Dec 23, 2012

Seizing the Christmas moment


There is Christmas music in my yellow kitchen downstairs. There is chatting and laughter and life in my house. I am resting on my couch while listening to my children baking and making the Christmas ham. My empty and painful place has turned into a cozy home. And I am seizing the moment.

Becca was the first one to arrive, on Friday. Becca isn’t really my daughter, but close to. She was three years old when we first met, at the corner of Columbia and 34th in Madrona where we stayed our second time in Seattle, summer -95. Now a young woman at 21 she is studying in Spain for the year and is here to spend Christmas with her Swedish brothers and their family. What a treat!

And yesterday Trouble 2 and girlfriend Audrey arrived from Paris where they have their home now. I haven’t seen them since August. I always miss my children when they are gone for a long time of course, but lying here flat having to rely on people I don’t know for surviving makes the arrival of my kids a joy that’s hard to express.

I can literally feel how my body is relaxing. How my breathing is getting deeper. Calmer. Slowing down. How a feeling of safety that’s been gone for such a long time that I don’t even remember it is entering and I realize this is the way I am supposed to feel. This is the natural state of mind. This is what life should feel like.

My task now is to enjoy this. Fully. Not worry about that it will all be gone in two weeks. It’s a hard thing for me. I am not talented when it comes to this. I am no doubt about it absolutely lousy on this subject. Aware though. So I will work on it.

Becca told me that she has been having this picture of her sitting in a cabin under a blanket all snowed in, in a frozen winter wonderland. Well, the wonderland is white and frozen. It’s so beautiful it’s kind of ridiculous. It’s not a Christmas card; it’s more than your wildest dreams of a Christmas card. And it’s for real. And my place is kind of a cabin. So I provided Becca with a blanket, needles and yarn. I want her to have the Christmas she was picturing.

That’s what we all want, right? The perfect Christmas. But life has it’s own ways. And Christmas is the most horrible time of year for big changes that you didn’t chose yourself, challenges and losses.

I am sure Becca will have her share of Christmas challenges through her life. So I want to provide her a holiday that will give her strength and always be remembered with great joy. Wading in the deep snow cutting down the Christmas tree with her Swedish brothers in their forest. Baking Swedish and American Christmas cookies in my warm kitchen. Knitting under my blanket with the candles lit. Decorating the tree and having glögg (mulled wine) with my sons’ friends. Spending Christmas Eve at my sisters. And we’ll see, maybe even going to the julotta, the early morning Christmas Day service.

And experiencing my Swedish Christmas through Becca gives me a shining joy and articulates a different depth to the traditions. It helps me to enjoy it fully. To seize the Christmas moment.


Dec 16, 2012

An unexpected circle


- Good morning
- Breakfast?
- Lunch?
- Dinner?
- Good night

Every day as a circle. It feels familiar in an awkward way. A couple of days into my new life with home care, safety alarm and night patrol I felt like I’ve been through this before. Like there is something being recycled. People opening my door, bringing me something and off they are. Closing my door at night leaving me to myself. The whole thing with lying flat, not being able to move, people I don’t know coming and going. Myself in a bubble of holding up. Every bit of energy put into surviving. Seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months. Don’t be nice to me because if I start crying I will loose it.

And yes, I’ve been here before. 25 years ago. Although in a very different setting.

I was pregnant, expecting my second child. I was a little more than half way through my pregnancy, 25 weeks, when the contractions started. This was right after Christmas, and a Christmas present I wasn’t wishing for. At the hospital it became clear it was serious. The tiny baby was already in the birth canal - I hope that’s the accurate word; my vocabulary when it comes to this subject is limited. And I was promptly ordered to lie down. To stay at the hospital and lie down. This was 1988, and it was way too early to save a child at 25 weeks, if born. So every day I could keep the baby would be beneficial.

It was bad. And what made it even worse was the baby back at the house that was too young to understand what was going on. Why his mom was gone. Trouble 1 was 1 year and 8 months when I suddenly disappeared.

My home for the following months was the maternity ward. The world was already white when this happened, but inside me it was black. The contractions continued although I did everything right. Lied down 24-7. The labor could start any minute any time; my fear was constant and legitimate. The snow fell outside my window as frequent as the contractions, every single day. Day after day, contractions and fear, night after night, second by second. The ward front desk was right outside my room, and for three months I could hear babies arriving from the delivery room, happy parents saying good-bye and thank you as they could go home with their new family member after a few days. While I was watching the snow, holding up. To keep my baby. One more day.

Trouble 1 and his dad came to visit every other day. Moments I cherished although in sadness cause soon they would be gone again. I knew Trouble 1 was safe with his dad. But I worried about me and my firstborn son’s relationship. Yes, we did see each other often, but in an unfamiliar and strange environment, and I wasn’t at home. I wasn’t there in the morning and I wasn’t there to tuck him in. I was tied up in that bed and I couldn’t play with him. We always had to say goodbye, he stopped calling for me and pappa (dad) was his most frequent word.

So, I was fighting for my two babies, one at home and one inside me. Meanwhile people were walking in and out of my room. In and out of my existence. The weeks passed as the contractions continued. A constant scare. No sleep. In the Eighties the idea was that the child was in the same state of mind as the mother. So, not only did I have to worry about going into labor too early, but to transfer my panic and darkness to this poor baby.

28 weeks. The prognosis was looking better. 30. The doctors were amazed about me still keeping the baby inside me. 32. I myself had earlier been working in the neonatal ward, therefore I knew what it was like continuing the pregnancy in an incubator, hooked up to all kinds of life saving equipments. 34. Almost there. 36. That’s when a pregnancy is counted as full time, and I finally was allowed to move home.

I don’t have words for what it was like. I had spent the months between Christmas and Easter in jail and now I was let out. The light was back outside and inside. My house was totally snowed in and I felt absolutely safe with my husband and our son. At home finally. My home.

A week after, Trouble 2 was born. A little boy completely at peace with himself, the world and me. We used to call him Lucky Luke when he grew up, because of his contentment with most everything. And in a week he will be home for Christmas from Paris where he lives now. Still content and lucky. So much for those Eighties predictions, thanks God.

It’s snowing outside most everyday here in Sweden, just as it did 25 years ago. It will be a storybook Christmas when it comes to exterior. And life is making a circle. A young couple, close and dear relatives of mine are expecting their first child. It is supposed to be a May baby, born when life is returning to the 63rd latitude after winter hibernation, at the time birches are turning a transparent magic green. But contractions have already started. Way way way too early. And I wish that I could tell them that everything will be all right. That the story will have a happy ending, as the one 25 years ago had. But right now it’s one minute at a time. One hour. One day. And hopefully it will turn to weeks. As many as needed.

