leggy

On a sunset beach you can take caricature pictures and suddenly you have the long legs many women want.

I always had them but did not always want them. Silly.

Alors, on danse.

putting up the sign

This world is out of order. Please use alternative facilities.

the duck-laugh evening

Recipe for a good evening:

Eat chicken & blue cheese pie with your best friend.
Add a few glasses of red wine.
Watch Pretty Woman for old times' sake and for the sake of that quote that you couldn't quite remember ("A name, a name, the pressure of a name... Cinde-fucking-rella!").
Ask "Do I have to prostitute myself to find a prince?"
Ask "Why are so many of the great chick flicks Cinderella-stories and why can't even a cynic resist them?"
Go to a "Night at the Museum"-event and get frightened half to death by a bunch of wooden ducks in a dark room who suddenly start laughing at you.
Walk in the balmy May night with your friend and laugh until you cry.

a poet's homeland

That stream which could be the real Fountain of Eternal Youth. That mountainside half in ominous shadow, half in enchanting sunlight. Those crooked trees where trolls may be hiding. That wild, hidden lake with secrets lurking in its depths. Those magnificent ruins of a thousand years. That enigmatic wishing-well that bends space.

I look through my pictures from my last visit to the enchanted valley and realise that I take the same pictures every time I go there.

I am always faintly surprised that the pictures do not come out blank, or all dark, or with unidentifiable smudges - the way pictures look when people try to photograph supernatural things. Apparently the valley does exist outside my own imagination.

That forceful gravity it exerts on my soul is very, very real. The mysterious black hole of my life.

how to learn a language and link to Hubble

Today's little challenge for bored shop assistants:

* Find a mobile phone (one of the more advanced and complicated ones) that someone has left behind by mistake in the second-hand shop where you work (in the bargain bin).

* Draw on your compassion and human decency and decide that you want to try to return the phone to its owner.

* Realise that the phone's language setting, hence all the menus and functions, is Arabic.

* First of all, try to unlock the keypad.

* Mess around with all the buttons for a while.

* Press the cancel button to turn off the camera function that you involuntarily activated while doing the above.

* Admire the picture that you involuntarily took of your navel.

* Press the cancel button a few times to turn off all the other functions (web browser, MP3 player, picture gallery, Tetris, universal translator, intergalactic communicator, direct link to Hubble telescope) that you involuntarily activated while doing the above.

* Try to figure out what "Contacts/Phone Book" may look like in Arabic script.

* Try to decide which one of the little squiggles looks like it may be the phone number to next of kin (what is "Mum" in Arabic?).

* Press green to call a random number.

* Press red to end the call when someone says some very angry words in Arabic at the other end.

* Admire the live feed from the Hubble telescope for a while while you ponder what to do next (discover an unknown galaxy while you are at it).

* Press green to answer a call from a caller identified by more squiggles.

* Press red to hastily end the call after being informed by the unknown caller that you will not get away with this and that the CIA and Interpol and NASA are on the case and will be knocking down your door any minute now.

* Listen to some soothing Arabic music for a while on the phone's MP3 to calm your nerves.

* Activate the universal translator function (accidentally) and call the number marked "Mum".

* Return the phone to its owner after being promised all the Prophet's blessings and a lifetime's supply of halva cakes (or something to that effect, but you are not sure the universal translator actually works as well as it seems to do in Star Trek).

* Inform NASA that you want the galaxy you discovered named after you.

This almost happened to me today.

how to manipulate me

The highest art form: the latest music with cutting-edge hipness, combined with original, poetic and unexpected lyrics.

Use this formula and you have me at your mercy.

where old revolutionaries come to die

Guevara is not dead. He is hiding out on the top floor of a run-down apartment building in Vaasa, Finland. His name is on the door so maybe he secretly wishes that somebody will come and look him up.

Maybe I will ring the doorbell tomorrow. I would like to know if he still wears that beret with the little red star. I always liked the star.

my dictionary

My diary contains a list of words I like:

dance storm enigma snow wine
laughter spark coffee world joy
spirit saga WOLF strength Dixieland
stranger forest God fire
whiskey music castle sea

mountain kitchen wisdom
bookshop SPICE irony ice
piano labyrinth father library
vagabond harbour cello adventure ink
soulmate Vienna peace woman

silk melody beauty
guardian dusk wonder star whisper chronicle
poet moon smoke inn midsummer echo-maker
theatre pulsar voyager monastery
thousand church midnight tale hunter

kiss life exuberance garden
wildness silver diesel fisherman
mercury strawberry dizzy Cambridge
ocean wool Orion honeysuckle
time resonance embers city

monsoon Isfahan cheese mosaic
lullaby lover rooftop fiddle
bard vortex hike twilight road trilogy
infinity eternity Oklahoma serenity
sage CIRCUS university

chocolate academy seven

lemonade olive punt hazelnut Celt
autumn tea vanilla Milky Way
journal Cumberland oak
Kahlua buttercup gypsy home end.

And tea tree oil and the name of every spice. And those specialized names of colours, like ochre, cerulean, sienna.

I should write a novel and use all of these words in it. Can't wait to read it myself.

unexpected view from a car window

I sat in the back seat of a car travelling north and could easily imagine everything I saw from the perspective of a foreigner from central Europe or North America.

Small towns, even smaller towns - nondescript, unassuming, roadsigns in two incomprehensible languagues. Endless forests, tiny fields, flat landscape, cute little villages with houses far apart.

Myself: one who has travelled the world but now is content with her job in a small shop, speaks both of the incomprehensible languages, lives, works, gets around on a bicycle, is one of them.

The foreigner him/herself: when homesickness and loneliness weigh heavily on the mind, the joy of seeing something familiar. A sign in English, the yellow M of a MacDonald's, another tourist like yourself, a familiar type of tree - but these things are so far apart. Or something that has been put there for the benefit of you as a stranger (a welcoming) - something written in English, an international traffic symbol, a hotel, a tourist site.

These quiet people who lack grand gestures and dramatic manners, who usually turn out to speak at least some English but who are careful and reserved. This country, so far away, so sparsely populated, often so cold.

I saw all this, as if from a great distance, through the grimy car window.

another link in my anchor chain

I met him in a lift, a middle-aged, fairly ordinary man with thinning hair.

Many, many years ago, when I was a shy teenager with an innocent mind and dreams that stretched towards all horizons, he was a youth group leader and trying to channel the exuberant energy of a large group of youngsters. I was one of the quiet ones in this group, the wide-eyed observer who blushed whenever someone spoke to me.

The youth leader wasn't really the central person of this group - he sort of faded by comparison to some of the older teenagers who enchanted everyone with their joy of life and inspiring energy. But when I geared up to go out in the big, wide world - scared to death - and applied to a school abroad, he was the one who helped me get going.

I have hardly given him a thought during the many years since then, busy exploring the wonders of the world. Until I came back to my home town and we happened to get into the same lift. Suddenly, I felt like that tongue-tied teenager again, not sure if he recognised me. But he smiled at me and asked me what I had been doing for the last ten years.

