it's always the people who have been happily married since they were barely past puberty who writes expert books on relationships?

That's like getting expert advice on how to fix your car from someone who's only ever owned one, well-functioning vehicle.

I, who have been in and out of a number of more or less failed relationships, should write the book.

sand, snow and the Beautiful People

In my next life I will be a professional athlete - playing beach volley half the year and snowboarding the other half. Then I will be the ultimate in hot as well as cool.

In this life, I'm just lazy. Not very good at beach volley and the only time I tried snowboarding I made it down the hill only by clinging to the instructor's neck all the way down.

night, light, fight

11 pm. Evening sun and a glittering bay throwing reflections through my windows, the summer heat barely giving way to night. Sound of Knocking On Heaven's Door wafting in on the breeze from some open-air pub. Seagulls screeching. Scent of roses. My head filled with questions regarding the purpose of life. The short, intense, crazy summer of the north. So how could I possibly sleep?

four cupcakes and an eagle

Potatoes, acupressure mats, tacky souvenirs, fertilizer.

The little grocery shop on the Island has it all. Even cupcakes with little hearts in the frosting. We eagerly pick them out and need help with the wrapping. The staff and the few customers eye us with interest as we breeze through, two women dressed in bleached jeans, lace, earrings and that unmistakable city air. "Perhaps the lasses are in a hurry?" An old man, barely able to stand, politely offers us his place in the short queue to the check-out. ("No, no, please, no hurry at all.")

An Islander cooks us lunch (seafood and mashed potatoes, cupcakes for dessert). As we go for a walk along the winding forest road towards the harbour, the neighbour's cat decides to follow us and loudly protests (but continues to follow) when he thinks we have gone far enough. In the shelter beneath the trees the mosquitoes make a meal out of us and the sea breeze is very welcome when we reach the harbour.

Heavy rain clouds gather around the boathouses and jetties. Seagulls are screeching angrily at an eagle riding the high winds and the Islander cannot decide if she is more worried about the cat being hit by a car on the road or taken by the bird of prey. Three elderly men are gathered around a quad bike. No hellos or small talk seem necessary but they eagerly point out to us a rare natural phenomenon: due to a mirage over the sea, you can see a reflection of the nearest island on the other side, normally not visible. Today, you can see Sweden from here. We would have taken the mirage for a cloud bank by the horizon but these experienced fishermen know what's what.

The new lookout tower looms black and forbidding. "Is that Mordor? Can you see a huge eye?" This overcast June day, fragrant with lush meadows, not many people are to be seen. Near the start of a popular hiking trail we find a stand selling necessities: a few water bottles, juice cartons and handcrafted souvenirs are on display. The man minding the stand also has canoes for hire and an impressive old-style wooden boat with its sails up. Not a good day for business, obviously, and he does not even bother to finish his phone call when we walk by.

From Mordor's top we admire the view of the archipelago. On our way home, the rain pours down on us. The poor wet cat's complaints can probably be heard all the way to the city. But the landscape is breathtaking and the friendship is warming and we giggle with rain dripping from our noses. It could be that this Island is the mirage.

leggy

On a sunset beach you can take caricature pictures and suddenly you have the long legs many women want.

I always had them but did not always want them. Silly.

Alors, on danse.

putting up the sign

This world is out of order. Please use alternative facilities.

the duck-laugh evening

Recipe for a good evening:

Eat chicken & blue cheese pie with your best friend.
Add a few glasses of red wine.
Watch Pretty Woman for old times' sake and for the sake of that quote that you couldn't quite remember ("A name, a name, the pressure of a name... Cinde-fucking-rella!").
Ask "Do I have to prostitute myself to find a prince?"
Ask "Why are so many of the great chick flicks Cinderella-stories and why can't even a cynic resist them?"
Go to a "Night at the Museum"-event and get frightened half to death by a bunch of wooden ducks in a dark room who suddenly start laughing at you.
Walk in the balmy May night with your friend and laugh until you cry.

a poet's homeland

That stream which could be the real Fountain of Eternal Youth. That mountainside half in ominous shadow, half in enchanting sunlight. Those crooked trees where trolls may be hiding. That wild, hidden lake with secrets lurking in its depths. Those magnificent ruins of a thousand years. That enigmatic wishing-well that bends space.