As for myself I still hate hospitals. So even with my worst back pain the plain thought of going there makes me prefer anything else. I’ve had 27 different people in my house these last three weeks. It’s not fun, but I got to be home. And hey, it’s just me and the pain.  Reliving my Trouble 2 Lucky Luke brooding through my current condition and this young couple makes me feel the circle. And that I am actually quite lucky too.

Dec 9, 2012

Congrats/condolences


They look like sisters. Jane Abbott Lighty and Pete-e Petersen, the two curly blond senior citizens. No wonder, most couples tend to harmonies when being together for a long time. And Jane and Pete-e have. 35 years. On Thursday they held the very first same-sex marriage license issued by Seattle’s King County.

And they were not the only ones. More than 800 gay and lesbian couples across Washington State received their marriage license during a long and festive day, a major moment in history.

"There are individual stories of those who will get licenses tonight and in the coming days and will have an opportunity to marry after many years of waiting, and those are important stories," said King County Executive Dow Constantine, who signed the county's first licenses just after midnight and then stayed until 4 a.m. greeting couples. "But the big story is that we're taking another step forward as a county, as a state, as a society, as a nation." Washington is now one of seven states that recognize same-sex marriage, and the first to do so because of a voter directive.

For as long as I have known Seattle, the city has been identified as gay friendly and liberal in that sense. A safe place for people who aren’t shaped for the square box family that’s the norm. Me, over the years staying in the core neighborhoods of Seattle; Madrona, Montlake, Ravenna, University District, Wallingford, Capitol Hill and Queen Anne, had no reason to doubt that. I’ve even noticed Broadway Market (when it still was there) on Broadway described in publications as the only (or maybe the first) gay mall in the US!

So, it was really interesting a few years ago, reading an article I’m sure in The Weekly, on the subject. Yes, Seattle is a good place for people not so square shaped. Capitol Hill is the center for rainbow families, and Broadway populated by same-sex couples holding hands while shopping for groceries at QFC. But, heading half an hour along I5 to the southern suburbs (for my Swedish readers, that’s pretty much where IKEA is located), that’s a different story. And also, there are differences between same-sex and same-sex. There are hierarchies in every community.

And it turns out, surprise surprise, that a white male couple is the most accepted among the out-of-the-box-people. Then a descending scale following the society in general. Just look at the sitcoms and romantic comedies! The male gay friend is almost a stereotype, and when it comes to couples, there is a bunch of them.

Reading that article made med feel kind of stupid and naïve, having glorified Seattle in a way. I know though, that Seattle is a good city for most people. And for the record, my Swedish town Umeå was in the beginning of 2000 twice voted the most gay friendly city in the country.

So, if the new law on this issue feels very natural to me, the second legalization that took place in Seattle on Thursday makes me feel like an alien. And it becomes clear to me that I am very very Swedish. After all.

At 12.00 am Thursday, Washingtonians started celebrating. On sidewalks, in parks, outside bars and on comfy home couches, cheering a new marijuana law that is among the most liberal in the world.

The festivities culminated with a big, hazy party Thursday night at Seattle Center. The new law doesn’t allow pot smoking in public places, but police won’t interfere. Locally, Seattle police announced they would not write tickets for public use of marijuana, which is now equivalent to public drinking. They will "give you a generous grace period to help you adjust to this brave, new, and maybe kinda stoned world we live in," according to a post on the department's blog.

Watching the pictures from Seattle Center it all feels very foreign to me. The pipes, the hookahs, the proudly held handful of pot. I am not making any judgments here; the American Westcoast and the northern Swedish cultures couldn’t be farther away from each other on this issue, in a historic sense. And that’s what’s shapes us. But it makes me worried. And there is one picture that makes me more than worried, really upset: On this occasion, at midnight, among haze, hookahs and cheery people, there are children. Children! What the hell are they doing there?!

OK, I guess I am judgmental on this after all. My Swedishness shines through in a big way here. And I am congratulating Washington State to the peoples vote on one subject and bringing my condolences on the other.
 

Dec 2, 2012

Nightmare/dreamland


First it was great relief and extreme gratitude. Then of course, I hate it. Now, trying very hard to accept my situation. Balancing a nightmare with the insights of actually living in a dreamland.

Two weeks ago my back went out in a really bad way. For a week friends and family were on call 24-7 to get me through the long days and the panicking nights. Normally that’s about the time I need before I can take care of myself again, but this time it’s a lot worse.

I reported that Sunday when checking into it, there was no help to get from society in a situation like that. In Sweden. So, I was lucky to have people around me that I could turn to.

I can’t say how grateful I am. Agneta S, Maria B, my neighbor Isa, my sister Kia, Eva, AnnSofie, Alex, Agneta P, Mats, my nephew Johannes and his wife Lisa, and Maria P. And most of all: my beloved son Trouble 1 who is the only one physically strong enough to lift and carry me when things are at it’s worst. And the only one who, of course can’t say no, and puts his life on hold when I’m in need. I don’t have words for what they all did, and are doing for me. And it’s not like these people have a lot of time on their hands. They are busy busy busy, squeezing me in into their tight schedule. The only good thing about my situation is that I’ve really got to hang out with my friends in a way our calendars normally don’t let us do. Loved that part of it!

So, I desperately needed to find a different solution. And it turned out that there actually is help to get. After all. And I am so glad I was wrong on that subject.

Since a week back now I have home care service six times a day. I have a safety alarm on my wrist, and people putting me to bed and checking in on me during the night. This is provided by the City of Umeå, I am paying a small amount of money for this service, but have of course contributed all my life, paying taxes. So have my friends, family and the Swedish people.

I am actually surprised. What some of my American friends call the dreamland Sweden has been dismantled in so many ways during the right wing government these last six years. And I know this through personal experiences; it’s not just hearsay and media reporting. So finding out that parts of Sweden still works in a way we can be proud of makes me happy and gives me some hope.

And here I am now, lying flat on my couch, hearing people stomp their feet off at my front porch every other hour, opening the door to my home. They get me out of bed, take me to the bathroom, dress me, make me breakfast and heat up food for dinner for me. Only this week I’ve met thirteen different people. Some are really really nice. Good persons, suitable for their task. Some are… I don’t know, slipped in or stayed too long, stinking cigarette smoke and not even having bedside manners.

