throwing caution

With blue fairylights and a broken TV I'm saying goodbye to 2014.

My New Year's Eve celebrations have usually included good food, tea-drinking friends, profound wisdom. This year, I was invited to a singles party of the "bring your own bottle" kind where I know exactly one person. Throwing caution and introversion to the wind, I thought "what the hell" and accepted the invitation.

I will get slightly drunk, watch other people get very drunk, answer weird questions, and if there is dancing I will dance.

disease-ridden notes

Sick, day five.

Can't venture out to the grocery shop because rough winds do shake this sickly body of mine and it ain't no fun.

So I survive on chocolate and flu meds, and study the wintry landscape through my window.

* Note to ornithologists: the thrushes have not yet migrated south for the winter. I hope they are good with minus 10 degrees Celsius.
* Note to meteorologists: the wind has turned from winter's usual northwest to southwest, and the sun has been shining more than usual although it barely rises above the horizon.
* Note to the rescue services: too many fools are venturing out on the thin ice on the bay.
* Note to self: get a dog.

my life had the goodness of blue waters

A look back at 2014... because looking  back is what I do well. Please note that I am completely ignoring all the boring stuff that happened between these carefully edited highlights.


Most useful thing learned? It took me one day to learn how to download and use subtitling software - and suddenly I had a new vocation, job title and dream.


Proudest achievement? It was a nightmare, it wasn't voluntary, but I'm kind of proud I did it - changing jobs, again.

This year's mode of transport? The thrice-cursed little French car, surprisingly cooperative most of the year. Except in cold weather and when it decided it was time to disconnect all the lights.

Journeys taken? A whirlwind trip to amazing Helsinki. A few spring days in Frankfurt, Germany, with a friend, wine and easy living. A summery day in Sweden after chugging across the pond on an ancient ferry. A November weekend in Tampere, Finland, with more laughter than should be physically possible.

This year's inspiration? Pinterest and White Collar, all the free spirits out there living in freedom and cool clothes.

Best thing that happened? Could have been the scary-looking biker dude who said, "Want a job?" or the friend who said, "Let's buy a flight ticket out of here". Or the long, hot, lazy summer on the beach.

Most significant insight?

chaos, leave me never.

keep me wild

and keep me free

so that my brokenness will be,

the only beauty

the world will see.

(r.m. drake)

Best study achievement? I finally realized that Excel can be used in practice, not theory. Learned a lot of Finnish. And took a course in InDesign, already forgotten.

Favourite item of clothing? The black boots. Or the cheap grey fleece sweater. Or the little black skirt I wore with absolutely everything.

Favourite icecream? Do you have to ask? Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough.

Favourite quote? 

I want raging nights

dark and wild

Lit only by the city,

bonfires, and cigarettes

I want sun-kissed mornings

breezy and free

interrupted only by the voices 

of lovers and friends

(unknown) 

New interests? My Viking heritage, smoothies and subtitles.

Most unexpected thing seen from the window? A shark (of the inflatable toy kind) sailing past the beach in the middle of a thunderstorm, fighter aircraft in formation, fire swingers, a snowstorm with thunder and lightning.

Favourite song? Ed Sheeran: I See Fire or John Legend: All Of Me or Jenni Vartiainen: Suru on kunniavieras or the Script: Superheroes or...

Who would you like to thank? Everyone who loves me despite my moody silences and false cheerfulness. God for everything else.


(Title from Gary Barlow's song Open Road)

fluff

What you really need when you're dying of the flu (at Christmas!) is an adorable poodle with fluffy fur to randomly hug for comfort.

My sister was kind enough to lend me hers. She will get it back with lots of flu germs in that lovely fur.

meet Robinson and Friday

Another random picture from the ancient archives:

We made landfall on a deserted island one autumn afternoon, my friend and I. At least we thought it was deserted. Two sheep showed up and tried to force themselves aboard as we were setting out again.

Some Islanders take herds of sheep out to small islets over the summer to let them roam free. These two had apparently been left behind when the rest were collected in the autumn and were feeling rather put out. We informed the sheepfarmer about this. So I can kind of take the credit for saving two lives that grey afternoon.

I'm not happy yet no sorrow shakes me

My job today consists of listening to a well-known Finnish singer, Vesa-Matti Loiri, croon old songs at me from a 1970s recording while I'm adding subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing.

Apparently even the deaf enjoy Loiri's singing.

He's singing songs by the poet Eino Leino. This is serious business: longing, nostalgia, despair. It never would have crossed my mind to listen to this type of music but I'm glad I did. There is a dark beauty in the Finnish folk soul.

For a hefty dose of melancholia, the mood most often associated with the Finns, look no further.

English translation by Aina Swan Cutler:

I hear the evening cornbird calling.

Moonlight floods the fields of tasseled grain.

Wood smoke, drifting veils the distant valleys.

Summer evening's joy is here for me.

I'm not happy yet no sorrow shakes me,

but the dark woods stillness I would welcome.

