Dec 25, 2017

Santa Leif

It’s Christmas day. My house is quiet and warm imbedded in the white snowy northern Sweden landscape. It’s -8°C outside (17,6°F) and comfy cozy warm inside. Did I mention it’s warm inside?

This is the story. Or, let me begin here: Christmas in Sweden is a 2 week stretch of Holidays when the country pretty much shuts down. It’s a good thing to not get sick at Christmas, your car better not break down and pray to that newborn Jesus that everything in your house works as it should.

Now, this is the story: the morning before Christmas I suddenly didn’t have any hot water. You really don’t want that to happen, especially since the day before Christmas this year was a Saturday. So no plumbers on duty for two weeks.

For as long as I can remember I’ve had my own special plumber, his name is Leif. He knows my house, plumber-wise, in and out. I’ve lost contact with him though since he changed employer this spring, and here I was, the day before Christmas Eve without hot water and didn’t know what to do.

I tried to calm myself down with the fact that you can always boil water. Being without heating in your house this time of year, now that’s a real problem!

Still, a bit desperate I tracked Leif down, so grateful when he picked up the phone. We tried to figure out what’s happened and still quite don’t know. But over the phone he guided me in the menu of my heat pump (which is only two years old and have worked very well (as it should) so I have had no reason to become familiar with it. Happy and grateful I could actually take a shower in the afternoon.

Christmas Eve morning I woke up and my house was cold. The floors downstairs (floor-heating) were cold and the radiators upstairs too. What?! I can’t believe this is happening! My consolation was the house would be filled with family in a few hours, we would keep warm together and I wouldn’t have to be alone in the cold, But that’s just today…

In slight panic I called Leif again. What now? He had arrived in the mountains for the Holidays. But he is just the kindest. Once again he was guiding me in the heat pump and found something irregular. Now Maria, he said, you will have to do a Norwegian restart… I found the head switch for the pump and turned it off. Then on again. And there is was, the missing thing (I can’t even explain in Swedish)!

Did I mentioned my body had turned really bad already the day before and not at all up for any acute technical adventures?

I had contacted my Christmas Eve guests and called on them to dress really warmly, so at their arrival we agreed on pretending we were in one of those Christmas movies wearing all wool, wrapped in blankets in front of the fire place. An adventure!

In a while though, my floors weren’t as cold any longer! The trick worked! Eight people plus two toddlers helped too of course, as well as the fire place and tons of candles all day long. And the warmth between siblings, cousins, parents and children. 

The Christmas Eve that started in cold Holiday panic turned into a warm, fun and memorable celebration. It was also the year of the return of the Santa. My father used to be the fun and crazy family Santa, but since his passing we have celebrated grown up Christmases. With two little toddlers though it was time for a new Santa era. 

Trouble 2 has axled his grandfather’s matel, although the outfit is all new. So is his approach. But of course we closed the Santa ceremony as we always did, singing the Swedish national hymn, Du gamla du fria. For the record, as far as I know, this only happens in our family, it is not a common Swedish tradition.

But the real Santa this Christmas is Leif who with his good heart and calm voice made my water and house warm again. Uh, come to think about it, that sounds a bit like Jesus, right…? 

Happy Christmas all of you!

Dec 17, 2017

Fake chandeliers for Winter Solstice

It is only four days until it happens! The day that marks the turnaround of the light. The day when the sun starts it’s slow-paced struggle to once again win this cyclical war against the suffocating darkness here at the 64th latitude. The Winter Solstice! It’s terribly annoying how the most important day of the year has to linger in the shadows of Christmas, is there anyway we could change that? I would like to throw a big Winter Solstice party, but somehow I can never make that happen…  

For those of you who have been following me along the seasons you know I get through the darkness with adding light. Inside and outside. One thing I do is spotting interesting lights in the stores and then wait for the season sales to hunt for them. It takes patience. Like every hunt.

Some years ago one of those cheep stores where you can find most anything at a bargain and in a guaranteed bad quality (Rusta) added an interesting item to their assortment. A crystal chandelier made out of plastic and and wire. The lights are led. They come in two sizes.

Those creations made me stop. They are unbelievably ugly. Yet fascinating. I had the feeling I would find a spot for them somewhere…

When my carport was finally done, all white painted panel inside, I knew that was the place. Odd, yes, Very. But so right.

At the Christmas sale 2014 I bought the first big one. Half price. Of course. That’s how cheep I am. The big one wasn’t that big though, it would just look silly in the carport. So the year after I purchased two more. Three big boxes with plastic/wire chandeliers took up a lot of space att different places for 1,5 years before my electrician finally found his way here.

But man, was it worth waiting for! In October 2016 three fake chandeliers had found their purpose hanging close to each other in different heights from the roof ridge in front of the west window facing the fields. Putting the switch on I frowned in disappointment at the fact that two of them turned out warm white and one more of a copper tone. Yeah, that’s the downside with hunting at different years… It actually grew on me though, it’s kind of cool, especially since the exterior of the carport is red.