I have been lost so many times, and lonely. Never a very important or memorable person. But every now and then one of these people from my past show up and smile at me to prove that I am still anchored to the bedrock.

the dregs of a blogger's mind

Does every blogger have those blog entries that (thankfully) never made it past the draft stage?

Going through my blog I found quite a few never-published entries, most of them no more than a couple of sentences long. Some of them end in the middle of a cryptic phrase - I seem to have an incredibly short attention/inspiration span. For the benefit of my heirs I hereby publish them anyway. Or at least excerpts of them (cropped out of context they suddenly seem much more interesting). But some of them are actually the whole thing...

"Fell in love with that cute guy from CSI:NY and then I found him IRL."

"BOHEMIAN CHIC!"

"The devil himself is probably on FaceBook."

"I scrubbed a 20-foot sailboat with a toothbrush..."

"...what soul-choking acceptance..."

"God sits down next to me."

"Lurking darkness all around, sore throat, breakfast on karjalanpiirakka."

"Twice in my life I have run away."

"Autumn's first frost and a sales rep arrives at the Little Shop of Harmony in his big blue bus full of books just for me."

"'How can I help you? What can I do to make your day better?'"

"...a poem must have meter, fancy sequencing and chime..."

"The city of Brussels also had a pair of dangly earrings."

"Joseph (in Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat) meets his father... Runs to him but stops just short. Instead of falling into his waiting arms, just stands there looking him in the eye."

"My cane and I had lunch with Xena the Warrior Princess. She had got an axe and a chain-saw for her birthday."

"He tends to suddenly die on me."

"Someone talked to me as if I were stupid today. The computer gave me a meaningless chaos of numbers where..."

"...the shadows in the deserted restaurant are deep and I turn up MTV to drown out all the little noises (in my head?) that make me nervous..."

"My old teacher of history stood beneath the Monument of Liberty, straight-backed and proud. He spoke of legendary General Mannerheim..."

"The beauty of blue... at dusk, the twilight hour that I love best. Forgiveness and comfort instead of the harsh demands of dawn."

"I met him in a lift, a middle-aged, fairly ordinary man with thinning hair."

my not-meant-to-be

Excerpt from the Mostly Secret Diary of a Foolish Girl:

He comes looking for me.

We idle for hours, sharing food and hugs, dreams and silly jokes, almost-forgotten memories. Nobody knows me like he does. Nobody else remembers that I like salmon, once had a dog that used to bite, dream of learning how to handle a pistol. He can tell me stories about my favourite school teacher from more than a decade ago. He listens to my crazy stories about my ex-boss that he's never met. He asks me about the things that matter to me. He laughs at my jokes. He doesn't only know my past, he understands it.

My soulmate. But every time, we go our separate ways. My wayward soul stubbornly demands solitude.

me and the wildlife

They shot a bear not far from here recently as he was heading into town and upsetting the morning commuters. A wolf has been sighted in the woods across the bay - if he had a mind to, he could stroll across the ice towards me. The regional newspaper ran a story about a hare who fought three crows and apparently killed at least one of them. Of course they all got their 30 seconds of fame on YouTube (found here and here).

I live in a town of about 60,000 people and apparently not a few wild things.

the music makers and dreamers of dreams

Finches, starlings, thrushes, sparrows, swans and, above all, cranes...

Their music soothes me when the sun of spring, that slavedriver, makes other Finns swoon with happiness.

half-moon day and everything by halves

In the Little Shop of Harmony - grey skies and few customers. All I have sold so far is a book, plus a few trinkets from the second-hand basement. My work morale and morals are scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Shopping list for after work: Wine. Cheese. Muesli. Eggs (from freeranging chickens). Lots of fruit. Ingredients for a salad. Maybe some chicken. Chocolate (not as much as I would like). And something cheap and dramatic and gorgeous to wear.

Then home to watch CSI:NY and dream of America.

girl, woman

Met a young girl and saw myself eons ago. That sparkle in innocent eyes, the joy, the dreams of wonderful adventures.

And later, staring into the mirror in the ladies' room, saw myself today. That weary look, the cynicism, the fear of a life hopelessly spinning away towards a scarier horizon. But also, a little bit of wisdom and a diamond core. The knowledge that I have seen so much and not yet perished. The comfort in knowing even broken dreams can be survived.

Sometimes I wish I was a teenager, with all the giggles and glossy hair and secrets between friends. But I took another look at the girl and then went on to do what a grown-up woman is meant to do. Gave her the help she needed just then; an opportunity, encouragement, a vote of confidence, a little bit of calm and wisdom.

We help each other grow.

that night of English heartbreak

Woodstock Night

Just knocked over a glass of sparkly white

My heart-breaking party all by myself

Smell of food in the Window Sill Room

Pool of light from lonely lamp

Chill of English spring night

I’m in the world and feeling the pull of home, real life, somewhere far down there

Tonight I’m crashing towards the earth

Crying on my knees, screaming for home

You who led me here, where are you now?

I followed you with a trembling heart, eager and proud

Life among strangers I thought I could handle but tonight

The weight of an empty universe all resting in the Window Sill Room

on Chaos Road

Drinking: red wine

Reading: Special Topics in Calamity Physics (M.Pessl)

Mood: restless

DVD stopped in the middle: Andromeda (Season 4 episode 2: Pieces of Eight)

On mind: family and crisis

Day: work, hospital visit, cell group

Needs: direction, a car, a dog, money and a wireless modem

Phrase of the day: The All Forces Nullification Point (from Andromeda)

Cell functioning: O led discussion on Rebecca from Genesis and tried to teach us to listen to God, J and C said little, I voiced mainly doubts

Was invited to: go sledding with church youth, declined

Life heading towards: chaos

the lesson of the thousand-year valley

My magic place, what is your secret?
What has your wisdom taught me?

That life is hard and words have knives
But the laughter of friends is healing
That the deepest lake with the coldest water
Sends waves of peace to its shores

That a hidden valley has its very own magic
Teasing and teaching a lesson
What I think is a banshee is sometimes a deer
And a drunk is the fountain of knowledge

That people fight and people give
That a chef with no ladle is timid
That it's hard to love, that a dance sets me free
And a whiskey is best mixed with tales

That cosmos is here and I'm in the middle
It's whirling around me, a storm and a dance
The lives of people, their darkest hour
When your riddle is weaved into mine

That beautiful mysteries tiptoe close
If I listen to souls that are weaker
That music flows the fairest from those
Who are two steps away from destruction

That all I need for an evening of joy
Is a meal, and wine, and a friend
That a church can sleep for a thousand years
And still bring strength to my spirit

That all things are near in Ireland
God, glamour, a joke
The sea, a castle, a blazing fire
A Spaniard who laughs on the bus

That stars of Hollywood smile at you
But a farmer may steal your heart
That small, small lights can warm your room
In the rage of a mountain storm

That I long to go, and come back again
To my attic above the bar
That I can do much more than I think
When my heart is strong, and my spirit

We are fighting a battle and running a race
While sparks are flying around us
As we share a drink in the midnight hour
After saving the world that is ours

an American with good sense

"Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last,
In things best known to you finding the best or as good as the best,
In folks nearest to you finding also the sweetest and strongest and lovingest,
Happiness not in another place, but this place ... not for another hour, but this hour"

(Walt Whitman)

purple: the colour to wear in a blizzard

Blizzard, snowdrifts on city streets and a limit to how much you can endure. Snow-clearing services nowhere in sight and probably won't be until after the storm. No parking spaces. Risk your life as weeks of ice falls off roofs onto the sidewalks.

