the ice cannot fix this

I went down to the bay, with its ice like a mirror all the way to the horizon, and sat on a sun-warmed rock. The ice was singing.

It has not been a good winter. It has not been a winter at all, in some respects. Just a dark wetness, bringing dark thoughts.

It went well for a while. I savoured each month carefully, deliberately. The swirling grey mists of November, the spicy candles of December. Then came the discordant threats of January, the midwinter demons that play tricks on body and mind. I have been so busy fighting them that I hardly even noticed this bland February.

The last two months, and probably for a few more to come, I wake early in the mornings to the sound of drilling in the walls around me. Instead of working from home, I'm forced to take my laptop to noisy cafés, chilly libraries and my mother's quiet flat. It has its charms - sipping smoothies or my mother's strong coffee while I work - but hunching on uncomfortable chairs over a small laptop twists my body into seizures and aches.

I didn't sign up for any evening classes or courses last autumn, as I usually do. I was tired and needed my evenings for myself. I couldn't even find any fun dance classes at the gym, only boring workouts alone.

I may be more rested now. Or more stressed out, from the drilling. My mind wanders only around the same, small circles - my flat, the grey streets where nothing ever happens. My creativity has dried up. Love is still not a reality. Only my friends and family keep me afloat on this dull ocean.

I used to be the traveller, the explorer, the curious one. How did I become this dazed and lonely shadow?

The ice sang its song to me today, with cracks and soft hoots.

travel report

I went to Helsinki.

I saw fire and some impressive art, studied science and rats for a day at the Heureka Museum and heard the blackbird sing in the middle of winter, in the middle of the city. I found English books and a lovely quilt. I walked too much and had a comfort pizza.

Now I feel socially acceptable again. I have been to the big city. I have actually seen other people.

tofu and tension

This is a winter of huddling beneath a Helsinki quilt. Watching Netflix and the rain that should have been snow. Frying tofu and rolling wraps. Fleeing my noisy apartment building to work in cafés and libraries. Being so tense it hurts, jumping at loud noises.

A winter of spinning my 80's globe - it has countries like Zaïre, Czechoslovakia and the USSR - and calling my mother because I miss her even though I saw her yesterday.

dust and a smell of copper

The sun is so far away, there is dust and a smell of copper, builders are ringing my doorbell at 7 AM, my brain zaps me at night, I still haven't found true love, every little thing scares me, and I sit alone in my house on a Saturday night.

But God will command his angels regarding me, I will not fear the terror of night nor the plague that destroys at midday, and I will dwell in the shelter of the Most High.

2019: the year of the twinge and the north wind

* New Year: Pink bubbly in a storm, friends and deep talk.
* Got better at planning my days - or not? ("World dominion, then food.")
* Prison visit - shuddered in a solitary confinement cell. News station visit - stood quiet as a mouse in a studio broadcasting live.
* Reread my journals from 35 years. Lessons learned(?): Personal development comes from seeking help and daring to show weakness. I have a life-long longing for creativity. Drive is important - happiness comes from working towards improvement and being kind to myself. Other people cause me to change. And I forget a lot.
* A twinge in my back: No volleyball for seven months and a gorgeous physiotherapist.
* Brought a borrowed bichon frisé to the office for a day.
* Threw a party for an 85-year-old. It didn't stop until a few days later.
* Epic, half-year-long fight among my closest friends. Is one of them is a psychopath?
* Wrote 40 pages of fiction.
* Birthday with road trip, mango cake, Cava and an espresso maker.

* Days in Prague: Good beer hunting, Mozart dinner, reunion with old friends, the castle in pouring rain, Jewish quarter, private guided tour and a zombie.
* Found Cloud Lake, a soul-healing place.
* Road trip with volleyballers, with discussions on whether Jesus ever took the tram.
* Climbed an old attic to look for treasure and feasted on perch toast and kids' pancakes.
* Summery brunch with the non-skiing Ski Club.
* Whirlwind business trip to sunny Uppsala, Sweden. Clothes, outdoor lunch inspired by Linnaeus, a forest fire.
* Second-hand shopping day in Jakobstad with expert.
* North wind and moth summer, and wonderful days alone in the wilderness (with DVDs).
* Ranch visit and Agda the people-loving sheep.
* My first single-handed major renovation project, undertaken very reluctantly and with lots of whining.
* Road trip with mother to Nedervetil, Kaustby, Terjärv, Evijärvi, Kortesjärvi, Komossa. YWAM nostalgia. Open fields, silent forests, hidden lakes, cottages, family history.
* Wrote a professional, official statement regarding ugly guys, for a court case.
* Watched heavy rain approach, feeling exhilarated. Went berry picking (with a scarf on my head, very old-fashioned and appropriate look).
* Goal: find divine love.
* Jyväskylä weekend: Airbnb luxury apartment, beachvolley and flamenco dancers. Home with a detour via Death (the village).
* Chased geese dressed in Armani.
* End-of-summer celebration, wonderful and melancholic as always.
* Translated God's own words to me, half-deaf.
* Saw a play: Fiddler on the Roof.
* Dug out old family treasures and arranged a good old-fashioned, analogue slide show.
* Attended a vernissage where the artwork had lava and gold in it, and made sure to drink enough champagne to get me through a game of volleyball after.
* Halloween weekend in Tampere and the surrounding lake district: ancient ruins in rain, good and bad music, boots shopping, thriller writing, a medieval castle.
* Discovered the farmers market and started handing over cash for suspicious carrot bags out of someone's car boot in a pitch-black parking lot.
* Sent my phone to an unknown fate in Lithuania and got a new one in return. There went my 440-day streak on DuoLingo.
* Six concerts in as  many weeks (I never go to concerts, really.) Mozart, KAJ, lots of gospel and Christmas music.
* Became a grandfather's sister and all my nieces and nephews are now officially adults. And I still wear a teenager's beanie.
* Asked the janitor to move in with me since he was here all the time anyway to fix stuff.
* Traditional Christmas lunch with important people that I didn't know how to talk to.
* Christmas celebrations: the simple version and the expensive version. It took nine hours this year too.
* New Year's Eve with someone I didn't really know. Deep talk, great salmon pizza and blueberry bubbly.

