complementing compliment

Dialogue between friends:

Her: Your views on the complexity of the Trinity are profound.
Him: Thank you. You have beautiful arms.

The latter comment brought more joy to the receiver.

spinning into summer

I need to put my books aside for a while. I need to stop admiring my heroes for their strength and bravery and instead develop my own.

I need to spend more time in the sun. I need to carefully consider my priorities. I need to stop worrying and allow myself to live.

Work and people and escaping reality take all my time and energy. I'm spinning at the moment. Struggling to find my central balance.

And I fear the summer. But I will live, one hour at a time.

Crete concluded

It is easy to stare yourself tired at ancient urns in Crete. Afterwards it is nice to rest your weary ass in an equally ancient olive grove.

to Kydonia with love

I aim for the sun, and for sand in my sandals, and for the fragrance of foreign flowers. I will march to the beat of a different drum. I will bring my very own Greek god home with me. See you all when I return from my Odyssey.

a Thank You day

You smiled and stopped by just to tell me you haven't forgot. Today, that was all I needed. Thank you.

My foot is better and the weekend went by in a happy haze of sun, books, chocolate, wine, the inspiration of a fantastic friend. I feel creative.

the landing is never easy

Jumping, in volleyball, is really flying. At least when you put your heart and every little one of your muscles into it and forget about everything except hitting that ball. Feels like being up there in the air forever.

And then you land on your team mate's foot and you try not to land at all but inevitably feel your ankle twist. And hurt.

Happened to me yesterday, and now I hobble around with a cane as my new best friend. But people are giving me sympathy and chocolates and I get to lie on the couch and read books.

the risks of life and Thai soup

Snow and hot springtime sun.
I have received some information that I really didn't need or want, and other information that made me giggle like a maniac.
Sunday lunch at a hotel.
A new friend.
Dipped my purse in Thai soup.
A highly distressing disagreement in the family that almost made me run screaming out of the room and never return.
I have realised that there are some things your near and dear ones will never understand or accept about you.
And that you can never fully trust anyone, not even those you really, really want to be perfect and never let you down.

But that's OK. As long as I know. And as long as I still have hope and dare to try. Yes, it is a cliché but it is true: loving is worth the risk.

PS: I ate the Thai soup after dipping my purse in it. It was still tasty and my purse only smells a little of lemon grass.

to see a world in a cup of tea

Day two: A walk in town among Saturday shoppers, many familiar faces around.

Registered for a lottery where you can win travel tickets but ruined my chances with a sarcastic comment on the registration sheet. The sun was shining. The city always wears me out - all these people who seem to either be happier than you or need something from you.

But ran into an angel whom I invited for tea and chat to my place this evening. Thus I managed to avoid another Saturday evening alone. Inspired, I sent a text message to another lonely person and invited her too. We invisible people can at least have each other to look at.

The rest of the afternoon, curled up with a blanket in the sunshine on the balcony, reading about the olives, sheep cheese and thyme honey of Crete. Surprisingly peaceful mood. The visit to the Chinese restaurant on my way home from town might have accomplished that - I ordered some spring rolls for take-out and the little Chinese matron placed a steaming cup of green tea in front of me while I waited. The fragrance of the tea, the very un-Finnish red-and-gold wallpaper of the restaurant, and the murmured conversations of the few lunch guests briefly brought me to another world.

Sometimes that's all I need for happiness.

boring notes

Having a few weeks off from the shop, for "administrative" reasons. Suits me, since I'm exhausted.

Curious to see how I will cope with all this leisure time. From this perspective, day one, it seems like paradise, complete with books to read and coffee to drink. But I won't let myself be fooled - I know what the combination of too high expectations, a slight depression and an inability to wind down can do to me. I can already see signs, like the obsessive cleaning I did yesterday... definitely NOT my style.

So for some vague reason I decided to take notes and make a careful study.

Day One: Good so far. Slept in, big breakfast and lots of coffee. Watched a film (United 93. Cried). Some light-weight work at the computer so I can feel good about myself. Swore at the printer. Counted my money. Realised it's time to do the tax return and broke out in a cold sweat. By now it's late afternoon and I'm hungry and trying to fight the slight suspicion that the whole world is out to get me.

my habits contradict me

Wonder how many skewed images of myself I carry around in my head?

I think of myself as shy, reserved, even a bit anti-social at times. Somewhat lonely, not the type who surrounds herself with friends. But someone asked me how many new friends I have made during the last six months (which were pretty average months in my life) - and by friends meaning people I make an effort to meet up with again, or at least people I let through my carefully guarded mental barriers somehow. People who are not yet my close friends, but who I know share my desire to get to know each other better. And I am by no means the kind of person who tries, or even wants, to "make the whole world my friend".

