out of the night that covered me then

In the place and time where I was happiest, other strong emotions used to tear through me. An intense life can make you write this: 

How did I get here - What self-destructive drive
What makes me stay - What soul-choking acceptance
If I leave - Who will fill this space

looking forward to King's Cross

"Is that Snape?"
"Do his glasses actually have lenses in them or not?"
"Were did that jacket come from all of a sudden?"
"What were those things again?" "Horcruxes."
"And why were they bad?" "They were pieces of his soul so they had to be destroyed."
"And one of them was in Harry?" "Yes, it happened when his mother died for him."
"What was that guy's name again with the white beard?" "Dumbledore."
"Did he die or not?" "Yes, and rose again like Jesus."
"One thing we can. However. Conclude." "I know... If you are really evil you speak slowly and articulate ve...ry. Clear...ly."

The evening went well. There are a lot of things to discuss and clarify when it's been a while since the last Potter film.

But the best thing in all of Harry Potter-universe is the fact that when you die you apparently go to... King's Cross Station. I could not think of a place more appropriate.

a guitarist and the Potter boy

Shining like a diamond, rolling with the dice... going to the cinema with a cute guitarist. I was the one who asked.

And I'm not even nervous. Good sign or bad?

missing focus on a Tuesday evening

I swear that if I see one more jogger running past as I sit here growing fat in my sofa, I will kill them with a well-aimed blunt object (boring 600-page fantasy novel) thrown at their head.

Now I will heave myself out of the sofa and walk (slowly) to the corner shop to buy a big bag of crisps. Which I will eat in front of the telly (NCIS, Primeval). Mostly out of boredom.

Mean something already, life!

water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink

Could just KILL for a glass of wine right now. But the choice: buy a bottle or pay the phone bill.

i can drink, type & be sarcastic

My hidden talents & secrets most foul:

* Quote Shakespeare, Blake & the Bible
* Play the Moonlight Sonata on the piano
* Type really fast
* Listen, talk and read simultaneously
* Drink and not get drunk
* Question, doubt and suspect
* Avoid people
* Find anything on the internet
* Name birds and dog breeds
* Lie convincingly 
* Stay up late
* Attract weirdos
* Read between the lines in hotel brochures
* Look innocent while being where I should not
* Raise a sarcastic eyebrow

Superpower:

* Be invisible (unfortunately, this is not controllable and happens at the most inconvenient of moments, like when I really want to be seen)

"Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored." (Aldous Huxley)

salmon, a crowd and the Marias

Lunch-time, a popular city-centre restaurant, an ordinary Monday, a lot of people.

Bankers and insurance workers in suits. Young IT techs discussing the general IQ level of people involved in car racing. Mothers who bring a toddler with ear-shattering shrieks and a granny who is trying to distract the child. A balding elderly man with his Asian mail-order bride. Students waitressing to get money for a trip to Rome. Old ladies who take their time picking out their dessert icecream. Lonely people trying not to catch anyone's eye.

And me, with two ex-coworkers named Maria.

love and the couscous prince

Question: Why don't I have a gorgeous man in my kitchen? (Stirring the couscous, wearing the coolest wrist watch and a white shirt with carelessly rolled-up sleeves, eyes of a prince.)

Answer: Because you don't believe that you deserve one, could hold on to one, really want one. Because you are not in love with your own life.

Just be (in love).

let rain and ruin commence

I have dirty dishes that have been sitting in the sink since June. Not the smelly kind, but still. I have dustbunnies that have had free reign in my flat all summer.

So? I have been busy. Doing summer. Floating on the sea in the sun, reading fantasy novels, sipping wine by the fire on chilly evenings, tasting sand on beaches, eating icecream, thinking great thoughts.

But I must admit it's a nice feeling to be finally rid of dishes and dustbunnies and stretch out on the sofa with a laptop after too much time offline. To eat leftover couscous and drink real coffee after a summer diet of potatoes, pork and Nescafé. To be in the city and let my mind wither with too much internet and TV.

return of the noble savage

Vacation-time and life by the sea with no mod cons, not even real coffee. The more the world advances, the more it mystifies me that I can still enjoy going for days without the internet, hot showers, an electric light to read by. That there are parts of the world that do not advance like the rest. Places where you light a wood fire on chilly nights and it's the birds who do twittering.

A brief stop-by in town to go online, drink coffee, partake of some popular culture (Merlin (the TV-series) and music I can choose myself), do laundry, get away from family, get together with friends, stock up on essentials (chocolate and books), play beach volley.

loops in the sky, knots in the sea

Today's most strenuous activity: lying on my back, watching summer clouds roll lazily by and fighter aircraft exercising loops, and listening to fourteen-year-olds speculate on Gaddafi's possible successor.

But I also found a Gordian worm in the water. And rejected two novels, after having read approx. 120 pages of each. Nothing but the best literature is good enough for a beautiful summer's day by the sea. Maybe I have to bring out Special Topics in Calamity Physics again.

missionary in a foreign field

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

Coldplay: Viva la Vida

ad value to my day

At last! Rain, and time off. The perfect combination. No need to do anything worthwhile and/or adventurous.

Just lie on the sofa, watch funny beer ads on YouTube, and slowly get inebriated.

twitter: stalkers' lane

Twitter, my teenage romance hideaway.

Not many of my friends are on Twitter, and those who are don't seem to use it. Like myself. FaceBook is the bigger thing around here. And it suits me well, because the great thing about Twitter is that you can use it to just lurk around and not have anyone you know making snide comments when you mistakenly "liked" Westlife's fan page.

