darling books: the isolated princess

"They are the Shaman, Medicine Man, or Witch Doctor of the tribe, the Prince or Princess in fairy tales, the True Knight or Defender of the Faith, like Don Quixote of Joan of Arc. Isolated by their seclusiveness and infrequency (around one percent of the general population), their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity."

I'm browsing through one of my favourite books again, one of the few non-fiction ones I own. Never have I seen my own personality (and those of all my friends and acquaintances) described in such unerring detail.

The book is Please Understand Me II - Temperament, Character, Intelligence by David Keirsey, who bases his temperament studies on the Myers-Briggs personality categorization. I turn to this book every now and then to learn more about how I and others function as we do, and why, and to console myself that I am not, in fact, "isolated from the rest of humanity" - I am an INFP, briefly outlined above.

The book describes sixteen different personalities in great detail, including such things as their interests, orientation and self-image, as well as how they function individually and together with others in career choices, mating, parenting and leadership. Fascinating! Variations of the personality test and its interpretations can be found online but this book really seems to contain everything you need to know, ever, about yourself and others.

"[Idealists] forget very easily yesterday's negative, disagreeable events and tend to remember the positive and agreeable - they are always the romantic about both the future and the past, and always the cheerful dreamer in the public presentation of self ..."

Welcome to my world.

cupcakes and unexpected hazards

Combined three of my favourite things today:

1. Coffee and a cupcake
2. with my best friend
3. in the library.

Afterwards I went to the gym to work off some remaining aggression and depression. Witnessed a man doing complicated, rotating movements to exercize his neck muscles while standing on his head, not once but many times. It looked impressive and dangerous. I found that it is really hard to avoid staring when you're expecting someone's neck to break at any moment.

bent and broken

"I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape."

(Charles Dickens: Great Expectations)

butterflies, wolves and a few Neanderthals

I'm not a museum person. But I love losing myself in foreign worlds.

I had the afternoon off so I wandered into the Ostrobothnian Museum, where I haven't been for years. I studied the exhibitions in detail. Before long, I was far, far away in the last ice age, in the world of butterflies and wolves, in a cave with a Neanderthal man.

I have seldom pondered the fact that I live so close to a cave where Neanderthals lived. Or that I take walks on the impressive site of a major meteorite impact, or that my summers are spent in an archipelago that has been deemed a world heritage site because of the bizarre effects of the last ice age.

It is a fascinating thing, learning about history in one's own home town. I stared at black-and-white photographs from the market square and wondered if the man selling produce from his horse-drawn cart might be my great-grandfather. I recognized streets I last saw in my early childhood but sometimes dream about, irrevocably changed now. I even saw familiar faces on the museum dummies because they were made by friend of mine and and modelled on other friends.

I exit a boring old museum and feel as if I've been on holiday.

Europe's night out

Last Saturday night, I was dipping bread into cheese fondue with friends while watching and heavily criticising the European Song Contest.

Everybody loves and hates the ESC but it is a bonding moment between friends and the 200 million people watching the show. It is always so predictable and so surprising, with the daring dresses, the biased voting, the dancing monkeys, the pyrotechnics, the odd mooning, the false notes, the protests and the oddities never seen before.

Oh Europe, you are so very bizarre and so endearing.

two odd moments

Chilly morning air is streaming in through the open balcony door and I'm scrolling through my Facebook feed lazily while a man in work gear is stretched out on my floor, muttering to himself.

I'm sitting in a chair with blood flowing out of my arm into a little bag, while I'm laughing at a girl practicing Swedish phrases: "Jag ska byta din blöja!" ('I am here to change your diaper!')

a mother's day

What my mother talks about when she calls to chat:

* church services
* walking to the shop
* how hard it is to reverse the car out of the garage without denting it
* what is on her latest bank statement
* what she had for lunch
* when I will come to see her
* what is on TV

My therapist says I should tell my mother more about my own life. So I try. I love my mother, but being an adult daughter is so hard. I love my mother, but. I love my mother.

a curse on my kingdom

Today I borrowed a wifi, had an unhealthy lunch, drove in rush hour traffic with broken brake lights, decided to rearrange my bookshelf for no good reason and abandoned the project halfway through because it turned out it was terrible (books by colour? What an insanely insane idea. I'm staying off Pinterest from now on).

I also managed to do some work, wear new ankle boots, have some negative thoughts and comfort myself with the latest novel by Tana French.

By the way, it snowed. In May. Even in Finland, it should never snow in May.

It may turn out that I am the Ice Queen after all and have put a curse on my kingdom.

detailed life plan

Go to live in my favourite city.

Tools:
* Two books - The Message (Eugene H. Peterson) and The Stylist's Guide to NYC (Sibella Court). Maybe I'll bring a pocket version of Kalevala along for boring subway rides
* A humble heart, lots of love and merciful thinking
* A laptop and an observant mind
* A loyal dog
* The complete DVD set of White Collar
* A black coat, a pair of good jeans, glittery sneakers, a pencil skirt, black boots, a Nepalese hoodie, woollen socks knitted by my mother (for cold nights), a few bohemian tops, a good scarf and a hipster beanie
* Hoop earrings, sky blue nail polish, a bulky silver watch and an alluring scent
* Seven hundred songs + the lullaby my mother used to sing
* A return ticket

a study in freakosemantics

Crunched my blog through Wordtool to see what it thought important back in the day.

The year 2013, a time of zumba, expensive salads and statistics, liked these words:

Life and people, just one more, and summer office facts.

And 2014, the year of subtitles, smoothies and squirrel babies:

Around the world and back again (well, Germany-Sweden-outer mindspace counts, right?), the beautiful feeling of being home for summer, and the fact that something is just about to go places.

in a rain of slush, gravel and sparks

Do you remember that March day when we hitched a sleigh to a snowmobile?

