Apr 28, 2013

You always have a choice. They say.


You can actually watch it melting. The snow. Winter has been long and cold again so there is still lot’s of snow here, at the end of the road. But the patches on my front yard are literary disappearing in front of my eyes. I took the first spring walk yesterday up the field in the late April sun, as far as the snow allowed me to. My darling cat Sorella and I did our premiere stroll for the year around our place and I threw away the old Christmas tree brusquely tossed from the second floor balcony when the holidays were over. Lovely. We are let out from the jail of frozen winter, and it’s lovely. It’s a big deep breath of life.

Exactly three months ago I could walk all the way to the creek, half a mile (800 meter) back and forth. I was so happy! I could do that already! Well, it was only that one time. Since then my walks have been very short, if at all. I am so sad that my beloved neighbor Alida, 96 soon to be, and I have been hibernating in our houses all winter long, and not one single time have I been able to sit at her kitchen table, drinking our tea, talking about all her lost and gone friends. My parents and grandparents. Alida providing me all those loose ends telling how everything is related in our village.

This spring she is letting me know that she wants to move in to an olds people’s home this fall if she I still alive. Her lonely days here in the house are way too long. So this was probably our last winter together at the end of the road. A few steps from each other during our long days, and yet we couldn’t be together. And it just breaks my heart. For the both of us. And though I can’t even imagine Alida not being here, the pain of thinking here gone is so strong it’s making me cry. I feel like a wall in my house will be gone leaving me exposed to unlimited dark and cold. I frankly don’t know how I will survive.

When I was cleared from cancer I decided to live life at it’s fullest, like most people facing death given a second chance do. I cleaned out a lot of closets determined to not any more suffer from blisters caused by anything chafing or scuffing. And before any choice, big or small, ask myself: is this what I want? Is this good for me? Is this helping me?

Because that’s what they say now, right? You always have a choice.
Make a wish. Follow your heart. Reach for the stars. Recognize your dreams. Set goals and make them happen. Choose your life. That’s what they say.

After the cancer and chemo my back problems increased for the worst. I was cancer free and couldn’t wait to live live live, but my body did limit that life strictly. The pain and the physical restrictions battled down the power and feeling of being invincible that is often gained by being a survivor. But hey, I don’t have cancer, I am basically healthy, this is just pain. It’s a drag but you won’t die from it. You need to be grateful.

You always have a choice. And when you feel like you don’t, you always have the choice how to relate to your situation. That’s what they say.

So, I am choosing not to complain. I am setting the goal to walk to the creek and as month after month pass and I can’t do it I am trying to be grateful that I can stroll through the grocery store. The choir rehearsals are like running a marathon and 95 % of my focus is controlling the pain, but I am truly happy that I can be there. I can’t make me dinner but I am enjoying that I some days am able to join my home care angel Peter giving him some little assistance in the kitchen. I can’t have my dinner sitting at the kitchen table, but I am looking forward to the late afternoons Grey’s Anatomy reruns keeping me company on my couch. And I am smiling and being nice and never whining. It could be worse. It truly could be so much worse. I know that for a fact.

So I don’t cry. I am accepting. And with that acceptance erasing the goals. I am a woman with a lot of will power. Most people would call me really stubborn when it comes to what I want to reach and accomplish. I used to be at the gym three times a week. I took one-hour power walks with dumbbells the days I wasn’t at the gym. I know how to do this. I want to do this. My body and soul knows the happiness and contentment of being in power, feeling strong and healthy, even looking a little bit good. And I love to dance! God how I long to dance!

So, did I choose this? No, I didn’t. The idea that we are in control of our lives is part illusion part bullshit. There is very little we can control. And for everyone less fortunate it’s an unbearable burden stacked upon whatever our trials are.

So, I am controlling myself, isn’t that what choosing how to handle your situation is about? I am smiling instead of crying. I am looking at the bright side instead of complaining. I am deciding that watching TV is an entertainment to be grateful about and blocking out my needs for seeing friends, going to a beautiful concert or watching an interesting exhibit. And I am happy about my nice home, as that’s the only place I can wish for. Erasing the goals. As they only lead to disappointment.

It’s not until I am realizing this is probably mine and Alida’s last winter together and I missed it that it breaks through. The anger, the despair, the rage, the grief, the loneliness, the incomprehensibility, the WHY WHY WHY???!!! Why did we have to miss it just because I can’t walk and sit?

