I Ponder

I ponder, therefor I am. I wonder, what is a Languagemaster (Språkmästare)? It sounds frightfully interesting, I would so like to know! And, please, have a whole quarter too.

Ah, simply an archaic word for teacher in foreign languages. Certainly an imagination stirring word...

Full moon in August

I just discovered it's a full moon out there tonight - and it is at times like these I so wish for a better camera... Other wishes below the full moon shall remain secrets.

Am I the only one who use to wish things under the moon?

Pitches in Scania, part II

Things rarely have a tendency to be short when I get my greedy little writing fingers on them, but I'll try and be as sweet as possible with this prequel on Scania. At the peninsula of Bjärehalvön - where part one took place - you'll also find the magnificent Hovs Hallar.

And outside the town of Båstad - a place mostly known for the annual tennis championship and the *sort of* rowdy crowd hanging about there at that time - the magical gardens of Norrviken, since 2004 run by the talented, enigmatic Danish flower artist Tage Andersen. An absolutely delightful place - even if my gorgeous dahlia, bought there, didn't want to appear a second year... - enchanting like a mixture of Orlando and a Peter Greenaway film. A must visit!

Also just outside Båstad is Solbackens Våffelbruk, a place that specializes in serving waffles and nothing else. It's charmingly tucked away in the lush hills overlooking the bay of Laholm. Let's just say that you pay for the amazing view and not for the amazing culinary experience...

An amazing culinary experience we had our eyes set on though, when making reservations at Niklas i Viken - Niklas in the Bay, but Viken is also being the name of the village - , summer restaurant run by a Swedish TV-chef...

The weather was grand - even though the ample photo opportunities where sort of damped due to the fact of really harsh winds that kept me all too busy trying to get control over the skirt who wanted to fly away to adventure of its very own... - the ambiance was unpretentiously lovely - IKEA cutlery, soda served in big wine glasses for example - the view from the outdoor veranda overlooking the bay and the harbour was to relish. Then came the food... And now I'm all out of sweet words;

Ciabatta-style bread, probably, baked in muffin tins. Dry and even burnt. Served with olive oil and seasalt - the one and only time I've ever enjoyed only olive oil and herbs with bread was at Carrabbas in Orlando, Florida. There the food was made and served with knowledge and love. Other than that I really hate it when olive oil haphazardly is thought of as something as a delicacy to be liked by everyone all the time, and a naturally sub for butter. I do not want olive oil with my bread, I do not want olive oil at all, my tastebuds finds it repulsive.

Charfilet with papardelle, saffron, capers, lettuce-onion and sugar peas - no sugar peas at all, instead tiny sour tomatoes, too much capers, too much bones in the fish, well a bit too much of everything and not enough of anything I guess. The saffron part was by far the best detail of that dish.

This is what should have been a gooseberry pie - instead it was a cherry one... Served with absolutely flavourless pear marinated in, what was probably, basil and mint. Not what I consider a pie either, more like a dry piece of spongecake. The vanilla icecream was nice though.

This was probably the best dish of them all - too bad it wasn't mine, and of course I'm just too wellbehaved to demand we change, um... - milkchocolate pannacotta with marinated cherries, granité and almondcrumbs.

And really, shouldn't every restaurant have one or two ciders on the menu, not only wine and beer...?

I can safely say we were far from impressed by that boosted place by the bay. But the village of Viken was just such a charming place with narrow streets and old houses. And perhaps some more un-boosted restaurants with far better food on offer...

Neighbouring village of Viken is Domsten, even more delightful and jampacked with these typically picturesque Scania kind of houses. So adore them, wish I had one of my own, with cherry, plum, pear and apple trees and a rosegarden, with birds, bumblebees and butterflies... And a library and study overlooking the open fields, where I'd read and write and my heart would sing...

Before we'll take Öresundsbron - Öresunds bridge - over to Copenhagen, Denmark, I promise to tell you about a place you really shouldn't miss having a bit of food. Good value for money and oh my so tasty. Until then...