Now, the chandeliers came in a smaller size too. Hmm. My mind wondered for a long time before it settled. For the apple tree. But of course! At the Christmas sale last year there were three of them left at the shelf when I got there. Half price. I grabbed them.

They’ed been sitting in their boxes taking up space under my staircase for eleven months before my imaginary image became reality. It was Mohammed (I will tell you about this amazing young man further on) who hang them and completed my vision for me. 

So, three fake crystal chandeliers in the carport and three in my grandfather’s crummy old apple tree. What does it look like? Well, it’s kind of cheesy of course. But it’s also so out of context that it’s fun and even pretty. It works. And the light and the accomplishment of the hunt for it make me happy every time I look. And so are my guests and my home care people, I can tell.

There won’t be a Winter Solstice party, it’s just impossible three days before Christmas (in Sweden). But the fake chandeliers are shining and my surroundings dressed in snow. It actually looks like we will have a white Christmas this year (knock on wood! )

Dec 10, 2017

The nobility of the Nobel Prize?

It is snowing heavily here at the end of the road. The Advent stars are lighting up the afternoon in my windows as well as in my neighbors. I am listening to the Peace Prize laureates Beatrice Fihn and Setsuko Thurlow from ICAN receiving the award in Oslo on this Nobel Day. The message is sad and hopeful, dark and light, just as the day around my house.

So, it’s December 10, the annual event when Sweden - and Norway - is in the limelight of the science world. The day for the Nobel Prize, instituted by Alfred Nobel, inventor of among other things dynamite and artificial silk.

In Sweden, this fall the Nobel Prize has been clouded by shameful news. It is the Royal Swedish Academy which appoints the literature laureate. The Academy was instituted by King Gustav III in 1786 and consists of eighteen members appointed on life time - nowadays by the Academy itself. Their operation and proceedings are ruled by statues from Gustav III. It is a bit like a secret society, but as the members of the Academy are ranked high in regards of trust and irreproachability, it has rather put the Academy even more on a pedestal than been a problem.

Until now. This fall the Royal Swedish Academy is dethroned. No one is safe from #metoo. 

In this case a man married to one of the Academy members and himself a profile within the arts is accused by 18 women for sexual assaults and rape. As if  that wasn’t bad enough these assaults in some cases have happened within the Academy’s facilities and apartments. And it’s been going on for decades. 

This has put the spotlight on the Academy and its closed circle and non-transparent operations. Of course it was common knowledge that this man had been performing inappropriate (to say the least) over years and years. So, what more is going on within the Academy?

2016 another one of the institutions behind the Nobel prizes was under scrutiny. Karolinska Institutet is the institution appointing the prize in medicine. I would say the word scandal was not an overstatement when it became clear that research fraud was prior to star surgeon and researcher Paolo Macchiarini’s - connected to Karolinska Institutet - synthetic organ transplants which caused the death to most of his patients. 

In the Macchiarini case the horrific outcome of an institution so star struck by a famous surgeon they didn’t make a proper back ground check of course was the main focus. I did not pick up a lot of concerns about how the scandal would reflect on the Nobel medicine prize though.

This year, however, there have been discussions regarding the Royal Swedish Academy and it’s role in the Nobel prize. Not when it comes to appointing the laureate, but if there is irregularities within the Academy and what effect that might have on the look of the prize.

The Nobel Prize is the most valuable science award in the world. It is the dream of every scientist, it’s a multi million industry for all the main universities, and it is of definitive importance for the development of the world and mankind. I am thinking it is crucial for the Nobel brand that all organizations, institutions and every person connected to the Nobel Prize process is irreproachable. It is most troublesome when someone is casting dark shadows on the shining Nobel medal. And, as a Swede I might add, on Sweden. How to assure the nobility of the Nobel Prize?

Fortunately the literature laureate Kazuo Ishiguro is not defining his award with what’s going on within the Royal Swedish Academy. And right now he is sitting in the Blue Hall of the Stockholm City Hall decorated with ice and flower arrangements conveying the Archtice nature, listening to ice xylophone and horn, watching dancers in silver and white. In the ceiling an aura borealis, the northern light. The Nobel Dinner is as always an incredible celebration for eyes and ear. And outside my window it’s dark since many hours and the snow is still falling. It's peaceful and comforting.

Dec 3, 2017

Me too/the Swedish landslide/part 2

And the landslide keeps rolling…

* Monday November 27 under the hashtag #thelastnailinthecoffin 4627 women within the construction industry sign a petition out of anger, frustration and grief. They are testifying about sexual harassments and assault within a male dominated industry.

* November 28: #thelastbrief is more than 2000 women in the PR and advertising industry writing a brief about sexism and sexual harassments within the profession.

* The same day 3853 teachers sign #notpassed to stop the sexual harassments and assaults from colleagues and principals/heads, as well as students and parents.

* November 29, 1992 women active within equestrian sports puts the spot light on what the environment for girls having the stables as their second home looks like.

* November 30 it’s time for 1730 women serving the country in the Swedish Defense Forces to speak up: “We have joined the Swedish Defense to defend Sweden and the right to live in what ever way we want to. Often though, the worst antagonists have been within our own organization”.