Obviously, on Twitter I follow sophisticated and interesting pages like GuardianBooks, Amnesty, National Geographic, Lonely Planet... but only for show. Because the real reason I'm there, what I'm pining for...

... is that actor I'm secretly in love with. Please, please let him tweet today! So I can swoon for a while over a lame football comment.

a little green thing missing

Capparis Spinosa, I have missed you!

Woe to me, I have actually not eaten any capers for years. Can't understand why. That mistake is now rectified and I feel like a better person for it.

as I lay dying

Things you ponder the evening before you are due to get your death sentence:

How beautiful the sunset is
Whether to take up smoking
What you didn't do in your life
What you did do in your life
Whether you could eat a sandwich right now or not
The windows that need cleaning
The people that mean something
The stuff that seem meaningless
Whether to start have casual and frequent sex
Whether God cares or not
Which people will show up at your funeral
How unfair life is
The feeling of freedom you suddenly have
The feeling of despair you suddenly have
Whether you should get your hair done before you go to the hospital to die

I didn't get a death sentence at all. Now all I want to do is stop pondering and just get on with living.

teacher, what's my lesson?

"You look pensive."

My former history teacher shows up in the Little Shop of Harmony just as I'm more or less dozing off behind the counter. I blush and am suddenly seventeen again - not in a good way.

But even though you are not seventeen anymore, you learn something new every day from people who inspire you. My teacher did not recognise me the first time we met here in the shop. But after I told him (blushing, as always) that I used to be his student, he makes sure to stop for a little chat every time he comes in. That old school politeness! It is enchanting. I want to be like that - caring even though the person may mean little to me.

I stopped blushing and became even more pensive.

a blood red pool

Look at all my trials and tribulations
Sinking in a gentle pool of wine
Don't disturb me now, I can see the answers
'Til this evening is this morning life is fine

(Jesus Christ Superstar: The Last Supper)

Ascension Day road trip

What I have seen today:

A mouse, the sea, a mosquito trap. And a string of pretty villages: Södra Vallgrund, Replot, Jungsund, Singsby, Karperö.

longing for cobblestones

I live among the wide, wild forests of the north. Where nature has flourished undisturbed since the Earth was born. I can walk out into the woods and soon find myself in a place where perhaps no-one has ever set foot before.

And sometimes all I long for is a medieval castle. To walk on the cobblestones of a town inhabited since ancient times. Any place where  humans have lived for centuries. I want to feel a part of history, and not the history of nature.

no reality please, we're poets

What do normal people do when they come home from work? Cook dinner for their kids? Go to an Italian evening class? Do their tax return? Book their next holiday? Hang out with loved ones in front of the telly? Something worthwhile, I'm sure.

I have taken to reading fantasy novels. Go away, real life.

the blog entry at the end of the world

They say today is supposed to be the Second Coming. Nice day for it. I'm sick and really wouldn't mind an end to the world of suffering right now.

And it's about time I met Jesus.

the complete city experience

A barren pedestrian path between heavy traffic and industrial buildings.
Architect-designed villas with outdoor jacuzzis.
A gem of a beach.
Woods with birds and squirrels.
A seashore with the sound of waves and the smell of seaweed.
Quaint backstreets with the laughter of children.
A busy inner-city market.
A McDonald's.
A construction site.
A racing track with horses being exercised.
A motorway.
Suburban apartment blocks.
A plant nursery with greenhouses.

One walk, all these things I passed. All within the city borders.

Ironically, I was humming, "Take me away from the city and lead me to where I can be on my own..."

joy and the Finns

You look at your own people, the nation you know so intimately. The reserved, inhibited, closed-up Finns with a low collective self-esteem. I.e., yourself. And suddenly, something happens and they all change. Including yourself.

Suddenly, the national icehockey team wins the world championships and people are dancing in the streets. Smiling and talking to strangers. Hanging out of cars, beeping, going mad together, staging an impromptu carnival with thousands of spontaneous participants in the middle of an ordinary Sunday night. The key words are "spontaneous" and "together". Not Finnish words at all.

This is not Finland. Except that it is. I hang out of my car and wave madly at strangers. I am a Finn and I am for once not reserved, inhibited, closed-up.

Raising a nation's self-esteem can be as important as an individual's. This has done us all good. In a cold country, joy is in the air and it is healing us.

Just say yes, just say there's nothing holding you back...

living next to barbed wire

"I'm on my way to prison but I'm early, can I drop by?"

Woken by a text message, a rainy Sunday in May. It may be a grey day, but it is the time of the darling buds of May, and birds are singing. After the visit by the prison visitor there is now nothing else to do but to drink wine, read newspapers and wait for church.

love: not a finnished product

I never loved my country more than when I was in exile. I always need a bit of a distance in order to love properly.

Loving when there is no distance is hard work. If I say "I love you" enough times, will that bring back the love that is now hidden too deep within me, beneath all the petty irritations?

So, I love Finland, and so many things about it. Today, I will mention the sea lapping against the jetties as I sat by the shore, the terns shrieking, and the lonely man steering his little boat out towars the open sea despite the treacherous waves and the fickle spring weather - the freedom I saw in his proud look. I will mention my rusty, trusty bicycle that has served me well, and sometimes not so well, since I was eleven, and the way it took me over miles of asphalt and gravel today when I needed to feel the wind in my face and the exertion in my muscles. I will mention the comfort in sitting at my mother's kitchen table and the joy of having morning coffee on the balcony when the temperature was just right. I will mention the beautiful library which has finally realised that the people needs not only quality literature but also TV series on DVD.