Other noteworthy things during the year: Delicious brunches, a webinar, a traditional midsummer party with traditional emergencies, a poodle week, ruffs, beach wrestling, picnics and my fairytale world, loneliness, helping mother, a far-travelled oak leaf, a phone smelling of male sweat, tofu, Netflix.

Work-related stuff: Investigated how to break a pair of trousers, chased lost underwear (from a distance), translated a speech by the president of South Sudan, pretended I knew Norwegian.

Hair colour melange: ivory-cream-chestnut-chocolate-anthracite.

New phenomena: Started dreaming more (at night), taking my coffee black and sitting in cafés again.

Quote of the year: "Farewell, beautiful thighs. I would like to have knees also in the future."

twenty twenty vision

The year 2020 will be an anniversary - of the year I graduated and stormed wildly into the world, of the year I lost my father.

It has started with storms and rain, a trip to the big city, a new laptop and the demonic whisperings of January.

New Year's Eve was deliciously spent in the company of a minister, luxury pizza in a hot basement, old movies from the last Twenties in a hipster bar, blueberry champagne and fireworks.

The trip to the big city included fire and lights, the science museum with a planetarium, simulators and VR and basketball-playing rats, breakfast with Russians, English books, too much walking, a singing blackbird, the best library I've ever seen and a lovely quilt.

The new laptop means that I can see no happiness in life until I have successfully installed the most uninstallable but necessary software.

The demonic whisperings of January means the normal demonic whisperings of the month of darkness. The sun, energy and meaning do not exist right now. Nothing to do about it except take vitamins and walks and binge on Netflix.

Better times are coming.

glitter and saffron

A Christmas of glitter, hugs, saffron and chocolates. A thick candle flickering its light towards a distant horizon. Books. Chattering people and a feeling of future.

I wore something glittery red and chattered almost as much as the others.

Now I take walks in silent, dark woods where all life is asleep. I look at lit windows and let snow and rain fall on my face. I long for light and find a sleepy peace in the darkness.

I'm not sure I did this year right but I think I did my best.

on this very Christmas night

It is a deep dark night that swirls around our northern lands.

It tastes of cold, gingerbread and woodsmoke. It smells of snow travelling towards us. It has hyacinths, lights that twinkle and people who just want to sleep.

I'm tired in body and soul, and yet every song makes me dance. My God is on his way to save me.

This night
we pray
our lives
will show
this dream
he had
each child
still knows 
we are waiting
we have not forgotten
on this night
on this night
on this very Christmas night

(words from The United Orchestra's "Christmas Canon")

pale face to a pale sky

Spur your little Citroën onwards through thick, slushy snow. Lead your elderly mother by the hand. Don't think of all the work you should be doing.

Instead, lift your pale face to a pale sky. Warm your hands in the pockets of a winter jacket and rejoice in your heavy boots. See how people smile at you, willing to help.

The day is cold, snow is still falling, life is good.

brave, efficient, bitter

I have changed. I'm no longer afraid of conflict and not too preoccupied with what other people think. I don't need to fix other people's relationships. I don't say yes to everything. I'm not worried that I don't feel loving enough. The world doesn't have to be black and white. I accept.

I don't have to experience everything. I am aware of the need to make plans and be efficient. I am happier even when life isn't going according to plan. I state my opinions when I want. I am braver, much more confident.

I am also more bitter and grumpy.

aimlessness with coffee

Green smoothies next to a book. A tuna salad underneath an exotic wallpaper with jungle flowers and pigs.  A laptop in a library, surrounded by whispering students. Buckets of black coffee with melancholia and a will to live.

