the art of losing

Sitting at a window watching a hassled-looking bird feed its chicks. Having another glass of wine.

My last evening of village life. Tomorrow it's back to the city, the balcony overlooking the sea, trendy shops, heat reflecting off the asphalt, the coolness of the air-conditioned library, beach volley euphoria, the summer noises of music and laughter from the outdoor cafés, almost-midnight-sun brightness over the bay, tanned bare skin, the exuberance of life cascading from TV screens.

But the dog. My God, I have to leave the dog.

I have no idea why I see myself as cautious, holding back. In fact, when I just get past my indifference, I'm not hard to convince to give my heart away. I moved into this cottage for four weeks, at the drop of a hat, to look after a dog. Knowing full well that I would end up loving the dog and being devastated when the time came to give it back to the owners.

Still, how could I regret it?

Let's have another glass of red. Tomorrow, I'm going to get into my car and drive away, then work, then reward/comfort myself with a vanilla latte at that coffee shop I keep dreaming about. Then I'm going home to cry my heart out.

we need to talk about dog pee

Sometimes I wonder if I really know even the basics of human interaction.

It's not necessary to discuss only profound subjects with people. I don't have to root out a friend's deepest issues every time we talk and listen sympathetically while they pour out their dark secrets.

It's OK to spend a few minutes telling them about a bizarre thing I just read about fruit flies,* joking about how another friend answered the phone while brushing her teeth, or discussing the relative merits of letting your dog pee in the unpleasant neighbour's garden.

How did I start taking every chat so bloody seriously?


* if you deprive them of sleep, they will try to catch up the next day

nevermore

I have a rather Poe-esque raven looking over my shoulder right now.

And he's indeed saying "nevermore" because it's almost time to leave the village and the dog. And I don't know how I can bear to leave the dog.

liquorice love potion

To share some liquorice with a man over the shop counter... ( Quickly hiding the sweets when some kids enter. ) He is in his quiet mood and I like it.

I look up at him - and for a tall woman, having to look up at someone is strangely comforting - and say "have another". What I really want to say is "have me".

judging June

June is the ideal month to:

* analyze bulldozer men, quiet men and men who bring icecream (2006)
* walk around an old hotel and watch Santa Claus sit around his fire (2007)
* focus on lilacs and listen to Sting (2008)
* move between the woods and the horizon and remind myself that people are generally kind (2009)
* do a caricature and climb Mordor (2010)
* long for less wilderness (2011)
* live in the land of loveliness, lockless doors and self-inviting neighbours (2012)

The picture has no relevance to the text but I happen to love stone walls and stonewalling.

country life update

Been invited for dinner.
Been cheerfully greeted by the weird man of the village.
Walked a quarter mile with the gossip lady. And my friend who happened to be visiting, a huge man in black leather. Desperately tried to quell the gossip that will inevitable follow.
After barely two weeks in the village, found myself in the position that I can take a walk and realistically hope to meet someone who will invite me in for coffee. And it happened. Had coffee in a beautiful garden with an elderly couple.
Been eaten alive by mosquitoes.

what I can contribute to the universe

I may not have created a masterpiece, raised a child or found a cure for cancer.

But I do know how to turn up the music, dance barefoot on the livingroom floor and laugh wildly when the dog starts to bark at me.

mosquitoes know this

Outside it's midnight and daylight with faeries and mosquitoes dancing in the meadow.
Drinking glass after glass of white wine but never getting drunk.
A dog yawning at my feet.
On my playlist at the moment: Swedish House Mafia, a weird choice but then again I'm weird and proud of it (except when I'm ashamed).
Occupying my mind these days: a longing to lose everything - only because of the drama, and the freedom to begin a new life, and the necessity of living in the immediate present, that come with it.

OK, maybe I am slightly drunk. Would be mad to want to lose the few important things that I have. Not quite that mad yet.
But I do want. To live in the moment. To suck the marrow out of life.

irl, no thanks

If the world went offline and there were no more world wide web, I would be the first to perish - from a withered soul.