This morning I felt really good. I could move better than I have in months. I had energy. I felt happy for no particular reason. I think I even hummed on a little tune. I planned on running some errands that would need a little bit of walking in between treatments tomorrow. Then it happened again. During the afternoon a slight shooting pinched me across the sacrum. I was sitting at a chair. Just sitting straight up. And there it was. The needle. Not a knife, but still, a needle. I haven’t had that kind of pain since November. Since this lying down life started. And now I’m there again.

Am I choosing this? This completely unpredictable life where nothing is certain and there is zero to trust? Where I need to be prepared for anything at anytime. Where my situation can change on a split of a second? Where unexpected hope on a good morning is a dangerous enemy that strikes back on you for seeing a window where the light finds you? Where most things are chafing and scuffing? Do I sound bitter? Yes, I am. Deep down under my choice of smiles and no complaints and looking at the bright side I am tonight finding bitterness. Deep down under controlling myself to fit in to what’s expected of me in this day and age 2013. And it doesn’t make me look good, I am aware.

I don’t know how to end this posting. I don’t have anything encouraging closing up with. I am not choosing this. That’s all I know. I am not choosing this.

Apr 21, 2013

Kojan/The Treehouse


Bang bang! Those familiar sounds of spring!

It started in middle school. Trouble & Trouble and their friends from the villages around here picked up some left over planks and nails and built a platform way up in the trees. Then walls came up of course, a roof, and hey, Kojan – the Treehouse was born! Koja means hideaway, kind of, and it really was the perfect hide away for boys in their early teens. It’s located in a grove not too far from the house, but enough tucked away for privacy. The parents kept in the house or the front yard leaving them to their adventures, but also made them feel safe.

My sons have a wonderful talent. They make friends with the sweetest, most adventurous and craziest people. And they stay friends. Through thick and thin. So the original group of about ten loud boys is still around. And as they moved on and new friends entered their lives they’ve been added in the Koja project. As they have added trees! What to start with was a studio connecting four-five trees is today more of a complex compound 15 feet above ground involving about thirty firs and pine trees!

You might be asking: how old are they now? Well, that’s a legitimate question. Trouble & Trouble just turned 27 and 25. The next question might be: aren’t they too old for building on a treehouse? The answer is no.

My sons have this ability that earlier on to a mother could be pretty annoying, but has turned quite charming the older they get. They are carrying their child contained within themselves. They still love playing the way children do, and there hasn’t even been a period over time when they in embarrassment did hide that away. I am not sure if the reason for this is that they didn’t have an enough playful childhood, are clinging to a lost childhood or simply had a childhood so safe and happy-go-luck that they are still enjoying it!

Either way, Kojan still is an adventure. All year around. Even when it’s five feet of snow (1,5 meter) and -15°F  (-26°C) cold outside. Some years ago they installed an army stove in the center of the tree house so they are keeping themselves warm even in the middle of the winter. And I don’t know if hot dogs ever taste better than up in the Koja!

The treehouse is now more of an open source project. The Facebook group has 77 members, and they are seriously thinking about crowd funding to improve the economy, a thirty some tree compound is a pretty costly business, especially keeping it winter proof. And of course, Kojan is a story around here. Little kids want to sneak up there (but are not allowed except supervised by the senior Koja members!) and sometimes families come by to watch a legend still in progress.

Bang bang! Yes, it’s spring! I hear the cars parking outside my house, doors opening and closing, happy grown up kids laughing their way to the grove. And then the sound of the work starting. Bang bang! Last summer they extended the center room for grandma Gerd’s big left over leather couch to fit in and inserted a panorama window. I was actually asked to be the interior designer, very honored! This spring they already improved one of the suspension bridges between the platforms and added a new one connecting the Dance platform with the roof of the center room, which will be added on with a second floor. The plans are endless, creative, and for parents less tolerant than me when it comes to heights, slightly dangerous.

I am the mother of two sons, but I am blessed with so many more children. Growing up, our place was the hang out for all the boys in the villages around here. There were times when I felt I was running some kind of bed and breakfast and I must admit, most of the time it was pretty exhausting and I just wanted to throw them all out. Oh how I enjoyed the few moments all alone in a quite house! Oh how I wished for more of that! Little did I know that I would come to a point in life when my house would be all empty except for me day after day, month after month lying on the couch listening to the seldom interrupted silence. Be careful what you wish for…

So, when I hear those springtime sounds of hammers and nails I smile. And I love when they include me in their visit, coming running up my slate path giving me those big bear hugs. And of course, now there are girls in the project too, so finally I also have a bunch of lovely daughters!