You drove, one of my best friends sat behind you, and two of us rode in the sleigh. There wasn't really enough snow left so when we went along the forest road, the snowmobile pelted the sleigh with gravel and slushy snow. My friend and I shrieked and laughed at this torture. The metal runners occasionally hit a gravel patch and sparks flew.

Then we went onto the ice, staying close to the shore just in case. We stopped and had a lovely picnic on a little islet, turning our faces towards the sun. On the way back, there was so much melted water on the surface of the thinning ice that it completely drenched the two of us who sat in the sleigh.

I remember being scared that the ice wouldn't hold us. By the way you drove, occasionally changing course to get closer to the shore and making sure to keep up the speed, I could tell that you were worried too. But at that point in my life, I was used to danger. I had learned to let go of my fear, think "when your time is up, it's up" and feel the thrill in my every cell. That's what I did that day, too.

We came back as soaked as if we had actually gone through the ice, and  my toes were frozen. We dried ourselves and changed clothes in an ancient cottage on the Island and you told me the history of the place in a solemn voice. Your life had such a long history. I envied and admired you for that.

But that day, I was back together with friends I had not seen for a long time. There was history in our relationships. There was adventure, too. That was a very good day. I have a picture of us all there on the islet, grinning.

Do you remember it?

came for the book, stayed for the cookies

There are blue cookies served at the book release party.

I clutch my copy of the book in nervous hands and consider bolting. Despite the bohemian lace on my sleeves and the defiant sequins on my sneakers, my confidence is wavering. But the atmosphere at the adult education centre enthralls me - the curiosity and inspiration of people who are there to learn something for the fun of it. The old ladies from my book club are there. And there are blue cookies ...

Before my social awkwardness gets the better of me, an elderly writer whose books I read as a child pulls me into a deep discussion on fiction versus biography. Then I discover that the young woman munching on cookies next to me has a degree in English, like me, and an affinity for genuine Dublin pubs, like me.

Nothing is better than book lovers and blue cookies on a chilly spring night. I hear myself enthusiastically saying things like "When my life is in chaos, I need the feeling of purpose in a fictional story" and "My nail polish was supposed to be golden but as you see it turned out green!" to complete strangers.

pink bottles and the carnival of spring

It is the day when kids buy balloons and the city streets are filled with the thunderous roar of vintage car engines.

People walk through town in white hats with trenchcoats and low-denier tights, fancy dress or wildly coloured student coveralls with beer stains on them.

Icecream stands and summer restaurants throw their doors open and the first outdoor barbecues are attempted despite treacherous weather.

Kids scream with happiness, old couples hold hands, students are delirious and drunk.

I elbow my way out of the crowds angrily. Why does nobody want to hold my hand today? I buy pink bottles and my undeserved loneliness is comforted by blessed solitude.

the roughest winter yet

Things I never thought I would do, that I did during the past winter:

fall in love with a stranger
cut down on coffee and wine and not even miss it much
take anti-depressants
go to bed at 7 pm
see a therapist
ask to join a women's church group
stand in a breadline (for the company, not the food)
love my gym
have panic attacks
lose weight (alas, only temporarily)

receive excerpts from a psychiatric textbook by text message
take up knitting

if you're gonna jump, then jump far

We are losing our volleyball game, even though our team is playing really well.
We seem to be losing more often than ever, even as I feel my own strength growing and my skills improving. My hatred of losing stays the same.

Our team today is a motley collection of women that I play with every week and women I see twice a year (at these volleyball tournaments). There is a thin teenager who will probably be playing at national level in a few years and middle-aged amateurs like myself. This is what I like about volleyball: there are women who seem to be approaching sixty, and women who are short and fat, and they are still very good at this game that seems to favour the tall and powerful. Better than me. Maybe I can still play when I'm old and fat.

Our team picks up the serve - one of the weaker players fumbles with the ball but somebody else helps and the teenager hammers it over the net.

Some parts of my body are starting to fail. My hitting arm protests with pain and my knees hurt after half a lifetime of jumping. I need to stop playing volleyball and do something about this before my legs refuse to carry me anymore. As I focus on today's game, I know it is my last for a while. I won't really miss these tournaments - I always seem to leave them in a huff after yet another defeat.

The team sets up a beautiful opportunity for a spike. I forget my knees and my shoulder and jump like a cat. My spike is, for once, perfect. Hard enough to crush bones. It bounces off a defender's arms and comes back to me in an ideal arc. I jump again, halfway to heaven, and immediately make the kill. It is lovely. I feel stronger and better than ever.

We are losing the game and I'm sure I will walk away in a huff, on wobbly knees. But at the moment I and my team-mates are having too much fun to care.

from the Penny Diaries

Random facts from my formative years:

* Fastest timed clocked for going around the block on a kicksled: 4 minutes 55 seconds
* First line in first play (cast as Mary in the nativity play), said in a dreamy voice: "It's the angels, Joseph."
* First entry in first diary ever, age eleven: "Today I got to skip first period in school. School started at eight and I stressed so much that I started to feel sick. Later heard the others had had their weight and height measurements taken. (With Elise N., who is the strictest teacher in school.)"