* The same day 1863 women and non-binary convey whats boiling within the restaurant industry, a sector characterized of uncertain terms of employment, hierarchy and a sexist macho culture. 

* Also #excavationinprogress, 387 women in the field of archeology let us know about a sexist structure rooted in the history of archeology.

* 978 women working in green businesses such as farming, forestry, horse business and orchards testify of sexist comments and rapes in barns as well as board rooms.

* More then 1000 nurses witness about sexual harassments at work. In 69% of the reported cases the perpetrator is a patient.

* The largest appeal this far in Sweden was also published Thursday November 29. 10 400 doctors and medical students - women, non-binary and transgender - tell the story about the teaching hierarchy which makes them dependent of senior colleagues for decades in the stairs of career. Because of that, sexual assaults are very rarely reported.

* Friday December 1 #metoobackstage. 1615 women behind Swedish TV-productions, movie and theatre stages testify about how exposed they are at work. About the structures in the name of art allowing men taking advantage of anyone from script writers to tailors in the crew.

* In addition to these industry campaigns I would also like to recognize the prostitutes and the women victims of honor related violence. They are too trying to make their voices heard, from the bottom of or society. From the streets and the hidden silent fear.

These thousands of voices have been added to the Me too movement in Sweden in only a week. And we are now hearing women in true male macho sectors like Swedish Defense Force speaking up. The movement is moving. Moving forward. Onward we go.

Nov 26, 2017

Me too/part 3/the Swedish landslide

Some call it a revolution. That’s yet to be seen. But it is certainly a landslide.

It’s about 1,5 month now since the actor Alyssa Milano started the #metoo campaign. In 24 hours 4,7 million women had signed the hashtag in 12 million Facebook postings.

I don’t know much of how the campaign has proceeded around the world. I know some about the US. I am quite familiar about the situation in Sweden though, and it is  extraordinary, choking and frightening. But there is also hope and will power.

This last month professionals from different industries have formed their own campaigns under clever hash tags which would be lost in translations if I tried, so I won’t. Coming out as victims for sexual harassments and assaults, as well as letting the country know the dark and silent secrets going on in their businesses.

* First out, here as well in the US, were the actors. 465 women in the theatre and film industry came out with their names and stories. Followed by 653 singers within the opera- and classical scene. 

* The day after 4445 legal professionals testify about assaults and discrimination within the judicial system, they are backed by the Courts Administration. 

* 1300 women in politics signs a petition against sexual harassments and assaults taking place among the elite of Swedish politicians. 

* 1993 women in the Swedish music industry bear witness about sexual harassments and rapes within the industry. 

* November 19, 1139 women in the tech industry speak up.

* The same week 1501 women in the trade unions sign the hashtag #notnegotiable.

* A few days later 4084 journalists had enough of sexism and assaults among the editorial staffs and in newsroom. #deadline.

* The day after 620 dancers join the movement and 1700 students follow.

* #timeout is the hashtag for 2290 athletes, trainers, sports journalists and supporters.

 *November 24, 2400 academics point out sexual harassments and assaults within the strict hierarchy at the universities. And the same day 1382 women within the Swedish Church join the Me too movement under the hashtag #lettherebelight.

This has all happened within a month and I still might have missed some. I am sure more will follow. Some might not though. It is awfully quiet in the business world for example, still a bastion for men. Is it possible for the women on that scene to come forward and tell their stories? I hope it will be, eventually.

So, what will come out of this? Will these thousands of brave women change anything at all?

They must. The insight that sexism, sexual harassments and assaults towards women goes on most everywhere in our society now sits like a hard fist in the Swedish collective stomach. A number of measures are on the table. Like instituting whistle blower functions in work places and organizations. Allowing women filing anonymous complaints. Educating first responders to look for signs and ask the right questions.

The Swedish government looks very seriously on the hard facts coming up and has summoned a number of institutions. Especially incriminating is the 4445 legal professionals testifying about assaults and discrimination within the judicial system, the government is actually chocked from that information. The foundation of trust for the rule of law is at risk if sexual crime is not taken seriously. And, I am thinking, if the judicial system itself is infected and sick by sexism and harassment, how can we trust women as plaintiffs being met and treated with respect and dignity?

The other day I browsed an Australian article picking up the Me too events in Sweden. How was it possible this is happening in one of the most gender equal countries in the world?

My guess is this is happening in most every country in the world. And by this I mean the sexual harassments going on everywhere in the society. The fact that women this fall in industry by industry, organization by organization, institution by institution in Sweden come forward telling the ugly truth might have something to do with equality. 

These patterns have been here for centuries. So has the silence surrounding them. The women wrongfully carrying the heavy weight of shame. The fact that they are finally lifting the shame off, putting it where it belongs might be because it actually is possible after all. I am thinking in many countries it is not.

Nov 19, 2017

My day of recuperation

The afternoon twilight is fascinating today. Daylight falling more quickly than I can turn the lights on inside to counteract the outcome of it. Light flurries swirling, embedding my little queendom in white.