Streets in a grey mist that reaches from here to February. Long sleeves over hands with silver nailpolish. A whole day of aimlessly roaming the city. Weariness with excitement, boots and woollen scarves.

dress code: business bohemian

During office hours I sit at a beautiful teak desk. The staff room has a fancy espresso maker and exotic fruits in the snack bowl.

My colleagues arrive in expensive cars, dressed in ripped jeans and hoodies - it's the kind of office that is too cool for a business dress code.

I sometimes arrive in a sharp pencil skirt, sometimes in a hoodie. Sometimes both. I put rings on my fingers, hoops in my ears, thick mascara on my lashes. I stomp around in boots. I sometimes arrive in a very uncool, noisy car that looks out of place among the Audis. Mostly I take the bus - where I'm sometimes the only woman not in a hijab.

I feel a need to be extra bohemian in this environment.

house of candles and cherries

A dark cottage lit by fig and mango candles, a tiled kitchen with a hot scent of cinnamon and honey. A garden of pear and lemon trees, birdsong and the sweetest of cherries. A small creek with a canoe in it, ready for adventures.

the most heated scenes of my life, a list

40 degrees Celsius in a small Californian town. We try to cool down by dipping ourselves into a very shallow river.

A sauna by the lakeside, with two old women. It's not far off a hundred degrees Celsius, and very humid. Dipping into the cool lake afterwards is heavenly.

The sauna by the public swimming pool. A woman pours several buckets of water onto the stove, creating great clouds of lethally hot steam, then leaves. The rest of us are left gasping for air.

savour the rain-soaked fields

To be able to enjoy almost everything.

Slow, sad, utterly Finnish music in a dark room on the outskirts of town. A breath-taking requiem by Mozart echoing under the vaults of an imposing church, moving yet another generation to tears.

Exploring an old ruin in the rain, in a muddy field. Zipping up coats, feeling cold rain seep through jeans, and just laughing all the more.

Seeing grey fields, silvery lakes, dark and rolling hills, farmhouses with lights in the windows. Marvelling at something so grey and rain-soaked and sprinkled with beauty.

Enjoying ourselves among the riches and temptations of a large mall, learning history in a medieval castle. Loving our food and wine, sitting quietly lost in thoughts for hours in the car.

One of the most valuable lessons I'm learning: Find the beauty in everything. Savour it.

weekend in a Jaguar

Road trip in a Jaguar with friends, Bruce Springsteen and the prettiest parts of Finland.

Cold rain will be soaking a monochrome landscape as we explore medieval ruins but we will stop at a mall where everything is warm, colourful and enticing.

Mozart's most beautiful music will be resounding through a cathedral and at the party afterwards, the synopsis of a thriller will be scribbled down on wine-stained paper.

Cold air, ancient castles, sad music. Wine, laughing friends and lots of history. And a long, lazy drive home through the darkest of forests.

hello to the howling wind

Say goodbye to the sun for about half a year.

Say hello to the howling wind, the darkness advancing a mile every day, the icy rain. The fairground colours of golden birches and red apples in dewy gardens. The greyness that is the extreme form of grey (if there can be such a thing). Welcome the coldness and the snow that can kill you.

Only the strong of heart survive Finland. The welfare system will probably shelter you from the physical dangers - but the darkness will play tricks on your mind. You are in a film noir, a horror flick, but it's real.

Finland will stun you with its extreme nature, its merciless beauty, its harsh and ugly loveliness that demands to be loved.

This is an adventure. If you survive the winter, you are a hero. Take a deep look at all the beauty around you and enjoy the ride.

with a mother's voice in my ear

I was walking through dark October streets, dry leaves rustling under my feet. An ice-cold rain started to fall. It quickly turn to hail that peppered my cheeks so hard it hurt.

I was talking to my mother on the phone, so I turned up the hood on my padded jacket - a big hood, warm and wide. I kept walking, feeling warm and sheltered and in the company of my mother. It was an extraordinary feeling. I could have walked for hours - and I did.

God and the July sun

It's on the loveliest days of summer that I plan my life.

When my bare skin is heated by a July sun and chilled by blue waters, when the vista around me is sky and sea and forest, when I'm deeply immersed in nature, when I feel safely at home and excited about new adventures at the same time. Then I dream and plan for the year ahead.

This year, my plans were modest and extravagant: I would learn what it is to be loved by God. To really feel it. How free and fearless I would be when that love was literal truth to me!

But in the icy winds of October, I go looking for that love and it's as far away as the July sun.

In theory, I know it's there. Sometimes I feel it - when I allow myself to feel it instead of try to earn it.

But I need to have it deep inside my body, immerse myself in sky and sea and forest.

The world is too cold for that.

I read and I pray, and maybe I'm inching closer, but my skin is still cold to the touch.

ice, darkness, apples

October is colour, ice, darkness, apples, candles, boots, sweaters, jackdaws, rain and the first snow, light boxes, trying to find the right temperature, blankets, heat packs, weariness, sneezing, and a harvest celebration around a chocolate fondue pot.