Shopping with friend:
handicraft shop where the male owner is a married closet gay and the female one (his wife?) looks very butch and has the shadow of a beard;
a bookshop where the window broke when a gale threw the door open;
perfume testing (Calvin Klein and Diesel);
vanilla latte and brownie with "what do you regret in life?" and "did you know one of your FaceBook friends has a famous friend - no, I'm not telling you which one".

On me the season's powerful purple and my doubts faded with the softness of the velvet.

I wish these rosaries away

At this Irish wishing well, said to have been discovered by Oscar Wilde but probably ancient, is where my soul always take a slightly pagan turn. Are there faeries over there in the mist and why do I feel intoxicated?

Sadly, the wishing tree has been vandalised. The ribbons and trinkets tied to it by hundreds of wishful people have been removed and tacky plastic rosaries stuck to it instead. That is just wrong.

My wish: May this place always be home and may I keep returning.

Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground
where an old man of Aran goes around and around...

at Peace of Mind Beach, Ireland

I picked a red and white stone on an Irish beach. The wind was wintry but mild to skin that is used to northern climes. The gentle softness of the air felt like home.

Acrid and wonderful smell of turf fire. The knowledge that after our walk, there would be a cup of hot tea. Soothing voice of the sea in deep winter. A quiet rain that does no harm.

A lost dog ran past us while we discussed deep secrets only shared by friends. Muscled men with surfing boards braved the cold water and someone was riding a white horse where the sea met the sand. The sun glinted between clouds in a reddish sunset.

"Can we stop at Tesco's on the way home?"
"Yes, I want to get some Cadbury's Crème Eggs. And white chocolate chip cookies. All the good stuff... Let's do a TV dinner tonight and get a bottle of wine!"

And literally, not a care in the world.

2009: swiss trains, UN peacekeepers and all the rest, part 4

Being one year wiser, I also now know: * Only a truly idealistic heart can produce real cynicism. * My body remembers the sound of the door to my primary school classroom even though my mind does not remember what I learned there. * Beauty and a gourmet meal can be found in a fast food joint with dirty tables and strip lighting when your dinner companion is a good man. * A hug from a UN peacekeeper, tales from Afghanistan and a game of pool in a pub is an excellent way to spend an evening. * I may have been born to learn the English language. * I may have been born to encourage the discouraged. * Changing a tyre is easy but you should not handle methylated spirits if you know nothing about car engines. * It is necessary to take sick leave once every ten years. * Beer is drinkable. * Driving through the night is not as romantic as it sounds, even if your destination is Sweden. But when the result is a van-load of books, it is almost worth it. * I doubt that I am loved. * I may have been born to discuss science fiction and God over a drink in an Irish pub. * Translating leadership material can save someone's life and all the best things in life are free, including my voluntary work. * A wheat heater pillow can repel the swine flu. * I may have been born to quietly observe the madness of the world with irony and delight. * Driving aimlessly through the countryside is just as romantic as it sounds, even if you come across an ancient execution site. * A tiny Finnish river can look just like the Loire if you have an open mind. * My dream tree is still growing. * Two weeks before the winter solstice you can stand between the bright midday sun and the pale full moon. * I may have been born to multi-task. * There is such a thing as "too much snow" when you have a car. * There is such a thing as 24/7 contact lenses. * There is such a thing as "too much TV". * I am one of the few people in Finland who can sing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". * I can drop my Nokia phone in a snow drift and have it returned to me 4 hours later (in full working condition) by a kind stranger. * 2009 was supposed to bring me dreams for life. I started to dream at night - of fascinating, strange landscapes.

2009: swiss trains, google earth and all the rest, part 3

My, it was a long year. I also learned: * When you are in a boat and fear drowning - feel the wood beneath your bare feet, smell the fresh tar and the salty sea, see a tiny baby blink towards the sun, anticipate the taste of grilled whitefish, and suddenly it does not matter if this will be your last day on earth. * I live more intensely when I feel weak. * French rock opera sounds best in a little cottage in the woods. "Je voudrais seulement m'en aller cultiver mes tomates au soleil." * Friendship is sweetest when you watch the midnight sun together with hair wet after a swim in the sea and heart warmed by a bottle of red. * Baby hares are unafraid, cranes are echo-makers and it must be tough to be an eagle because all the other birds hate you. * Jurassic Park is a tiny island just off the Finnish coast. The dinosaurs stayed in hiding during my visit though. * Sailboat races are difficult to watch when your 9-year-old niece is running around chasing a boy and your elderly mother just spotted her high-school sweetheart in the crowd. * I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken, but this summer I did walk through fields of barley. * Snakes and poodles are attracted to one another. * I like naïve art and bright colours and if I could paint I would paint Time and Space. * Selling books make your knees hurt. * Class reunions are scary, some monsters never grow up, some monsters were never monsters at all, I was never defeated and there is true Goodness in the world. * Sleep is sweetest under the stars. * Spiders do not like it when you paint their wall. Neither do wasps. * Hospitals are not so depressing if you wear red leather. * Never get involved in the sale of a chihuahua. Especially if the dog is not yours. * RyanAir tries to ruin your life but God literally knows why so everything turns out for the best. * Best thing about work: ordering music and making people happy. Worst thing: taking it personally when John Lennon in orange wig and tartan beret lies to you. * You should not stand with your mouth open when Google Earth (Street View) takes your picture. * Environmental activists with questionable ethics can express themselves in English with my help. * Our local theatre only do plays that involve loads of suffering. * If you go to two parties and eat too much banoffee pie before bed you will dream about a blind date with Jose Manuel Barroso. * Happiness is travelling 500 miles in one day with God-fearing people.