* Favourite TV show: Brødrene Dal (especially when the intrepid Norwegian brothers went looking for the mysterious Professor Drøvel)
* Founding member of: The Secret Spy Club, Spying Club Adventure, Detective Club Adventure (anyone see a pattern here?)
* Genre of poetry I wrote: naïve romanticism
* What I sang for my first (and only) real solo, age six: "Adventstid kom till mitt ensamma hus" (Advent time, come to my lonely house)
* Musical instrument I took lessons in: the piano (for seven horrid years)
* Musical instrument I almost performed with in public once: the glockenspiel (but I was late for school so someone else did)
* Dream job: zoo keeper, cook
* Hobbies I took up: volleyball, writing, church

* What I loved: animals, advent calendars, coloured pens and scented erasers, drawing maps and walking fake dogs, hanging out with my big sister (especially when she took me to look at horses)
* Teacher's assessment after I wrote an essay on arms dealers who became victims of burglary, age twelve: "Your writing is grammatically correct and the subject matter is not the usual - you have your own view of problems."
* How I earned my first own money: babysitting a future pole-vaulting star

having cookies with Wolverine

I had another one of those evenings with Wolverine - I call him that because he is a loner, a bit haunted but powerful and caring.

He came to me on a cold April evening when he needed a break from reality. He brought chocolate cookies. I watched TV and knitted an ugly scarf while he sat  next to me, drinking cider. We talked about sick poodles and flatmates with OCD.

Then he went home.

wild city

I'm awakened in the morning by the screeches of seagulls and oystercatchers, and the first eyes I meet as I go out the door are those of a bold hare. Sometimes it's hard to believe that I live in a city.

where the heat burns your blue sandals off your feet

She wore a white labcoat and a hijab, a black scarf on her hair. Because her face was exposed, he averted his gaze, blushing as he did so. Uncertain where to rest his eyes, he let them fall on the plastic ID tag that hung around her neck; Katya Hijazi, Laboratory Technician. He was surprised to see her first name on the tag - it should have been as private as her hair or the shape of her body - and it made her seem defiant.
  Worried that the older man might think he was staring at her breasts, Nayir dropped his gaze to the floor, catching sight of two shapely feet ensconced in bright blue sandals. He blushed again  and turned away from her, trying not to turn completely but just enough to indicate that he wouldn't look at her.
  The woman's shoulders drooped slightly, which seemed to indicate that she'd noticed Nayir's discomfort and was disappointed by it. Reaching into her pocket, she took out a burqa, draped it over her face, and fastened the Velcro at the back of her head.

I don't like to read books set in a culture I know nothing about. Maybe I don't want to be disturbed in my lazy ignorance. Fortunately, I happened to pick up The Night of the Mi'raj by Zoë Ferraris and was too intrigued to put it down again.

I have seldom read a murder mystery so well written. I was thrown right into daily life in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, with its unforgiving heat, ordinary people with ordinary lives and strangely paranoid attitudes towards women. It made me feel almost at home, at the same time as I felt the terrible claustrophobia of being a woman there. Delicately written.

faith, hope and love

Easter Sunday has dawned and God has rescued me.

The war has been won. I am loved. One day I will meet the God who loves me.

good friday on the beach

As we stroll along the seafront, among the pine trees, birds are singing wildly.

I don't know if I can trust this calm inside me but there is no need to know the future. The sun is blinding. It looks like spring but an icy northerly wind is blowing. On the sandy beach we sit down on a fleece while a few stray snowflakes make their way down from heaven. The melting ice makes a whispering sound.

Two friends, a toddler playing in the sand, and me. We talk about depression and sick children ... oh, yes, and giant wasps. And we pray, right there on the deserted beach.

as the church goes dark

I go to the big church on Maundy Thursday and sit in the back, fidgeting like a teenager.

The liturgy and the voices of old ladies singing hymns seem like history, like years and generations stretching back to ancient times. I think of my forefathers, farmers who left their work to dress up and go to church when bells started tolling. I miss them, the grandmothers I knew and the great-grandmothers I've only heard stories of and whose blankets I wrap around me on cold winter nights. I think of the vast cathedrals I saw on my wanderings further south in Europe, the votive candles and the air thick with prayers that have been said there for centuries. I think of God, who came down to earth to rescue us two thousand years ago and who is still holding the invitation open for a little while longer.

I hold on to all of this on a Maundy Thursday when myself and the world around me are shaking and sick. I fidget like a teenager in the pew and watch with amazement as the candles are extinguished and the church organ goes quiet. In a darkened church, we sing the last hymn a cappella. A crown of thorns is placed on an almost empty altar. Christ is gone to Calvary to take our punishment.

We sit in the dark and wait for our redemption to dawn.

vast and fathomless heart

"There will come a time when you want to cut off all your hair. Do it. Realise that the thing you want rid of doesn’t lie in the long curls that frame your face so perfectly. Live with short hair for a while. It’ll grow.

You won’t always want to talk to people. That’s okay. When it’s late and you hear your friends talking in the next room, you don’t have to join them. You’re allowed your solitude. It makes company sweeter and it teaches you how to survive alone. You will need that skill.

In the winter, you’ll believe that nothing will ever grow again. You’re wrong. Every year, London looks like it’s on its last legs, wheezing through those last cold days in March. Every year, spring comes like an explosion and the city shakes off its sleep.

Mundane problems will get the better of you sometimes. Don’t worry. Try as you might, life cannot be an endless, beautiful, intense moment. Find comfort in money worries and late trains; they’re a welcome rest in between heartbreaks and breakdowns.

People will call you a cynic, a wry smile on their faces. Pay them no mind. You alone know that you are capable of a love greater than anything they can comprehend. You alone know that you are not willing to sell your identity and respect to the first smirking halfwit to pass by. It is not cynicism. It is reverence for your own vast and fathomless heart, and it makes sense only to love someone who understands that and is awed by it.

You will not always get what you want when you want it. Accept it. Your goals are not set in stone and you are not on a fixed trajectory. Sometimes, life will take its time and you will have to play the long, interminable game. Play it well and with as much grace as you can muster. Live at your own pace.

At night, you will occasionally wake up afraid, wanting to die. Don’t give in. Night plays its tricks, but you are not so easily fooled. Your mind will play its tricks, too. It will make you believe that you’re not who you are, but you must not give in. You take a breath and you tell yourself that you are here. That you always were."