The hardest part though is being put to bed by people who hardly take their coat off while here, but wearing thin rubber gloves. And in the middle of the night they are back to take me to the bathroom. Putting the key in my door, turning the brights on, then off they go. Cause I am just one out of everyone that needs this supervision. I feel like I am a part of some under ground invisible group managed by these rubber gloves. And of course, no one can help me with the pain. When the knife cuts right into me terrified body I’m as alone as always.

I don’t sleep. I don’t feel safe. The idea of all this care is, making me safe. But I’m not. I don’t sleep and I don’t feel safe. And I hate it. I hate not being able to take care of myself. I hate having strangers in my house helping me out with my most private matters. I am so nice. I chat, I ask them how they are, if the road here was bad. I make excuses for the un-shoveled path into my house. I smile and I’m so brave.

It’s Advent 1st. Fall has been warm and rainy, but the first day of December came with big cold snowflakes, covering the landscape in white fluff, like it was shipped in for winter. Johannes and Lisa decorated my house with Advent stars and light wreaths earlier this week. Maria P brought me glögg (mulled wine) Friday evening. I know, that from outside my place here at the end of the road looks like a wonderful Christmas card.

But I am sad. I am working on accepting my situation, making it a normal every day life. And I am trying so hard being grateful. And I am. Knowing that if I was a citizen of Seattle and the US this kind of help and assistance is only to dream of. So I am living in a dreamland after all. Only, right now, it still feels like a nightmare.

Nov 27, 2012

Live!


-       Write something on the wall to let people know how you are.

Sara Lidman was a much loved and highly respected Swedish author, still no doubt one of the most important. A strong storyteller, a rebel, an agitator, outspoken about everything she was on fire about. She was born in this northern region, Västerbotten, and most of her novels take place here, around the turn of the last century when Sweden changed into modernity. “Jernbanesviten” is the epos about the trials when building the railroad connecting Norrland (Northern Sweden) - rich of natural resources but far away from the power of governance, with southern Sweden - in need of waterpower, timber and minerals, but not of the poverty and distress from the people here.

About a hundred years later a different railroad is built, now following the coast. This week the new Central Station in Umeå was inaugurated. The choice of artwork connected to the terminal was a natural, intelligent, warm, humorous, respectful and beautiful one: A selection of quotes from Sara Lidman, covering  light birch green glass walls, making a tunnel under the railroad something very rarely seen: an inviting, safe and attractive place, worthy of the title European Capital of Culture 2014!

Two years of planning and fruitful discussions between politicians, artists, officials and The Sara Lidman Society preceded an unanimous decision about the artwork, and the name for it was as natural as rain: Live!, one of Sara’s call to everyone who wanted to listen. There were no signs that this suddenly would turn to one of the most upset situations in Umeå for decades.

This is what happened: a couple of days before the opening two of Umeå’s top politicians decided on covering one of Sara Lidman’s quotes with asphalt. Pretty radical. The reason: her appeal for people to speak up and tell the world about their situation might be an invitation for doodling, ruining the new artwork!

-       Write something on the wall to let people know how you are!

The asphalt didn’t happen, but a hefty tape did. A shame for the European Capital of Culture to be. Sara Lidman was an artist. As the group FA+ who created the artwork Live! For a week now the two politicians who interfered with the freedom of expression have defended themselves, changed their versions, lied, and in one case said I’m sorry, I did wrong.

The tape was removed before the inaguration. 5000 people came together in the dark November evening to behold the light from the glass walls. Sara Lidman’s quotes and the official opening of the terminal, a link in the new millennium connection to the southern parts of the country.

Yesterday the City of Umeå decided on that Live! won’t be changed in any way. And no surveillance cameras. A decision to trust the citizens, and the public eye being the best surveillance. And of course, there is no way to silence the rebel, firecracker and comforter Sara Lidman. Not in her lifetime, and not after.

I haven’t seen the artwork and the tunnel yet. Me and my back are still flat on my couch. But my friend Agneta reported from her first walk through this new landmark in Umeå: It was a wonderful treat, Live! will put Umeå on the map for sure!

As for myself I am listening to Sara’s words picturing the light green glass wall here in my corner. Live Maria, Live!

Nov 18, 2012

With a little help from my friends


My friend Maria B is downstairs making dinner for me. She just assisted me to the bathroom. She came all the way from Umeå this dark November evening to be an angel. The knife in my back that I am always fighting and fearing cut right in to my right hip this morning. I’ve been having scares the last few weeks and now it’s for real. And this time it’s bad.

When it’s this serious I can’t get in and out of bed myself. I can’t go to the bathroom. I can’t make myself anything to eat. It’s a very scary place to be in. Rolling back in bed this morning I did what I hate doing: started calling around for help. Hoping to find anyone available. And I was lucky, cause I did. Agneta S came here, fixed me breakfast, filled the dishwasher and put me under a blanket on my couch. And now Maria B is here feeding me a wonderful soup and omelet, emptying the dishwasher and the washing machine, and taking me to the bathroom again. She is now about to leave and Trouble 1 is taking the night shift.

Tomorrow and the following days will be trickier as the workweek is starting. My neighbor Isa, who is a young senior, has promised that I can call her when in need. I am so grateful. But I hate to be in this place. I have had back problems for close to 27 years and they have escalated over time. Neither traditional Western medicine nor any alternative can tell me what’s wrong with me. Uncountable highly skilled practitioners from different fields have tried to help me over the years without lasting results, leaving them and me equally frustrated. And I don’t even want to think about how much money I have put into this. As there are no treatments available within the Swedish healthcare system.

Calling my sister today she comments there has to be some assisting help to get when you are a single person suffering from something acute that makes you immovable. I am thinking she should be right. This is after all Sweden. And there are of course people who don’t even have friends or relatives to call. Checking into it, the answer is no. Unless your condition hasn’t been investigated and approved for home care services and safety alarm from the City, there is no assisting help to get. You just need to take care of things yourself.

Last time my back was this acute was in Seattle, during the Democratic Party’s convent. I remember listening to the speeches about a more human and friendly society finding myself thinking “I want that for Sweden too!”

Tonight I am thinking that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to turn to get some answers and help for my long time suffering which is only getting worse and making me more limited and restricted for every year. And I don’t know how to solve my day-to-day situation. I will keep calling my friends, neighbors and family. It makes me uncomfortable and vulnerable, but that’s the only thing I can do. And I am lucky to have that opportunity. There are people who aren’t. And they will not make it. In Sweden.