And I will mention the patriotism in the air today, one of the rare occasions Finns actually agree on hoping for the same thing. Or two things, this particular weekend: our talented representative in the Eurovision Song Contest tonight, and our brave ice hockey team in the world championship finals tomorrow. Whatever the outcome, right this moment I enjoy the feeling of being a Finn. I exhume the love.

spot the list I play with

Well, no chain, no lock, and this train won't stop
Check this hand 'cause I'm marvellous
It starts in my toes, make me crinkle my nose
De dansar som virvlar i ett vattenfall

I know we could live tomorrow, but I know I live today
Light over darkness, strength over weakness, joy over sadness
You got a cool gene pool and our winter's cruel
And that cigarrette you're smoking about to scare me half to death

Mustaa kahvia ja murskattuja haaveita
Jag ser blåljusen flimra på Söders höjder

I can feel the beat
Mieleeni kasvosi ikuistin

It's not my style, I get by, see I'm gonna do this for me
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I'm on the right track baby, I was born to be brave
I can feel you rushing through my veins

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
And if sometimes I tire of the quiet and want to walk back up that hill
Excuse me forgetting but these things I do
One life, in the storm, in a lifetime

ode to Spotify

She poured the drinks and she poured the power, a diamond girl who could talk for hours
We'll show the world they were wrong, and teach them all to sing along
And it really doesn't matter that we don't eat
I hope all my days will be lit by your face

I said to the man, "Are you trying to tempt me because I come from the land of plenty?"
Try to remind myself that I was happy here before I knew I could get on a plane and fly away
Babylon back in business, can I get a witness?
I sit and talk to God and he just laughs at my plans

All you do is annoy me so I've been sent here to destroy you
When you hear the whistle blow you will know that I am gone
Innanför murar står klockorna still
Take me somewhere I can breathe, I got so much to see

Ihailen sitä kauempaa, ei se muuten ole unelmaa
I wish I had a rabbit in a hat with a bat
Tonight I'm not taking no calls 'cause I'll be dancing
I'd sing you a morning, golden and new

Om bara Gud visste hur skön jag var skulle Gud säkert pröjsa min lön idag
Gonna let the rain pour, I'll be all you need and more
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
I want your leather-studded kiss in the sand

So she throws him at the wall and kisses burn like fire
Medan natten ännu är ung och vår längtan lockar och drar
So I called up the Captain, please bring me my wine
I've always thought that I would love to live by the sea

A stranger in a country that I have yet to meet
Will these memories fade when I leave this town?
Jos sä tahdot niin, nimeäsi enää toista en
Sleight of hand and twist of fate

Thought it would be over by now but it won't stop
We spent the night in Frisco at every kind of disco
Si tu le parle ‘mmiezzo Americano
I can't believe how you slurred at me

I'm boring, I'm moody and you can't take me any place
Take a walk in the park when you feel down
Way behind the water hole, a little down the line
Just say yes, just say there's nothing holding you back

through a TV screen darkly

I have decided I must watch more TV. I feel too alienated in my own country. Need to get more in touch with popular culture. Bring on Idols and Salatut Elämät.

the juniper beach at the end of the world

A forest wild and ancient, untouched by man. A well-worn path where the sun glints through the branches overhead.

It is spring: the temperature mild in the shade, warm in the sun - and when the path veers within sight of the sea, a blast of chilling winter hits my cheeks. The sea open, endless in almost every direction - we are on The Island after all - and wide stretches of impossibly white ice still floating in the clear blue water. I could go mad trying to describe the beauty.

Someone spots a snake, just out of its hibernation. Eagles patrol the blue skies. Near the shore we find a stone oven supposedly built by Russian sailors who passed by in the early 18th century. "Do you think they baked pizza in here?"

Some of my companions on this hike are experienced walkers who think nothing of walking for weeks up and down mountains with a backpack. Others have just stumbled out of bed this afternoon after a late night party. A few are obsessive-compulsive geocachers who have to make a couple of detours to find treasures along the way. Today, I love them all. Who wouldn't, when the sun is melting the ice after a cold winter and people are smiling at you?

We reach the end of the trail, a fishing cottage surrounded by the sea and the sky, and the map tells us we are almost in the middle of the Baltic Sea. A landscape of rocks, juniper and rowan. We unpack our picnic on a tiny beach where the cold wind can't reach us. Stretch out in the sun. Share sandwiches and sweets and coffee and jokes.

And a little flirting on the walk back. Yes, life is perfect.

from Costa Rica with love

A long sleep, the prince and a feeling of self-confidence in my dreams. I wake up to a lazy day off, a day longed for. Drawn-out brunch with a view of sun over water. There are no plans except reading, watching a DVD, writing something. This is a good morning.

Predictably: restlessness creeps in. Another useless, worthless day. A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. 

But then the coffee is brewing. The magic potion. I smell it, long for it, pick out a mug to use - and I feel loved. Accepted. I am here, alive, doing nothing worthwhile except just being. And it's OK. It's all that is needed for the world to go on.

the morning after the ice age

After a winter you thought would be the death of you...

... you walk down a city street one day and it's suddenly sunny. For the first time in months you don't have to shiver. For the first time in months you don't have to fight for your survival. You see a handsome man walking towards you and he catches your eye. As you pass the beautiful stranger, on a silly impulse, you walk a little bit too close and give him a shy smile. The way people don't do it here in this surly city.

And he smiles back. And after a bit you turn back and see him look back over his shoulder at you.