2009: swiss trains, earthquakes and all the rest, part 2

Some more acquired wisdom courtesy of year 2009:

* Easter bonfires inspire people to matchmaking.
* Having the authority to delegate means more work for yourself.
* Springtime should be enjoyed with lots of mud, snow melting in the sun, a good friend and an abandoned Russian military base in the middle of the woods. Hot chocolate to round it all off.
* I must make my bed in the mornings to be ready for life. And dress dramatically.
* Surprise birthday parties entail googling ginger, Kvimo and the best ways to crucify a scorpion.
* One cannot die from self-disgust. Unfortunately.
* Barbecue on the beach is lovely even when you are freezing your butt off.
* The ancient Finnish ritual of the huge May Day market in the city, with traditional makkara and muikkuja, should be celebrated with Russian, Lithuanian and Kenyan friends and lots of youthful exuberance. You may end up feasting on Vietnamese spring rolls and wondering whether it is really a lion tooth that your Kenyan friend has pierced her earlobe with.
* Saturday night at the emergency room means friends with swine flu fear, bleeding drunks, a security guard who would not scare a four-year-old, icehockey on TV, reading Town & Country.
* Earthquakes do happen even in Finland. My first, of 3.4 on the Richter scale, was bone-jarring but hardly frightening and I blamed it on mystical experiments in the prison dungeons next door.
* I am the bowling champion. Of my ladies' volleyball team. But still.
* I have strange friends. They get tied up in the trunk of cars, walk through Middle East deserts and play golf in the Himalayas.
* Barbecue on a balcony overlooking a garden is lovely even though Pakistani friends are happily ignoring Finnish fire safety regulations.
* Boat trips to deserted islands involve excited kids, big boulders, ominous great cormorants, picnics with coffee and biscuits, rain.
* "Listen to the wind words, the Spirit blowing through the churches." (The Message Bible)
* Star Trek films should be watched in the company of two unknown Dutch boys.
* Smile less, laugh more.
* I am more scared of bears and elks now than when I was a kid.
* My city (population 57 000) now has its first street beggar. The local paper reported it.
* My flat once belonged to a real ship's captain.
* A family holiday on a Swedish island is like this: windmills, poppies, kids and dogs, stone walls, adorable things, lighthouses to be climbed, childhood traumas resurfacing, birds of prey, iron age forts, picnics in cow fields with views, seaweed, fossils, basketball, ex tempore comedy, food or coffee that can cure almost anything, George MacDonald's Phantastes.

2009: swiss trains, dying stars and all the rest

Goodbye 2009. Here is what I learned from you: * A serious chocolate tasting party takes a LOT of time but not necessarily a lot of chocolate. * I am competent enough to discuss Obama, cricket and Swiss trains with a pastor from The Co-operative Republic of Guyana. * Stars can stop shining as you are watching. * Some broken computers can be fixed by being plugged in. Others require tormented phone calls to strange men speaking strange languages. * Metal wires are not necessary even in my mouth after all. * Selling books to village libraries is hard work because the libraries do not have lifts and are always located on the second floor. * FaceBook may be the greatest invention of the 21st century. If I can manage to find the long-lost love of my life and not just every other person I ever met. * TV-series on DVD may be the second greatest invention of the 21st century. If I can manage to drag myself away to do an objective assessment. * I have some very strange friends who look for lions, create magical labyrinths and move to Havana. * All the best things in life are free. Like my unpaid labour when I do volunteer work. * My hair is curly. I never knew that before. * The best dreams I ever had are the ones in which I'm travelling. Or being chased through dark, winding corridors. * My body is aging. My stomach does not like onions and my right knee does not like me. * Old scarred fighters from London's East End sometimes end up growing roses for Sunday school children. * The wind is very cold on a frozen sea. * Birdsong makes me happy. Volleyball makes me frustrated. Wine makes me happy or bored. Coffee makes me happy, every day, which is in itself a miracle - I should have more such addictions. * St. Patrick's Day can also be celebrated with brambrack, mother, my old maths teacher and only one pint of cider. * Heavy metal music can occasionally be enjoyable, but the mood must be exactly right. * FaceBook must be the worst invention of the 21st century. Sometimes I want to write in my status update: "I don't give a shit what all of u have on ur mind & why do some of u think the rest of us want ur update 10 times a day to know u have a headache and a bellyache and a heartache & are correcting essays and writing essays & were given a song by Jesus & want to save the world & shaka bam!" * My stovetop is the best place to sit, to watch the sea and contemplate life. * "Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is more people who have come alive." (Gil Bailie)

end it with a dash

I sit on a wealth of knowledge - the Norstedts Swedish-English Dictionary - and have a glass of red wine. A handcrafted candle - Christmas present from my niece - is spreading (probably) toxic paint fumes in the room. I have Christmas flowers - hyacinths and hippeastrums. I have contributed to Wikipedia today - only with knowledge. I wish I had the answer to a mystery and was the only one on earth to know - I would write it in my diary just in case I was hit by a snow plough on my way home from work. I would end the entry with a dash like this - so that people would think I had something else to say but it is now lost forever -

here's everything I know about winter

Winter -

twinkling lights, frozen fingers scraping ice off a windscreen, fake fur, darkness and twilight and the wonderful surprise of an occasional sunny day, sleepless nights and drowsy days, hot and spicy tea, the dread of Christmas, cold air, darkness, darkness and more darkness - and then, at last: snow!

sick day note

While on my lonely couch I lie,
I seldom feel myself alone,
For fancy fills my dreaming eye
With scenes and pleasures of its own.
(Anna Brontë)

look at your man, Annie

Many a sad life story is to be heard among the customers at the Little Shop of Harmony. Many a sigh have I sent up to God as I see refugees struggling to make a life for themselves, alcoholics struggling to find something to live for. And above all, as I see the aching loneliness of those not loved by anyone.

And then I go back to my own life and whine over the lack of a decent cup of coffee and the cost of hair dye.

Today, an old man wandered in to buy a present to bring to some celebration he obviously had been invited to. He asked for directions to the gift book shelf but politely declined offers of help to choose, as if not wanting to trouble anyone. After looking around a bit at random, he chose the first suitable and not too expensive book he found. I took his money and idly reflected over the fact that such an independent man still could seem so lost in the world. But after all, lone male shoppers tend to seem out of place in our small shop - it's usually the women who buy gifts.

As if in explanation, he suddenly remarked as I handed him his change: "My wife, Annie, she used to buy the presents. But she is gone now."

I mumbled something inane and then he left. But despite all the sad stories I have heard, this one gave me a sharp stab of pain on the inside. In fact, I cried. Over the loneliness, the helpless despair, and the incredible courage of people who make their lives go on even though the bottom of their world has fallen out.

I hope Annie in her heaven is smiling down at him through tears of pride and love.

more tips from the coach

Seize life! Eat bread with gusto,
Drink wine with a robust heart.
Oh yes—God takes pleasure in your pleasure!
Dress festively every morning.
Don't skimp on colors and scarves.
Relish life with the spouse you love
Each and every day of your precarious life.
Each day is God's gift. It's all you get in exchange
For the hard work of staying alive.
Make the most of each one!
Whatever turns up, grab it and do it. And heartily!

from Ecclesiastes 9, The Message Bible

seven questions and one answer

Coffee, bleak sunshine, a favourite book (The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell), online praise music. Walking around the flat, sighing in front of the computer, translating animal rights activists and steering documents of vocational education. Am I good enough? Will I ever be happier than I am now? What will I have for a late lunch and why is cooking so boring? What is the meaning of life? How long is the season of unrequited love? What would you name a self-help group for people who talk too much?

