with that terrifying sound, an insight

So, this week I have been subtitling a movie from the 1940s, taught myself to knit, finished a project I began twenty years ago (cross-stitching; I'm so not going there again!) and learned something new about myself.

Not a bad week.

A physical therapist told me that he was going to "crack" my back. I was familiar with the concept, in theory, and it sounded scary. Despite my apprehension I leaned into his strong arms, took a breath and relaxed completely.

It surprised me, all of it. The terrifying sound my back made, the fact that it didn't hurt, and the fact that I leaned back to let him do it to me again. Most of all, the feeling of putting myself willingly into the hands of a stranger who could hurt me badly. (He didn't). I suddenly realised that, despite my cynicism, I have a natural capacity for putting trust in people. I never do it blindly - after assessing the risks, I quickly make the decision and act on it with very little hesitation.

It felt like a strength, a courage that I never realised I had. In a life of much weakness and fear, it felt like being handed a gift.

the yarn of equinox

Equinox is when the sun sets behind the power plant.

Equinox is when I decide to try something new. I read The Friday Night Knitting Club, buy needles and yarn on a whim and arm myself with YouTube knowledge on how to cast on.

There are days, even after such a winter of horrors, that I feel my strength and joy return - more genuine for being so harshly tested. The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but the Lord tests the heart. I'm sure there are still anxiety attacks on the horizon but I can face them and live. So I go out and buy yarn.

Equinox is when hope returns. Earthy green, hearty and healthy like my yarn. Welcome home.

hungry and fearless

"may my mind stroll about
hungry and fearless
and thirsty and supple"

(e.e. cummings)

things to do. maybe

* get a dog
* register on a dating site again
* figure out the bluetooth system in my car
* buy skis
* get that boring bank and insurance thing done
* get a bicycle
* go to my favourite pub with a friend who likes beer
* get my ailing shoulder sorted out
* start playing the piano again
* brush up my French
* get better at living
* find the love of my life

skidding for peace

Some days all you need is to drive your skidding car through thick snow in a picturesque neighboorhood, just because you like looking at cute houses in snow-covered gardens, while listening to an audiobook about girl-power and chocolate. There is peace in that.

Don't stop, because you'll get stuck. And don't run over the hare taking a nap in the middle of the deserted street.

pizza and raspberry truffle day

Pizza and raspberry truffle chocolate, whiskey and a candle. It's that kind of day.

It's also whirling snow and raindrops on the windows, a novel about birds and lies, the smell of fresh laundry, white-grey daylight. Fear and shame. The hateful drilling of renovation works downstairs and the neighbour's Brazilian child screaming. The blessed quiet when the afternoon wears on and a little bit of hope.

It's the five hundred songs of my life, zumba class and ending the day on a pill and a prayer.

things dangerous to come to

“To see things thousands of miles away, things hidden behind walls and within rooms, things dangerous to come to, to draw closer, to see and be amazed.”

(unknown)

my bones are too whole for my heart

A bird is watching me like a hawk from the linden tree. I think it is an actual hawk.

Meanwhile, the weather does that in-between thing with snow, rain, slush, ice and overall greyness. They say the hospital is swamped with people who have slipped on wet ice and broken bones, and people suffering from the winter vomiting bug. I walk down slippery sidewalks with caution, feel the tug of spring in my soul and think of the doctor I'm in love with, the one who pronounced me healthy and strong, the one who probably hasn't thought of me since. He is somewhere out there examining fractures, prescribing x-rays and pain killers, handing out soothing smiles.

I don't know where to find him, not even after haunting hospital corridors, cafeterias and parking lots like a madwoman. I may need to try breaking a bone.

the trilingual town that has no zoo

In the days of my great anxiety, when the mere thought of travelling makes me shiver, I have learned to love my town.

Here are warm cafés smelling of butter and sugar, here is every fifth person a student and everyone is remarkable, here is a hospital where handsome doctors take care of anxious people.

Here is wine and innumerable distractions and a vast library. Ice vistas stretching towards a distant horizon, parks where sparrows chitter. Back streets smelling of garlic and melted cheese. People chasing dogs chasing hares. Admirable people distributing lentil soups to alcoholics. Streets named Rauhankatu and Stora Långgatan.

Here, bosses treat you to pizza from the Eighties and someone gives you cake left over from a secret order meeting. You feel at home in a small gym hidden away in an international hotel. Everything is bilingual or trilingual. Here are back alleys where boats are stored in winter, cannons and second-hand shops. Wood smoke on the wind. Wind turbine blades stopping traffic. Friends and sisters who want to have lunch with you. Here nobody wears the same, green winter coat as you do.

The only thing missing is a zoo.