This fall has been and is a strenuous one. No catastrophes for which I am very grateful and I shouldn’t really complain, but still one thing after the other. Health issues outside my usual domains, practical problems, little things turning into never endings projects (like getting new glasses, those of you mature enough for progressivs might know what I am talking about) and so on.

This last week in particular has been especially exhausting with two acute visits to the doctors and one more acute health contact. Oh how I have been wishing for a calm and uneventful day. Just one. For recuperation.

And it happened! Yesterday I watched a cute little nothing-film from 1989 with Steve Martin, Parenthood. While sipping my ginger tea doing my nails. A perfect tired Saturday afternoon.

But what was even more relaxing was that I could DO things. Strangely enough I had energy. And my body wasn’t at it’s worst, it was actually pretty good.

Since late summer Mohammed has been one of my home care anchors. While he was cleaning the house, doing the laundry and roasting my granola I was able to attend to some things downstairs. This was possible since I wasn’t alone. Mohammed was supervising my whereabouts.

I fixed my printer, clogged up as usual as I am rarely using it. Finally I got it to work. For the time being. But satisfying for now. And it was so nice being in my beautiful office feeling like someone having an office.

In my yellow kitchen there is a yellow sofa chair in the corner. It’s actually a recliner, everyone’s favorite spot. Next to it a sideboard with a shelf inunder piled up with old magazines and God knows what.

This used to be my favorite spot too. Stretched out in the chair covered in a wool blanket and music from the kitchen speakers. Drinking my tea. Reading architectural- and home interior magazines. Planning and dreaming.

I’ve been looking at that big stack for years now wanting to do something about it. But I can’t because it’s out of my reach. To low down. And as it isn’t high priority it’s not on my list for things I need to ask people to do for me.

But yesterday Mohammed pulled out a stool for me. Meanwhile he was roasting the granola I sat next to the sideboard and went through the pile. Music on. The granola smelling cardamom and cinnamon. Nice company. I browsed the magazines starting at 2003. Memories. And plans that didn’t happen. But also dreams fulfilled.

I cleaned out most of the magazines and today I am looking at the sideboard with great satisfaction and a feeling of accomplishment. It’s finally taken care of and I did it myself!

And the icing on the cake yesterday was when I was able to sit at the piano for a while figuring out some difficult passages in a couple of those Christmas songs my choir is rehearsing right now. It was years and years since my body allowed me to sit upright pushing the keys on a real instrument instead of lying on my couch settling for a dissatisfying keyboard on the Ipad. And I couldn’t have done it today.

I love spending time downstairs, because it’s so rare. It gives me a feeling of owning my home. Or, to be drastic, having a life, if you will. 

And it’s interesting how “doing things” can be relaxing. Sitting at my desk filing papers, I enjoy it so much! No thinking, no figuring out, no handling, no acting, no finding the difficult solutions, no coping, just doing it. And the satisfaction of getting it done, having it done.

I wished for a day of recuperation, and I got one. A good, stable, relaxing and uneventful day. Thank you.

  

Nov 12, 2017

A Saturday night ER reflection

Four hours later I was back home, diagnosed by a doctor and with three different medicins. Total cost, 200 kronor = 24 dollars.

I spent Saturday night at the ER, just the thing you love doing on a weekend evening. Nothing really bad, still something I needed to take care of urgently.

 When heading for a Swedish ER the best approach is to bring your patience and something to eat. Because oftentimes it will take hours before you get attended to. We tend to complain about this. And of course, when you are so acute you need an ER it is exhausting to spend hours in a waiting room not knowing when you will get helped. 

So, yesterday, as every time I reluctantly have to give in for the fact that I have to seek a doctor outside office hours, I had to remind myself how available it is in every sense. 

To start with, I live 15 minutes from the top ranked university hospital in Sweden, the one in UmeĆ„. My only problem is nowadays I need a ride there which was tricky on a Saturday evening. But finally Trouble 2 was able to help me out, for which I am so grateful. 

So, only 15 minutes, I know exactly where to go and once there I know the drill. It is all familiar. The wait I am handling like an overseas flight. I know it will take time and there is nothing I can do about it. I settle. And I don’t look at my watch.

When it’s my turn I have access to all the professional specialties, examinations and treatments I need. And it costs 24 dollars.

I have been at the ER in Seattle. Arriving in the ambulance blue lights on. Trouble 1 in critical condition.

- Do you have insurance? I need your credit card.

That’s what met me at the arrival.

My son was out and I didn’t know if I could afford the doctors and the treatment.

It was a horribel day. The care was exceptionell and it all went well, but the huge bills kept coming for a year and although my insurance company took care of it, it was a terrifying experience. 

That’s what I am reminding myself of at the ER on a Saturday night. This is why we are paying our taxes in Sweden. So that no one will be stopped at the entrance, economically examined. No one. The only examination that happens at a Swedish ER is the medical one you need.  

And it costs 24 dollars.

Nov 5, 2017

The rain check

It’s a grey, dark and rainy Sunday here at the end of the road in my northern Swedish village, as well as in Seattle. Actually more like a moist drizzle here, and my guess is Seattle is the same.