I look through my pictures from my last visit to the enchanted valley and realise that I take the same pictures every time I go there.

I am always faintly surprised that the pictures do not come out blank, or all dark, or with unidentifiable smudges - the way pictures look when people try to photograph supernatural things. Apparently the valley does exist outside my own imagination.

That forceful gravity it exerts on my soul is very, very real. The mysterious black hole of my life.

how to learn a language and link to Hubble

Today's little challenge for bored shop assistants:

* Find a mobile phone (one of the more advanced and complicated ones) that someone has left behind by mistake in the second-hand shop where you work (in the bargain bin).

* Draw on your compassion and human decency and decide that you want to try to return the phone to its owner.

* Realise that the phone's language setting, hence all the menus and functions, is Arabic.

* First of all, try to unlock the keypad.

* Mess around with all the buttons for a while.

* Press the cancel button to turn off the camera function that you involuntarily activated while doing the above.

* Admire the picture that you involuntarily took of your navel.

* Press the cancel button a few times to turn off all the other functions (web browser, MP3 player, picture gallery, Tetris, universal translator, intergalactic communicator, direct link to Hubble telescope) that you involuntarily activated while doing the above.

* Try to figure out what "Contacts/Phone Book" may look like in Arabic script.

* Try to decide which one of the little squiggles looks like it may be the phone number to next of kin (what is "Mum" in Arabic?).

* Press green to call a random number.

* Press red to end the call when someone says some very angry words in Arabic at the other end.

* Admire the live feed from the Hubble telescope for a while while you ponder what to do next (discover an unknown galaxy while you are at it).

* Press green to answer a call from a caller identified by more squiggles.

* Press red to hastily end the call after being informed by the unknown caller that you will not get away with this and that the CIA and Interpol and NASA are on the case and will be knocking down your door any minute now.

* Listen to some soothing Arabic music for a while on the phone's MP3 to calm your nerves.

* Activate the universal translator function (accidentally) and call the number marked "Mum".

* Return the phone to its owner after being promised all the Prophet's blessings and a lifetime's supply of halva cakes (or something to that effect, but you are not sure the universal translator actually works as well as it seems to do in Star Trek).

* Inform NASA that you want the galaxy you discovered named after you.

This almost happened to me today.

how to manipulate me

The highest art form: the latest music with cutting-edge hipness, combined with original, poetic and unexpected lyrics.

Use this formula and you have me at your mercy.

where old revolutionaries come to die

Guevara is not dead. He is hiding out on the top floor of a run-down apartment building in Vaasa, Finland. His name is on the door so maybe he secretly wishes that somebody will come and look him up.

Maybe I will ring the doorbell tomorrow. I would like to know if he still wears that beret with the little red star. I always liked the star.

my dictionary

My diary contains a list of words I like:

dance storm enigma snow wine
laughter spark coffee world joy
spirit saga WOLF strength Dixieland
stranger forest God fire
whiskey music castle sea

mountain kitchen wisdom
bookshop SPICE irony ice
piano labyrinth father library
vagabond harbour cello adventure ink
soulmate Vienna peace woman

silk melody beauty
guardian dusk wonder star whisper chronicle
poet moon smoke inn midsummer echo-maker
theatre pulsar voyager monastery
thousand church midnight tale hunter

kiss life exuberance garden
wildness silver diesel fisherman
mercury strawberry dizzy Cambridge
ocean wool Orion honeysuckle
time resonance embers city

monsoon Isfahan cheese mosaic
lullaby lover rooftop fiddle
bard vortex hike twilight road trilogy
infinity eternity Oklahoma serenity
sage CIRCUS university

chocolate academy seven

lemonade olive punt hazelnut Celt
autumn tea vanilla Milky Way
journal Cumberland oak
Kahlua buttercup gypsy home end.