Thistle Days

Some days are just thistle days, there are thoughts very eager to come out and play, but they struggle. Those days it's so very good to have friends in the similar situation to talk things through with...

Dreamer

I have a dream. Of course there are more than one dream in my life, small ones as well as the more overturning, life changing ones, but still this particular one I treasure in a very special way.

And no it isn't what *all* women supposedly dream about, a big white wedding with a happy-ever-after-seal to it. Oh, I'm sure many live and happily tell about that special day, and that's fine for them. But no, that kind of staged romance with a huge anticlimax is not for me, never has been, never will be. It's just not my disposition.

The dream I'm writing about is of a more private nature, I've only shared it with a few close friends, and I'm not going to reveal it here. It's not that it's a huge - well it is in a personal way I suppose - and strange dream, perhaps a dream difficult to obtain, but not a particularly odd one.

I don't wander about wishing for it all the time, at all, but I do muse over it now and then. I don't think I'll brood myself grey over it if I never ever will catch that dream. At least I hope I won't, brood grey that is, since life has had so much more to offer in other ways. And this special dream of mine just isn't possible to gain by determination and hard work. It's more of the elusive, non-tangible, keep an open mind kind.

If one was a believer in astrology one might say that it's something that's written, or not, in the stars. But since I'm not much of a believer in that field I settle with ascertaining that it has something to do with life's serendipity and a dash of magic.

A Little Less Conversation...

These last years have implicated a fair share of different... well, let's call them conversational partners. Some not bad, others quite bad and then some quite good, eye-opening good. There's been rather a lot of soul-, as well as surface-, searching. The reason, reasons, behind all of this harping on the same string conversational style, I won't go into at this moment.

But even if it has been a time of both darkness, heartache, pain, doubt, anger, sadness, frustration, it has also been something that in the end has left me with a lot of good, a whole lot of good I really wouldn't want to be without. At all. A better insight in who I really am, what makes me tick, which my passions are - rediscovering old ones as well as getting new ones - and what my motives are for doing things the way I do, or did, them.

An acquaintance once said that even if all this talking is hard work it's most probably something most of us should do, but don't. Perhaps by going things over like this we don't figure out ourselves completely before we die, but at least a whole lot more than most others... Back then I just sort of nodded in empathetic agreement. Little did I know.

Now I know better, perhaps not always best, but at least a whole lot better. I see things, and in very many ways act, react, differently in certain situations. I've resumed my inner me, that somehow got lost along the way (I'm not exactly sure when, but I do know exactly where). Now I always carry with me a little content, at ease, relaxed miniature me inside, not very bothered about the world outside if I don't allow myself to be.

Yes, there's a serenity in me I don't think I possessed before, or at least hadn't for years. Mindfullness really is a very lovely thing, oh yes it does demand a whole lot of work, at first, and you're bound to slip and fall now and very again - if you're not a superhuman and if you are I guess you don't see any use of it - but those days, those times you actually manage to live in the here and now, stop analyzing every little thing that happens, every possible reason for people doing this, doing that, not doing this, not acting like that, they are truly very wonderful.

I hope and believe I've found a better me, a more complete me, a more sentient me. In so many ways a stronger me, in others weaker. But not weak in a poor way, just more aware of my own emotions, my own limitations, motives - being me.

Today was an endpoint to one of these conversational partners, the last one remaining of them, the very last meeting with the coach, the career coach. It took a while before I was really ready to throw myself into this, and well it took a while to find Mr Right For That too. But I think he's been a good one to grind things through with, and I sure have gotten many helpful, practical tips and hints on what to do and not while out there trying to find the perfect challenge for me, now.

Alas, it hasn't been a complete road to success finding a new way back to work, and at this last meeting he was just so very sweet, dumbstruck, frustrated over the fact that I haven't find what I've been looking for. He sprinkled so many superlatives over me, and the way we worked together, I sort of got speechless and didn't really get around to actually thank him. Ever so much.