Answer to the last question: On and On Anon.

girl talk

My 9-year old niece, already an expert on romantic relationships (recently broke up with a boyfriend as she felt he was not committed enough), sneers at me when I suggest I too might know a thing or two about men. "Really?" she says sceptically and proceeds to test me:

Niece: So, what do all men have that women don't, in the front?
Me: Eh... a... (feebly trying to avoid the obvious answer and wildly think of another possible one) ... an adam's apple!
Niece (in triumph): So you don't know!
Me (defensively): It's the correct answer!
Niece (in a patronizing voice): No. The correct answer is: Chest hair!

not so hopeless

Dreamed that I had a dream. Woke up and felt hope - the hope to acquire a dream again. It's a start.

Yesterday I sat on a beach as darkness slowly fell. Smoked a cigarette (I'm cutting down on my one-a-year habit), listened to the quiet of the autumn evening and tried to think, and believe: I am loved.

not so hopeful

The elk hunt has started and a man I admire is going to raise his rifle. I should be resting but is torn between work and moral obligations and almost in tears. I am proud of my skills and worried about my knees. I face the winter of my discontent.

my life in a Dalí painting

On the steps of the gazebo I sat crying and the actor had to go somewhere else to rehearse his monologue. I read poems to the blind man and whispered to his guide dog. With aching knees I bought three odd-shaped lightbulbs.

Drifting again and my life seems too surreal to me. I'm taking out my cigarrettes; I still have a packet from last year.

what is the distance between two friendships?

Your view of friendship is too mechanical if you call your nine-months-pregnant friend and are surprised to hear that she has been missing your phone calls. You should not automatically put yourself at an emotional distance just because you are at a geographical one and fear that you will lose that friendship.

On the other hand, sometimes it is good to end a friendship, at least unofficially. Then it comes as a pleasant surprise when one's newly-wed friend explores the possibilities for an evening at the pool-table with you, or sends you a text message from Mongolia to tell you that he has found Orlando Bloom's Mongolian doppelgänger.

sulking and a smile

Rough winds do shake my balcony windows in September. I sulk. I do not need another winter right now!

In the shop, dry leaves blow in through the open door until the rain starts. A case of swine flu announces itself in a phone call. Still, happy expectancy in my smile whenever someone walks in...

turn left at the savannah

Travelling with family. A hot car, an excited little dog, kids asking when is the next icecream stop. A savannah littered with windmills, beautiful beaches, algae-smelly sea, jungle-like forests, poppies in fields, cute villages. Strong emotions. Drove me crazy. Drove me wild with joy too. I have visited yet another island... Öland, Sweden.

the decline and fall of a once-magnificent house

Found my old dollhouse and had a laugh. My niece and nephews have turned it into what appears to be a crack house. Wonder if the Extreme Makeover Home Edition team are up for a challenge?

the four elements in one picture

The wallpaper is garish in seventies' style and whispers "home". Cigarrette smoke stings my lungs and hisses "freedom". I lean back against a crowded book shelf that murmurs "wisdom". Under my fingers play the keys of the piano, singing "joy".

dinner for old enemies

Class reunion and the chance to see some much-hated people.

How strange to find that they are capable of a polite chat, but even more bizarre to note that I myself can act with self-confidence, even charm. Many years have mellowed my eyes and monsters have turned into human beings. Not likely to become friends but that is mostly due to the fact that we have little to talk about, not aversion.

And I thank the heavens for forgiveness. That I was able to make that choice years ago. If not, I would not have felt the freedom of chatting amiably and knowing that nothing they did has ever held me back. That I, in fact, have soared in a sky they can only dream of.

me and the seagull days

Seagulls screaming at each other. Wake me up too early. Blame myself, balcony door left open overnight but what else to do in summer? Plug my ears and fall asleep again whispering "summer".

Walk to work, tired. Empty streets, a few exceptions: cars on the road to the hospital; flower shop lady setting up her fragrant merchandize on the sidewalk display; lady with golden retriever meets lady with shetland sheepdog; insurance company staff hiding in their poorly lit rooms; a pair of swallows swooshing past my head, so close that I duck. The quiet of a small town a summer morning. Half of the town out of town, half the country out in the country, fishing and sunbathing and barbecuing at primitive or not so primitive summer cottages.

In the bookstore, people wandering in and out wearing skirts and shorts and short sleeves, commenting the heat, commenting summer showers, wondering when the heat will return. No stress. Suntanned faces. Smiles.

Walk home, tired feet. Stop for a takeaway pizza from Turkish place, wait with a tabloid before me, scan the headlines: hermit OAP starved to death, B-list actor slapped a fan, suspect financing of political party. Home, seagulls no longer screaming, draw the curtains against the garish sunlight.

Dream of weekend when I too head for the seaside where I will survive without electricity and running water and the internet. Just the simple cottage, the sea and the forest, the family and the birds and the sun and the gorgeous, lovely Finnish summer.

The sun will not set tonight either, or maybe just for a minute if he is tired.

the sinner, the saint and the scholar

A nice girl raised in a church pew.
A tough one in red leather swearing out loud and knocking back vodka.
A bookworm with a degree in literature.
A hotel worker not afraid of bar fights.
A shy one who hesitates to open her mouth.
A flirty one who kisses men without teeth and boys with pierced tongues and everyone in between.
A hopeless dreamer.
A jaded cynic.
A depressed loser.
A life-lover whose dreams have come true.

All of the above came together once ... and this woman here came into existence.

the hero of all the stories

Behind the counter in the bookshop. An elderly gentleman - straight back and clear eyes - hands me a book he has found. It's about the fire that destroyed our city in the 19th century. Before I even have time to say hello, he tells me an amusing anecdote about the same fire.

I giggle at the story - no doubt a true one, down to the last detail - too nervous to remember it afterwards but delighted beyond words. My hero, my ultimate authority on history, the best teacher I ever had, the one who turned boring historical facts into breathtaking stories about adventures, heroes, villains and epic emotions and who made bored teenagers gasp with fascination - he is standing here before me again after all these years, telling me another one of these stories. This one for me exclusively.

This history teacher was also the one who always scared us all out of our wits. So here I stand today, adult and independent, and quake in my boots at a mere look from those sharp eyes. With a desperate longing in me to impress, to connect.

But he responds patiently, graciously, to my nervous attempts at conversation. And suddenly, though I feel so inexplicably young I realise that I must have grown up. I am asking questions and telling stories of my own to this man whom I never dared to speak to before except in reply to questions. I smile, bravely. He smiles back. I may be quaking now but after he is gone I will stand proudly, firmly, on my own two feet. Because some people demand so much of you that you find yourself living up to it - despite your own fears.

God is a DJ

To dance until the world spins around you. To feel the music in your bones and nothing else. To wonder if you are losing your mind and love the feeling. To fly to the moon. To be completely drunk and high and drowned and shaken up by life. To have no tomorrow. To see the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower. To be pulled along with no control. To love. To know you are not who people expect. To meet God among the strobe lights and see him smile at you. To be the music and the motion. To be you.

the tarmac and the temple

The fragrance of the bird cherry blossoms, the first heat of summer, bikinis on the beach. I walk past with sandals and a book bag, drawn by the feeling of strange paths with tarmac heated by the sun. People ignoring me, birds screaming hello. Am I happy or desperate? Try to remember that people are generally nice. That there is kindness. Bare arms no longer chilled by spring winds, sweet whispers of exuberantly green birches. Tempted to buy icecream. I walk past a hotel - the place that showed me I am my own and make my own life. I hide in the peaceful woods - the sacred temple of my childhood. I lift my face to the breeze and look out over the sea - the horizon that tempted me with adventures beyond my wildest dreams.