I remember that day at the gym in UmeĆ„ back in winter 1993. The radio was on and there was a report about something in Seattle, probably the music scene. It caught my ear as we were only months from our first trip to that foreign territory I didn’t know anything about. And the reporter asked: it rains a lot in Seattle, how do you cope?

So it rains a lot in Seattle? Ouch. That’s not good news…

A few weeks ago the last brick-and-mortar umbrella store in Seattle closed. No one uses an umbrella in Seattle. If you happen to catch a human being in Seattle with an umbrella, it’s a visitor.  

And do you know in which city in the US the most sunglasses are purchased? Seattle. Jodell Egbert who's the owner of the last bumbershoot store Bella Umbrella in Pike Place Market will move her business to… New Orleans.

As a Seattle native Jodell Egbert should have known umbrellas wouldn’t be a successful business concept in Seattle. But she learned the dying art of umbrella making after she fell in love with a box of vintage ones she bought for her wedding 15 years ago. And she was persistent she would make Seattleites change their minds when laying eyes on her beautiful creations. How did that go? Not so good.

Because here is the thing. The rain is like blood in their veins to Seattleites. They don’t even notice it. Seattleites, Puget Sound, cedar and rain is like one big harmonies organism, only intruded ny traffic. I used to joke with my friends saying they were like poikilothermic animals. Didn’t do a big thing about the seasons, wearing pretty much the same clothes all year round and perceiving being wet as a natural state of mind. Unlike Swedes who live and breath their seasons. And shunning rain as something extremely uncomfortable. 

Umbrellas in Seattle are for wimps. Visitors. Tourists. To live your Seattle life without an umbrella is a regional pride. Or more correct, it’s something you don’t even consider. You don’t own one. They are only in the way. At your house and in your hand. Your hand is for the latte. 

During that first Seattle stay of mine in 1993, Swedish National Television wanted me to do a report about the fashion in Seattle. I looked around. Couldn’t find any fashion. Only grey and beige flanells over worn out jeans. I didn’t know then about Grunge. What about hair dos? Nope. Couldn’t see any. Just  hair. It’s very hard to maintain a hair do in the rain not protecting it with an umbrella. So, natural would be the look. Hair dos are for out-of-towners.

To the defense of the Seattle stance and reluctance when it comes to umbrellas you should know that the Seattle rain for the most part comes as a misty drizzle. Often continuing through the day. The typical rain originates from lower, flat stratus clouds and not from the dense, high cumulonimbus clouds associated with heavy precipitation. That’s why the misty nature of the raindrops. And for those drops umbrellas are an overkill, I have to agree.

By the way, the heavy rain flooding The Killing and the Grey’s Anatomy ER entrance is nothing but bad mouthing the Seattle weather! It’s very rare, I’ve only experienced that kind of rain once, an otherwise lovely december week in 1998. And yes, for that I used an umbrella!

So what’s with the sun glasses? Well, the only time I hear Seattleites complain about the weather is when the sun is out too many days in a row and the temperatures rise. When will we have som relief, they say, and reach for their shades. The summers after 2010 have all been dry and sunny with a dry streak record of 55 consecutive days 2017. It was the longest dry streak in more than six decades, so I am sure Seattle is enjoying the fall rains coming in.

But Jodell Egbert of Bella Umbrella in Pike Place Market has packed up her gorgeous hand made umbrellas for the more bumbershoot friendly New Orleans. “Every day somebody would come in and tell me it was stupid to have an umbrella store in Seattle because Seattleites don’t use umbrellas,” Egbert said. “It made me feel bad.” So, she gives Seattle a rain check until further notice.

Oct 29, 2017

Me too/part 2

Meanwhile the world is flooded with Me too-stories, more prominent men with famous faces is dragged out of their dark hidings. Some are not that surprising to me. Others, the kind of homegrown the-boy-next-door family types a bit more chocking. One thing is clear thoguh, they are everywhere. And we haven’t even seen the top of the ice berg I am sure. 

A while ago a young woman close to me told me about her latest visit at a club. Her stories made my jaws drop. 

She had been at this club with a girlfriend and they had been dancing. Because that’s what you do at a club. The two of them had been dancing together. Men had been circling them coming up from behind getting way to close. The two friends told them they weren’t interested and tried pushing them away. That didn’t help much. They fought to save each other from those intrusive males, and they even had to save women they didn’t know on the dance floor!

At one point the young women were sitting together at a table and two guys in their forties (my friend is 25) were approaching them. Started some kind of odd conversation. Again, my friend expressed they weren’t interested in their company and tried to ignore them. The men didn’t waver. Just stood their. And then one of them started licking his lips while looking at them.

I was absolutely stunned being conveyed this image from a club in 2017. Is this how it is now?!

In my youth I wasn’t a big club girl. Well, it wasn’t clubs, it was disco, of course. I really loved dancing and I knew all the Staying Alive-moves. I wasn’t comfortable in the environment though. I was tall and skinny and shy and nobody wanted to dance with me anyway. I was the one sitting in a corner at the table taking care of all my friends handbags while out on the dance floor. It wasn’t that much fun.