Nov 11, 2012

It takes a village


To be driving towards my place in the dark November evening, seeing a light at the end of the road that hasn’t been there before. Driving into my new carport and the inside fixtures lights up by my car entering. Magic! Stepping out of the car under a roof, drumming from the rain.  Putting the engine heater in the outlet and the sound of the fan tells me my car is going to stay warm. Going outside watching the exterior fixtures light up the façade in the most beautiful way. And from inside my house looking out through the north windows where it’s always been pitch black, seeing a small building shining! This was the day when the power work was finally done, and there was a new functioning home for my car, at last!!! I tell you, I was almost crying out of happiness for having accomplished this project.

The need for this addition to my place has been there since I moved here to my grandparents homestead close to 32 years ago. But it wasn’t until two years ago that I started projecting for it. I knew it would be a lot of work, but I had no idea how much. And it started out in the worst possible way, an obstacle that looked like there would be no way to get around: It suddenly seemed like the location for the carport wasn’t even my property!

To make a long story as short as possible I want to say that it took a village to realize this project. And I am so fortunate to have a village. To be a part of a village. My little Swedish village.

My next door neighbor Melker knows every land document for the village hundreds of years back in time and spent hours talking to authorities, and I don’t know how he did it but eventually they agreed on them being wrong and that piece of land actually being mine. Thank you so much Melker, without you, definitely no carport!

Bertil and Clas took down the forest north of my house, letting the light in and room for my new addition. I know this is what you love doing guys, but thank you anyway!

My second cousin Roland and neighbor down the road, Erik, did all the land planning, assisted by Bernt and Jonas. Scooping up uncountable big rocks and truckloads of dirt and soil, exchanging with tons of gravel and concrete blocks for foundation. And although that was heavy work the hardest part was fighting the evening mosquitoes. Thank you guys, you are my heroes!

Bengt and Hans were the carpenters sent from heaven, as my first solution fell through late May, and it’s easier to find a needle in a haystack then a carpenter that time of year. So the day they pulled over at my place was my lucky day! They put the carport up in a little more than a week and we had so much fun I am still laughing out loud thinking about them. Thank you thank you thank you Bengt and Hans, you were my life saviors!

So, when the carport was almost there I felt safe and took off for Seattle late August. Trouble 2, his girlfriend (let’s call her Audrey, that’s the right name for her) and friend Jonatan moved in to my place, house sitters and carport painters. Only, that’s when it started to rain. And it rained. And it rained. For weeks and months. Those poor painters. So, there is still some paint job left for Trouble 1 next summer, but my beloved kids, you did such a good job! Moving to Paris (that’s where they are now) was just the right thing to do following that frustrating task.

Per was the one taking care of the telephone cable touching the roof, moving it up a bit, hopefully safe for the snow, thank you Per!

And now, this week, the final touch: power! My long time electrician Broman and colleague Jonas spent two days mounting 120-meter electric cable and all the fixtures. They did such a great job; you can’t even see those cables! The light I first saw driving towards my place the other night was the light at the front, telling me from far away that the work was done. That my carport was all done and finally there. 32 years later. Before I went to bed it started to snow. And I wasn’t panicking. Thinking: Let it Snow! Thanking my village. Being very happy.

Nov 4, 2012

A dancing angel


/Are you still walking here with us, my love.
Although we can’t see you anymore?
Are you still here on earth.
As you are in our hearts?/

I am having my breakfast Wednesday morning. I am crying over my morning paper. I am in despair over life and death and lifeanddeath. As All Saint’s Day is coming up.

I am reading the obituary of a woman who I didn’t know. Or, should I say, I knew a split of a second. A split of a second when we crossed each other’s paths in the cafeteria at the Oncology Center, I doing my yearly check up, she starting her final battle with a cancer spread in most of her body. This was in April. And now she is gone.

/An angel who was here with us.
Was given her wings too early.
Where are you flying, angel of ours?
Are you our Guardian Angel now?/

I liked her at an instant. I felt like we could be good friends. And knew that I probably wouldn’t see her again. We chatted about our cancers and swore over neglecting physicians, it was an experience we shared. But, although my diagnose and treatment were delayed I am still here. I was spared. This far I am spared. She isn’t. And we knew. In that cafeteria in April, at the intersection of life and death. Telling our stories half standing half sitting, I think I was drinking my tea, and did she have a coffee?

She was so beautiful. She was so much life. And she was so loved. And I am crying over the beauty and the pain giving up your life in such love. And the loss for those who are still here. The loss of such a loved life.

/Hearing your dancing bells in the sky.
We know it is you/.

We are alone. We come to this world alone and we go alone. The transitions that puzzle religions, philosophies, cultures and you and me waking up every morning going to sleep every night, we do those transitions alone. Facing a deadly decease, we are alone too. No matter how many people are there for us, at the core we are alone. Nobody can face my death for me. I have to do it myself.

But I can’t help thinking it must be a grace, at that unbearably lonely core, being surrounded by true human love. By close ones who will never ever leave your side. Who will keep you safe in that abyss of abandonment. Who will stay with you, day and night and strong and week and laugh and cry and shy away but hold your hand and touch your scarred and tortured body until it can’t take any more. Until time is up. Until it’s time. For that inevitable transition.

And it must be a comfort, letting go, knowing that your loved ones will be there, together, when your body is gone. Be there for each other. Taking care of each other. Loving each other. Always. Together. As long as they are still there.

/Fly free, my love. You are free now.
Until we all meet again, fare well, our beloved dancing angel./

(Excerpt from poem by family)

Oct 28, 2012

As it was meant to


There was an inauguration in Umeå this week! When I left Sweden for Seattle late August the first profound evidence for that the new building for cultural arts, Kulturväven, is really happening, was there. Eight huge concrete pillars aiming for the sky at the waterfront. Coming back here a month ago, the space right at the Umeå River that’s been a big embarrassing parking lot for decades is now filled with the four-floor foundation of a building! It’s kind of hard to grasp that it’s finally a reality. That the new Umeå front porch, which has been processed forever, is actually for real. That the city will be facing the river again. Like it was meant to.

So, in the cold and rainy Monday evening there was refreshments, snacks and for the occasion specially written music, as representatives from the City and Balticgruppen were speaking about the project and cutting the ribbon that celebrated the foundation of this new landmark. A joint company between Umeå City and the developer Balticgruppen builds Kulturväven.

One of the big discussions about this new development is how to make it work with the older buildings at the sight. It’s funny, but sometimes the articles in Seattle Times about the developments there could very well fit in to Västerbottens Kuriren, the local newspaper in Umeå, and the other way around. There are debates about the height of the buildings as well as concerns about harmonizing with the neighborhoods and their culture.