Instead I sort of deliquesced out of there - and not only because today was a day with sky high air humidity - and felt a true bond with that very at ease, content, relaxed little me inside. But with an added soaring aloft feeling. Clouds absolutely nowhere to be seen. Here and now. Me.

The Caring City by the Water

In Stockholm we do care for our blocks, pavements and public ornaments. We treat them just like family and friends - old warrior kings get knitted scarves to keep the cold out, and, of course, a matching peace badge.

A sad, chipped and bruised pavement stone gets comforted and bandaged.

An iron bar with a sour throat doesn't go unnoticed.

But somehow I must say, that the most amazing thing of all that TLC is that they also get their very own pets!

My Marathon Man

It was time for the annual dentist's appointment, something which I've dreaded a bit since me and my toothbrush haven't been as friendly as usual, for no apparent reasons really, this past year. And being friendly as usual, I normally end up with one cavity or an old filling that needs to be replaced each year - nothing major *touch wood* but still far from pleasant.

So far I've also been able to resist Mr Dentist's attempts of persuading me to have my wisdom teeth removed, I like to have whatever wisdom I've gleaned over the years intact, thank you very much!

Other than that he's a really nice fellow, my dentist, and we go a long way back. I think it'll be something like 20 year's jubilee next year. Call me the faithful kind. Or it's just that he's got the right knack when it comes to giving anaesthetic injections. Because if there is something I really, very, very, v e r y much hate it is getting shots.

I never used to get injections at the dentist's before the drilling began, it was just too horrible for words, in my world. Not until I began seeing Mr Dentist. Now I graciously accept them every time there's a cavity to fill, just because he's so good at giving them. And it really is enough to hear the drilling without having to feel the pain of it.

I've never ever liked going to the dentist's - well, who in their right mind does...? When I was a wee one I went to the Eastman Institute, dental care center for children. It wasn't a very pleasant experience, assembly line style with rows of dental chairs in a big ward. So I began to scream. And scream. And then some. Until they had to put me in a private room because I scared the other children. And they hadn't even gotten around to look me in the mouth yet...

But then there's always an exception to the rule, even the hate-going-to-the-dentist-rule, at least for me. *This is sort of X-rated, so by all means stop reading if you're prudish*

The very single one time I take pleasure in pain is when Mr Dentist grazes my teeth and gum. Oh my. I'll spare you the details, but well, that sensation of complete cleanness afterwards is really, very, very... appealing. Um, it's probably sort of very slightly perverted, but hey, I'm sure I'm not the only one with mixed dentistry emotions...

And having revealed such a deep, dark grazing secret I now give you the very good news of not a single cavity for me this year! And very clean teeth indeed. Which definitely called for a break with a carrotcake at the lovely café Skafferiet i Hamnen - The Pantry in the Harbour - nearby the dentist's surgery in Gustavsberg. A place which usually offers a mean afternoon tea, though not during summertime. But this was quite fine and just what my very clean teeth asked for in reward. Sure beats those wimpish bookmarks the dentists used to give away when I was a child...

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Earlier this Summer we decided to drive down to the small town of Arboga, about one hour's drive west from Stockholm. For me it meant a slight trip down memory lane since it was in the vicinity of Arboga we had our summer house. For me, as a child, it was sort of festive to get to go to Arboga now and then *oh my has that notion changed...*

Back then we went to Arboga to get building material - and my father always browsing through the ironmongery because one never knew what intriguing new tool had hit the market and demanded to be bought... - shopping and then as an icing on the Arboga-cake the almost obligatory visit to the Åcaféet - The Creek Café.

A place that was so very lovely situated down by the Arboga creek/river. Sitting outside, or at the glass veranda if it rained, was sort of obligatory - and not just because those where the terrible dark ages pre-smoking bans and there were a lot of nasty huffs and puffs going on indoors at most restaurant and cafés. Which goes to show, no, everything wasn't necessarily better in the good ol' days... - and the same kind of cakes and buns were to be consumed almost every time, and the same kind of soft drink with straws... And of course the sun was always shining.