So, I don’t have any early experiences of being approached in inappropriate ways dancing and bar hopping. And I haven’t had an opportunity asking any of my more outgoing friends my age about their experience back then. Is this the way it has always been?

I don’t think so. As girls do, we always shared our stories and I don’t remember anything in the neighborhood of what I am realizing is going on out there right now.

What I am hearing today, is men/guys acting more or less like animals in a public setting. I don’t even have words for it. Is the world spinning back words? I can’t even say: has nothing changed? No, it seems things have changed in the wrong direction and for the worst. It’s outrageous. And you men out there heading for a night out, if you don’t start acting like respectful human beings you will be looking at a future with only men on the dance floor, are you sure that’s what you want?

No, we haven’t even seen the top of the ice berg. But what we see and what we hear now is actually causing repercussions in the society. But we have to continue telling our stories. Dragging every single (in this sense) dysfunctional male out of the dark. Being persistent. Raise our sons to good men. I want that ice berg to melt all the way down and make room for a solid ground where respectful men and and safe women can build an equal and good world together. Let's do it.

Oct 22, 2017

Me too

It wasn’t until I one evening suddenly was overwhelmed by anxiety and the need of a shower poring over me that I realized what had happened. I had the urge to sit in a bathtub scrubbing me down to my bones. Images I’ve watched so many times in movies. The classic scene. And I was thinking, is this what it feels like? I was 58 years old.

Until only three years ago I felt estranged from stories I heard from colleagues and friends of men approaching them in ways making them uncomfortable. It had never happened to me. And I had never been in a situation where I had been scared of a man. Not even on the street. All alone in Seattle or elsewhere.

I thought the reason was I was so unattractive it wouldn’t even cross ones mind to approach me. I know, of course, that sexual harassment is about power and nothing else. Yet.

Being a teenager I was the tall and skinny girl in a group of already highly developed curvy friends. I looked like a boy. Flat breasted without hips. Guys didn’t look at me twice. And that’s the image of and feeling for myself I have been carrying all through my life.

When I was a journalist I was stunned by female colleagues describing male co workers giving them inappropriate proposals or comments in editing rooms or out on a story. These were thick skinned, vociferous and highly competent women as active as any man in the conference room, always fighting for their story. Yet, somehow, this happened. I didn’t get it. It didn’t happen to me. And the only reason why, I figured, was: as a woman I was invisible.

Now. Some years ago a person crossed my path. We got along and I enjoyed his company. He entered in a time when I was in an extremely vulnerable place. He offered a supporting hand and a warm embrace. I liked the way he held me. It did me good.

He was very volatile though. One day he wanted to be my boyfriend, the next he had a different opinion. Now and then he kind of  jumped me and kissed me. It happened so fast I was startled and didn’t quite know how to react. I just kind of let it happen. And felt weird.

Until that day when we had The Talk. And he announced he wasn’t interested in a relationship. And then jumped me and kissed me. And I kicked him and shouted THIS IS WHERE YOU STOP!

It was that evening the anxiety kicked in. I felt dirty and wanted to crawl out of my skin. Or scrub it away. And I was thinking: so this is what it is like. This is where they have been, all the women in the movies. This is how it is to have your body kidnapped. How can I get it back and make it mine again?

Now, expressing this, I do it very matter of fact. And I am not giving a time frame. Only two people know about this and I have never formulated it in writing before, except to my journal. I need to keep some distance in this moment. 

Of course, this is nothing compared to what women go through. But to me, who during my 58 years of living never had experienced anything along these lines, it was major. Someone had crossed my borders. And I had let it happen. So why?

For one thing, in the beginning I really liked him. The other things was, if I had not been in that vulnerable place I don’t think it would have happened. I was just the perfect prey. In need of comfort. So easy for him to say, hey come here, we’ll figure this out. So easy for me to go there. I was taken advantage of.

There is also a third reason. I was a virgin in this situation. I didn’t reed the signs. I had no idea what was going on. Which is kind of cute, considering my age.

A male friend of mine and me have discussed this a lot. Why it hasn’t happened before. He is not quite buying my idea of being so appalling men would look in a different direction finding someone else to harass.

Instead he says: Maria, you have such body and personal integrity it wouldn’t even come to ones mind to approach you in an inappropriate way.

This is interesting. If that’s true, why is that? The only thing I can come up with is my father. I had my father’s eye, but he never treated me like his princess. I would say he raised me his equal. Moving in this world, I think I see myself a lot like him. Well-dressed and a head taller than everyone else. And I am not defining myself first as a woman. I am defining myself as me.

Why have I not talked about this incident before? Shame of course. And how much was I a part of it? It didn’t happen on the street. I know the criteria is when your body says no. But it took a while for it to do so. It’s those fine lines, the blurred borderland, so difficult to navigate. When a young boyfriend gets a hard on at every hug and you don’t like it. When you are having sex with your husband because it’s passed a month and you really should although you don’t want to.

So, what has this incident done to me? It has harmed me. The “feeling dirty” anxiety is easily trigged. A hug from someone I don’t know that well. Or someone taking an interest in me. I am damaged. And to that, this person is forever guilty.