A big issue in Umeå has been the little old stable that’s connected to Stora Hotellet (The Grand Hotel) from 1894, which is located right behind Kulturväven. The preservers have been clinging to it in the same way the developers couldn’t wait to tare it down. As a remission to the preservers, the final decision was to keep the stable, renovate it and make it a part of Kulturväven. Now it turns out that the stable is in such bad condition that the costs for the whole project will be 20-40 million Swedish kronor more than estimated.

We have a deadline here in my more eastern hometown. Umeå is going to be the European Capital of Culture in 2014, and that’s a pretty serious deadline. Because of course we want the city to be all spruced up for that. That’s why rising costs is really bad news. So are delays.

Two beloved city parks are undergoing redesign, and it actually seems like most people are looking forward to the new looks and purposes for the parks. However, one of them, Rådhusparken (The City Hall Park) might not be done before Umeå is crowned Capital of Culture. The start of the groundwork was planned for this October, but that didn’t happen. Which means that the plantings might not be finished 2013. And as most of the year here on the 63rd latitude is winterish, there is not a lot of time to play with, when it comes to gardening and growth.

Anyway, it’s exciting times here. Kulturväven and the new waterfront is the biggest thing that’s happened since the universities were established. And it will definitely turn the city’s face towards the river again. As it once was. As it was meant to.

Oct 21, 2012

A prayer for an uneventful day


-       Can you pick me up at the airport at 10?

Of course I can. Trouble 1 is returning from Seattle after his 3 months stay. Waking up Tuesday morning I am so happy with myself, having had the tires switched the day before, because it’s snowing. Yeah, what do you know, here we go again, one more winter coming up. So I’m hitting the slushy road feeling very safe and so on top of things. Almost smug. Just picking up my son, And then doing some work. Planning for an uneventful day,

5 km later I have a flat tire. Yapp. Just like that. That’s how they happen, flat tires. It’s 15 minutes until Trouble 1 is flying in and I am thinking I can’t let him stand there all cold and wet, so I’m going for driving on the rim all the way to the airport. He isn’t there. No Trouble 1. So, did he mean 10 PM by any chance? 

I am crawling my bumpy ride across town to my tire switch place where it of course on the first snowy day is jam packed with people who just HAVE to have THEIR tires switched. The wait is like hours and hours. But since I was there yesterday they do feel sorry for me, manage to squeeze me in and in two hours I have a new tire.

The snow has transformed into rain and heavy winds now, and it’s not a Seattle rain, it rains like in The Killing. So, a fake Seattle rain. I am really tired but running some errands, waiting to hear from Trouble 1, although he might be sitting somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Anyhow, stepping out on the parking lot I notice through the rain and the wind scratches on the right front of the car. Great. Just great. And the thing is, this is the fourth time in 1,5 years that happens. A hit and run. The last paintjob was done late August and I was so happy to have a good-looking car again, so this is really frustrating. And more money. I need a discount card at the paint shop.

While this is going on, I am in contact with my plumber. Because back at my house there is a sewer problem. And it’s a big one. I won’t give you the picture of what’s floating around on my bathroom floor, but I can tell you it isn’t pretty. And did I mention my heating system seems to be at its far end?

I don’t really feel like going home to that house, but I am just too exhausted, so I do. Lying on my bed in the rainy dusk I am checking my email. There is the estimate for how much the repairs for my car in Seattle are. Yes, there are a couple of untold stories from my Seattle stay, involving my car there. The only thing I will say here is that it is about a lot of money.

I know. All these worldly problems come with owning things. House and cars. Renting an apartment and taking the bus would solve a lot. When it comes to me, I’m not sure though.

This is not one day in a year. I have a lot of these days. And then, I am sparing you the not so worldly difficulties. I often feel like I am in the middle of a meteor storm. My life is like a short-staffed news station in a big city: I would have no problem what so ever filling the broadcasts but totally exhausted getting them on air. That might be an idea though: pod casting my eventful days!

10 PM. Back at the airport. And Trouble 1 is there. In Sweden after 24 hours on planes. And I too, feel like I have been crossing the Atlantic. The next morning I am sending this prayer to the Universe, the one I am always praying for: please, just give me an uneventful day!

Oct 14, 2012

A village turns 40


40 years. That’s a long time. That’s a lot of life and people and memories and music. That’s a bit too much to handle in one day. Even though I made it a long day. My lights’ weren’t out until 5.30 AM this morning.

I am a choral singer. I’ve been singing in choirs most my life, and especially this one choir, Kammarkören Sångkraft (Sångkraft Chamber Choir) in Umeå. And Sångkraft was the birthday child yesterday.

Getting ready for the day I feel like preparing for a big birthday party and a funeral at the same time. It’s a day of celebration, but it’s also a day of life reflected through memories and long time friends. Joy, pain and bittersweet recollections.

I was a teenager when I first joined the choir, we all were. Sångkraft started out as a youth choir in 1972. Today our voices are more grown up, but the spirit and the musical ambition have stayed the same: constantly developing and progressing reaching for higher goals. 40 years later more than 300 members have passed through the choir, Umeå is a university town so the turnover is quite big. And yesterday people traveled from all over the country to meet in the love of choir music and our collective history. It’s a village coming together.

In the early days, we were all the same age, a very homogeneous group of friends, classmates, siblings, boyfriends and girlfriends. Eventually quiet a lot of us married and started families. We were a tight knit community bringing our children a safe and creative environment growing up in. My American-Danish friend Pete once joining one of our Christmas parties exclaimed, as we all suddenly started singing: “this is like a sect!” Well Pete, I wouldn’t go that far, but I am sure peeping in from outside might strike you as a bit… odd.

For the anniversary I actually did some math, and it turned out that this choir not only has created a lot of interesting music, we have also produced a substantial amount of children. How many? 51! To be more specific; that’s children sprung from both a mom a dad in the choir. In 40 years Kammarkören Sångkraft has expanded mankind with no less than 51 persons! Good job! And for the statistics: out of 19 families within the choir over the years, 12 couples are still together, good job to those who still are!

I was a member for 20 years. Then I took a break for 16 years. Yes, that’s a pretty long recess. But you know, singing together with other people makes you an addict, sooner or later you will have a relapse. Mine came three years ago. But as choral singing is one of those healthy addictions with very few side affects, I am not planning on going into rehab.

So, every Wednesday I am joining the 1st altos, and I get to sing and spend time with people who have been my friends since I was a teenager. I am not among the couples that did the good job. It is sad to me on a day for celebration, a reunion, seeing myself and my history through long time friend’s eyes, hearing me through all that lovely familiar music which is a part of my life and sings forever in every cell in my body. But right behind me, among the tenors, there is my oldest son surrounded by cousins from both his mothers and fathers families. The perspective is a bit breathtaking. And soothing. And Pete: a sect, no. But a village.