Since we sold our summer house years ago we haven't really been back in those parts, just driven past or through. But now it felt right, let's see if everything still is as I/we remember it. The parking lot, the walk to the local Domus-store - neighbours with the Tempo-store where I made, I'm still ashamed to admit, *a bit* of a scene when my mum refused to buy me a pair of hideous looking glassy blue disco pants, when I was obviously too young to see style-sense -

the bookstore, the lovely art gift shops, the shoe shop, the antique shops, the church where I used to light a candle in rememberance for something, someone I didn't know...

But of course things as well as perspectives change. And this walk down memory lane mostly left me rather wistful. Old buildings torn down, new modern rather awful, vapid ones in their place, a feeling of, if not desperate but still, a sleepy kind of despair. The café completely renovated and without the outdoor area on the riverside, the edible on offer far from what I and my tastebuds fondly remember...

The only two things who stood tall as usual were the church and outside the church, the statue of Engelbrekt Engelbrektson. Engelbrekt who was a Swedish freedom fighter in the 14th century. And it was with him Sweden began forming into an independent and united nation. It's said that it was in Arboga that the first Swedish Riksdag was held in 1435, under the influence of Engelbrekt.

Apart from the first Swedish Riksdag, Arboga is most famous for it's brewery. The brewery is no longer existing, but the old Swedish saying about the aftertaste of Arboga beer lives on. Here are some explanations as to what that saying originates from, only in Swedish

Sadly, some years ago, Arboga's rumour as a sleepy smalltown was disaffirmed when one of Sweden's largest narcotic's rings was being unraveled in the seemingly idyll. So in many ways - not only because it's rather ghastly and more than resembles the beast in the Alien-movies - I guess it can be seen as an ambiguous mockery that the new modern symbol for the town is the Happy Arboga Philosopher...

And the old summer house, did we stop by there? No, we didn't, some memories are just best left untarnished...

The Day I Fell in Love

Oh, I know, this will probably sound really very cheesy, wimpish, foolish, soft, you name it, but I don't care, because today is the day I actually managed to identify that sort of pleasant yet fluttering disturbing butterflyish feeling of something not quite graspable that makes you all giddy and weaklegged.

Like a bolt from the very clear blue it came to me when the subway made its way over the railway bridge between stations Slussen and Gamla Sta'n - eureka, this is it, this feeling of enchanted giddiness must be love! And the object of desire being nothing less than this wonderfully sublime city of Stockholm!

And I say this with a most clear and sound mind - no sunstroke or under the influence of any illegal Stockholmian substances - this is indeed love. I have very similar feelings when I touch down in Copenhagen, York or Edinburgh, but still in the every-day long run nothing really compares to the feelings of being complete at ease in one's own city. Domesticity indeed.

And even if you think you know your way almost everywhere, have your favourite places, your lovely spots - I so wish the Swedish word "smultronställen" could be translated into something more magical than that of lovely little spots. Smultronställen literally means places of wild strawberries - and I so think that word strikes a certain secret, magic cord deep inside. Whilst lovely little spots just sounds so flat and unexpressive -

there are still always new ones to be found, new secrets just waiting to be unravelled, magic to be seen and touched by here, in this city of quite natty, but never ever predictable, proportions.

Having had put a name to this, until today, hazy nondescript feeling, I now promise to take my role as the caroler of Stockholm a bit less serious *fingers crossed* and write about something more universally interesting. Perhaps musings about intriguing things like ballpencils, plastic bags, cable connectors, thumbtacks and paperclips. Oh, be still my beating heart.

What's in a Picture

When I took the picture of this delicious looking flower the other day I felt a bit of a connection there. Me and this flower. Female skirt wearer, with a flair for nature's materials, colours and details, sort of non graspable but still with the roots unfalteringly connected in terra firma.