And then you know. You will not die.

it's destiny, my love... destiny and chicken

Prayer and Scarborough Fair. Chicken tortilla lunch, spring sun and dust. Spotify, obsessing over Camelot and how to become a warrior princess.

How boring and intriguing...

parable of the castle

This is life:

You are alone in a dark, abandoned castle. It's midnight. Quiet and cold. The drawbridge is up and the gates are locked. You wander, aimlessly and lost, from room to darkened room.

You know that somewhere deep in the castle there is one light burning. A tiny, weak candle. Sometimes you happen to walk into the right room and there it is, warm and comforting in spite of its weakness. Then you lose it again, because you can't stop moving. Still, in your loneliness and despair, you know: it's there.

Hope.

auto-destruct in: ten.nine.eight...

Today's mood: doubting absolutely everything, including God, my own sanity and the wisdom in staying in on a Saturday evening. When I could be out drinking, overdosing on the latest drug, vomiting on a stranger's shoes and slitting my wrists in a public toilet.

I even started watching old Star Trek: Voyager-episodes on YouTube.

picture evidence of change no. 3

From one who sees signs of spring...
 
(This is a boat (not mine!) that somebody forgot to take out of the water before the sea froze sometime last November. It's still securely moored at a jetty. The snow will melt and the sea thaw out soon but the boat won't be much use to anyone.)

picture evidence of change no. 2

From the one who is too old to wear teenage clothes (it has safety pin decorations for goodness sake. I can only wear it in the solitude of my own home)...

picture evidence of change no. 1

From the one who has made it a religion never to have curtains...

lost treasure on YouTube

You know the feeling when something moves you deeply? So deeply that you feel the after-effects for days, or weeks, or months?

Sometimes that something isn't even impressive, like climbing a mountain or having someone finally say to you, "I love you". It could be something banal.

Like a YouTube-clip. I came across one a few months ago, just one of those commonplace ones where someone had put together clips from their favourite TV show and set it to their favourite music. But the music was really great - swelling, epic, melancholy. The kind that makes you think that if your own life was accompanied by a soundtrack like that, your life would be meaningful and epic and moving too. And the clips were from a show I knew and liked, one of those where people did heroic deeds and encountered tragedy and disaster and witnessed marvellous things and saved the world every now and then.

Something made me think of this video today. I remember back then, when I first found it, I watched it over and over again and bookmarked it on my computer (my old one, which now is broken). Then I forgot about it. Now I want to see it again. But of course I can't remember where I found it, or the name of the TV show or the music, or anything about it. Except how it made me feel.

So what search words do you use on YouTube in this case? 'Great music'? 'Heroic deeds'? 'That awesome show'?

I tell you, computer technology is still pretty useless. Or is it my life?

the joy of Russian mud

Day of iron deficiency and cautious optimism.

Just before I woke up I dreamt I was walking along the mysterious plains in western Russia and suddenly my son and my dog (both of whom exist only in my dreams) fell into a bottomless mud pool and I had to pull them up. I managed to save the dog and felt profound relief. I didn't manage to save my son and felt mild regret. Is it allowed to have dreams like this? Feelings like this? I'm probably not meant to have kids, though I often feel pain over the fact that I don't. I'm probably meant to have a dog.

The most emotional part of the dream was, however, walking across the plains - a place I've never been. Flat and greyish-brown, yet enchantingly fascinating, with hills on the horizon. This is a recurring feature in my dreams - finding myself in strange landscapes, always with the same wide-eyed, joyful wonder that I used to have so often.

walk this way for an icy moment

Cold wind, warm sun.

Without my sunglasses, I would be blinded by the brightness. Wandering in a white desert, on the frozen sea. In the distance, a few scattered islets with plenty of holiday cabins waiting for the summer season. Somebody has plowed away the snow to make a road and there are tracks made by snowmobiles and skis  but today I'm almost alone here in the silence of winter wilderness. Only one other person, a man who greets me cheerfully when we meet on the ice road - the companionship of two strangers alone in the middle of nowhere. As I turn back towards the city, I see a pale moon hanging over the apartment buildings on the shore.

I'm in a desert but nearby I see a power plant and an abandoned factory. I'm only a couple of miles from the city centre. Out on the sea. In a couple of weeks, the ice will be getting to thin for this. The seagulls are returning from the south - the sound of them calling to each other makes my heart melt, for this is the sound of spring. This is the magic of almost-Arctic winter turning to spring.


"Live a happy life! 
Keep your eyes open for God, watch for his works;
be alert for signs of his presence.
Remember the world of wonders he has made..."


(The Message Bible, psalm 105)

one minute, another minute, another minute

Hang out on FaceBook. Hang out on Twitter. Hang out on Spotify. Read random facts on Wikipedia. Check out the website of the local paper. Check out the website of a global news service. Browse friends' blogs. Browse random strangers' blogs. Check cinema listings. Check weather forecast. Play stupid online games. Browse for second-hand books. Browse for new DVDs. Browse for anything at all really.

And in the universe, the minutes are ticking away...

colours, silence

I'm watching a sunset where there is also a sliver of crescent moon and a spot of aquamarine where the light of a lamp-post hits the snow and a HARE moving towards the light. And silence.

mind full of mindfulness (or not)

Things occupying my mind a Wednesday in March:
* a man I can't have
* a man I could have had and still couldn't
* shame and emotional incompetence
* mother-daughter relationships, bad ones and good ones, biological ones and deeply spiritual ones
* whether there is someone else out there like me
* a possible walk out on the frozen sea in the sunlight and whether I have the strength
* whether I should visit people out of obligation or do things that bring me joy
* healthy and unhealthy independence/isolation
* a possible afternoon spent at the library
* whether I should go to church tonight and whether that would mean healing or embarrassment
* whether I'm ugly or not
* my hatred of the gym
* the daily struggle to keep one's head above the surface

A mind full of things, is that what they call mindfulness?