Friday Trouble 1 turned 27. The birthday party happened in Kojan of course. And as for a present they built a long time planned and much looked forward to cableway from the center of the compound up in the trees all the way down to the field! It’s about a 160 feet (50 meter) ride for anyone who has the gut to do it! Take a look here:



I very rarely get to see Kojan other than from the ground; it’s most of the time impossible for me to get myself up there. Last summer though I had two good days when I could and it was so great after a lot of years sitting in the center room with my kids, all warm from the stove reading the guestbook. I don’t have a lot of hopes for an encore this summer but I am dreaming of course. And I am so happy and grateful to be allowed being a part of all my children’s playfulness, unlimited creativity and determination. Adam, Ludvig, Erik, Martin, Lars, Ingrid, Vilma, AnnSofie, Ida, Sarah, Andreas, Fredrik and everyone else who shows up here off and on; I love you guys, I think this is the pay off for my bed and breakfast days, and being your landlord is pure and simple joy!

Apr 14, 2013

Kitchen secrets


It was a very special kitchen. The heart of the place, of course, as kitchens often are. But the heart in this case had a name and it was Agneta. Agneta was the much-loved cook in the preschool/day care where I was a preschool teacher. It wasn’t just the kitchen that was special; the preschool in itself was too. It was located in an apartment, the staff was four people including Agneta, taking care of only ten children. As a lot of those children were siblings, the total amount of households involved was often only five or six. We really were like one big family, and we liked parent-teacher conferences so much that we scheduled them once a month! Then we all got together for a fika (a sit down coffee with a little something), talked about the children and their activities and enjoyed each other! Sounds like paradise? Yes, it truly was and I am carrying those children and their parents close to my heart.

As the kitchen wasn’t away in the back somewhere but right in the middle of everything, it was a hang out. The children loved being close to Agneta preparing the meals, and the emergencies and daily big decisions, which are continuously happening at a preschool, were all taken care of in the kitchen. And it would be very interesting knowing how many hours during those ten years Agneta and I worked together we chatted away between breakfast porridge, lunch meat loafs and afternoon snacks.

I have been keeping a journal since I was thirteen, writing every single day. I remember telling Agneta that if I died, I wanted my journals to stay with her. That’s how much I trusted her. And, of course, she already knew what was in those journals. All my special secrets told to a very special friend.

We shared everything, Agneta and I. What those walls in that kitchen didn’t hear in those ten years didn’t happen. Then I moved on. Trouble & Trouble were born and I became an overworked journalist and we kind of lost track of each other. A couple of years ago we reunited on Facebook, and in November last year we finally had a date planned. Then my back crashed, that damn Sunday morning. Lying in my bed not being able to move I started calling around for someone to help me, and the one that in an hour showed up like an angel fixing me breakfast was Agneta. We hadn’t seen each other in about twenty years, and there she was, in my kitchen!

It really was a moment. Boy, did we have some catching up to do, and yet it felt like we had never been apart! But what a waste of those twenty years of missed life together. I know this happens all the time, people’s lives take different routes and sometimes they are so jam-packed it seems like we don’t have time for even those who we love and enjoy.

Then again, our lives can bring us to places we didn’t know existed. We might be dropped off at stops we didn’t choose ourselves. They can be dark, scary and extremely lonely. It might be that we don’t have a lot of numbers to call when in need. And it might be that none of those numbers can make it to you. Or are even picking up. But that dark scary November Sunday morning Agneta’s familiar comforting voice answered my call. And came rescued me. She really did.

Now, I’m not a cook. I really suck and I don’t like it. I admire and envy anyone who can fix just anything in a kitchen. I have this special granola I’m making though. It’s stuffed with nuts, seeds, ginger, cardamom, coconut flakes and goji berries and I am roasting it in the oven. I am making three batches at a time to secure my breakfast for more than a month, it’s a lot of work and it takes like an afternoon to get it all done. And now of course, in my condition; impossible. I needed help. Today again, Agneta was my rescuer.

Here we were again, together in a kitchen. No children around this time though. Agneta actually had a limp from some temporarily knee problem making us feel a bit like little old ladies which is kind of funny as we both are unusually tall women. Together we got the granola done though, as the homely smell from the cardamom filled the room. Although being a cook, it turns out Agneta has never been mastering the granola, and I was very happy and proud that I could actually treat her with a recipe of my own! Ha!