Immunity. The insight I am not immune to this plague. That’s a shattering realization. This person deprived me of my immunity. Not too long ago someone made me a sexual insinuation. Has never happened before. I was so stunned I couldn’t even respond. Again, the need of that cleansing shower. Is this how this works? When you have once being robbed of your borders they aren’t visible anymore?

I feel like someone snatched away the protective mantle I have been wearing through my life, and at 58 I started wandering the world naked.

Oct 15, 2017

My fall recipe - and a belated P.S.!

P.S. I am so sorry if I offended anyone buy questioning your authenticity as a reader! The thing is, I have such a hard time imagining people being interested in the thoughts and reflections from my little corner of the world, especially you being far away, on a different continent even. But to you who are, I am honored and grateful you are taking  your precious time reading my stories. I will from now on try picturing you as human beings of flesh and blood with your own stories, not annoying heart lacking robots. Thank you so much! And oh, I would love to hear your stories, please tell me, let me get to know you!


As I have mentioned before the northern Swedish summer 2017 was cold, windy and wet, actually the summer with the lowest highs since 1862! A record I quite frankly could live without. But it so happened my life happened when that happened…

Then there is always September. Now and then September delivers. Sun, breakfasts outside, even an Arnold Palmer in the afternoon. So how about this year? Nope. The month was the least sunny September in 30 years. I mean, come on!

If you have followed me through the seasons for a while you know I am not a fan of fall. The light falling makes me panic, so does the cold. So what do I do to survive?

I add light.

It started many years ago with the spotlights under my grandfather’s old apple tree, shooting through the greenery, and in the winter up the snow. It’s really beautiful. 

Later I (read my sons and their cousins) put light chains in the two small maples we planted next to the picket fence. I wanted to create the feeling of Holiday Westlake Park in Seattle here in the woods. Ah my impossible ideas…  But it worked for me! I used to sit at my kitchen table dreaming about Seattle, feeling a little bit closer. Now, the maples grew taller and light chains don’t last forever, so they are gone by now.

I live at the end of the road. And that’s something I am enjoying. My next door neighbor is on the other side of the grove behind me, I can’t see the house but I know he is there. In front of my front yard to the south there is forest, to the east another grove and fields, to the west fields stretching to Torrberget, Dry Mountain.

I I would turn all the lights in my house and garden out it would be completely dark here, except for a street light at my carport. And I would see some lights from the next road across the fields to the east. That’s how it was when I first moved here 36 years ago. One lamp over the front porch of the house. That’s it. Looking out the windows on a winters night you didn’t see anything at all. Pitch black. Great for northern light spotting though!

We added a lamp at the coach house/wood shed, oh a light out there! Then one at the door of the baker’s cottage, that’s nice! A lamp in the cottage window made it look like a little gnome lived there, cute! And the lights framed this place at the end of the road, made it feel welcoming and cozy.

People often ask me if I’m not afraid of the dark. No, I’m not. I often feel lonely. And depending on how severe my back pain is that loneliness can be very scary. But it’s not the dark that scares me.

I don’t like the dark though. And that’s why I am chasing it away with lights.

Some years ago I extended the garden with spotlights shooting straight up the tall pine tree at the ditch marking the border between the front yard and the fields south of the baker’s cottage, wow, what a change! I treated my dad’s big ash tree - which once was a small plant he brought here from southern Sweden - with the same recipe. He was a big plant thief my dear father. The 64th latitude isn’t the natural habitat for an ash tree, but somehow it acclimated and now constitutes the south east corner of my garden, lit up in the dark.

I also have a spotlight directed to the old outhouse at the edge of the forest ending my place to the south. And then there is the big rock in the middle of my mother’s sea of lupins in front of the outhouse.

The latest addition to my garden illumination happened last fall. I had been thinking about it for a while. There are two lilacs guarding the baker’s cottage, one at each front corner. Wouldn’t it be nice to have them lit up? 

Yes it was! I quite don’t know how to express the feeling as my inner image transforms into reality when it comes to illumination. To turn the outer switch on is to turn my inner switch. My soul expands and glows!

So am I happy now? Content? Happy yes, but content, no way! There are more inner images waiting to come to life. Next year, hopefully, my new cherry trees will be lit up. They mark the border of my garden to the west, and I can't wait see those sparkling, fulfilling the illuminated framework of my place in every direction!

There is one downside to my obsession of illuminating the dark here at the end of the road though. Light contamination. The Milky Way isn’t as clear as it used to be, and the Northern Light sometimes first catches my eyes on Facebook… 

Oct 8, 2017

Six years and an increasing audience - or are you all bots?


I am looking out my window and the view is exactly the same as it’s  been for months and months. Low overcast.  No shadows. An even grey that’s actually perfect for B&W photography. During my years in Seattle, working on my photo exhibit commissioned by Nordic Heritage Museum, I learned there was more photo chemistry purchased in Seattle than anywhere in the US. The constant overcast made the city a heaven for photographers. Grey days out shooting, sunny spending them in the darkroom.

It’s been six years this week that I have been telling the stories from my two cities UmeĆ„ and Seattle. Over the years my life has blurred the initial intention, and personal stories have sneaked in to my original city planning intentions. I hope that’s okay.