The plan for a free Wednesday in March (subject to change):
Finish my coffee, hit the shower, get dressed, take the car out to the sea and go for that walk, continue to the library. Later consider my next move. Or just drift. Depending on mood.

dating can be murder

The second date (with a man I've only met once, on our first date). I'm in his house, haven't told anyone where I'm going, and I'm nervous. He says:
"I bet this is the first time you've been on a date with a professional killer."

Memorable. Turned out he wasn't even joking, as he's in some elite part of the defense forces. Then we had camomile tea and a pleasant chat.

the accidental Valentine

After an ongoing email discussion with a man we finally managed to find a time to meet for coffee. He had noticed me in the Little Shop of Harmony. I hadn't noticed him and didn't even know what he looked like but doubtfully agreed to this coffee date. It took some emailing back and forth for over a week before we managed to make time in our busy schedules.

The day we were to meet, I realised, too late, that it was Valentine's Day. Oh the irony. It's been ages since I was on a date. It's been ages since I feigned any interest in Valentine's Day as I never liked the concept anyway.

Then I realised that the piece of paper that I had hastily scrawled his phone number on was a pink little romantic note. I hate pink romantic stuff of the girlie kind.

I pictured a balding, fat little man who couldn't keep up his end of a conversation. I found a tall, athletic man who was not only a physiotherapist but a reservist in the army and who could discuss academic subjects as well as personal and difficult ones (after the initial talk about getting dodgy petrol from a local petrol station). He didn't only share my interest in volleyball but also had exciting travel stories to tell.

In fact, he seemed a bit too good to be true. I felt suspicious. What if he was making half of his stories up? Who runs endurance classes in the army and gets job offers in Canada?

But I had my Valentine's Day date anyway, in one of my favourite cafés. Quite by accident.

study war no more

Went to the Island again. The road was terrible to drive, bumpy and icy. Every Islander seemed to be gathered at the community hall for the annual Elk Dinner Dance (elks not welcome, except as the main course).

Xena the Warrior Princess was the exception. She has settled down in her cute little cottage with her man (an insurance salesman), two energetic babies that she fusses a bit over, and a decorative white cat. It would seem like an anti-climax to her warrior life but I suspect this is the life towards which she was fighting all along. A life she could not have had without that fight.

We devour icecream and fudge and watch tv. The sweet rest after a life of war.

report from Neighbourhood Watch

Saw my reclusive neighbour, the Pizza King, as he walked from his front door to his garage. It was ten degrees below freezing and all he wore was: a football shirt, in the local team's colours but with his own first name on the back, and tight shorts with gym shoes. Let's just say he is not the type that looks hot in tight shorts below his pizza belly. Sorry for staring, neighbour.

Spent my day off worrying about money, reading The Observer in the library and feeling lonely while getting a hamburger to go. But I will exit this day on a high note: watching Hawaii Five-0.

while you wait

Infinity and a coffee is what I'm having. While enormous snow drifts are melting in mild weather outside.

I have played my volleyball and read my books and watched my DVDs and treasured my friends and performed my job. While I'm waiting for this deadly winter to end.

this is not one of those trendy interior design blogs

But this is my favourite charity shop find at the moment. Who can resist the combination of stained glass, gold stars and a tiny cow bell?

held down

"Get up, God! Are you going to sleep all day?
      Wake up! Don't you care what happens to us?
   Why do you bury your face in the pillow?
      Why pretend things are just fine with us?
   And here we are—flat on our faces in the dirt,
      held down with a boot on our necks.
   Get up and come to our rescue.
      If you love us so much, Help us!"

Psalm 44, The Message Bible

what to do when you're in a hurry

I was invisible in a room, in a sphere of my own, just sitting there quietly, reading. You came and laid a hand on my shoulder and said, "Happy new year". You asked me how I was and sat down to listen. The meeting was delayed because everyone was waiting for you. Because you were there in the back room where nobody else could see me, making me visible.

another list of me

I like: spring rolls, diaries and exploring new places.
I need: woollen socks in winter, coffee and xylitol chewing gum.
I crave: chocolate, approval from people I admire and walks in the forest.
I hate: arrogance, early mornings and ugly clothes.
I fear: disease, public disgrace and growing old alone.

2010: the year of death and other quirks

Year 2010: two very cold, snowy winters, one very hot summer. The details:

