from sis with love

My sister, my idol.

I was the good little girl, she was the wild teenager. She took me to ride horses and I was scared and loved it. She looked after me and I felt safe with her and once she left me at home alone when she shouldn't have (to go off with some boy). I craved her attention and sometimes dug through her personal stuff but she only got a little mad at me. She taught me how to put on make-up, navigate public transport, appreciate art galleries and discover the world.

Later, when we were both grown up and she was living in the exciting big city, she constantly invited me to her house, cooked me dinner, took me to the cinema and other fun places. We spent late nights sharing secrets, had a whole barrage of inside jokes and made each other cry with laughter. We spent a lot of time in cafés, on walks in the woods and on inter-city trains (travelling between her city, my city, our parents' city). Together, we tried to make sense of our parents. We sent each other thousands of funny postcards.

I turned out as the bohemian, always-broke drifter and she as the responsible one with a beautiful family and a well-paid job. To this day, she still invites me for dinner regularly even though I'm a hopeless cook and never invite her back.

In my life adrift, she is my safe harbour.

no country for arrogant men

This part of the country, where I was born, I may not like living here very much. I would prefer to live far away and come for long, pleasant visits and in that way preserve the romantic, nostalgic view of this little corner of the world. Its daily life gets a bit too dull for my liking. Not to mention that the pressure to fit into its mold is daunting.

But I do like the men. They may not be the best-looking or most charming - actually, they are shy and on the verge of being irritatingly humble. But if you treat them right, they are fantastic. Incredibly practical and get things done without fuss. If they can't find a job (and sometimes even if they can) they start their own little business and do it well. Genial and friendly, once you get past that initial reservation, and not above lending a stranger a helping hand. Arrogance simply doesn't exist among the men here.

And behind that quiet, humble exterior, they are quite macho. In general, they are law-abiding citizens. But if a wolf or bear (protected species here) happens to wander in from the great forests and gets too close to these men's homes, they might first apply for permission to shoot it. When the authorities deny permission, they do it anyway. And their neighbours are happy to help bury the corpse and keep their mouths shut.

empty-handed and alive

Walking to the bank,
crossing the street in the mid-day rush,

and I felt my faith die.

Sitting in the shop,
waiting for customers,

and I felt my heart break.

I survived my death, again.

back, streets! back, allright?

Weekends: Soaking up the sun in the achingly beautiful archipelago . . . Weekdays: Walking through dusty streets after a long day of work.

I'm thrown between two worlds. It unsettles me.

No energy to pursue my man. Let him do all the work for once.

Desperately trying to cram in as much beach volley as possible before evenings get too chilly. Unsuccessfully trying not to overdose on the online world I craved during the holidays.

I dream of dreams, and of winding corridors with secret doors to other universes.

My usual August existence, in other words.

don't suffer art gladly

I get impulses to write. And then I don't. Because I don't believe in myself.

Well. At least I have the image of the tortured writer genius down to an art. (The genius part is really pushing it, but don't tell anyone.)

all at sea, where no-one can bother me

And isn't this -  despite the not-perfect video quality -  just the vision of summer by the sea at its loveliest?

How I wish I could be there. Oh wait - I am!

(No dogs were harmed during the making of this motion picture.)

just your average heavenly existence

A game of kubb,
a lost-looking cormorant,
French toast,
grilled marshmallows,
a shooting star,
kids on the trampoline,
freshly picked berries with sugar,
a night of sleeping like a baby in a silent room.

obey the cursor

Sitting in a darkening room surrounded by candles and a salt lamp. Looking out  over a rain-swept, stormy bay, as always enchanting in its beauty. Silence, except for the wind.

But the most beautiful thing of all, a blank screen on the laptop before me, the cursor blinking its joyful message: Start typing here!

PS. I wanted to describe the beauty of the bay by using the phrase "fifty shades of grey" because that's how it looks. But someone has RUINED that expression. And I haven't even read the damn book.

a feel-good, no-love Sunday

And I took myself for a RUN along Sunday-quiet, summer-lovely back streets, close to the glittering sea. Afterwards I sunned myself on the balcony, watching clouds and listening to organ music. I hung out blindingly white laundry to dry in the sun. I went to church and laughed with my friends afterwards.

Summer holidays almost over, it's back to work on Tuesday and I really don't mind at all ( OK, I'm going to mind having to get up in the mornings ). I had a thoroughly feel-good day.

And I didn't call you today either. I want to love you but trying to love myself is a full-time job.

it's not pretty there

If we ever make it that far, I need to explain to you that I ...

Need time and space alone
Shouldn't be allowed more than one mug of coffee
Shouldn't be allowed to adapt too much
Won't tell you where to find my blog
Spend hours in the library
Find it hard to express my feelings
Will smile and say "fine" and hope you see through my lie
Will run if you get too close
Will withdraw into my own world if suffocated by my own expectations
Might need a glass of wine to let go of my inhibitions
Might mistake a low blood sugar level for the end of the world
Am hot and cold, a study in contradictions
Won't talk if you won't listen
Get more distant with distance
Hate phone calls
Find my fantasy worlds and get lost in them for weeks
Get depressed in a certain suburb and when deprived of beauty
Get happy in cafés
Get creative, and slightly crazy, around midnight

... and that sometimes, but only for a little while, I will love a dream more than I love you.

through the spin cycle again

Vertigo again.