(blood-and-magic, Tumblr: "Practical Advice for Difficult Women")

songbirds and the rest

Life is not always easy, but there are always songbirds, volleyball with friends, raspberry water, hand-knitted scarves, new ideas, coffee and the feeling of a long Easter weekend approaching.

sober me up

“I’ve been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.”

(F. Scott Fitzgerald)

beauty unfamiliar and perilous

“Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry. But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.”

(Thomas Mann)

the little yellow book

The written chronicles of my life start with a small, yellow notebook.

It has a picture of a budgie on the cover. It is yellow because that was my favourite colour when I was six years, eleven months and fifteen days old - and still is, in some ways. My sister, then a teenager, bought it and wrote little diary entries in it for my benefit. The first one begins: "Today you went ice-skating with Fritz."

I was apparantly a six-year-old who ate sweets only on Saturdays, loved my trainers because they looked almost the same as my sister's and was too shy to hand over the fare to the bus driver when we went to town. I wanted to sit by the window in the bus. I always sit by the window everywhere.

When I was sick, I got to lie in my parents' bed all day and draw pictures. Summer days were spent playing on the beach with my poodle, on winter evenings I redecorated the dollhouse my grandfather had made. I sang in a children's choir, took piano lessons and attended Sunday school. Sometimes my sister took me pony riding, the most exciting thing I knew.

When I was nine, I found my first BFF and spent most of my free time walking dogs - real and imaginary. I had entire worlds of imaginary adventures, fuelled by explorations of the neighbourhood and all the books I borrowed at the library.

I was shy and sometimes lonely, prayed to God and soared in my endless imagination all the way to distant galaxies. I think I was happy.

with that terrifying sound, an insight

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

Not a bad week.

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

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

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

the yarn of equinox

Equinox is when the sun sets behind the power plant.

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

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

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

hungry and fearless

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

(e.e. cummings)

things to do. maybe

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

skidding for peace

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

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

pizza and raspberry truffle day

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

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

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

things dangerous to come to

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

(unknown)

my bones are too whole for my heart

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

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

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

the trilingual town that has no zoo

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

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

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

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

The only thing missing is a zoo.

in the courtyard of summer

When looking forward is difficult, I look forward to sitting in a certain courtyard.

It is sheltered from the wind and heated by the sun. Around it are old houses and a tall tower made of red brick, looking incongruous and mysterious. I have kicked off my shoes and my feet are bare against warm cobble-stones. I sit in the shade and I have someone with me and a large mug of coffee. Maybe even chocolate cake.

any excuse to enter a hotel

TV topics I browsed during half an hour on the cross-trainer at the gym:

* Norwegian relationship advice
* Over-moist pasta
* Sheepdogs who sheep-surf
* Whining hockey wives

Actually, it wasn't half an hour. It was 28 minutes exactly. Then I stumbled off to find the nearest café.

Tiny and windowless is the gym I go to nowadays. Hidden away in the middle of a large hotel. I enjoy walking through the airy lobby in my not-so-posh gym attire, past theatre-goers and foreign businessmen. I like the quiet emptiness of the gym, the daytime TV and the possibility of meeting foreigners.

I cross-train anxiety and worry and try to learn how to breathe again.

the sun has lost its coldness

The blackest darkness, the time when we go to work and return home in darkness, has left us.

We have entered the time of the white desert - afternoons with a blinding sun over a vastness of snow and ice. 

The time of comfort when the sunlight warms your cheek, even if just a little, and despair turns to hope and skiing is wonderful.

extraordinary, perhaps

“Breathe, my friend. You are not old, you are young. You are not a mess, you are normal. Extraordinary, perhaps. In the blink of an eye your life will change. And it will continue to change for decades to come. Enjoy it, embrace it… be grateful for the ride. You are not old, you are young. And faith will get you everywhere. Just you wait.”

(Abby Larson)

my cup runs over

I may be standing in the midst of darkness, but I see a hundred shining paths leading out.

I feel the sun begin to warm up. The ducks in the icy pond look at me with something like sympathy. My friend's sofa embraces me with peace as we laugh over memories of the blond French child I once babysat and couldn't stand.

Birds are twittering everywhere and no sound could make me more hopeful. I have a new shoulder bag in Persian blue and I can walk for miles. My phone beeps with compassion.

My fumbling hands pick up a favourite book, The Shack, and I feel loved. I may be walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

liquorice tea and a criminal

When you're down and out, go on a road trip with a large mug of liquorice tea.

I did that. Actually, I drove a friend a hundred kilometers so that he could attend his own trial for battery. I also ate a hamburger, talked to a friend not seen for years, and walked through an abandoned park while the sun did something good to my soul.

Then I collected the criminal and his suspended sentence and drove back.

tastes of folly and bewilderment

“My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”

(Hermann Hesse: Demian)

a tale of two cities

This winter has been strange in so many ways.

One of them is how slow the days have become, not in a bad way. I have time to feel the chilly wind against my skin, to enjoy the softness and warmth of wool mittens, to watch the shifting clouds. To sit quiet and peaceful, doing nothing except watch people around me instead of hurrying home to distract myself with entertainment.

Today I sat in the expensive Fazer Café, sipping a latte macchiato with beautiful foam art and discussing mental problems with a wise woman under the golden glow of trendy light bulbs.

Then I wandered, slowly, along cold and grey streets with a hulk of a man beside me. Each step felt balanced and peaceful, despite the troubled heart inside both of us, despite the wind slapping snow in our faces. Twilight fell as we meandered through an empty park and stopped to greet a pair of enthusiastic dogs.