Oct 7, 2012

Home is away, away is home


It is so hard to put in words. The feeling driving from Umeå City Airport to my village on the arrival back in Sweden. Making a detour for a car switch. And a stop for gas. And another one for groceries. And it takes like… no time! And then pulling over at my house, parking the car. Just parking it. Right where I want it to be!

It’s like a hundred tons are lifted from my shoulders. It’s like… I can breathe. It’s so interesting, when you are in the middle of it, it is what it is and you just deal with it. Seattle traffic has always been bad, but I don’t think it’s ever been as horrible as this summer. The road constructions creating the Mercer (Street) Mess and the I5 freeway exits impossible. Also, staying at lower Queen Anne you are right there, gridlocked whenever you need to be somewhere. And parking the car is this tired slow race through the blocks hunting for a spot where you won’t have been ticketed in the morning. But, of course, landing on the couch in front of The Seattle Skyline View, it’s all worth it!

Seattle is a pretty big city. The Big Little City, as they say. And arriving there I just love being caught up in the miraculous collaborative project it is diving in on I5 north from Sea-Tac towards downtown. Feeling my pulse rise as I enter the city playing my way between the high rises, excited to be a part of the pace. And there it stays. Pulse high, pace fast, becomes normal and I love it, and yes, this is my place, this is my match, this is where I am supposed to be!

Until I am back at the end of the road in my little village in the northern Swedish woods. Feeling the weight from the intensity of the city vanish from my body. The information attacks scatter and disappear. My pulse slow down and the pace take the shape of soft flames in the fireplace in my kitchen. I am cleansing my mind with Sveriges Radio and Sveriges Television (the Swedish Public Service Radio and TV) not bothering with the commercial channels for some days, and it’s so quiet here that I wake up from the silence during the night. And I am thinking; this is my home, this is where I belong.

And there we are. There is no right or wrong here. I am a very fortunate woman. Feeling equally happy in two places, so different in shape and pace. Home is away, away is home.

Oct 1, 2012

Anniversary picture


It’s been a year now. I posted my first Home is Away, Away is Home stories a year ago, right before I left Seattle for the 2011 September stay. And here I am now, following the flight route on the Iceland Air screen in front of me, just starting crossing the Atlantic Ocean heading back to Sweden one year later.

Writing a blog is a lot like sitting in a radio studio talking into a green light: you have no idea if there is anyone out there listening to you, or who it might be. Working in radio you often get the advice to picture someone to talk to; somebody you know, or even somebody you know listening - a neighbor, an aunt. When it comes to my blog I know I have a few readers who check in every week: Maria B, Rolf, Ulrika, Debra, Randi. I feel so honored by that, and it gives me the purpose to every Sunday crawl up on my couch and tape my hands on the keyboard.

Most of the times that couch is in my quiet Swedish village at the end of the road close to Umea. Sometimes it’s in the middle of vibrant Seattle, where I am creating myself a temporary big city home. Following the statistics on Blogger it’s been interesting noticing that I’ve had hardly no readers in Sweden during my recent Seattle weeks. A lot of Americans though, many more than my friends there, so where do they come from, who are they? Who are you?

One little mystery is my Russian readers. Yes, Russian. The every week Blogger statistics tells me there are three persons in Russia following my Umeå-Seattle stories. Sometimes five. Which is hardly likely to be true. I guess there is some kind of computer program accidentally logging in to my blog, showing up in the statistics to make me surprised and happy. Coloring the US, Sweden and Russia in different shades of green on the Blogger world map, depending on the amount of readers in each country. The funny thing is though, during my Seattle weeks now, the Russian followers slowly faded away, no one left at the end of my stay. I am curious to see if they will show up again when I am back in Sweden!

I’ve had the wonderful treat of five nothing but sunny and warm weeks in Seattle, 2/100 of an inch of rain one early morning, leaving all of Seattle amazed about this highly unusual weather pattern. It’s also been a treat spending those weeks with my grown up son Trouble 1 who dropped me off at Sea-Tac today before he moved over to his aunt Autumn’s for the last weeks of his stay.

Trouble 2 has been taking care of my house while I was gone. And my carport! Remember my carport? Yes, it’s there now, and Trouble 2 has been working on the paintjob. Only, I hear it’s been as rainy in Umeå as sunny in Seattle. So it’s been a tricky task. Anyway, he took off for Paris yesterday for the fall going for his music instead of the paint. And as Paris and Seattle are on the same altitude, my two sons are right now on the same level although different continents doing what they love.

And I am hoping the five weeks of sun have charged my body batteries for the fall and the winter. And on Sundays I will cuddle up on my couch and do one of the things I love; share my stories about Umeå and Seattle. With Maria B, Rolf, Ulrika, Debra and Randi. And maybe a few Russians. And if there is anyone more out there, let me know. So that I can turn on my green light and picture you.

Sep 23, 2012

Going high safe


A 200 feet (61 meter) tall bridge over a streaming skinny river deep down in the gorge. And right next to it a 1400 feet (427 meter) high green covered perfectly cone formed mountain. The river is the east fork of the historic Lewis River in the south of Washington State, and the name of the green cone is Tum Tum Mountain. I mean, is this for real? The mountain looks like a big hand gently pushed the exact amount of soil together to form the thing, and then covered it with leaves and evergreens so tight there is now way you could get through the greenery. After a 3,5 hour drive south from Seattle we have landed right in the middle of a Tolkien saga!

It wasn’t me that gave my sons the nicknames Trouble 1 and Trouble 2, it was their American grandpa Harold back when they were 4 and 6. Although my oldest one has always been an adventurous soul, climbing and jumping before he could walk, a childhood accompanied by a lot of  “no, no” and “watch outs!”. When he grew older he was the magnet for all the like-minded kids in the countryside where they grew up, Trouble 2 tagging along of course. They jumped sandpits, roofs, rocks and trees, most of it shot on video, the starting school for Trouble 2 and his friends, now in the film business. And the physical activity turned into the extreme sport Parkour 8 years ago.

So, it’s not a big surprise that Trouble 1, when in Seattle, is looking for a real good bungee jump. With the amazing nature and sceneries around here, there should be one around. And of course it was. The Pacific Northwest Bridge is a private bridge, sat up in that Tolkien setting just south of Mount St. Helen’s; Amboy, only for the purpose of bungee jumping. And that’s where we headed yesterday.