But when I peruse it carefully the notion and vision of an elderly daffy damsel with wispy long hair, dancing in her torn silk nightgown in an overgrown garden lamenting the long lost lover who died in the first world war comes to mind. The very thought makes me shudder.

So no, this isn't the flora equivalence for me. But still, no matter what, it's a delicate piece of nature's beauty.

Best Kept Secrets

Sometimes I feel it would be pleasing if I could find a completely anonymous voice, an anonymous kind of blog *if such a thing is even possible*. A place where I could sort of divulge secrets in public - and not those really deep dark ones like I most secretly like to wear black, I eat meat on Sundays and I enjoy crushing baby mosquitos just for fun. Not to mention the fact that I'm an avid golfer, the only thing I ever watch on TV is sport and I only take a bath once a year, around my birthday -

and really, I don't think I have any veritable horrifically secrets like that. I swear they're not mine, I got them from a friend.

When I write secrets I don't mean anything like Post Secret's secrets - which by the way is a truly amazing, intriguing blog, now also with a very lovely little piece of movie -

Secrets with an anonymous sender is so much more thoughtprovoking, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes really upsetting, but nonetheless fascinating compared to secrets with an identifiable sender. Usually. Perhaps the latter soil the whole secretively fascinating part of it? Makes it so more tangible, perhaps a cry for help that demands a whole lot more from you than thoughts...

And the more I write the more I see this really opens up for a whole lot of different musings, interpretations and implications... So I stop here. And get back to what I intended to write - the serendipitous pleasure of being able to write under an alias. And even if I have no deep dark secrets like the above mentioned, it would sort of mean I could let the words run completely free, ideas, feelings alike, whilst I now try to keep them in a leash. Mostly.

Being an average oppressed human being, scared of showing too much of one-true-self. Emotions are a tricky thing, whatever they might concern, they should be kept in the box, easy to handle, manageable. I've always been thoroughly good in showing just enough of what I want to be seen. It has come handy many a times - and here's a secret, it is at times more than deliciously enjoyable... -

other times I so wish I could stop being so darn polite and particular about any reputation I might have obtained. To the very hot, steamy, fiery place down below with it, here's what I feel deep inside! But since a full disclosure most probably would be too much to handle for most well behaved partners and players I keep it safely tucked in that perfect little box. Pandora's box.

A Place in the Sun

If you happen to be interested in exactly where I spent the most colourful and enchanting other day, you're very welcome to check that out at stockholm by plenty.

A place where I'm proud to say I've been kindly invited to contribute to, in my very own way. I'm flattered and really, who in their right mind can decline such an invitation?

stockholm by plenty is the sidekick of stockholm by pixels, a citydaily photo blog. I implore you to stop by there too, if you are, like me, interested in fun, dippy, witty and new ways to see things around us. It's all in the details you know...

And if you're interested in the more audible details, Stockholm can also be heard at stockholm by waves. Imagine that!

Enjoy seeing, reading, listening to details then! Myself, no matter how much these feet are made for walking, they've done quite their share of that as lately. So today I'm going to have a most relaxing day in my very little own piece of paradise, in the sun, trying to imbibe as much of sunny vitamins as possible. There are rumours of heavy downfall this upcoming week. And I do have a bit of less than enjoyable appointments - better stock up on the sunny disposition then!

Life Lessons

Sooner or later we all make our mistakes. Some more obvious than others...

We like to try out new things...

...some strangely exciting, though forbidden

We might overindulge now and then

Sometimes we get into situations way over our head, size and capacity

We find ourselves in unexpected situations that make us cry in fear of the unknown...

...in desperate need for help!

Some of us do get a helping hand,

and have access to the tender care of a mother,

Sometimes that's not enough, the predicament gets to be a concern for a large part of the family

It even becomes a question of holding a family council to talk things through...

...or things might get a bit more tangible

We might not want to listen to what family and friends have to say...

...or even look them in the eyes

Sometimes a stern and determined attitude is the right way to go

And most of the times we see sense and learn the lesson from mistakes made. Even if it might be difficult to see at first...