And tea tree oil and the name of every spice. And those specialized names of colours, like ochre, cerulean, sienna.

I should write a novel and use all of these words in it. Can't wait to read it myself.

unexpected view from a car window

I sat in the back seat of a car travelling north and could easily imagine everything I saw from the perspective of a foreigner from central Europe or North America.

Small towns, even smaller towns - nondescript, unassuming, roadsigns in two incomprehensible languagues. Endless forests, tiny fields, flat landscape, cute little villages with houses far apart.

Myself: one who has travelled the world but now is content with her job in a small shop, speaks both of the incomprehensible languages, lives, works, gets around on a bicycle, is one of them.

The foreigner him/herself: when homesickness and loneliness weigh heavily on the mind, the joy of seeing something familiar. A sign in English, the yellow M of a MacDonald's, another tourist like yourself, a familiar type of tree - but these things are so far apart. Or something that has been put there for the benefit of you as a stranger (a welcoming) - something written in English, an international traffic symbol, a hotel, a tourist site.

These quiet people who lack grand gestures and dramatic manners, who usually turn out to speak at least some English but who are careful and reserved. This country, so far away, so sparsely populated, often so cold.

I saw all this, as if from a great distance, through the grimy car window.

another link in my anchor chain

I met him in a lift, a middle-aged, fairly ordinary man with thinning hair.

Many, many years ago, when I was a shy teenager with an innocent mind and dreams that stretched towards all horizons, he was a youth group leader and trying to channel the exuberant energy of a large group of youngsters. I was one of the quiet ones in this group, the wide-eyed observer who blushed whenever someone spoke to me.

The youth leader wasn't really the central person of this group - he sort of faded by comparison to some of the older teenagers who enchanted everyone with their joy of life and inspiring energy. But when I geared up to go out in the big, wide world - scared to death - and applied to a school abroad, he was the one who helped me get going.

I have hardly given him a thought during the many years since then, busy exploring the wonders of the world. Until I came back to my home town and we happened to get into the same lift. Suddenly, I felt like that tongue-tied teenager again, not sure if he recognised me. But he smiled at me and asked me what I had been doing for the last ten years.

I have been lost so many times, and lonely. Never a very important or memorable person. But every now and then one of these people from my past show up and smile at me to prove that I am still anchored to the bedrock.

the dregs of a blogger's mind

Does every blogger have those blog entries that (thankfully) never made it past the draft stage?

Going through my blog I found quite a few never-published entries, most of them no more than a couple of sentences long. Some of them end in the middle of a cryptic phrase - I seem to have an incredibly short attention/inspiration span. For the benefit of my heirs I hereby publish them anyway. Or at least excerpts of them (cropped out of context they suddenly seem much more interesting). But some of them are actually the whole thing...

"Fell in love with that cute guy from CSI:NY and then I found him IRL."

"BOHEMIAN CHIC!"

"The devil himself is probably on FaceBook."

"I scrubbed a 20-foot sailboat with a toothbrush..."

"...what soul-choking acceptance..."

"God sits down next to me."

"Lurking darkness all around, sore throat, breakfast on karjalanpiirakka."

"Twice in my life I have run away."

"Autumn's first frost and a sales rep arrives at the Little Shop of Harmony in his big blue bus full of books just for me."

"'How can I help you? What can I do to make your day better?'"

"...a poem must have meter, fancy sequencing and chime..."

"The city of Brussels also had a pair of dangly earrings."

"Joseph (in Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat) meets his father... Runs to him but stops just short. Instead of falling into his waiting arms, just stands there looking him in the eye."

"My cane and I had lunch with Xena the Warrior Princess. She had got an axe and a chain-saw for her birthday."

"He tends to suddenly die on me."

"Someone talked to me as if I were stupid today. The computer gave me a meaningless chaos of numbers where..."

"...the shadows in the deserted restaurant are deep and I turn up MTV to drown out all the little noises (in my head?) that make me nervous..."

