mustard seed twelve (a.k.a. the English Dream)

a beautiful shame

"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

(G.R.R. Martin: A Game of Thrones)

mustard seed eleven

mustard seed ten

stuck in the middle with you

What would a baby think if she had the capacity, a week before her first Christmas? That the milk carton will look the same more than 30 years from now? That three dark-haired children of strength and tender hearts will be very different? That the Seventies are really cool-nerdy?

Maybe the one and only thought is, and will ever be, "look at me, Daddy".

darling books: beauty says, all will be well

"Eve was given to the world as the incarnation of a beautiful, captivating God - a life-offering, life-saving lover, a relational specialist, full of tender mercy and hope. Yes, she brought a strength to the world, but not a striving, sharp-edged strength. She was inviting, alluring, captivating."

Rereading the best book I ever read on what it is like to be a woman (Captivating by John & Stasi Eldredge). How can anyone know so much about what I'm like? What I was meant to be and what went wrong?

Makes me a bit shaky.

mustard seed nine

kicksleds and monsters

Normally somewhat pessimistic, I knew it was going to be a perfect day from the minute I picked up some fresh donuts from the supermarket and drove out to the Island. Maybe it was because of the brilliant sunshine over white snow and the ideal winter temperature, just below freezing.

The Island has an ancient mummers tradition of sorts on Shrove Tuesday. It's mad, bad and dangerous to know... Young people get dressed up as monsters and walk around the village, making noise and entering a few houses. The general idea is to attack random people on the way, drag them into the ditch and "wash" them with snow, a cold and rather unpleasant experience for the victim. A crowd of children of all ages and some adults follow them around, drawn by morbid curiosity, and every now and then the mummers turn around and attack their followers. It's not exactly safe - I saw and heard complaints of scrapes and bruises, ruined cellphones, and witnessed children shaking with terror or cold or both. At one point I was trying to comfort my friend's toddler who cried as he saw his mother dragged off by two monsters while another approached him to rub some snow into his face.

And still, all the children were completely exhilarated afterwards. The adults bought hot dogs at an improvised concession stand and muttered about things getting way out of hand, but the same was muttered last year and the year before that and still everyone is eager to keep this tradition going exactly as it is.

I was trailing after the monsters like the others but was spared any attacks. Maybe because I am a stranger in this village where everyone knows everyone. But I was as exhilarated as the rest. It's a strangely scary feeling, standing passively still and avoiding eye contact as gangs of masked monsters - who never utter a sound - advance on you, while children run away and adults shift nervously but never resist as they are randomly and rather violently dragged off the road for punishment.

And the rest of it - moving around the snowy village roads on a kicksled with a toddler bedded down in sheepskins and wool blankets, passing ancient cottages and sleeping fields, golden sunshine giving way to blueish dusk and starry skies, hearing the locals chatter around me, warming myself by a gas barbecue outside the community hall, going home to hot chocolate and traditional Shrove Tuesday "klimp" soup and pastries with the Warrior Princess and her elderly aunt - it was all just perfect. As I knew it would be.

mustard seed eight

gonna have a riot

Heading out to the Island, where they apparently have their own quirky take on Shrove Tuesday celebrations. My friend's only clues were a vague "well, they hit people on the head" and a worried "I really can't guarantee that you won't break any bones".

But there is actual sunshine today, the bright "promise of spring" kind, and a dripping sound of melting snow on the windowsill. So I go bravely.

mustard seed seven

age and smoke detectors

I just had a terribly middle-aged thought: I should check the batteries in my smoke detector.

To counter-balance this thought, I now need to go do something teenaged. But it's late and I really just want to go lie in bed with my knitting and my hot-water bottle.

mustard seed six

waiting for future nostalgia

A slight thud, and then the wind howls in through the balcony door. I jump, startled. I was googling pictures of Irish guesthouses and my mind was far away in the milder climates of the Emerald Isle. But in February in Finland you don't let a door remain open if a stubborn winter wind has managed to tug it open, so I reluctantly get up from the sofa.

On the balcony, powdery snow is whirling around. I look across the dark, ice-locked bay and hear the wind rush through the night. The small city is already sleeping. I pull my sweater tightly around me but my feet, despite woollen socks, are already going cold. This is real winter in the North... and while I might wish with all my heart to be somewhere else, cry myself to sleep longing to for other horizons, this is home.

And someday soon, I will be homesick and heartbroken - for this. There is a bizarre hope in that thought.

mustard seed five

mustard seed four

mustard seed three

mustard seed two

mustard seed one

the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed

I have decided to visualize my dreams, even the ridiculous ones and the ones I don't believe in. Because when you do, you sow a seed. And seeds grow whether you believe in them or not.

So in no particular order, the seeds will show up on this blog. In a year or two or ten or forty, hopefully they will have grown into a lush forest of life.