* Ten-year anniversary of perhaps the best year of my life.
* Tried to follow conversations in Finnish, Hindi, Arabic and pidgin English simultaneously.
* My first real 3D-film and female FaceBook-conspiracy.
* Learned (in theory) how to be a strong and true woman and what a good masseuse can do to you.
* Took a trip to Ireland and learned how to live deeply, live lightly and shine. Also found out what a head shop is and the modern way of lighting a turf fire.
* Found the most difficult relationship of all: that between a woman and her mother.
* New nickname: "me little Cockney sparrow".
* Realised my thesis supervisor in English lit has turned into an Irish fiddler, and not a bad one at that.
* Best book title of the year: Special Topics in Calamity Physics.
* "Beauty is truth, truth beauty - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
* Mostly used phrase of the year: "Bloody hell!"
* Tried a new identity as a van driver with work gloves, heavy boots and dangly earrings, reading Newsweek in between loading heavy boxes.
* Obsessions of the year: CSI:NY and strong men with good hearts.
* Bought a Citroën and sang songs in French for a week.
* Made eye contact with a fox.
* Picnic at the bronze feet of a buddhist monk.
* Admired a mirage of Sweden and climbed Mordor.
* Tried being one-eyed.
* Gave up on learning Gaelic.
* Danced myself to one-third of a beachvolley ball. Danced some more.
* Inflatable mattress-surfing on a windy beach.
* Happiest moment: floating out to sea on a raft under a summer sun, reading Paul Auster and humming "her name was New York, New York..."
* Fell in love while spitting sand and getting bruises.
* Was accused of supporting African arms dealers.
* Revived my dream of running away with the circus. Practiced my psychic skills on FaceBook.
* Jazz, Picasso, the theatre, iPads and flirting - all the arts in one night.
* Drove an hour to attend the opening of the world's most boring exhibition at the world's most boring museum in a city that always gives me suicidal thoughts. The wine and company was excellent.
* Endured extreme temperatures: +95 and -27 degrees Celsius.
* Attended a football game and discussed unkissed body parts.
* Event invitations received on FaceBook: Crazy Sales Showroom at Consentido Bar-Lounge, Madrid, and Lughnasadh Tree Lore Weekend in Donegal, Ireland.
* Found that there are worse ways to spend a sunny autumn evening than watching 5000 cranes (my favourite bird) fly over a meteorite crater.
* Spare-time jobs can be rewarding. Learned more than I ever wanted about Indian pantomime, Israeli orphanages, dementia, Dead Sea mud cosmetics and something called the Quark Region.
* Dreams: 1. I spray-painted E=mc2 on the wall at my workplace (boss wasn't happy). 2. I created the new slogan for Finland's largest company (a power plant manufacturer): "The spinning wheel isn't the solution". 3. I was a singing algae (voice: bass).
* Dilemma of the year: can you be friends with a former wife-beater?
* Visit to the "village shop" of Tuuri, one of Finland's major tourist sites. (That fact says something about Finland.) Listened to Sibelius' "Finlandia" on the way home.
* Things I've never done before: taken sleeping pills, given a speech without the help of notes and eaten highland cow marinated in Coca-Cola.
* Got to know my brother.
* Lost my father.

don't thank me

My linguist brain struggles with the fact that the English word 'thank' cannot stand alone. You can't just thank. You have to thank someone.

Linguistics aside, everyone says being thankful is good for your mental health. And how can you be thankful unless you have someone to be thankful to?

So goodbye self-sufficiency. Hello believing in something outside of myself.

Today's spiritual reflection was brought to you courtesy of the Christmas blues and an overdose of chocolate-covered almonds.

take this opportunity to thank someone, anyone, for

The Arctic snow that makes noise when I walk on it and the friends I don't call but who answer when I do and the candles I light in the evening and the thriller I read in bed when I can't sleep and the cider I drink when I can't afford wine and the wheat warmer and the mornings I get to sleep in and the busy days in the shop when it's easy to smile again and the volleyball.

The dreams of exploring new shores and the people who really see me and the wool skirt that flatters my legs and my niece who educates me on Justin Bieber and my nephew who draws me pictures of horses and my other nephew who quotes interesting trivia and the fact that I never have money yet never lack any good thing and my mother who loves me and my work for a good cause and the sea outside my window and the DVDs I watch and the birds that remind me of God and the languages and the music in my body and soul and the hope that I glimpse occasionally.

And the fact that I am saved by grace.

at the gates of Heaven

I went there. To the place, an insignificant parking lot outside a community hall in a suburb, where God came down to get you. Where your soul left the earth.

What an unthinkable, unfathomable thing that happened here. There should be some divine brightness over the place, a holy atmosphere, at least a sign with a black cross on it. But. Nothing to indicate this ever happened. A winter evening, snow and Christmas decorations, commuters returning home for dinner and helping kids with homework and drowsing in front of the telly. I cried for a while and then left.

Life goes on. What a comfort and what a cruelty.

but a walking shadow

Fairy lights. Candlelight. Laptop screen light. Street light reflected on snow.

The light inside me is burning low.

Spent some time with my family. In the middle of life. A children's dance show, my beautiful niece did herself justice. Lots of proud fathers and beaming mothers and bored siblings in the audience. I pretended to be a part of it. I would have laughed at the dancers who were more preoccupied with twirling their pretty skirts than focusing on their dance number. But the laughter couldn't find its way to me. I could see and hear love in the voices of my family. But I could neither feel nor taste it, it stopped somewhere short. My darkness is impenetrable.

But this is just one day of sorrow. Tomorrow there will be a slight shift towards the future. A brief nuance of a brighter light.

what world is this? what kingdom?

Is it really real? That you are laid in a hole deep down in frozen ground, covered with dirt and flowers and a layer of snow, and darkness...

That you just ceased to breathe and suddenly found yourself in another place, warm and joyful, and face to face with those you said farewell to years and years ago?

I have never thought about this before.

famous last gifts

Dad (pleased with himself): "I just bought you two Christmas presents!"
Me (skeptical and amused, because it's always Mum who does the shopping): "You bought me presents?"
Dad: "Yes. Motor oil and a spade."
Me: "Noooo, you're not supposed to tell me! ... Did you say motor oil and a spade?"

One day later, he was dead. As last conversations go, it was certainly memorable.