"My old teacher of history stood beneath the Monument of Liberty, straight-backed and proud. He spoke of legendary General Mannerheim..."

"The beauty of blue... at dusk, the twilight hour that I love best. Forgiveness and comfort instead of the harsh demands of dawn."

"I met him in a lift, a middle-aged, fairly ordinary man with thinning hair."

my not-meant-to-be

Excerpt from the Mostly Secret Diary of a Foolish Girl:

He comes looking for me.

We idle for hours, sharing food and hugs, dreams and silly jokes, almost-forgotten memories. Nobody knows me like he does. Nobody else remembers that I like salmon, once had a dog that used to bite, dream of learning how to handle a pistol. He can tell me stories about my favourite school teacher from more than a decade ago. He listens to my crazy stories about my ex-boss that he's never met. He asks me about the things that matter to me. He laughs at my jokes. He doesn't only know my past, he understands it.

My soulmate. But every time, we go our separate ways. My wayward soul stubbornly demands solitude.

me and the wildlife

They shot a bear not far from here recently as he was heading into town and upsetting the morning commuters. A wolf has been sighted in the woods across the bay - if he had a mind to, he could stroll across the ice towards me. The regional newspaper ran a story about a hare who fought three crows and apparently killed at least one of them. Of course they all got their 30 seconds of fame on YouTube (found here and here).

I live in a town of about 60,000 people and apparently not a few wild things.

the music makers and dreamers of dreams

Finches, starlings, thrushes, sparrows, swans and, above all, cranes...

Their music soothes me when the sun of spring, that slavedriver, makes other Finns swoon with happiness.

half-moon day and everything by halves

In the Little Shop of Harmony - grey skies and few customers. All I have sold so far is a book, plus a few trinkets from the second-hand basement. My work morale and morals are scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Shopping list for after work: Wine. Cheese. Muesli. Eggs (from freeranging chickens). Lots of fruit. Ingredients for a salad. Maybe some chicken. Chocolate (not as much as I would like). And something cheap and dramatic and gorgeous to wear.

Then home to watch CSI:NY and dream of America.

girl, woman

Met a young girl and saw myself eons ago. That sparkle in innocent eyes, the joy, the dreams of wonderful adventures.

And later, staring into the mirror in the ladies' room, saw myself today. That weary look, the cynicism, the fear of a life hopelessly spinning away towards a scarier horizon. But also, a little bit of wisdom and a diamond core. The knowledge that I have seen so much and not yet perished. The comfort in knowing even broken dreams can be survived.

Sometimes I wish I was a teenager, with all the giggles and glossy hair and secrets between friends. But I took another look at the girl and then went on to do what a grown-up woman is meant to do. Gave her the help she needed just then; an opportunity, encouragement, a vote of confidence, a little bit of calm and wisdom.

We help each other grow.

that night of English heartbreak

Woodstock Night

Just knocked over a glass of sparkly white

My heart-breaking party all by myself

Smell of food in the Window Sill Room

Pool of light from lonely lamp

Chill of English spring night

I’m in the world and feeling the pull of home, real life, somewhere far down there

Tonight I’m crashing towards the earth

Crying on my knees, screaming for home

You who led me here, where are you now?

I followed you with a trembling heart, eager and proud

Life among strangers I thought I could handle but tonight

The weight of an empty universe all resting in the Window Sill Room

on Chaos Road

Drinking: red wine

Reading: Special Topics in Calamity Physics (M.Pessl)

Mood: restless

DVD stopped in the middle: Andromeda (Season 4 episode 2: Pieces of Eight)

On mind: family and crisis

Day: work, hospital visit, cell group

Needs: direction, a car, a dog, money and a wireless modem

Phrase of the day: The All Forces Nullification Point (from Andromeda)

Cell functioning: O led discussion on Rebecca from Genesis and tried to teach us to listen to God, J and C said little, I voiced mainly doubts

Was invited to: go sledding with church youth, declined

Life heading towards: chaos

the lesson of the thousand-year valley

My magic place, what is your secret?
What has your wisdom taught me?