We ended up outside a small church where a few quiet people already waited. Several more gathered as we stood there, all patiently waiting and chatting in low voices. This was the city's breadline. People with worn clothes and worn faces, unassuming and cautiously friendly. When the church opened its door, we were served hot soup with sandwiches, and food bags were distributed. I'm not poor enough for breadlines so I didn't take any food, except some soup which I paid for, but my friend eagerly accepted his share.

The contrast with the glamourous café was startling, but the atmosphere in the dark church was welcoming. We all sat there, huddling in our winter coats despite the warmth, eating tasty lentil soup and exchanging a few words with the strangers next to us. A new world to me, populated by brave people.

Another strange dimension to my strange winter.

this frightening winter

A big, green tweed coat and woollen sweaters whose sleeves cover my hands, a beanie pulled low over messy hair, thick mittens, muddy boots.

This is how I look, this frightening winter. There may or may not be a slightly crazed gleam in my dark eyes - eyes that keep looking for the dawn.

colourful bottles

I think I might be getting my breath back. Slowly.

I dream of sitting down in front of a fridge filled with colourful bottles - illuminated, sparkling with beauty - waiting for something to catch up with me.

I ask people for help and I get it. This I will not forget.

in the valley of the shadow of death

I take walks along the seafront where a cold sun is reflected in ice. Grateful for the light, I pull my scarf tighter against the January wind and listen for birds among the pines.

I huddle in my Nepalese hoodie under a single lamp in my flat, the winter darkness outside vast and eternal. There is comfort in the way my phone sometimes chimes to announce a Messenger message and I scroll down my Facebook news feed way too often. I listen to my neighbours argue, their screaming child, the lift coming and going. I memorize words in foreign languages and play WordFeud.

I try not to worry about the night.

My body feels lethargic and odd, my mind leaps to sudden panic. But when there is not terror, there is gratefulness and deep love.

I fall asleep to midnight TV shows where people talk about sharks and business plans, broken trucks and Chinese factories.

And I think of you, your steady hands and your mild voice.

lesson plan with gold diggers

Things I have learned recently:

That crows bathe in icy water and that there is a whole family of squirrels in the woods along the footpath. That late-night TV is often about truckers in Alaska or gold diggers in Ghana. That I don't hate hospitals as much as I thought. That I feel safer in my bathroom than in my bed. That woollen sweaters with too-long sleeves are a great comfort. That people who want to help can be found absolutely everywhere. That my heart is strong. That I love old ladies. That you should trust more and think less when you're sick. That you can eat bananas when you can't eat anything else.

I have learned to be humble and generous. I have also learned that people love me.

Not bad, for one sickness.

born out of ocean breath

"All she wanted
was find a place to stretch her bones
A place to lengthen her smiles
and spread her hair
A place where her legs could walk
without cutting and bruising
A place unchained
She was born out of ocean breath.
I reminded her;
‘Stop pouring so much of yourself
into hearts that have no room for themselves
Do not thin yourself
Be vast
You do not bring the ocean to a river'"

(Tapiwa Mugabe: "You Are Oceanic")

a week of good and evil

This week has been an other-worldly one.

There has been blueberry soup, midnight phone calls by nurses and suicidal friends, driving cars nearly unconscious, music from my youth, early morning walks in snow, panic and vomit, the glorious feeling of being helplessly in love with a stranger, falling asleep on the bathroom floor to the sound of a scientific podcast on lichen, normal workdays, praying, sending pictures of my cardiogram to people to prove that I have a heart, little sleep and even less food.

I have prepared myself for another desperate trip to the emergency room by picking out clothes warm enough to suppress my uncontrolled shivers but also flattering enough to make me look enchanting to the hot doctor on duty as I expire at his feet.

I have wished for physical pain instead of mental one, while being profoundly grateful for the strength still left in me. I have once again decided not to hide from my friends.

I have cowered in corners and fearlessly plowed straight on. I have driven to the hospital, just to sit in the car outside it for a while before going home again.

I have battled horrifying anxiety by turning it into physical nausea and by falling in love.

love and other panic attacks

Hair dye put me in the emergency room again. I stagger in, not allergic, just hysterical, in a Nepalese hoodie, muddy boots and (beautifully espresso brown) hair on end. It is a dark and stormy night, but not as dark and stormy as my soul.

I don't know what to tell them, the people who ask what is wrong. That I woke up in a panic? That I've eaten too much iron, that I nearly bled dry a week ago, that my back is in a twist, that I'm shaking, that it's not really the psych ward I need, that hair dye nearly made me faint once before, that maybe it's exactly the psych ward I need? That there is a full moon behind the snow clouds and praying didn't help this time? That the hospital has my dead father listed as my next of kin?

I'm scared and alone and maybe that is precisely my problem. But it is my body that tries to bring me to my knees, demanding a ransom that it refuses to specify. Demons are dancing. And the emergency room is staffed by 25-year-olds and I'm not sure I can trust 25-year-olds with exorcism.

But someone strong opens the door, speaks to me with kindness as I stagger in, takes my hand and calms me down. Someone to lean on, at last. I put my shaking life in his hands without a second thought. He carefully checks that I'm not dying, tells me that I'm in fact healthy and strong, then gently asks me if I have ever had a panic attack.

I think that is the moment I fall in love. The cardiogram printout shows my heart beating slowly and surely for him.

optimism is a strategy

“Optimism is a strategy for making a better future. Because unless you believe that the future can be better, you are unlikely to step up and take responsibility for making it so.”

(Noam Chomsky)

"Noam Chomsky is our household deity here in the modern languages building," said one of my professors at university. I'm still not entirely clear on why. But I feel that I should quote him at least once.

Well said, dear household deity.

negativity ahoy

Darkness and an aching back. Anemia. No purpose and too much TV. Family trouble.