Seriously, how did I get through school without Wikipedia? Teenage heartaches without FaceBook chat? Boring study nights without YouTube? Thesis writing without online databases and Amazon? Adventures without a blog? Just about anything without Google?

Was I perhaps living in the real world back then? Not sure I want that back.

bizarre recurring dream #3

Longingly searching for a big gleaming trendy coffee shop in the sky... or rather, somewhere on an upper floor in a shopping centre. I never make it there.

how to defeat a hostile life

Teenage distractedness in the Little Shop of Harmony, in the form of a 19-year-old summer help. In the middle of the "everyone-else-is-on-vacation" stress I'm frustrated and fascinated.

I thought I was lacking focus and a sense of direction. By comparison to a teenager, I suddenly seem wonderfully skilled, knowledgeable and, above all, wise to the world. I stand my ground when one particularly scruffy regular is trying to manipulate his way into a discount and I shrug off a nasty insult by a bitter old lady instead of coming apart at the seams as I once would have.

Maybe there are a few advantages to growing up after all. I may envy this teenager her fresh beauty and the adventurous years ahead of her. But I know things she doesn't. I know how to type fast, learn a language and fix a computer (if it's only a little broken). I know that when life tries to kill you, you defeat life by living it. Stubbornly and with dedication.

a tooth interlude

Was complimented on my beautiful teeth today. Over the phone. There's something that doesn't happen to me every day.

Felt a sudden urge to tell the almost-stranger at the other end the whole story about the braces I had to wear as a teenager and their terrible effect on my self-confidence. Managed to stop myself just in time.

confessions of a city-dweller

Should point out that I'm not condescending towards village life. Not exclaiming over the delightful quaintness of the natives while wrinkling my nose over primitive habits. People here are as "modern" as I am but have mostly managed to hang on to the good parts of living close to nature and each other. I'm genuinely fascinated by the community spirit and the beautiful surroundings. I'm also more than a little envious.

I grew up in middle-class suburbia but spent high school in the company of kids from this village and many others like it. They took the school bus into the suburb every morning (a few of them had a three-hour round trip) and their funny dialects and stories of village life always made me feel that they were living the genuine life. Perhaps because I myself am only one generation removed from farm life.

At times, I have dreamed of having this life. By now I have identified with the restless, stimulus-hunting city mindset. So, being on holiday in this village, what I feel is gratefulness for being accepted here anyway. Being allowed to take a small part and enjoy myself. I guess I am exclaiming over the delightful quaintness of this life. But if I'm wrinkling my nose over something, it's over the hyper-modern eco-toilet not working properly.

in the land of lilacs and curious neighbours

Hello June. Hello idyllic country cottage life. It's all I expected.

* White hardwood floors, birdsong in the rowan tree outside.
* Chilly morning strolls along country lanes.
* Ancient stone walls, put together by farmers trying to clear their meager fields centuries ago.
* Fields with horses that stare at me and the dog.
* Woods with the possibility of meeting an elk, or if you are extremely (un)lucky, a bear.
* Lilacs in bloom.
* Neighbours who say hello. A next-door neighbour lady who brings me flowers from her garden and her husband who comes to fix one of my lamps.
* A cute dog who chases cats and cars.
* Doors without doorbells and sometimes without locks (you are supposed to knock once, walk in and yell for attention. The people inside are supposed to yell back "come on in!" and automatically reach for the coffee pot).
* Mosquitoes, the bane of June.
* An old house (with mod cons) that creaks and sighs at night.

I am my normal cityself, an outsider. The kind that views this as an exotic adventure rather than a way to live. With large ear-rings, nail polish, too-bright-red shirts, and a laptop that plays Gotye, Swedish House Mafia and U2. With late habits and internet addictions and wine bottles. With impossible dreams but also a desire to settle down and revel in this beauty for a little while.