That life is hard and words have knives
But the laughter of friends is healing
That the deepest lake with the coldest water
Sends waves of peace to its shores

That a hidden valley has its very own magic
Teasing and teaching a lesson
What I think is a banshee is sometimes a deer
And a drunk is the fountain of knowledge

That people fight and people give
That a chef with no ladle is timid
That it's hard to love, that a dance sets me free
And a whiskey is best mixed with tales

That cosmos is here and I'm in the middle
It's whirling around me, a storm and a dance
The lives of people, their darkest hour
When your riddle is weaved into mine

That beautiful mysteries tiptoe close
If I listen to souls that are weaker
That music flows the fairest from those
Who are two steps away from destruction

That all I need for an evening of joy
Is a meal, and wine, and a friend
That a church can sleep for a thousand years
And still bring strength to my spirit

That all things are near in Ireland
God, glamour, a joke
The sea, a castle, a blazing fire
A Spaniard who laughs on the bus

That stars of Hollywood smile at you
But a farmer may steal your heart
That small, small lights can warm your room
In the rage of a mountain storm

That I long to go, and come back again
To my attic above the bar
That I can do much more than I think
When my heart is strong, and my spirit

We are fighting a battle and running a race
While sparks are flying around us
As we share a drink in the midnight hour
After saving the world that is ours

an American with good sense

"Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last,
In things best known to you finding the best or as good as the best,
In folks nearest to you finding also the sweetest and strongest and lovingest,
Happiness not in another place, but this place ... not for another hour, but this hour"

(Walt Whitman)

purple: the colour to wear in a blizzard

Blizzard, snowdrifts on city streets and a limit to how much you can endure. Snow-clearing services nowhere in sight and probably won't be until after the storm. No parking spaces. Risk your life as weeks of ice falls off roofs onto the sidewalks.

Shopping with friend:
handicraft shop where the male owner is a married closet gay and the female one (his wife?) looks very butch and has the shadow of a beard;
a bookshop where the window broke when a gale threw the door open;
perfume testing (Calvin Klein and Diesel);
vanilla latte and brownie with "what do you regret in life?" and "did you know one of your FaceBook friends has a famous friend - no, I'm not telling you which one".

On me the season's powerful purple and my doubts faded with the softness of the velvet.

I wish these rosaries away

At this Irish wishing well, said to have been discovered by Oscar Wilde but probably ancient, is where my soul always take a slightly pagan turn. Are there faeries over there in the mist and why do I feel intoxicated?

Sadly, the wishing tree has been vandalised. The ribbons and trinkets tied to it by hundreds of wishful people have been removed and tacky plastic rosaries stuck to it instead. That is just wrong.

My wish: May this place always be home and may I keep returning.

Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground
where an old man of Aran goes around and around...

at Peace of Mind Beach, Ireland

I picked a red and white stone on an Irish beach. The wind was wintry but mild to skin that is used to northern climes. The gentle softness of the air felt like home.

Acrid and wonderful smell of turf fire. The knowledge that after our walk, there would be a cup of hot tea. Soothing voice of the sea in deep winter. A quiet rain that does no harm.

A lost dog ran past us while we discussed deep secrets only shared by friends. Muscled men with surfing boards braved the cold water and someone was riding a white horse where the sea met the sand. The sun glinted between clouds in a reddish sunset.

"Can we stop at Tesco's on the way home?"
"Yes, I want to get some Cadbury's Crème Eggs. And white chocolate chip cookies. All the good stuff... Let's do a TV dinner tonight and get a bottle of wine!"

And literally, not a care in the world.