Thank God I get to go to work tomorrow.

toe thrill

For a delightful winter experience, step out with bare feet on fresh snow. The feeling is thrilling and the footprints are pretty.

Don't stay out too long if you want to keep all your toes.

may you stay

Happened to hear a Bob Dylan song and suddenly recognized the words my sister wrote on my birthday card about thirty years ago - words that struck me deep then, but I probably haven't thought about them for twenty-five years or so.

May your wishes all come true ...
and may you stay forever young.

a minus fifteen moment

Favourite moment today:

Walking through town in extreme cold (-15 C), wrapped in wool. The snow under my boots made that noise it only does when it's really cold. The people I met were covered in so much clothing that the only thing I saw of them was their eyes. Eyes made alert by the life-threatening temperature.

The sun set at 4 p.m. and stars appeared in the clear skies. In winter, night-time is my favourite - which is fortunate, since there is so much of it.

2016: the year of business and an electric summer

* New Year celebration with friends, Czech beer, fireworks and the glorious feeling of having turned down two safe job offers in favour of freelancing.
* First Christmas celebration of the year (out of three) held in early January.
* Leap Day: decided to start a business.
* Learned Arabic in one day (in theory, at least).

* As Orthodox church bells rang in Easter at midnight, I ordered certificates of tax debt online.
* Complained about racist writings on Facebook and was called coward, scum, rat, dog, traitor, (unprintable) and "leftie who doesn't wash".
* Emergency coffee picnic outside the hospital on a sunny day, with sister and small Kenyan boy.
* Took green-lipped mussel pills to improve volleyball skills but lost the year's tournaments anyway. Possibly because the team captain's pep talk was: "I've fallen for Justin Bieber!"
* Birthday: woke up to a spring blizzard, gave an eight-year-old life advice on how to handle rejection, pushed a priest out of my flat at midnight after a lecture on the dry valleys of Antarctica.
* A week in London with exploration, sisterhood and a Colour Conference with 12,000 women.

* Watched the annual icehockey championship disappointment in a hospital common room, surrounded by nurses and sleeping babies.
* Had a physical altercation with a pissed-off crow and retreated in defeat.
* Typical Finnish yard sale race with friend and toddler. Best find: great coffee and Kalevala.
* Became a business owner and linguistic consultant. Started off with a month's vacation and a negative result of -3.75 euro.
* Quail eggs, ice-skating, watching relay runs, three new fun colleagues, invitation to join secret order.
* Succeeded in match-making for the first time ever.
* Road trip to Turku to see my favourite cathedral, wave at ferries, try kangaroo meat and give my friends a nostalgic guided tour of the Nineties.

* First summer in summer paradise with electricity and running water. Work and play felt equally good. A hundred years of rest together with books, DVDs, curious owls, family and a little too much rain. Most adrenaline-filled moment: finding an ant behind my ear.
* Traditional Midsummer Eve with the Midsummer People around a white table on the Island. Almost-midnight sun, lots of food, laughing at serious matters.
* Visit to the national Housing Fair: jacuzzis, artificial lakes and annoyed artists.
* Road trip with mother to a tiny village that I once represented at sporting events (but have never seen before). Found a mighty river and a distant cousin.
* Sea-faring adventure to the Isle of Shadows, risking our lives in heavy seas.

* As I arrived at home after a month between sea and forest, my gang was already waiting on my balcony with bottles of wine and a beautiful sunset.
* Weekend in a weird little town near the Russian border: beachvolley in rain, pillow fights, a fateful devil's jam and a board meeting in the back seat of a Toyota.
* Trip to Helsinki: another fair, famous dead people and summery sea views, too much walking in golden shoes.

* Playing pranks and interrupting an intimate moment on a dark autumn night.
* Back-ache, massage and camping on the floor.
* Selling second-hand stuff without much success. Made twelve euros.
* German phrases played on repeat in my car.
* Saturday nights with friends and too many family worries.
* Financial donations to tooth extractions and tuberculosis treatments.
* Melted chocolate evenings and gingerbread cookie baking with family.
* A quiet but delicious office Christmas party, Christmas walks, a borrowed Christmas poodle and reunion with the Christmas people.

  

* Joined a gym.

* Celebrated New Year's Eve over a quiet cup of tea with friends, then suffered an invasion of party-hungry people at midnight.

 * Summary of the year:

Scared and mute and super-efficient business owner.

a beginning of ice and moodiness

The year begins with ice and moodiness. A whodunnit and Chicago P.D. A kitchen full of dirty dishes after an impromptu midnight party and a desire for great things.

as the sun sets over 2016

New Year's Eve – golden sunset clouds, the bay like a mirror of ice and water, blustery winds. I have felt tired, walked to the duck pond, talked to my mother, eaten Pringles.

I want learning, strength and peace of mind.

Please hear me, Girl:

The world has enough women

who know how to do their hair.

It needs women who know how

to do hard and holy things.

(Ann Voskamp)

get to heaven and find out

"How disappointing would it be get to heaven and find out God created life to be enjoyed while all we did was worry? "

(Donald Miller)

the truth shall set you free

What people have said to me:

"Such a good girl, never any trouble - unlike your sister!"
"You're so tall - is it cold up there?"
"Everyone says you look silly when you blow your hair out of your face."
"God's little princess!"
"Your essays read like a textbook."
"You should study engineering - you are so good at tuning our TV."
"You should be a model."
"Why do you always wear a belt?"
"Those are real piano hands you have."
"You make me so nervous with your midnight walks - there are bad people out there."
"God admires your humility."
"You should be careful what you take in - you watch too much TV."