One afternoon was enough for three granola batches but of course not for everything that was on our mind. It’s something very special reliving forgotten memories, laughing about now and then and just clicking into each others lives as natural as rain. More than twenty years later I was given the gift once again sharing what’s closest to my heart with Agneta. Who I trust completely. My journals could still stay with her. And of course, after today she already knows what’s in there. All the special secrets told to a very special friend.


Apr 7, 2013

A Seventies remedy for making it to the top


I can actually feel it in my body. The excitement. At those times always being just a little bit cold. The pushing crowds at the standing stands. The taste of the hot dog. The smell from the ice and the sound of the aggressive skates working it. The sticks fighting for the puck, cracking from the collisions. The whistles. The electric organ. The crowds wooing and booing.

This was in the Seventies, but just the other day the intensity at the Umeå Arena was quite the same. Björklöven, the Umeå hockey team won their series and the loyal supporters were finally paid off after years of losses and doubts that this team would ever make it to the top again.

Now, to be clear, this is the situation: Björklöven (The Birch Leaves – the name is related to the fact that Umeå is known as The City of Birches, just as Seattle is The Emerald City) is not playing the major league Elitserien. Not even the league beneath (would that be the minor?) Allsvenskan, but the one even one more step down, Division 1. And what happened this week was that Björklöven won Division 1 and will next year be playing Allsvenskan. This is great of course, but still: it’s a long way back to Elitserien (the major league) where old people like me feel they should be. Because we remember. We know what it feels like. When it’s for real. Being at the top.

Very few people in Seattle remember when Seattle was The American Hockey City. For the simple reason that it’s nearly a century ago. But in 1917 Seattle actually became the first American city to win the holy grail of hockey — the Stanley Cup! In nine mostly memorable years, the Seattle Metropolitans established a rich hockey tradition in Seattle, which unfortunately eventually died away. Today, when a new basketball arena is on the agenda major league hockey is also considering establishing in Seattle, so maybe we are looking at a 100-year anniversary in 2017!

The Eighties was the golden years for Björklöven with three Swedish Championship Finals and one gold medal, 1987. My golden years with Björklöven though, were in the Seventies. I was in high school, and I had so much fun ruining my grades on hockey and movies. Well, not entirely fun, I was wandering those years with the constant nagging feeling of being a bad student (which I was), but I just couldn’t keep away from the hockey arena and movie theatres. I know, there are worse things to ruin your grades on than hockey...

And it didn’t help dating a hockey player… Gunnar was my high school sweet heart, and a defender in the Björklöven junior team. He was a tall blond Viking and I didn’t mind at all the tight crowds being on the stands together watching the senior team scoring Brynäs, Modo or one of the other teams in the Swedish major league. And the fact that it was quite cold in the arena about 40 years ago wasn’t all that bad when you wanted to be close to someone.

The golden moment in my hockey career was the Björklöven family camp a mid Seventies summer. Hockey players spend a lot of time away from their families, and that’s the reason for this family camp that took place in Hemavan in the Swedish mountains not far from the Norwegian border. And even girlfriends were allowed!

 I remember feeling a bit foreign in this environment although more excited I must admit. I had seen these players on ice so many times, their names were as well-known in Umeå as Mariners players are in Seattle: Lars Dallas Dahlgren, Ulf Lundström, Åke Byström, John Andersson (Sletvoll), Ulf Barrefjord.... And then the juniors who were just starting being allowed on ice with the senior team, on the verge of the real thing: Torbjörn Andersson, Roger Johansson, Stig Nilsson and boyfriend Gunnar. If I remember it right, this trip was the first appearance for Tore Öqvist in Björklöven. I can be wrong though; it’s been a while…

My longest lasting memory from this trip though was a very physical one; an ugly sore, a shafe on my left heal caused by a brisk walk down the mountain led by Ulf Lundström. I was the only girl and as always aiming for being one of the guys, I didn’t say a word about the red warm stuff spreading in my shoe. And this wasn’t just being one of the guys: this was being one of the Swedish elite hockey players! Gosh Maria!

Oh yes, there is one more memory, and this is an up hill one. Of course an ambitious hockey player takes every opportunity for a real work out. So, on one of the fieldtrips during that family camp the guys carried not only their back pack, their girlfriends back pack, but their girlfriend… running up the hill…

Well, I walked the hill myself, of course. But perhaps this is the remedy for Björklöven 2013 to sail through Allsvenskan next season all the way to the major league Elitserien: grab as many back packs you can find, then put your family on top of that and run up a really high mountain! It might just be what’s been lacking for the last 20 years for making it to the top!