2009: swiss trains, UN peacekeepers and all the rest, part 4

Being one year wiser, I also now know: * Only a truly idealistic heart can produce real cynicism. * My body remembers the sound of the door to my primary school classroom even though my mind does not remember what I learned there. * Beauty and a gourmet meal can be found in a fast food joint with dirty tables and strip lighting when your dinner companion is a good man. * A hug from a UN peacekeeper, tales from Afghanistan and a game of pool in a pub is an excellent way to spend an evening. * I may have been born to learn the English language. * I may have been born to encourage the discouraged. * Changing a tyre is easy but you should not handle methylated spirits if you know nothing about car engines. * It is necessary to take sick leave once every ten years. * Beer is drinkable. * Driving through the night is not as romantic as it sounds, even if your destination is Sweden. But when the result is a van-load of books, it is almost worth it. * I doubt that I am loved. * I may have been born to discuss science fiction and God over a drink in an Irish pub. * Translating leadership material can save someone's life and all the best things in life are free, including my voluntary work. * A wheat heater pillow can repel the swine flu. * I may have been born to quietly observe the madness of the world with irony and delight. * Driving aimlessly through the countryside is just as romantic as it sounds, even if you come across an ancient execution site. * A tiny Finnish river can look just like the Loire if you have an open mind. * My dream tree is still growing. * Two weeks before the winter solstice you can stand between the bright midday sun and the pale full moon. * I may have been born to multi-task. * There is such a thing as "too much snow" when you have a car. * There is such a thing as 24/7 contact lenses. * There is such a thing as "too much TV". * I am one of the few people in Finland who can sing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". * I can drop my Nokia phone in a snow drift and have it returned to me 4 hours later (in full working condition) by a kind stranger. * 2009 was supposed to bring me dreams for life. I started to dream at night - of fascinating, strange landscapes.

2009: swiss trains, google earth and all the rest, part 3

My, it was a long year. I also learned: * When you are in a boat and fear drowning - feel the wood beneath your bare feet, smell the fresh tar and the salty sea, see a tiny baby blink towards the sun, anticipate the taste of grilled whitefish, and suddenly it does not matter if this will be your last day on earth. * I live more intensely when I feel weak. * French rock opera sounds best in a little cottage in the woods. "Je voudrais seulement m'en aller cultiver mes tomates au soleil." * Friendship is sweetest when you watch the midnight sun together with hair wet after a swim in the sea and heart warmed by a bottle of red. * Baby hares are unafraid, cranes are echo-makers and it must be tough to be an eagle because all the other birds hate you. * Jurassic Park is a tiny island just off the Finnish coast. The dinosaurs stayed in hiding during my visit though. * Sailboat races are difficult to watch when your 9-year-old niece is running around chasing a boy and your elderly mother just spotted her high-school sweetheart in the crowd. * I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken, but this summer I did walk through fields of barley. * Snakes and poodles are attracted to one another. * I like naïve art and bright colours and if I could paint I would paint Time and Space. * Selling books make your knees hurt. * Class reunions are scary, some monsters never grow up, some monsters were never monsters at all, I was never defeated and there is true Goodness in the world. * Sleep is sweetest under the stars. * Spiders do not like it when you paint their wall. Neither do wasps. * Hospitals are not so depressing if you wear red leather. * Never get involved in the sale of a chihuahua. Especially if the dog is not yours. * RyanAir tries to ruin your life but God literally knows why so everything turns out for the best. * Best thing about work: ordering music and making people happy. Worst thing: taking it personally when John Lennon in orange wig and tartan beret lies to you. * You should not stand with your mouth open when Google Earth (Street View) takes your picture. * Environmental activists with questionable ethics can express themselves in English with my help. * Our local theatre only do plays that involve loads of suffering. * If you go to two parties and eat too much banoffee pie before bed you will dream about a blind date with Jose Manuel Barroso. * Happiness is travelling 500 miles in one day with God-fearing people.