Rosy clouds through which the day is falling,

sleepy breezes from the blue gray mountains,

shodows on the water, meadow flowers...

out of these my heart's own song I'll make!

I will sing it, summer hay-sweet maiden,

sing to you my deep serenity,

my own faith that sounds a swelling music,

oak-leaf garland ever fresh and green.

I'll no longer chase the will-o-wisp.

Happiness is here in my own keeping.

Day by day, life's circle narrows, closes.

Time stands still now ... weather cocks all sleeping.

Here before me lies a shadowy way

leading to a strange, an unknown place.

what cannot wait

I crave:

a caress,
the sun,
olive meatballs and garlic mushrooms,
another season of White Collar,
divine peace,
a dog,
an apartment in Manhattan.

And it's urgent.

seeing the light

Winter game: Pick a random picture from years ago and explain it:

In the back seat of a car, waiting to drive aboard the ferry to Sweden. Having a bout of despair because my parents were in the front seat and I suddenly felt stuck in childhood. Saved from insanity by my niece who sat next to me and invented a hilarious game that involved taking random pictures like this one.

what friends said this week

"I handed in four rifles to the police."
"I'll be working part-time as a circus manager."
"You need to assess the marathon man."
"My therapist said I should go to trauma counselling. I dream of classrooms at night."
"I forgot that I was once a devil."
"I send emails to myself and intentionally add spelling errors."
"I'm in breach of contract."
"I never look at the price tag."
"Have you ever considered a push-up bra?"
"Cow."

My interesting friends keep adding spice to conversations.

socializing in the dark

The weekend:

Gingerbread cookie baking,  darkness,  candles in the windows, vegetarian food, indoor beachvolley, sleep, the president's ball on TV, tea for two,  an interpretation gig,  a victory and a defeat, cake with Mum, shopping for someone else, not enough solitude.

teenagers, bacon and drills

Perils of living in an apartment building:

* You wake up before dawn because the neighbours' teenager is having a screaming fit and slamming doors.

* A seductive smell of fried bacon spreads throughout the building just as you're planning to get some more work done before stopping for lunch.

* Another neighbour decided to do a bit of DIY, involving drilling, just as your head hits the pillow.

dawn will break - next March

Finland is shrouded in eternal darkness.

We crawl into our hide-outs, light fires and candles.
Eat hot food and mulled wine. Amuse ourselves with stories.
Party a little too hard to show we are not afraid.
Sleep and dream of summer and eternal sunshine.

Manchester of Finland

If you dream of living in one of those old industrial buildings that have been converted into fabulous lofts, full of exposed brick, light and air, and overlooking the water, you should probably go to Tampere, Finland.

Its raw charm is irresistible. This is not a town for sissies. It's where Lenin and Stalin met for the first time - in a building which is now one of the few surviving Lenin museums in the world.

Tampere also has an Ikea store and a fabulous Spanish restaurant. What more do you need?

freedom's midnight hour

If the most glorious moment of freelance work came that June morning when I sat on the balcony, summer breeze in my hair and sun on my rosy cheeks, barefoot and happy, gloating over all the poor bastards who have to work in offices and factories and shops...

...then the hour of the wolf arrived a pitch-black night in November when I struggled through an endless project at four in the morning, aching with cold and lack of sleep, anxiously doubting myself and knowing that anxiety would still be there in the morning, as it had for weeks.

that funky Jesus music

I was going through my old CDs to decide which ones to keep. Found an old gospel one that I probably hadn't played since the 1990s so I put it on, just to confirm my suspicions that it was good for the 'reject' pile.

To my surprise, I enjoyed it enough to decide to keep it. I was especially moved by a Whitney Houston song, "I Love The Lord" (and Whitney Houston songs have failed to move me since I ran out of teenage hormones).

What's more, it made me long for a good, old gospel concert of the kind I used to go to in the 1990s. The kind I haven't felt any need for since the 1990s. As it happened, such a concert was being arranged in my town that same week (and they are usually very few and far between) so on an impulse I asked a friend to go with me. When the day arrived, I nearly changed my mind - there is a reason you should not revisit your teenage years - but my friend convinced me to go anyway.

The concert was packed with old acquaintances - on the stage as well as in the audience - and was really good. World-class good. All my doubts and fears vanished and I let myself be carried away by the wonderful music.

And then they played "I Love The Lord". If that wasn't a sign, I don't know what is.

chased by the Pac-Man monster

How to grow up before the internet:

Eighties, in primary school: first encounter ever with a computer when we were offered computer classes. Which meant learning simple programming, like If-Then-Else. Never got much further than that. Pac-Man was fun, though.

A boy in school had a computer at home. A Commodore 64. He was considered the nerdiest of the nerds because of this.

Nineties, starting university: we were offered our own email accounts on the university server. This was something we had never heard about. You weren't supposed to apply for one unless you needed it for your studies but we all applied anyway, out of curiosity. Email became wildly popular for writing silly messages to your friends. Nobody owned a computer yet but you could log in on any of the terminals scattered throughout campus.