"I look at you and then I do a double-take: she is actually smiling!"
"You have an animal ministry."
"You were my helper in need - out there in the mountains!"
"So calm and yet full of pranks - it's irresistible!"
"Waiting to buy a copy of your book."
"Calm and cool."
"Let your beautiful voice continue to be heard."
"Destined to do great things! You are really cute and fun to be with!"
"Inner and outer beauty - your writing will enrich the world."

"If you lose any weight, I will come and get you."
"I never knew anyone before who actually howls at the moon."
"You look like the Queen of Sweden."
"If it wasn't for you, I would be mad by now."
"You are the only one allowed to write my diary for me."
"You smell like the forests and lakes of Finland."
"You look like Julia Roberts."
"You are such a talent."
"Nobody sings If You Catch Hell Don't Hold It like you do."
"Someone asked me if you are French."
"I got a tattoo with your initials in it! And a rose."
"Eyes that radiate love and mystery."
"You're completely nuts."
"A sunburn suits you, sister."
"A beautiful smile, a quiet charm and a servant heart."
"You are the belle of the ball. Such a lady, never any fuss."
"You could dress with a bit more style - like my wife."
"That's a soul voice."
"Nobody imitates a snake like you do!"
"Nobody does puppy eyes like you do."
"Black and silver - that is so you."
"Tenor, friend and one of God's wonderful creations!"
"Your father's manners and your mother's eyes."
"A contagious loveliness, she sees what people need and helps them by just spreading calm..."
"I miss your child-like, clean smile."
"P, notre rocher, une femme droite et juste! And a little savage on the volleyball court."
"Devil woman! Queen of fallen angels!"
"Bonny lass. Tall, leggy brunette... And then she does that thing with her eyebrow!"
"P, you munchkinkufftyhobbler!"

"You don't look Finnish!"
"Such a sweet nature."
"Too mellow."
"Une femme extraordinaire - pas de bruit, toujours calme, gentille..."
"She never panics."
"You single? Well, not for long - just wait til those sheepfarmers get to you."
"Finland must be a cold country."
"Gracious - always walking as if on the catwalk."
"You look like a witch - the hair, I mean."
"You look like Jamie Lee Curtis."
"We don't want foreigners like you here."
"I never knew a girl who shops less than I do."
"You truly are a saint and I just want to kill you."
"What a phone sex voice! It drives me mad!"
"Fucking bitch!"
"You come in here with those legs - please, it's hot enough in here already!"
"Will you marry me?"
"You always read, read, read - you will get sick in the head, it's unnatural."
"Fucking eejit!"
"Can you not eat without a book?"
"Are you sure you are not a lesbian?"
"You get that fighter look on the badminton court."
"Why you not drink? You never let loose!"
"You have the most popular leg in Ireland."
"You heathen, why do you wear a cross?"
"Are you Portuguese?"
"Are you Dutch?"
"That's a lovely South African accent you have."
"Nice to speak to a genuine Irishwoman."
"I always thought you were Canadian!"
"Beloved heathen!"
"So professional. So calm. I would have given her one. Lovely air about her."
"Deals with pressure with tremendous ease. Takes pride in her work. Great leader and well-liked by everyone."
"Your work is just not good enough."
"Don't keep all emotions pent up inside you."

"I thought you would only settle for an exciting foreign guy."
"I'm worried that you will lure that boy away from the straight and narrow."
"Mmm, gorgeous!"
"Breakfast on salmon and rocket leaves - you do have style."
"The woman who dumps millionaires and moviestars left and right."
"There is something regal over you, like a queen."
"I talk too much but I'm so nervous, I fell madly in love with you."
"A clear, analytical mind - you see all the craziness and you don't want to be crazy."
"Loveliness and social competence."
"You, princess of the empire!"
"You realise that if you come hiking with us your nail polish might wear off?"
"You are too choosy - you're going to grow old all alone."
"You of all people would never say no to going to the pub."
"Have you ever given a thought to your career?"
"If you are here, then it's not too weird to be here."
"I was counting on you to bring chocolate."
"You are the kind of woman who likes Destiny's Child, aren't you?"
"Faithful - you do a lot of hard work behind the scenes."
"Why do you sound like Pollyanna?"
"You look like the Queen of Sheba walking in here."
"You always have such cool necklaces."
"You can be an honorary member of our Be Nasty Club."
"You have lovely toes."

"You look like your father - especially the smile!"
"Somewhat shy, intelligent, considerate, cheerful and warm."
"Faithfulness and calmness..."
"I see a person who needs to blossom a little."
"She listens quietly to the discussion and when everybody else has spoken their mind, she opens her mouth and says something wise."
"I was wondering to myself, who is this who speaks so well? So eloquent..."
"Such a very fascinate you are...!"
"I had a vision of you in white fur."
"Beautiful and smart woman!"
"A good announcing voice."
"The most beautiful woman in the world."
"The best translator EVER."
"You are so sarcastic but I like you anyway."
"You rock!"
"You like dolphins, yes?"
"You are a like a buttercup in a meadow, like butter melting on newly baked bread."
"Stunning, a bit like Scheherazade."
"Your eyebrows are more protruding than mine."
"You look like Demi Moore."
"If you can look like that, there is hope for all of us."
"You must be a national treasure."