2009: swiss trains, earthquakes and all the rest, part 2

Some more acquired wisdom courtesy of year 2009:

* Easter bonfires inspire people to matchmaking.
* Having the authority to delegate means more work for yourself.
* Springtime should be enjoyed with lots of mud, snow melting in the sun, a good friend and an abandoned Russian military base in the middle of the woods. Hot chocolate to round it all off.
* I must make my bed in the mornings to be ready for life. And dress dramatically.
* Surprise birthday parties entail googling ginger, Kvimo and the best ways to crucify a scorpion.
* One cannot die from self-disgust. Unfortunately.
* Barbecue on the beach is lovely even when you are freezing your butt off.
* The ancient Finnish ritual of the huge May Day market in the city, with traditional makkara and muikkuja, should be celebrated with Russian, Lithuanian and Kenyan friends and lots of youthful exuberance. You may end up feasting on Vietnamese spring rolls and wondering whether it is really a lion tooth that your Kenyan friend has pierced her earlobe with.
* Saturday night at the emergency room means friends with swine flu fear, bleeding drunks, a security guard who would not scare a four-year-old, icehockey on TV, reading Town & Country.
* Earthquakes do happen even in Finland. My first, of 3.4 on the Richter scale, was bone-jarring but hardly frightening and I blamed it on mystical experiments in the prison dungeons next door.
* I am the bowling champion. Of my ladies' volleyball team. But still.
* I have strange friends. They get tied up in the trunk of cars, walk through Middle East deserts and play golf in the Himalayas.
* Barbecue on a balcony overlooking a garden is lovely even though Pakistani friends are happily ignoring Finnish fire safety regulations.
* Boat trips to deserted islands involve excited kids, big boulders, ominous great cormorants, picnics with coffee and biscuits, rain.
* "Listen to the wind words, the Spirit blowing through the churches." (The Message Bible)
* Star Trek films should be watched in the company of two unknown Dutch boys.
* Smile less, laugh more.
* I am more scared of bears and elks now than when I was a kid.
* My city (population 57 000) now has its first street beggar. The local paper reported it.
* My flat once belonged to a real ship's captain.
* A family holiday on a Swedish island is like this: windmills, poppies, kids and dogs, stone walls, adorable things, lighthouses to be climbed, childhood traumas resurfacing, birds of prey, iron age forts, picnics in cow fields with views, seaweed, fossils, basketball, ex tempore comedy, food or coffee that can cure almost anything, George MacDonald's Phantastes.

2009: swiss trains, dying stars and all the rest

Goodbye 2009. Here is what I learned from you: * A serious chocolate tasting party takes a LOT of time but not necessarily a lot of chocolate. * I am competent enough to discuss Obama, cricket and Swiss trains with a pastor from The Co-operative Republic of Guyana. * Stars can stop shining as you are watching. * Some broken computers can be fixed by being plugged in. Others require tormented phone calls to strange men speaking strange languages. * Metal wires are not necessary even in my mouth after all. * Selling books to village libraries is hard work because the libraries do not have lifts and are always located on the second floor. * FaceBook may be the greatest invention of the 21st century. If I can manage to find the long-lost love of my life and not just every other person I ever met. * TV-series on DVD may be the second greatest invention of the 21st century. If I can manage to drag myself away to do an objective assessment. * I have some very strange friends who look for lions, create magical labyrinths and move to Havana. * All the best things in life are free. Like my unpaid labour when I do volunteer work. * My hair is curly. I never knew that before. * The best dreams I ever had are the ones in which I'm travelling. Or being chased through dark, winding corridors. * My body is aging. My stomach does not like onions and my right knee does not like me. * Old scarred fighters from London's East End sometimes end up growing roses for Sunday school children. * The wind is very cold on a frozen sea. * Birdsong makes me happy. Volleyball makes me frustrated. Wine makes me happy or bored. Coffee makes me happy, every day, which is in itself a miracle - I should have more such addictions. * St. Patrick's Day can also be celebrated with brambrack, mother, my old maths teacher and only one pint of cider. * Heavy metal music can occasionally be enjoyable, but the mood must be exactly right. * FaceBook must be the worst invention of the 21st century. Sometimes I want to write in my status update: "I don't give a shit what all of u have on ur mind & why do some of u think the rest of us want ur update 10 times a day to know u have a headache and a bellyache and a heartache & are correcting essays and writing essays & were given a song by Jesus & want to save the world & shaka bam!" * My stovetop is the best place to sit, to watch the sea and contemplate life. * "Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is more people who have come alive." (Gil Bailie)