I counted at least ten. That's nearly one a fortnight. Not bad for an anti-social loner.

The wise person I quoted a couple of blog entries back has also said that character is the sum of your habits. For example, you can't claim to be a kind person if you don't have the habit of being kind to others. Conversely, I suppose, I can't call myself anti-social anymore since it's clearly, by empirical evidence, not my habit to be anti-social.

This conclusion annoys me. Now I have to look at other habits and try to face the truth in what they tell me.

mix this

The sun in my eyes, dust in my lungs, snow on my boots. A desert storm, a blizzard, hot sunshine. Despair, hope, fresh thoughts, love. Welcome, spring of 2008.

party mood(iness)

On my way to a friend's wedding. I hate weddings. I hate all parties.

I'm the kind of person who, in the middle of getting dressed and putting on make-up, curls up in a corner and cries until the mascara is all over her face. Who suddenly hates her new dress and wishes fervently for a pair of worn jeans. Who swears under her breath all the way to the party and is tempted to just sneak into a pub on the way and hide until it's all over.

Once I get to the party, I can usually enjoy it. Or if not, at least sneer at it.

a thought born out of a whimper

Someone wise pointed out to me that there are things that distract people from living the life they were intended for, things that drive them around the same circle constantly. Wasting their life and missing the meaning of life. Guilt is one of these, fear another.

And craving for acceptance/approval/love. Now that's my poison. The need that sometimes makes me - an adult, independent woman - curl up in a corner and whimper, paralyzed.

The power of love is tremendous. Unfortunately also in the negative - if it has been denied you, it can ruin your life.

longjohns and heartbreak

An old lady comes to the shop with a donation of clothes to the second-hand store in the basement. She hands me a plastic bag full of what is apparently an old man's underwear, mostly long woollen underpants. Worn, but carefully washed, ironed and folded. She anxiously explains the trouble she has taken to ensure they are proper and clean, because she is sure someone could get a lot of use out of them still. As most of her generation, she has probably had to spend her life trying to make every penny last and nothing go to waste.

Not so in my own generation. I open my mouth hesitantly to say that we don't really take in underwear, especially not so worn, as nobody really buys them second-hand anyway. She adds, hastily, with what looks like tears in her eyes:

"They belonged to my late husband, you see. He passed away last month. These are good underwear. Do you think somebody could use them still?"

I stop the intended words from leaving my mouth. Instead, I thank her gently and take the bag from her. I can always send them with the next charity lorry going to the poorer parts of Russia.

It's the only thing I can do for her. I think I'm going to cry.

through life with wet feet

Wet feet after a walk home in terrible weather. Is there anything more demoralizing that wet feet? Maybe the knowledge that people love you and you desperately need that love and you are unable to accept it?

And yet, there is always dry socks waiting for you when you get home. And there is always somebody who will look at you with kindness and suddenly there is a warmth spreading through your heart... and your feet.

my nose and my heart still work

A man in our shop asked me to kiss him. His smell was so rancid that I almost vomited at the mere idea. He has a very polite way of telling me he loves me but it doesn't really help.

Another man comes in now and then. My boss giggles and gives me a meaningful look every time. I guess my face lights up.

bizarre urges an ordinary Wednesday

A cigarette and an Australian man. I ask no more.

the materialistic part of my existence

4 cardigans
2 shirts
4 pairs of trousers
5 short-sleeved tops
1 crocheted shawl
1 suede jacket
2 winter coats
4 skirts
1 dress
1 belt
books, table cloths, candles, shampoos, miscellaneous

I used to buy on average 3 pieces of clothing a year. The above is the sum of the last three months only - the time I've been working in the Little Shop of Harmony, with its second-hand store in the basement. The total sum of the above is only half of what I paid for my last pair of new jeans.

Now I buy stuff for a fraction of what it's worth, save the world's resources and support charity work, all while delighting in new (for me at least) clothes. Go fleamarkets!

blasphemer's scribble

Wrote down my blasphemous thoughts and then deleted them all. Not because I was afraid to express them but -

I will not publish this entry.

mad Yorkshire

Losing myself in a book, The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield). Finally, a book that takes you with it. And I realise I really should go to Yorkshire sometime, in real life. Seems to be all Bronte-land (not that I ever really liked the Brontes), windswept moors and brooding skies, frowning men and apron-clad housekeepers. People and manors equally gothic and at least one aristocratic family is haunted by madness. Perhaps Yorkshire doesn't exist outside of literature? I must find out.

When I'm not reading, I'm wondering where my life is headed. Are there more adventures or is the rest all disappointment?