Returned from my own, from the temple, from the horizon that I crossed more than once, I must now make my home on the wellknown shore once again. And still find the courage to awaken other dreams.

how long does limbo last?

Find myself trying to focus on Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark while wishing I were somewhere else entirely. Eating chocolates and thinking I shouldn't. Hoping and dreading friends will call.

A walk in the woods might set things into perspective. Even though I sometimes run into strange creatures.

vanity and vexation of spirit

Here is everything I know about my life today:

The milk in my coffee had turned. I have been in pain. I have done useful things that were useful only to me so do they count? I have decided to study French and to tell my friends when I feel bad. I hesitate between stepping out into reality and staying in to watch a DVD. The Jehova's Witnesses came by again and were really young and shy. Books do not tempt me today. I fell asleep to the sound of someone digging up my street. I am not good at this life thing. But I will keep doing it. I believe I will die at age 82 and go to heaven.

the night of two musics

Guided by candlelight I find my seat in a dark concert room and let my ears be caressed by the beautiful fragile voice of a female singer-songwriter. Her vulnerability and pain and careful hope floats in the air above me and if I were to laugh it would break.

Touched, I make my way home afterwards and yet there is a relief in leaving this intimate darkness and breathe the fresh nightly air. I can almost see the pain and hope of humankind. The streets are deserted and quiet but music of another kind reaches me from somewhere far away. It is irresistible...

I follow the sound to the International House. Its large windows are thrown open wide to let in the winter wind and spilling out in return is loud music of an oriental kind (I am guessing Turkish) with its distinctive dance across the half and quarter notes. It is shockingly different from the careful, precise music I have just heard. It is boisterous, jubilant, joyful - blaring into the quiet night with no respect for the House's decorous neighbours, and bouncing back as an echo against the sober Orthodox church building opposite. The House itself is almost shaking from many feet dancing on its wooden floorboards. People are hanging out the windows to catch a breath of fresh air before pressing back into the suffocating heat of the dancing crowd, shrieking with laughter. Children who should have been in bed long ago are playing outside without a care in the world.

I walk past twice - no, three times. Joy is swirling through the night and I am incapable of leaving.

this is not a poem because it doesn't rhyme

The ice is gone,
friends threw me a party,
new books are piling up,
spring is in the air and everywhere else.

I have learned a new way to write (this is not it),
I had a wonderful chèvre salad today,
I am learning the meaning of friendship.

A Czech woman called me on Skype,
my boss gave me time off,
soul is warming up,
dreams are getting intense.

Come here to me, desired and lovely things.

påsk must

Really must start updating this blog, read other blogs, be in and be out there. But first must wake up, stop bleeding, eat vitamins, set up goals, get a grip, drink more water, eat less sweets, do this do that, quit moping, feel loved.

soul and sea

Dreamed that the sea was free and dark and beautiful. Woke up and looked out the window and the sea was still bound in ice.

Not long now, hopefully. The ice is grey and wet and rotten, and melting away slowly. One good storm is all it takes and then I will see the waves roll in.

Then my soul will be free as well. Linked to the sea, I will defeat the ice of winter. There are forces at work that cannot be stopped.

not a good day for love

Day of ex's wedding. Was theoretically invited but knew I wasn't expected to go and didn't want to either. Drifted around in a shopping centre, lonely as a cloud. Ran into a could-have-been ex, shopping happily with his newly-wed wife.

Self-pity? Rage, more like. I'm sick and tired of everyone else's happily efter after. But most of all, I'm sick and tired of losing friends.

ice queen melting

The bay still under a cover of ice and snow, thick enough to ski on, but in my sheltered spot on a balcony I soak up the spring sun. It warms my cheeks for the first time since September. The Ice Queen is melting just a little, just a softening up of the outer shell while the birds are chattering in the bare lime tree. I lean back. Feelings frozen inside me for months overwhelm me.

may the force be with me

When I slam the volleyball down on the opposite side of the net and I really got it right this time and all my energy erupts in that single moment... I can hear a choir of angels sing. Peace and good will and God's favour.

in this very minute

News in the Sami language on TV, incomprehensible. Old pictures in my photo album, including one showing my smiling friend in front of a docked submarine at Pearl Harbor. I can remember the claustrophobic feeling inside it.

Me, the computer and a thick dictionary. A sudden urge to wear bracelets and I find two on my jewellery tree: a half-broken one with olive-green fake pearls and my most precious one in jasper and silver, made by an artist friend.

I live my life in broken moments like this.

what I give up for Lent: worrying

I need to: Learn more English, learn more French, learn more Finnish. Go over my notes from the course in self-defence. Love my friends better. Go see my parents more often. Write the dream. Get a dog. Stop worrying. Be loved. Eat less bread. Tell my neighbour what she needs to hear. Stop looking for attention. Grab attention. Love myself. Stop obsessing about myself. Eat more fruit. Go to the gym. Laugh. Go for longer walks. Be fascinated by the world. Stop to think. Laugh again. Experience the moment. Watch fewer DVDs. Play the piano and sing. Go to bed earlier. Feel less envy. Listen to more music. Dare to face my repressed dreams, if they are still there somewhere. Water the potted plants. Grin.

coffee and toffee and demons

Tired and lonely.

Beautiful winter, pristine snow, an important task that apparently only I could do, a new sofa, a father who cares, film "Australia" and a sudden urge to read The Songlines, friends that don't forget me, a thermos with coffee in the snow, God. Behold things to remember when despair strikes again as it always seems to do as the month of murder approaches.

Tomorrow I will go to the expensive coffee shop and have a large vanilla latte and a piece of toffee cake. Coffee and toffee, invaluable weapons in the battle against demons.

in a van through winter

Steering an impossible huge and heavy van across the plains of Western Finland, I try to shut out the chatter of my travelling companion and dream of Prince Charming.

Icy roads are okay as long as there is snow on the fields and forests to add a shimmer to an otherwise bleak landscape. I keep an eye out for elk and deer and try to decide on a radio station. The van is loaded with books but smells of apples and winter. My fingers are numb with cold and I turn up the heater a notch.

Sleepy villages and towns pass by with their wooden cottages and ugly '60s blocks. An occasional tractor blocks the road. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, people have chosen to live, even here there are schoolyards with laughing children. Imagine.

There will be no sun today either, and darkness is falling as we head home in the late afternoon. I slow down and turn on the full headlights. My shoulders are aching from the driving and from carrying heavy book cases in the cold but I am served coffee out of a thermos and life seems suddenly quite allright. I am driving through winter and I can smell the sleeping fields and the resin of the woods, and oh how beautiful is this country I am in.

darling books: i'm shack-shocked

When God invites you to spend a weekend at a shack where your daughter was violently killed - will you go? I know I would, after reading The Shack (by W.P.Young). If only to ask him to explain himself. And to watch him cook dinner.