R.I.P., Dad. You were always my hero. I will love you all the way to heaven.

myself until the end

Everybody else is happy. Everybody else picks themselves up when they are not happy. Everybody else gets back on track when their life spirals out of control. Everybody else just makes it.

I am not everybody else. I am a reluctant rebel in the land of Personal Success One Way Or Another. If I am a failure I bloody well have the right to be a failure and PROUD OF IT. I raise my flag and sing my rebel song: I will not pretend. Myself until the end. 

overheard in a church pew

"Are you pregnant?"
"Of course! You?"
"No. Worms!"

november, Bach and a prayer

If you are real, then I want:

To rest against your shoulder and feel loved.
To be led by you somewhere, unthinking, in trust.
Eyes open in peaceful wonder.

the Despicable List

People I am sick of:

* arrogant people
* people who want to change you
* people who expect you to be like them (especially in religious contexts)
* people who pity you if you are not like them (in any context)
* people who expect God to be like them
* unreliable people
* liars, thiefs, hustlers and plain old cheats
* wife-beaters and men who don't even realise they see women as inferiour (plain old passive women-haters are ok though, at least they are honest)
* bloggers who post lots of pics of their kids
* people who tell you how happy they are and expect you to be happy for them. And peg you as a "negative person" if you don't succeed in being quite as happy.
* people of one-track-minds
* people who are "tolerant" (unless you have conservative views)
* people who voice strong opinions on matters they know nothing about
* people who laugh at you when you are emotional (even "lovingly")

I feel as if I have met at least one of each category during the past week. Does that mean:
a) I am a negative person,
b) I attract the worst kind of people, or
c) I need a holiday?

with my body, I thee worship

The good book says: "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit?"

No, I did not know. Until someone came to worship and lit the candles on the altar, burned some incense, let the vaults echo with the harmonies of hymns. Made it glow.

Life is not lived solely in the mind.

midnight, and I'm with the sweet prince

Frailty, thy name is woman. Hamlet, in the middle of the night. Kenneth Branagh, I shall love thee forever.

No, really. I've never been a fan of Shakespeare. Or Shakespeare films. Until you started making them.

one of those invisible nights

Regenerating hair spray, new nail polish and a drink. I'm good to go. To sleep.

What is this life, when no-one sees you? Neither at your best nor your worst.

joy and other unmentionable things

The tragedy of our wealthy, self-realising society is that you never dare to voice your innermost dream to anyone anymore - not even yourself. The kind of dream that you don't know if you dare or even really want to realise even if you had the chance. Because if you mention your dream, people say: "What's stopping you? Go for it!"

And then you realise that you are too scared or lazy or overwhelmed by the task or afraid of disappointment... so you don't. And feel shame. Because everyone else seems to make their dreams come true. So your self-esteem sinks a little bit lower and your dream fades a little bit further.

So. I will voice my dreams. The ones that I don't know if I really want to remain only dreams or not:

* Sail in a (sub)tropical archipelago (biggest obstacle: afraid of big waves).
* Travel around the world - slowly - with a handsome, awesome and incredibly rich man and stay in five-star tree lodges and swim in pools with a view (biggest obstacle: don't know any handsome and awesome millionaires).
* Be a joyful woman who dances, rides horses, does new things all the time and fascinates people (biggest obstacle: simply not possible).
* Have a completely flat stomach (biggest obstacle: laws of biology).

being smart AND romantic

I gave myself two surprises today. Downloaded iTunes. And spoke French. NOT at the same time.

I have to go and lie down now.

call of the wild

My neighbour two floors down goes clubbing every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday night.

I know because she has a dog that howls when he's home alone.

I can't decide whether I should go clubbing too or get a dog.

ex post facto

I dreamed you had left me a note letting me know how to find you again. It's been nine years. I still wonder what could have been, sometimes.

stop and stare

Holy crap, I have not changed at all in five years!

my father and the cats

"Let's go see if we can see any cats."

One of my earliest memories - perhaps because it was a recurring event: I am little, crying because of fever or ear infection. The darkness in the middle of the night, no lights on, the helplessness of pain when you are too little to understand it, the exhaustion. But also my long-suffering father's arms around me, carrying me around and around the house in the middle of the night, trying to lull me back to sleep. His soothing whisper in my ear as we approach the living room windows. I always stopped crying as we looked out into the dark garden. There could be a cat out there, stalking around. I loved cats.

Now, many years later, with my father at a difficult and heartbreaking mental distance, I suddenly remember this. And I start crying again.

coloured lights and stampeding elephants

My circus history:

age 8-15: wanted to run away with a circus (because I had read that kind of books). I visualized being a breathtakingly beautiful lion tamer and living a dramatic life in a yellow circus wagon.
age 14 (approx): visited my first circus. It was tiny, far from glamorous, and the only animals were a couple of poodles but I was spellbound.
age 25: abandoned my circus dream definitely when a friend laughed his head off and said I would end up cleaning elephant droppings and forever regretting a destructive marriage to a violent knife-thrower called Vlad.
age 31: my second visit to a circus, this one English and genuine and huge, with all the right circus attributes and atmosphere. I took up my dream again, but this time my circus wagon would be one of those expandable caravans that looked so luxurious and I would share it with a very athletic lover. We would be carefree vagabonds lit by coloured lights.
age 35: read Water for Elephants by S. Gruen and realised the most romantic life imaginable would be spent on a circus train (staying clear of sociopaths and stampeding elephants of course).
age 37: my third visit to a circus. Was spellbound, analyzed the role of the circus as a critical voice in society and ate too much popcorn.