The people on that bridge yesterday prepared for their jumps in different ways, different emotional state of minds. Some very concentrated, some laughing like crazy, some walking back and forth. Trouble 1 was all-calm, and with that sparkle in his eyes you see only when he is about to do something really dangerous. Well, that’s the mother talking. Being slightly more neutral I would use the word challenging.

And then he jumped. There was no hesitation, and nothing forced about it. Only concentration and expectation. And the eyes sparkling. The first one forward. He raised his arms, made himself as big as possible and then jumped. Taking off like a swan out over the river 200 feet below. The perfect jump. Like he had been preparing all his life for this. Like this was what he always had been doing. And then the next one right on, backwards.

Did I mention this was the highest bungee jump in the US? I don’t think I did. And that there are so many reasons to go back to this place. There is a third jump. Which you are not allowed doing the first time. It’s the jump where you run out of the bridge. The perfect business idea, cause you’ve got to get people to come back of course! And for a young man at 26 to meet a man his mothers age, Casey A. Dale of Bungee.com, who started out as a crazy kid himself and has turned his wild behavior into a successful and safe living for himself and his crew, giving high risk people the opportunity to fulfill their desires in a secure environment.

And then there was this mountain. The perfectly cone formed volcanic dome of 360 acres (145 hectare) with a 360° view. Which was for sale! How crazy is that?! Buy your own little mountain and put a flag on that perfect top!

So, I am asking Trouble 1 what he would do with the mountain. The answer is straight on: He would build a ropeway from the top of the mountain down to the bridge to build on the bungee jump with the perfect pre jump experience! And what en entrance for the highest bungee jump in the US! So, Casey A. Dale of Bungee.com in Amboy, are you up for adding on some more height on your work initiated by a young man who jumped before he walked and still, to be honest, gets quite a few “no nos” and “watch outs”. He just got to see that spreading your wings on a height trusting the landing will be safe can be a life. And that going high can be safe.  

Sep 16, 2012

Wheeling and dealing


And great it was! The Great Wheel of Seattle! I’ve been watching the new ferris wheel down at the waterfront from my Queen Anne window for three weeks now. It makes a round silhouette in front of the two stadium arches and Mount Rainier, and some evenings it fires off in a magnificent light show, stadium arches as a nice backdrop in solids. Isn’t there a way we could light up The Mountain too? Silent choppers circulating with giant spotlights?

Anyway, as Broparken (The Bridge Park) in Umeå is now proving the plans for really coming to life, changing into that rolling flowing green space declining towards the river that we have only scene on sketches before, The Great Wheel on Pier 57 owned by Hal Griffith opened late June being the first evidence that the Seattle Waterfront is changing.

-       I don’t know how that happened, suddenly it was there, it must have slipped under the radar of the Seattle Process! Says Elizabeth.

Trouble 1, our friend Elizabeth and me are having the perfect summer Friday fun evening down at the waterfront slowly spinning on top of the world right in the middle of the skyline, the port and Elliot Bay while the sun is setting behind The Olympic Mountains. It just doesn’t get much better than this!

So, there is The Seattle Process. Exactly the way there is The Umeå Process. My two cities have the very same culture when it comes to decision making and developing. And from where we are sitting in the ferris wheel gondola we have the perfect view over the area that just this week came very close to the end of a process that’s been under the eye for some time now.

To make a very long story as brief as possible: For 41 years Seattle hosted a NBA team, The Super Sonics, residents in what’s now the Key Arena at Seattle Center. The team moved to Oklahoma City in 2008, a loss that basketball fans in The Emerald City are still deeply grieving.

So did Chris Hansen, a Seattle native, now a hedge fund manager-millionaire in San Francisco, who showed up at the Seattle scene proposing a new basketball-hockey-entertainment stadium neighboring the baseball stadium and the football stadium in Sodo (the area SOuth of DOwntown), turning a big part of the Industrial District in to Arena District, also plugged in to the Port of Seattle and shipping terminals.

This is truly a big thing. As much as a lot of people agree on that it sure would be nice being the home of a NBA team again, there is among other things the question about increasing traffic in an already congested area. The Port of Seattle links to 30 000 jobs in the region, and what could be more important than jobs?

So, after months of serious dealing (which is by the way an extremely short time!) a Seattle City Committee Thursday agreed on a plan for a new 490 million arena in Sodo. I will leave the numbers out, but the agreement between the City and private investor Chris Hansen includes a transportation-improvement fund for the area, and another one looking into the needs of the Seattle Center Key Arena. The deal is a unique private/public partnership where the City has worked on financial protections to reduce public risk to a minimum, and Hansen is taking on both an enormous responsibility and huge risk. Final approval is expected September 24. After that Chris Hansen can begin shopping for a NBA team for Seattle.

Well, we all have different wallets for shopping. In our ferris wheel gondola, Trouble 1, our friend Elizabeth and I are agreeing on 15 dollar for a four round magical pleasant sunset spin is definitely worth the money. And Umeå, on my wish list for the more eastern of my two waterfronts in the world there is now not only a heated pool on a barge on the Umeå River and a Light Box for summer night-light concerts, I definitely want to throw in a ferris wheel! It’s just the perfect gentle, non-aggressive fun for everyone in the family to agree on and enjoy. And so beautiful! What can go wrong?!

And, by the way, the wheel didn’t just happen. Hal Griffith, the owner of Pier 57 where the ferris wheel is located, had envisioned this new attraction for 30 years. Three decades was needed for the plan to come to fruition. For the deals to close. For The Wheel to turn.

Sep 9, 2012

A mind-blowing somersault


-       What, what happened, Sweden has always been the land of the dreams?

That’s Matthew speaking, a friend of my friend Doug who turned 60 the other day and gathered his friends for a party. And Matthew and I ended up talking up about school systems, health care a s o. Which is mostly always the case among my friends here in Seattle, but these weeks are of course, extra interesting politically.

So, the feeling is odd I have to say. Watching the next convention. Now from the couch, I am doing a tiny bit better back-wise and have moved out of my bed and landed on the couch just in time for The Democratic National Convention. I love being in the US during political times. I do like being in other places through interesting periods too, although I have to say Northern Ireland has been a little too exciting for me a couple of times.

Anyway. Seattle. Through this summer in Sweden I haven’t mentioned the weather. For a good reason. I didn’t want to whine. Because this summer was the crappiest one in…like forever. We had four days of summer in Umeå. July 6 and August 15, 16,17. That’s it. Arriving in Seattle on this historic stretch of sun and warm temperatures was exactly what I needed, what I hoped for. This Friday we actually hit 90° (32,2 C) which has only happened five times before in September since they started keeping track! So spending the afternoons on my 8th floor balcony overlooking Elliot Bay, the Seattle skyline and The Mountain always out, charging my cold body combined with evenings in front of the broadcasted conventions has been just the perfect mix.