This book shockingly turned my thinking upside down. With all the books I read, it doesn't often happen.

to the strangers in the church lobby

Faces that are becoming dear to me, sometimes I hate you. Sometimes you annoy me, frustrate me, look right through me when I need you to see me. Don't walk past me! Don't smile politely. I need you to really look at me, to ask me.

Faces of strangers, you are family. We share so much, let's share more. Let's listen. Let's care. When I am lonely, I will look around and see if you need me to ask. When I dry my tears I will say "are you okay?". When I'm exhausted I will reach out a trembling hand to steady you. In my weakness, I will try.

But I need you. To see me, to speak gently to me, to give me a shoulder to lean against for a minute. To love me when I'm not worth it.

Because I love you too, even when I hate you, my family of strangers.

harmonious day

Ordering in CDs by new, unknown artists and helping them spread their message.
Imagining that a book I sell will change someone's life.
Seeing the joy in an old woman's eyes when I get her a book that she has been looking for and never thought she would find.
Playing a beautiful song on the CD-player and seeing stressed-out customers pause to listen.

There is joy in working in a shop sometimes.

sometimes I sits and thinks, sometimes I just sits

Took a walk by the seafront in the January twilight and counted my blessings. My new golden boots left gold sprinkle in the powdery snow - or so I like to think.

This year has already brought new things. Golden boots. A chocolate tasting party where it took us 2 hours to get through five small pieces of chocolate. A new responsibility. Even a new admirer (though I still wish to be admired by someone else entirely).

And new sports clothes, for that New Year's resolution that I adamantly claim to never have made at all. But here it is: this year, I will be beautiful, rich and happy.

Pause for irony.

OK, OK. Too much, I know. So I will settle for being just beautiful and happy.

2008: the year I became an African

What I Did During the Year 2008: *After the Veuve Clicquot of the New Year celebrations faded out of my system, I had a runny nose and cynical mind. *Borrowed (for a few days) a terrier who hated postmen and barked at ice. *Couldn't hide from the dentist any longer (but 10 years is a personal best!). *Advanced in my digital development. *Had a dream where I found out I'm worth 1300 euro. Everyone was surprised. *Was pictured in the newspaper eating fish soup. *Forced the Little Shop of Harmony into the computer age (with a malfunctioning fax machine as my accomplice). *Worried that my jaw would fall off. It stopped feeling like it would when I stopped worrying. *Had dinner with a Limey. *Tried snowboarding. Only really managed to stay upright while clinging desperately to the gorgeous snowboard instructor. *Danced until midnight at an African wedding and then walked for miles through a wintry night in my party clothes to have a man teach me to play the mandolin. *Tried public speaking in a foreign language in front of hundreds of people. Almost died. Then felt like I'd gone to heaven. *Got my first parking ticket. *Spent a weekend getting foot massage, compliments and Russian poetry. *Limped around the island of Crete and discovered that what I love most of all is limping around foreign islands and really having the time to look. *Baked a cake. *Had the best possible Midsummer, laughing and dozing among friends and not having a care in the world except which man to choose as the most handsome. *Studied macho men at a metalsmithing fair, met real-life villagers at a local craft fair and genuine urbanites at an inter-city beachvolley tournament. *Ended a close friendship, restarted another. *Took on the responsibility of bringing Swedish literature to the Finnish people... at least some of it, to some of them. *Tried to teach a refugee girl not to dye her dog's fur yellow. *Decided to be happy. *Was denied membership in a church and felt more at home than ever. *Was totally culture-shocked, not to say culture-bowled-over at yet another noisy, chaotic African wedding. *Drove a van through the Land of Cool, Sweden, and tried to look cool. *Learned about mussels, black pasta, the EMO look, the life of rich EU brats, modern art that actually managed to move me, Flemish pubs, and how much I love my sister, during an intense Halloween in the capital of Europe. *Suffered defeat, over and over again, with the volleyball team. *Dreaded family Christmas turned out to be surprisingly OK, perhaps due to the presence of seven (7) dogs. *During the last evening of the year, was awarded the title of honorary African. By a non-African. *Made a fool of myself and it didn't matter one bit. And now, over to the next year... Wishing all of my blogging friends all the joy in the world for 2009!

excerpt from my diary

"What I like about weddings is that nobody is in a hurry; you eat & laugh & applaud each other & sometimes ignore the program in order to chat to someone & eat some more & send an sms to somebody you wish were there & take pictures of people & sit all by yourself and ponder life for a while & drink some coffee & all of a sudden 8 hours have passed... and then it's time to dance!"

Said by someone who doesn't hate weddings as much as she claims to.

in need of tuning

dissonance screeches through my life as notes of evil
I shake my head to clear it
but have to keep playing, keep playing
to reach that endnote of beauty

forgive me, I'm off key again

i am a fake Irish

Just realised that I spelled "whisky" the Scottish and not the Irish way in my last post. Shame on me. Nothing against Scotland, but I harbour a secret desire to be Irish.

Found a book about Ireland in a flea market today, published in 1957. I will probably read it eventually, but right now I just enjoy looking at the old pictures. Pictures of an Ireland that I never knew. Yet so familiar.

But I'm trying to survive Finland. This time of the year it is so dark and wet and miserable. An excuse to wear fake fur and bright colours, and to light candles and spend evenings on the sofa eating chocolates while I dream of hot whiskey by a smoky fire somewhere in the Irish mountains.

we work while God is playing pool

December 1st. A good day for arriving late at work, a Monday morning, and still find that even busy Christmas shoppers can make you smile. That searching for hard-to-find books and struggling with a credit card machine and talking to someone I used to laugh at 8 years ago is just what I needed today.

All is not lost, as I thought yesterday. Then, I decided that I am a hopeless case and that God is off drinking whisky and playing pool in a bar somewhere where women are not welcome.

babylon has its beauty too

Someone defined the deepest desires of my female soul today and I felt suddenly understood. My every cell sparkles with joy. I have a direction.

Beauty is not just a subjective point of view. Beauty is real, essential to life and available. As I have a right to exist as I am.

And: I can listen to a sermon whenever I feel the need to. And: it's been too long since I watched Babylon 5.

kiss and drive

"Kiss and drive" says the signposts marking the drop-off point outside Brussels airport. Stern policemen make sure that no car stops for longer than the time it takes to kiss your loved ones goodbye and unload your luggage.

I visited Brussels, the capital of Europe, with almost no knowledge about it beforehand. I saw the vast buildings that house the enormous, complicated administrative machinery of the European Union that is moved every once in a while to another city just to keep everyone (except us ordinary taxpayers) happy. But I also saw a lot of charming neighbourhoods and ate some excellent mussels with a glass of white beer.

In the city centre I also came across another sign that seemed to indicate a place where your dog can go when he needs to. Right there, on the pavement at a street corner. They are strange, these Belgians.

angels we have heard on a high

My colleague, the motherly old lady who brings homemade apple pie for the coffee breaks, looked through a supplier catalogue with me. We were discussing which angels to buy.