this will: - remind you

When you: - walk through the woods
you think: - is summer already gone?
and you: - miss the place that you call home
because you: - don't know if you belong where you are
so you: - doubt

But then you: - remember the good days and the good years
that are: - still so real in your mind
because they: - are part of you and therefore never lost
and you have: - not failed in any way
that is why: - a voice is whispering

Your best days and your blessed days are: - ahead of you

summer truths

* I find it hard to see the whole picture at a glance because my world view is made up of details.
* I have become a little bit shrivelled and closed by life's betrayals.
* Being loved is being allowed to feel sad or angry or grumpy or quiet or miserable or shameful - without having to fix it or pretend.
* One lie I have always believed is that I can expect happiness - thus, if I'm not happy, I've failed.
* I may be taking the road less travelled - I want to enjoy finding out where it leads without bitterness.
* I have the right to be accepted as I am.
* It is better to express your doubts than to lie to yourself.

to drive and drink

Drove for one hour due east with a friend to have a glass of white wine and then drove back.

But there was also the sunset over endless golden fields, harvesters, a sleepy museum, some delicious canapés, girl talk and the anticipation of coming home.

fine, fresh, fierce

At the beach:

Sun, summer, a world of smiles. A beautiful brunette with curly hair and long, suntanned legs is playing a tough game of beach volley with two handsome men who asked her to join them because they needed a skilled player. She dives into the sand to save a ball and later takes a swig from a water bottle before using the rest of the water to rinse off a scraped knee with an unconcerned air. She is among strangers but makes new friends and seems to be at ease with sweat and sand covering her tanned skin. But why shouldn't she? She is gorgeous and she knows what she is doing.

Oh to be that cool, that happy, at peace with yourself. I wish I was her. All the time.

it starts in my soul

That quality I love above all else in a man: a calm self-confidence, without a hint of arrogance or need to prove himself to anyone. That quiet harmony that allows him to care for others. To assume authority where needed or humble himself in order to put others at ease. That peace of mind that makes him seem fearless.

It is utterly irresistible. Literally makes my heart race and my knees feel wobbly.

I found that yesterday. The man in question also has lovely eyes, a gorgeous body, a sweet voice, a practical intelligence, a caring attitude, an incredible love of life, a cool job, fascinating interests, a boat, and a car with tinted windows.

And a gorgeous girlfriend.

right back after this commercial

The Kvarken World Heritage site - where the rocks are lining up in neat ridges.

the doctor is IN

How come it's always the people who have been happily married since they were barely past puberty who writes expert books on relationships?

That's like getting expert advice on how to fix your car from someone who's only ever owned one, well-functioning vehicle.

I, who have been in and out of a number of more or less failed relationships, should write the book.

sand, snow and the Beautiful People

In my next life I will be a professional athlete - playing beach volley half the year and snowboarding the other half. Then I will be the ultimate in hot as well as cool.

In this life, I'm just lazy. Not very good at beach volley and the only time I tried snowboarding I made it down the hill only by clinging to the instructor's neck all the way down.

night, light, fight

11 pm. Evening sun and a glittering bay throwing reflections through my windows, the summer heat barely giving way to night. Sound of Knocking On Heaven's Door wafting in on the breeze from some open-air pub. Seagulls screeching. Scent of roses. My head filled with questions regarding the purpose of life. The short, intense, crazy summer of the north. So how could I possibly sleep?

four cupcakes and an eagle

Potatoes, acupressure mats, tacky souvenirs, fertilizer.

The little grocery shop on the Island has it all. Even cupcakes with little hearts in the frosting. We eagerly pick them out and need help with the wrapping. The staff and the few customers eye us with interest as we breeze through, two women dressed in bleached jeans, lace, earrings and that unmistakable city air. "Perhaps the lasses are in a hurry?" An old man, barely able to stand, politely offers us his place in the short queue to the check-out. ("No, no, please, no hurry at all.")

An Islander cooks us lunch (seafood and mashed potatoes, cupcakes for dessert). As we go for a walk along the winding forest road towards the harbour, the neighbour's cat decides to follow us and loudly protests (but continues to follow) when he thinks we have gone far enough. In the shelter beneath the trees the mosquitoes make a meal out of us and the sea breeze is very welcome when we reach the harbour.

Heavy rain clouds gather around the boathouses and jetties. Seagulls are screeching angrily at an eagle riding the high winds and the Islander cannot decide if she is more worried about the cat being hit by a car on the road or taken by the bird of prey. Three elderly men are gathered around a quad bike. No hellos or small talk seem necessary but they eagerly point out to us a rare natural phenomenon: due to a mirage over the sea, you can see a reflection of the nearest island on the other side, normally not visible. Today, you can see Sweden from here. We would have taken the mirage for a cloud bank by the horizon but these experienced fishermen know what's what.

The new lookout tower looms black and forbidding. "Is that Mordor? Can you see a huge eye?" This overcast June day, fragrant with lush meadows, not many people are to be seen. Near the start of a popular hiking trail we find a stand selling necessities: a few water bottles, juice cartons and handcrafted souvenirs are on display. The man minding the stand also has canoes for hire and an impressive old-style wooden boat with its sails up. Not a good day for business, obviously, and he does not even bother to finish his phone call when we walk by.

From Mordor's top we admire the view of the archipelago. On our way home, the rain pours down on us. The poor wet cat's complaints can probably be heard all the way to the city. But the landscape is breathtaking and the friendship is warming and we giggle with rain dripping from our noses. It could be that this Island is the mirage.

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.