"My life coach!"
"Language genius."
"An eternal capability of normalizing life over a cup of coffee."
"You know how everyone has their own specific smell? Yours is party!"
"Listen to the woman of wisdom."
"Pillow fight seraph."
"Free from prejudice, accepting towards everyone."
"Your medusa hair gets stuck in everything."
"Our Great Mother of original nastiness and everything else."
"Fishnet peddler."
"Speaks up for and shows mercy to the voiceless, vulnerable outsiders. Possesses a hard-to-define wisdom that is quiet but obvious and a softness/sensitivity that she is  not entirely at ease with."
"Diamond Brains!"
"She is like an Irish road: spectacular, ancient, narrow and hard to navigate."

working with lava and beautiful corpses

Work topics in the linguistic business:


* cardigans with sleeves of different length
* spherical lava
* macros and how to record them
* Lemminkäinen's temple
* Chinese snake liquor
* Putin and a penis sheath
* a movie-making prince of Jerusalem
* speech karaoke
* atonal symphonies and how to subtitle them for the deaf
* virtual reality pornography
* Finnish swear words and their translation
* high-visibility vests
* Haheoikanalonakeikimaikaponokakainolanai and her sister Pualani
* how to be a beautiful corpse
* oyster opening
* gourmet cooking in a coffee maker
* garment care symbols
* reformed neo-Nazis
* the procreation of woodpeckers
* tomato farmers on epic road trips
* translating Swedish, Finnish, Danish, French, German, Russian and Tamil for TV (even if you don't speak all of these)

As a result, I have a very interesting search history on Google.

where to have dinner in your pyjamas

I stopped by a street kitchen today as I was walking my borrowed poodle.

I rarely eat burgers but options were limited because I had a dog with me. I wouldn't dream of leaving him tied up outside a restaurant or store.

Darkness had already fallen as I ordered a juustokas - a local specialty burger - through a window on a corner of the wintry street. An outdoor candle flickered cheerily on the ground near my feet and the smell of meat sizzling on a grill drifted out.

The lady who made my burger gave me a few pieces of sausage for the poodle, as a bonus. I fit right in among the other clientele waiting on the sidewalk, dressed in a bulky winter coat hastily thrown on over my pyjamas - lazy Boxing Day attire.

The juustokas, which I've never tried before, turned out to be a sausage burger with lots of melted cheese. Just right for a lazy Boxing Day. Tomorrow, I'll go back to salads.

Christmas, 2016 edition

* my White Witch coat, a car full of presents and a poodle, dread and hope
* close family members who are only close once a year
* a day holed up with mother, books and chocolate
* traditional walks along seafront and through the weird place called Purola
* more Christmas music than usual (Spotify, nostalgic radio stations, a shaky vinyl from my childhood)
* coming home, pouring a desperately needed glass of wine, singing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" at the top of my voice

God has arrived to save us.

food levels in December

In the month before Christmas, there is an inexpensive meal of rice pudding and bacon rolls in a crowded church basement where I discuss gospel music with friends.

There is a meal of burgers and beer in a colourful, mock-Australian restaurant with equally colourful volleyball ladies.

There is a loud family party with birthday cake and teenagers who roll their eyes.

And there is a festive business lunch with men in suits and women in heels, with mentions of turnovers and quality control and expensive boats.

There are so many levels in my December life.

the problem with problems

That feeling when you struggle for hours with a problem, dejected and exhausted, and just want to go home and sleep ...

... and then you solve the problem and could go home and sleep, but instead you want to take on the world and solve every problem therein.

ugh and ow for Christmas

Christmastime means that life is different for a while.

I get a break from my usual work and instead spend my days subtitling TV programs of a different kind.

Children's programs, which means typing words like 'splat!' and 'ugh!' and 'ow!', sometimes in a foreign language.

Music programs, with hauntingly beautiful and desperately depressing songs.

Films about tomato farmers that go on epic road trips.

Nature documentaries, with birdsong filling my room.

It also means waking up to grey darkness and taking my evening walk in the middle of the afternoon while there is still daylight. Weariness, coloured lights and mood swings.

kiss me in every language

"I’m a writer.
Don’t buy me roses
or fancy things.
Kiss me in every language
and envelop me in
the soft hug of a sentence.
Teach me how to
write without words,
and I will love you
for the rest of my
undocumented existence."

(unknown)

close to wholeness

“Practically speaking, a life that is vowed to simplicity, appropriate boldness, good humor, gratitude, unstinting work and play, and lots of walking brings us close to the actual existing world and its wholeness.”

(Gary Snyder: The Practice of the Wild)

make merry

The pub with the worn wooden tables and vintage "Guinness is good for you" posters is where I come to

drink beer with friends
order a cider alone and read the paper
talk to people I haven't seen for decades
stare out at rain-washed streets
elbow my way through a crowd to find a free table
play pool
watch games on the TV screen
scream with laughter over the air hockey table
spend hours on the dance floor
jive around the tables outside the dance floor
listen to my friend's band play covers
get offered elaborate cocktails by secret admirers
discuss God and history and ex-boyfriends

The odd thing is that I actually come here very seldom.

afterlife in the library, over coffee

"You would think that in a group like this, somebody would have had an out-of-body experience," the elderly lady says in a disappointed voice.

The rest of us shake our heads, slightly ashamed. This is a book club, after all. Most of us ladies have plenty to say. One tells us about her newly diagnosed heart problems, another of her reluctance to experience afterlife if it means lots of effort. A younger lady, one of the librarians, mentions time travel. Another has brought a stack of books for reference, a strange combination of The Divine Comedy, Kafka and something by Ursula K. Le Guin.

I sit back and sip my coffee while somebody misquotes Dante and the ladies argue about the shocking amount of violence in today's fiction. In the library, with books and elderly ladies and coffee, is how I would like to spend the afterlife.

burden down

“The transition from tenseness, self-responsibility, and worry, to equanimity, receptivity, and peace, is the most wonderful of all those shiftings of inner equilibrium, those changes of personal centre of energy, which I have analyzed so often; and the chief wonder of it is that it so often comes about, not by doing, but by simply relaxing and throwing the burden down.”

(William James)

brown eyes that look away

Somber, brown eyes,
a long back not always up to carrying the weight of life,
strong legs that jump a bit too often,

this is me.

Icy reserve,
eager warmth,
uncertain wisdom.

And yet I cannot love myself.