Then everything started to happen. Windows came, meaning that using a computer was actually easy and not only something for programming geeks. No longer did we have to know commands by heart or get stuck in WordPerfect when we forgot which function key to use. The mouse was invented and now it was all point-and-click. The internet and the romantically named World Wide Web arrived - there wasn't much on it at first, but information about anything and everything soon started to flood it. We took the few basic computer classes available and learned the rest from friends and through trial and error. More computer labs opened on campus and we were encouraged to use them instead of writing our essays with the help of a pencil or a typewriter.

I was given someone's old computer, then somebody else's slightly newer one and used them to write my essays, but they were slow and prone to crashing and there were always compatibility problems when I saved my work on a floppy disk and brought it to campus to use the printer there. Being online at home wasn't really something to consider - modems were excruciatingly slow and you were billed by the minute. But you could always play Solitaire, Tetris or maybe even Need For Speed.

The 21st century, once we survived the dreaded Y2K bug: by the time we left university we had got ourselves hotmail addresses that we could access anywhere, not just on the campus computers, and knew the basics of Word, Excel and PowerPoint. The internet was by now stuffed with both useful and entertaining information. Most businesses were getting computerized and the really cool people had their own laptop or Nokia Communicator.

The rest of us used computer rooms in the public library, or the internet cafés that started popping up everywhere. I could spend hours in them on my days off - emailing, reading fanfiction, looking for jobs. There was great coffee to be had, lots of other cool people around and the wonderful feeling of having the entire world at your fingertips.

Now, with a laptop and a smartphone, I never really get over that feeling of having conquered a world nobody expected me to manage. Neither the slight insecurity nor the triumph. I was on Facebook just a couple of months after it opened to the general public and signed onto a number of other social media - just because I have to prove to myself that I'm still on top of this computer thing.

nation of sorrow and strength

I'm studying the language, culture and mindset of my own country.

It's not easy growing up in a language minority with its own culture and way of thinking, its own tight-knit community. The longer I live in this country, the more I realise that I hardly know it. The language has always been a struggle to me, the culture has run a closely parallel and only vaguely known course to my own, and my neighbours think a bit differently than I do.

No matter how much I dream of foreign shores - before I go anywhere, I will know this people and understand how they think. No matter how much work it takes to delve into the complicated grammar of this Finnish language, read up on popular culture that should already be familiar to me, and try to understand the mind of a people that is not my own. And yet somehow is.

One of the most beautiful Finnish songs of all time:


- Itkuja varten on ihmisen silmät, vieriköön kyyneleet. 
Tuleehan tuolta se toinen päivä, kun on kepeät askeleet. -

November, the bad boy I always fall for

Even when there is no fog, November in Finland feels like fog.

We trundle along in grey dampness, sometimes on dry streets, sometimes with wet slush under our feet. Always cold. Now we pay the price for our glorious, paradisiacal midnight-sun summers.

November is darkness that infinitesimally brightens to a doubtful twilight in the hours around noon.

The darkness brings a gloom even in the mood of the people. A constant tiredness, sometimes a severe depression.

The miracle occurs when the temperature drops below zero. Although there is the added irritation of icy roads, snow that blocks the way and frozen fingers, the cold often brings out the sun, not seen for weeks, and suddenly people are involuntarily smiling again.

December is technically colder and darker than November. But December usually means snow that stays on the ground, reflecting light and brightening the daylight. And, of course, Christmas decorations and parties, reflecting hope and brightening moods.

On the darkest days of November I have to take up arms against the weariness, the sugar cravings, the urge to stay in bed and dwell on dark matters. I drag myself out on a walk along cold streets in the evening. I look at the lights in all windows. Candles, fairy-lights, the flicker of a flat-screen television, the warm glow of a kitchen lamp.

People are cooking pasta for their kids, walking over-enthusiastic dogs, packing their gym bags. The shop assistant in the grocery store on the corner still has the energy to smile at me. In the pub, someone is pouring a comforting pint. Someone else has lit a fire in the fireplace - I can smell wood smoke.

And the sea and the sky, despite the oppressive grey fog, take on a shade of breathtaking beauty that I never saw in summer.

A glass of wine never tastes as good as when you're dry and warm and happy - in horrible November.

raw food and a dog tail

The icy clarity of a day with sub-zero temperatures that always, after the choking grey dampness of slightly warmer but more hopeless days, brings relief and almost euphoria.

A raw food café in the trendy part of town, a Chinese friend, and the delicious feeling of whiling away hours on a Saturday over good food.

A stranger's dog that wagged his tail at me as if I was a long-lost friend.

A long walk, slow thoughts.

And when darkness descends, candlelight.

walking wounded

A terrible need for someone else to take charge for a while. I will survive, as I always do. But what to do with this gaping wound inside?