Woke up feeling as if my bed was a tiny boat bobbing around among mighty waves. The doctor told me it was that harmless thing again. Really should know better than to go see the doctor for this thing again - last time I ended up waiting for seven hours in a barren waiting room with only a stale sandwich, my nausea and a boring novel to sustain me.

At least the emergency healthcare fees are very low and clinics are plenty in this cold but caring country. I didn't have to wait more than 15 minutes this time, despite the fact that I had brought two novels. Barely had time to study the waiting room posters informing me how to sneeze without spreading influenza and how much a smoking habit of one pack a day for 30 years will cost me (enough to buy an Audi A6, apparently). The doctor looked like she was barely out of her teens (they always do, do they all retire at the age of 20?) and I had the vague feeling she was the little sister of someone I knew.

And she couldn't cure my vertigo. But coffee and sympathy from a friend almost did, for a while. Now, it's back to my storm-tossed bed.

running scared

A balmy summer's night. Anxiety.

Holidays by the sea, endless days of loveliness in a beloved home, even re-awakened dreams. Back to the city for a necessary (and joyfully anticipated) catching-up on civilisation.

And then,

bill-paying hassle,
computer warnings,
little aches and pains and a lot of tiredness,
no access to my addiction,
and the sudden realisation that my life is not at all on track.

     I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
     When people run in circles it's a very, very
     Mad world

     (Gary Jules: Mad World)

the novel therapy

Citylife. I manage not to be devastated over the dog by occupying myself with flirting. Then I escape reality by watching my favourite TV series.

But when I occasionally settle down with a good book, I realise what really calms me down and inspires me at the same time.

the art of losing

Sitting at a window watching a hassled-looking bird feed its chicks. Having another glass of wine.

My last evening of village life. Tomorrow it's back to the city, the balcony overlooking the sea, trendy shops, heat reflecting off the asphalt, the coolness of the air-conditioned library, beach volley euphoria, the summer noises of music and laughter from the outdoor cafés, almost-midnight-sun brightness over the bay, tanned bare skin, the exuberance of life cascading from TV screens.

But the dog. My God, I have to leave the dog.

I have no idea why I see myself as cautious, holding back. In fact, when I just get past my indifference, I'm not hard to convince to give my heart away. I moved into this cottage for four weeks, at the drop of a hat, to look after a dog. Knowing full well that I would end up loving the dog and being devastated when the time came to give it back to the owners.

Still, how could I regret it?

Let's have another glass of red. Tomorrow, I'm going to get into my car and drive away, then work, then reward/comfort myself with a vanilla latte at that coffee shop I keep dreaming about. Then I'm going home to cry my heart out.

we need to talk about dog pee

Sometimes I wonder if I really know even the basics of human interaction.

It's not necessary to discuss only profound subjects with people. I don't have to root out a friend's deepest issues every time we talk and listen sympathetically while they pour out their dark secrets.

It's OK to spend a few minutes telling them about a bizarre thing I just read about fruit flies,* joking about how another friend answered the phone while brushing her teeth, or discussing the relative merits of letting your dog pee in the unpleasant neighbour's garden.

How did I start taking every chat so bloody seriously?


* if you deprive them of sleep, they will try to catch up the next day

nevermore

I have a rather Poe-esque raven looking over my shoulder right now.

And he's indeed saying "nevermore" because it's almost time to leave the village and the dog. And I don't know how I can bear to leave the dog.

liquorice love potion

To share some liquorice with a man over the shop counter... ( Quickly hiding the sweets when some kids enter. ) He is in his quiet mood and I like it.

I look up at him - and for a tall woman, having to look up at someone is strangely comforting - and say "have another". What I really want to say is "have me".

judging June

June is the ideal month to:

* analyze bulldozer men, quiet men and men who bring icecream (2006)
* walk around an old hotel and watch Santa Claus sit around his fire (2007)
* focus on lilacs and listen to Sting (2008)
* move between the woods and the horizon and remind myself that people are generally kind (2009)
* do a caricature and climb Mordor (2010)
* long for less wilderness (2011)
* live in the land of loveliness, lockless doors and self-inviting neighbours (2012)

The picture has no relevance to the text but I happen to love stone walls and stonewalling.

country life update

Been invited for dinner.
Been cheerfully greeted by the weird man of the village.
Walked a quarter mile with the gossip lady. And my friend who happened to be visiting, a huge man in black leather. Desperately tried to quell the gossip that will inevitable follow.
After barely two weeks in the village, found myself in the position that I can take a walk and realistically hope to meet someone who will invite me in for coffee. And it happened. Had coffee in a beautiful garden with an elderly couple.
Been eaten alive by mosquitoes.

what I can contribute to the universe

I may not have created a masterpiece, raised a child or found a cure for cancer.

But I do know how to turn up the music, dance barefoot on the livingroom floor and laugh wildly when the dog starts to bark at me.