just the essentials, please

I crave velvety loose-fit trousers, cocktails, beachvolley weather, adventure and love.

barefoot in my dreamscape

"If you see a rock, tell me on which side."
"What do I say about a rock that is right underneath the boat?"
"What? You had one job!"

I'm in a tiny boat, singing "Row row row your boat" but the others say it's too cheerful: "Do the one from Titanic!"

On a desert island we have a picnic on the smooth rocks - coffee, crisps, "sugar pig" pastries. I could sit there forever, staring out at the summer sea. The heat, the smell of sun-warmed stone and pine trees. The wilderness. The cool, pure water where I immerse myself. Drops of salty water on tanned skin. My dreams, stretching out to the horizon and beyond. Everything is possible, everything is good.

I didn't bring any shoes on this trip. A barefoot life is part of my dreams.

when we were penpals

In ancient times, when there was such a thing as penpals, I had these:

* Fethanegest, an Ethiopian boy who wanted to study biology to become a doctor and who sent me a postcard depicting a Coptic saint coming back from a trip to hell.
* Sameer, a Druze boy who lived in a village in the Golan Heights, built his own house with his father as his bank and was excited about his cool car.
* Vania, a German church-going girl who became a friend.
* A Moroccan guy who just couldn't take a hint.
* An assortment of boring teenage airheads just like me.

Bonus pick from my correspondence box: My grandmother's postcard from a trip to Sweden where she got to meet "the Lapland doctor". Probably the only postcard she ever sent.

stuff I found along the road

Beachvolley with friends on a hot summer day. Evenings over a pint in a dark pub. Fixing my computer. Sunday brunch with cocktails. Hotels. Writing. Music and dance floors. Boho clothes. Being in a completely foreign environment.

These are things that make me feel good. Because they are completely my own, not inherited from family.

business and forest fires - so Swedish

I have breakfast, sandwich and yogurt, at Sweden's largest airport while I text with a friend I'm very upset with.

It's barely seven o'clock in the morning and too early for this sort of thing. But the energy of the large airport is inspiring. I watch the 7-Eleven staff restock shelves and the security guards mutter to each other. Swedes are different from Finns. They have a directness in looking at and approaching people.

I've always been jealous of people who get to live in Sweden. I have a very romantic view of the country. To me, Sweden is idyllic country roads lined with blooming fields and red cottages. It has lakes, horses, cute cafés around every corner. It has friendly people. It has an ancient history of kings and castles. It has traditions that still echo that ancient history. It has style. And my own language is spoken everywhere, unlike the country I live in.

After just a day in Sweden, I'm seeing my life differently.

Not just because I have been in Sweden on a whirlwind visit. I have also lunched in the botanical garden in Linnaeus' own city, attended a business meeting and barely escaped a forest fire. All of these experiences seem very Swedish.

forget about ships and skirts

The queen of denim is dreaming in 98 percent cotton, 2 percent elastane and waiting for shipping approval.

It is Friday afternoon in summer. The blinds are down, the office is empty. The overhead lights keep switching themselves off, not detecting any motion.

A courier should bring me a denim skirt but he seems to be lost in Helsinki. A man should love me but he seems to be lost in space.

I should go home and forget about ships and skirts.

happy among mosquitoes

Alone between the sea and the forest.

Alone, that is, except for the Canada geese I chase away from the beach, the seagull babies I'm trying not to chase away, a rare bird I'm trying to identify, and too many mosquitoes.

There is deep silence here in the middle of nowhere. But not a complete silence. There are the sounds of the sea, the birds, the rain on the roof. There are also faraway sounds of other people further down the coast, and the hum of my laptop. Maybe the silence is inside me.

I have a bad back and a cynical mind. I am less flexible than before, in body and spirit. But I may be happier.