So, why the odd feeling about this week’s convention? Well, if following the Republican Convention was like watching a movie, listening to the speeches at the Democratic Convention felt like… home. Or, should I say, like home used to be, before the Right wing coalition took over the government six years ago.

Now, to be clear: The Right in Sweden is far away from the Right in the US. In fact, over the years I have always expressed the Swedish Right a lot more liberal than the American Democrats. And that’s where the odd feelings show up.

Because listening to the Democrats doesn’t only feel like home. It feels like listening to the Swedish Social Democrats. Sorry Obama, I know it’s only the most super liberal of your followers that would like this comment of mine, but I would say a lot of those speeches at the convention would fit right in to the Swedish Social Democrat’s Convention.

And here is what happened on my couch. Listening, watching, I found myself with the surprising and slightly uncomfortable feeling of “I want that. I want that for Sweden too! Holy cow, was that a somersault of my mind....

So, Matthew, what happened was six years of Right coalition government has turned Sweden into a country where the American Democratic ideals in overall sound like a really good idea. Well, we would skip the God Bless and throw in some Solidarity, but other than that... And it makes me feel extremely sad about Sweden, the land of Matthews dreams. It is two more years until we have the vote and I really do wish that we will have come to our senses by then. And I am hoping that the American Democratic Party gets four more years to prove their ideals right.

Sep 2, 2012

A good old party


It feels like watching a movie. But it’s for real. The Republican National Convention. The Good Old Party. And I am wondering: is it even possible being a Republican if you don’t have a family?

Ann Romney looks like a news anchor and sounds like a politician. Her president to be wife-speech wasn’t even finished until she was appointed a star speaker. On her CV of trials in life is Multiple Sclerosis and breast cancer. She has raised five sons who all look like quarterbacks and presidential material and she has 18 grandchildren, all dressed in the same blue and white-checkered shirt on the humongous family photo. Well, if you are feeling just a tiny bit lonely in life, this might be a cake that’s simply too rich for you.

I am watching this bedridden in my rented apartment on lower Queen Anne in Seattle. I have an out of this world Frazier view overlooking the beautiful Seattle skyline and Mount Rainier to the south. And to the west ferries, fright carriers, cruise ships and sail boats on Elliot Bay. The sun has been out 42 days in one stretch, we might be heading for a record. I could be stuck in worse places so to speak. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been stuck in a better place. Cause I have a history of getting stuck.

My back went out this Wednesday. The slightest bend forward and there it was, the knife right across my lower back. You can’t negotiate with a knife. And my chiropractor out of town. So, flat in bed.

I don’t think I ever feel as vulnerable and lonely as when these things happen. It’s bad when I am in Umeå. Especially in the winter. But it’s even worse when in Seattle. Cause there is always the question: how the hell am I going to get back to Sweden?

When you are in a family there are people coming and going in your house. No matter what the family looks like; happy unhappy, big small, functional, dysfunctional, balanced or annoying, at least there is someone on routine putting the key in the door every day. And at your “hello”, someone would respond. And even if that response wasn’t friendly, someone could bring you a glass of water and fix you something to eat. Let’s put it like this: when you are in some kind of family you won’t be lying dead for a lot of days without someone stumbling over you.

So, how did I survive this time around, all alone with the Seattle skyline? Well, I was very lucky. I was rescued by my next-door neighbors who just moved into the building the other day, Stilian, the new assistant director of the Seattle Symphony, and his pianist wife Anastasia. They cooked dinner for me and we shared a bottle of wine and the view and the full moon. I think it was my best rescue ever. And as they are new in town, we kind of created a temporary family for ourselves and the dramatic day turned into a lovely evening.

Cause that’s the thing. When you cannot expect a key in your door you have to come up with creative solutions. And you actually need to ask strangers for help. Which to me has been a very hard thing to learn. But doing that might bring you unexpected meetings and experiences that won’t happen when you are sheltered in a family, whatever that family is. I am looking at the Romney family with their Disney smiles and checkered shirts. You can be very lonely even within a family. But being exposed and vulnerable, as a lot of Americans are, and not having access to some kind of family is truly a very hard place to be in.

Which brings me back to the question: Is it possible being a republican if you don’t have a family? The good old party of a family. I am looking at all those people at the Convention, nodding and waving their flags and I am thinking: I don’t think so. I think it must be way to painful.

Aug 26, 2012

Coming together


They were 8 years old when they first met, Trouble 1 and Olivia. They spent 4th grade in the same classroom. They became teenagers and young adults, time passing giving both of them experiences unusual that early in life, and they didn’t see each other for about 10 years. Friday the two of them picked me up at SeaTac. Trouble 1 had been crashing at Olivia’s couch for a couple of nights after being gently kicked out from our Wallingford friend’s house as they were preparing for their son’s wedding.

I don’t know that I even have words for my feelings spotting them at the baggage claim waiting for me coming wobbling after crossing the Atlantic. Once two little kids shy to each other, at the airport now a beautiful young woman and a handsome young man both 26 years old, laughing, all comfortable together catching up after oceans of time and life, having so much fun. Picking up the old mom this summer afternoon. Adam confidently driving my car (which he by the way has turned into a dump in just a couple of weeks, yapp, that’s how my first born treats cars) in the intense Seattle Friday rush hour traffic on the freeway. Olivia GPS-ing him from her I-phone to my storage to pick up my things. What a treat guys, what a wonderful treat.

And today there is the wedding. The Wallingford son Reed (they all went to the same elementary school, Trouble 1, Trouble 2, Olivia and her sister Becca, Reed and his sister Zoe) is marrying his high school sweet heart. And Trouble 1 is there. He happens to be in Seattle the summer when his childhood friend and American brother Reed is marrying,  he gets to be there for it. He was even chosen for the honorary assignment being the wedding witness together with sister Zoe. It’s coming together. It’s all coming together.

And browsing Seattle Times Friday paper looking for this weeks goings on my eyes are recognizing something so familiar I am not even reacting at first. Familiar faces and familiar names in a local paper. Dennis Lyxén, David Sandström, Refused. Although showing up in my American local paper. Cause they are on stage in Seattle this Tuesday. That’s what I always been saying; Seattle and Umeå punk band Refused would be the absolutely perfect match! It is all coming together.