word freak

"I’m a word freak. I like words. I’ve always compared writing to music. That’s the way I feel about good paragraphs. When it really works, it’s like music."

(Hunter S. Thompson)

wet sneakers by the fire

I walk through wet grass in my father's wellingtons and remind myself of the names of flowers. I fetch wood from the shed. I watch My Blueberry Nights on a tiny laptop, the best film I've seen in months. I dry my wet sneakers in front of a roaring fire and read books. I eat cold pizza with instant coffee. I argue with my mother. I walk along a dirt road in the forest and kick pebbles for the dog to chase. I try to stay off social media. I read magazines in foreign languages and dream.

The sky is grey, night and day – no darkness at night, no sun at noon – and I often hear the whoosh of rain on the tin roof. A hooting owl lets me know that it's time to sleep. This is also a Finnish summer.

me with everything

Swimming with playful boys, sun with good books, meaningful looks with sister, volleyball with grass-stained knees, shared memories with those who know me, bedtime tea with laughter, summer day with all I want.

stumbling down the path

Hand in hand with my old mother, to prevent her from stumbling. To a hidden lake deep in the forest, on narrow bridges across rumbling rapids, into quiet cafés, on paths where memories are thick in the air. With gratefulness, with frustration, with longing.

There is something heartbreaking and deeply unfair in the frailty of old age. It was clearly not meant to exist.

summer Friday status

Sight: Water and meadowsweet

Sound: Seagulls

Flavour: Pear cream

Smell: Grass and wood smoke

Sensation: Muscles stiff from over-sleeping and under-exercising

State of mind: Peace/anxiety

my vacation: fragrant and silent

Blueberries ripening in the woods, poodles dancing for joy, summer heat, bitter granules of instant coffee, wrinkles on my mother's hands, golden rain showers and sun against storm clouds, glitter, cut grass, sea air, seagulls chasing owls, reading by the fire, the fragrance of absolutely everything, the silence of sea and forest.

These are a few things that could be said about a vacation in an isolated spot.

all said

A lot can be said for a vacation in a very isolated spot, but much to blog about there ain't.

the wilderness used to be quieter

In my summer paradise. This day between the sea and the forest I expected to be a quiet one, with nothing heard besides birds and my mother's voice.

Unexpected additions, however: A grey owl keeping me awake at night. Heavy rain. Messages from two friends, not yet aware of my voluntary and almost total isolation here, who requested a get-together. A poodle barking wildly and two unexpected visitors. My brother giving me instructions in his big brother voice. The (probably imagined) hum of electricity. And a radio talk show that had me transfixed.

Expected noises: The birds. And my mother's unsolicited list of all the maintenance work to be done around here.

a peculiar crossroads

"The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location."

(Flannery O'Connor)

not a blow-up

My balcony with a seaview and easy drinks, and my gentle smile, attract lonely men.

They come, they tell me their troubles, I tell them mine, we make jokes, they leave. Sometimes they fall in love with me and I push them mildly away, sometimes they fall in love with someone else and I lose a friend.

"Am I the mental equivalent of a blow-up doll?" I asked one of them teasingly. But I need the company, too. I need someone to stare at the sea with me, someone to direct my gentle smile at.