"The little chubby ones are a sure bet."
The chubby ones were more than just chubby, they were more or less completely round in shape, and weighed down with golden glitter. "They just walk off the shelves!" my colleague insisted and I nodded. Obviously, they couldn't possibly fly with all that extra weight. I hope they don't have to guard anyone.

"On the other hand, the weird modern ones are in fashion."
The weird modern ones are the ones with haloes askew, arms attached at odd angles and slightly crazed smiles, as if the twenty-first century is slowly driving them around some cosmic bend. They usually also have to carry around a giant heart or a string of stars made of barbed wire.

They all sit there on the shelf by the window among the scented candles, smiling crazily. Possibly the artificial cinnamon and lemon scents are going to their heads. Stoned angels. Sometimes I wish they would not all sit there looking at me.

russian wisdom: let it amaze you

"So long as man remains free he strives for nothing so incessantly and so painfully as to find some one to worship." Said Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Dostoevsky, whom I have not yet managed to read except in the form of WikiQuote, has also apparently said something along the lines of: "You have to love life more than its meaning."

Which I interpret as: don't wear yourself out trying to rationalize a meaning out of everything, because it's impossible anyway. Just live life as it is and let it amaze you.

So I try, out of a ditch of weariness and worry. There is actually something there: a song about snakeskin boots picked me up today, together with a large mug of spiced coffee. Maybe I'll even find someone to worship today.

on wild apples

A colleague at the Little Shop of Harmony who obviously feels I eat way too many biscuits at coffee break gave me a bag full of apples from her own apple trees.

I eyed them suspiciously because I buy my apples (and biscuits) at the supermarket. Supermarket apples are always perfectly round, even-coloured, flawless and come in little plastic bags looking almost clinically sterile. Actually, they look a bit like the biscuits except for the chocolate topping but don't taste as good. These apples were bruised, slightly overripe and with worrying little holes in them. When I opened the bag, a little fly flew out in a hurry.

Then I forgot everything else, even my horror of worms (not easily forgotten). Oh the fragrance! A smell not of supermarket plastic but of apples! Of autumn, dewy grass, woodsmoke, soil, berries, childhood, happiness, life.

They even taste good. I haven't found a worm yet.

mind games on the beach

Silvery balls land in cool sand on the beach. I enjoy the golden sunset over the still September sea but the game bores me. I feel myself drifting away from my friends' laughter.

I think:
this is autumn, at its loveliest
soon enough be cold enough for wool and fake fur
this little city by the sea, how lucky I am
could I love loud children who shriek like that
how many of my friends fancy that handsome man over there
why do I drift like this
someone please hold on to me
I'm probably just hungry
melted cheese sandwich with olives

my life with a metaphysical twist

September, and I have more friends than I ever deserve and will I do them justice?

I worry too much. I believe in God and still don't believe what he says. I trust him less than I do myself.

Two upcoming trips abroad, one that I will cherish and another that I dread a little.

I will go out and explore my own neighbourhood. The thirst for life keeps growing.

I am stuck in my fears and can never change. And yet, the force that I gave my life to is inside me and is stronger than the force of this world.

And please God, may people never stop buying books.

the trade was good today

You gave me an orange, I gave you coffee. You gave me an account of hospital life, I gave you a beach walk. You gave me a meaning for today's life, I gave you a sympathetic ear.

You left while singing I'm trading my sorrow, I'm trading my shame... I was left with a feeling of peace and joy.

random and August observations

* ABBA's music is silly and I wouldn't listen to it voluntarily. And when I'm forced to, I can't help but love it.
* I have a wrapped present and no-one to give it to.
* When we are old, my friend and I will climb a tree (like this) and drink Australian Shiraz and laugh at life's troubles.
* When I want to be left alone, I must remember to dress entirely in black. And I look good in black too.
* Making someone happy doesn't mean compromising your integrity - do it some other way.
* Pointless nostalgic, that's me.
* Books I'm reading at the moment talk about: shame; living life slowly; freakonomics; the Order of the Phoenix; death; death again.
* Story I want to write: The tale of a thousand lighthouses.
* Stuff I want to google but never get around to: the songs of Nordman and Thoby Loth; lyrics of Don't You Love Me No More; English words I should know; the plot of novels I've read and forgot; video clips of people I admire; blue IKEA furniture; guesthouses in Brussels; how to change the language setting of my blog spellcheck; the song I once sang in a storm about I'm alive, take a breath; the wanna-be Olympic athlete who once sat on me and tried to gouge my eyes out - did she make it to Beijing this year?
* Website I want to come across accidentally while googling the above: blog of long-lost love of my life.

(Picture by Inge Löök)

softness in the air around me

Back to the desk although it's not as beautifully located as this one (which is my summer desk).

Sometimes I'm glad I'm getting older. New tasks, new responsibilities and new people are no longer as frightening as they once were. Not only because I'm better at believing in myself. But also because I've realised I don't always have to take everything so bloody seriously.

And I have new shoes which make me walk on clouds, and a new pair of velvety trousers which make me believe the world is oddly soft and comforting after all.

black hole found

"Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;
Strike the bell and bide the danger,
Or wonder, till it drives you mad,
What would have followed if you had."
(C.S.Lewis)

I trespassed today. It was meant to be. I cycled to the end of a lonely road, past a rooster and three fishermen, and found myself by a fence surrounding an old abandoned factory. Conveniently, there was a hole in the fence.

There were huge buildings on the factory premises. Now, extremely large and weird constructions, like towers, radio masts and silos, that sit in the middle of nowhere, are spooky. There are few things that unnerve me as inexplicably as wandering through the woods, for example, and suddenly finding myself at the foot of a tall radio mast that hums eerily and seems completely alien. These strange buildings had the same effect on me. There was something that looked like a brick fortress with unexpected ladders leading up to tower windows that had been broken eons ago. Other constructions like great halls, covered in warnings about explosive substances. Suddenly, about a million birds hanging out on the roof came swooping down and almost freaked me out.

But to prove to them that I wasn't scared, I went closer.

And I found an open door. I took one look inside and backed away. There was one thing only in there - darkness. The kind of darkness that sucks everything into itself and lets nothing back out.

I was lucky to escape. And I succeeded where everyone else has failed. Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby present to you the first picture ever of a black hole.

the place where even bad weather is beautiful

Sun, rest, thunderstorms, playful puppies, good books, bad coffee, family, a fire on chilly nights, swimming in the sea, heat, sparkling water, writing by a candle, fields of gold, eagles, inactivity, wine, fragrance of childhood, home, barefoot in the grass, flying squirrels, wood-heated sauna... and lovely, lovely dreams that took me far beyond space and time.

That's what I call a holiday.

And maybe the best part: coming back to the city with a genuine impatience to restart my life. Not to mention an impatience to finally have a cup of real coffee.

dropping off the radar

What a mercy to be able to sleep all you want. Now all I need is a pile of good books and the wilderness. This girl is going offline for a little while.

tonight's song

This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow

The promise was, when everything fell, we'd be held

(Natalie Grant: Held)