walk tall, kick ass

WALK TALL

kick ass

learn to speak Arabic

LOVE MUSIC

and never forget

you come from

a long line of

TRUTH SEEKERS
LOVERS and WARRIORS

(Hunter S. Thompson)

a year of cheese and heartbreak

From my diaries: the year 2001 ...

* New Year's Eve - a rare visit in my old university town with an Aussie boyfriend. Church, art and kissing under the fireworks, feeling tense and too nostalgic.
* Beautiful Finnish winter days, showing the Aussie snowy forests, sauna and sledding, onion-domed cathedrals and reindeer kebab.
* Return to a damp and cold Irish valley and learned to sleep with five blankets and a woollen beanie as well as work on my social skills.
* My social life that winter: a roommate issuing death threats and a boyfriend with a broken heart.
* Midnight mountain hike that showed me that deer really freeze when caught in the lights.
* Foot-and-mouth outbreak that closed down most of Ireland and had me watering welcome mats with disinfectant.
* Meltdown with surprising results.
* Birthday with cheesecake, stolen daffodils and dancing to the jukebox.
* Game of pool with a movie star.
* Weekly Dublin days for half of the year, stay-at-home life for the other half.
* Hotel receptionist life: The War of the Boots, invisible weddings, scaring Spaniards shitless, white-hot truths, and the occasional cheese-and-wine picnic by the river with the boyfriend.
* Whispers from God through dreams, mountains and ancient oaks.
* Late summer holiday in Finland with all that's best of summer by the sea, family and friends, exes and future exes.
* Watching 9/11 in an Irish pub, crying.
* World's oldest building and the world's strangest rocks on a tour of Northern Ireland with family.
* Heartbreak autumn with lots of cheese and weddings.
* Accidental live performance by the Chieftains in a back room of the hotel.
* Running away to Kilkenny and finding comfort among strangers.
* Halloween ghost wrapped in toilet paper.
* Badminton and a bike.
* Losing my love on a frosty night.
* Finland Christmas tour of all significant places and people.
* Quiet winter reading Proust.

on a lonely night in Ireland long ago

Absent friends? All my friends are absent.
I will drink to them anyway.
Each one a drop and I try not to waste them
Filling one glass that saves my life.

run with the wolves

"Girls who run with the wolves aren’t here for boys to love."

(unknown)

city of laser harps and dead presidents

I went to Helsinki for a few days to talk to strangers, rediscover real coffee shops, look for dead presidents, decide this will be the last time I climb to the upper bunk of a hostel bed,

Helsinki view

find a flea market with designer clothes, enjoy the last of the summer, go exploring and love it, fight to the death with a wasp over a hot bowl of sweet potato soup, ride the tram through the oldest part of the city, be less than impressed at a design fair, play a laser harp,

Design fair must-have?

have my morning croissant with an exciting story about a bat, step over a defeated burglar, rest in peace in a beautiful cemetery, send pictures to friends, walk too much, get laughed at because my driver's licence is so old school,

Dead president

buy a Nepalese hoodie, overhear a conversation on how to survive a meeting with a bear, feel lonely, read a book about bread, climb to a lovely lookout point and fall in love with the sea (again), wear white, wander into a church on a misty evening and sit through a sermon,

discover how much shorter the train ride home has become.

left unsaid

I met an ex-boyfriend today.

I noticed his cool sunglasses, his stained trousers, his daughter's shyness as she sat on his lap. I knew how to make him laugh, what would light up his eyes, which words were coming out before he opened his mouth. I accepted that he fed his child before turning to me, that he was leaving soon to do what was expected of him, that there was no time.

Words were left unsaid. I knew him well, once.

those who pause to listen

I love the get-togethers with friends where I am not at the centre of attention. Where I can stay in the background and listen - not having to entertain, keep the conversation going, be the good host or icebreaker or the glue between everyone.

I love friends who only hear occasional comments from me over the course of a long evening of chatter or heated discussions, and still pause to listen. Who look at me as if I'm important and note-worthy, laugh at my jokes, seem fascinated when I offer a rare look into my unknown past. Who take charge of the practical stuff so I can drift around and look at everything. Who see me as beautiful, funny and smart, lovely.

I love friends who get in touch when I disappear. And I am so, so blessed - because my friends do.

unexplored - could it be any better?

All the summers of my life, I've been staring out at the uninhabited little islets strewn around the bay. Unknown lands that represent all my dreams.

Sometimes, very rarely, someone takes me out in a little boat, braving the waves to get to one of them on a summer day. They are strange pieces of nature – basically a pile of huge rocks with just enough soil between them to produce a thick forest of spruce, impossible to walk around in. Difficult to make landfall on too, but after having scraped our sturdy little boat painfully against the rocks we usually manage to find a large, smoother rock to climb up and spread our picnic on. Hot sun, a cooling breeze, pure sea water to swim in, strong coffee, the quiet of sea and sky.

I'm happy, maybe as happy as I ever get, whenever I get to see one of these islets up close. But I don't mind the fact that many of them are still unexplored. Looking at them from across the bay I feel the excited thrill of knowing that there are still adventures out there, dreams to discover. A world.

a future past

Those years in a west coast town where I

stared across the bay at a fairytale castle, dreamed of coffee shops with wooden tables, walked on quiet back streets, lit too many candles and drank a little too much wine,

worked in hotels, shops, offices, at my own kitchen table and on a balcony with sea view,

listened to birdsong and studied life from a distance,

listened to five hundred songs by a dark sea, with a candle at my elbow and a Dell in my lap,

partied with the girls and talked seriously to the boys,

looked for God and learned to love the loved ones,

craved unconditional love, unlimited freedom and a boho coat,

found a new gear, worried too much and treasured life,

lost a father and started a business.

burnt sugar equals joy

A crackling bonfire on a windblown beach. Chilly autumn sun, coarse grass under bare feet, a dog asleep nearby. Just me and a man I have no romantic feelings towards, a day of work, and a bonfire made only for the practical purpose of burning garden debris.

That's when we dig out an old packet of marshmallows from the back of a kitchen cupboard. They are sticky and too sweet and taste heavenly when toasted over an open fire. The wind chills my cheeks, I creep closer to the heat of burning spruce branches. We tell each other travel memories over the smell of burnt sugar.

A party is born.

my dream factory

 My dream factory and my peace of mind - in a tiny cottage between the forest and the sea. One little room with a narrow bed, a table, a wood-burning stove and an ancient radio.

I am happiest when there are family members occupying the other tiny cottages beside it. Right now there is an odd assortment of an old mother, a strong brother-in-law and an excited poodle.

September chill, darkness dispelled by candles, too much chocolate with not a care in the world. A little sand on the floor and stains on the window because a wild, happy summer was spent here. My father once built these walls, my mother knitted the Eighties-blue sweater I'm bundled up in. I chose the school-book illustrations decorating the walls. Everything whispers, "All will be well".

This is the safest place on earth, even when the September night is at its darkest. From here I launch myself into the world - to mystery islands, to streets filled with strangers, to dreams.

a sigh for the shaking

"A sigh for the shaking, another for the ache.
One for the time it’s taking, one for the love we will not make.
A sigh for the quiet snow, another for the lights.
One for all I hope you know, one for the sleepless nights."

(Tyler Knott Gregson)