My first post was written in the lovely little mother in law apartment I rented from Dita. It was located just a block above the Portage Bay house which was me and my family’s home for a year 1996-97. This was a peculiar coincidence.

I was writing this post on Dita’s beige couch. Because my back was out. I had no idea at that time it was the start of my future. Lying on a couch. Writing my blog. And I only would return to Seattle once more. If I had known, the project would have died there and then of course. The fundament was I would spend time in Seattle.

A year ago, in the 5-year anniversary post I mentioned I might finish up Home is Away, Away is Home when I cleared out my Seattle storage. And shipped my Tempur Pedic mattress back to Sweden.

Well, the storage is now empty and closed. Trouble 2 and Audrey evacuated it in May for me, and a lot of my things found new homes with my Seattle daughters Becca and Zoe. And my car is only a memory now. Through a long drawn ordeal taking the toll out of me as well as Trouble 2 and David who has co owned my beloved Dodge Stratus with me, I finally manage to sell it. So no car and no storage. That’s a major change. The mattress though has found a corner at Matt and Elizabeth’s on Capitol Hill though, so I still have a pinky toe dipped in Seattle.

I can feel I am letting go though. A bit. Chances are slim I might return, so it’s the healthy thing to do. Well, is this the end for Home is Away, Away is Home then?

No, it doesn’t feel like it. I am quite addicted to my Sunday routine. And something weird has happened during this last year.

It used to be four people reading my blog in the US. And I know Randi and Debra are two of them. A year ago - according to the Blogger graph - my readers started increasing and have done so through the year. In the US but also in Sweden. And by some reason, French people have found me. The graph is constantly pointing at higher numbers, which of course is nice to watch.

I am thinking though, it can’t be real. I don’t have any followers. You can subscribe, and those I can’t see and they might be a few. But how do they find me? It’s probably just bots doing their job, right? But those five in Brazil? It started out with just one (I have scattered showers all over the world which I don’t pay much attention to), but then there showed up one more in Brazil, and one more… Those few seem kind of realistic.

The funny thing is, over the years, whenever writing about politics or city planning the numbers have decreased. But last fall starting expressing my concerns about Trump, Americans started reading me. And that’s when the French came along too. Or is it only bots?

The grey overcast has changed into misty fog here now. Even more Seattle-like. It might be though that I in the future won’t cling as much to Seattle as I have done, a sanitary choice of mine. But I hope you still will want to follow my thoughts and reflections from my little life here on the couch on the big life out there. Because Home is Away, Away is Home. And I would love to hear from you, Americans, Swedes, Frenchmen and Braszilians! Or are you all bots…?

Oct 1, 2017

My three cherry trees!/The times they a-changing

They are standing like three red-dressed guardians posted along the ditch separating my front yard from the fields. Mission Completed making me as incredibly happy as I am proud!

My body can still sense the feeling of finding the footing climbing up the one where the tree house was when I was a young girl. And I can hear the characteristic sound of the one closest the bakery cottage stretching it’s branch over the tin roof, itching it. And oh the feeling of hanging wet laundry in the summer afternoon on the clothes line connecting the six mountain ashes. Those my grandfather planted when my mother was a little girl.

As you know by now, my relationship with trees is special. The loss of a tree affects me mentally as well as physically. Whenever I have to cut out a tree I have to prepare. Often for years.

My grandfathers big mountain ashes has guarded my place for about 90 years. Looking after my grandparents, my mother and her siblings, me, my sister and cousins, and then my own family. Trouble & Trouble’s feet and hands know the tress as well as mine does.

But mountain ashes don’t live forever, their life span is pretty short. I’ve known for twenty years their time would come and I’ve dreaded it. When did I take out the first one, the one itching the baker’s cottage roof? I don’t know, maybe 2010? Some years later the second one. Then the third. Last summer there where three left and they didn’t look pretty. And I came to the decision to take them all. It was on the Swedish National Day June 6. That’s one way to celebrate it.

The hole the loss of those trees created in my visual atmosphere was immense. My eyes lost its fixing point to the west. My front yard tipped over to the east. My soul was a void.

I greeted the sun which now reached the west wall of my house giving me the spot for sun bathing this place never had. And the front yard was sunny all through the evening, that’s kind of nice! I adjusted to thinking this new scene was a good thing.

Then suddenly, photos showing up of how it used to be and from nowhere I bursted out in tears! So, apparently I wasn’t doing as well as I thought…

My mind started searching for a solution for my inner and outer loss. I came up with an idea. But, as often when it comes to my ideas, would it even be possible?

I felt very strongly I needed to replace my mountain ashes. But I still wanted the sun. So, it had to be trees which wouldn’t grow too tall.

To plant new trees, consequently you would have to take out the old mountain ash stumps and roots. This is where the “would it even be possible?” entered the story. Because they were huge. And six of them.

I called my second cousin Roland. He is the one to call on impossible questions. Of course, he said! He lives in the village and the day before Midsummers he and my neighbor Erik came with their huge machines - yeah, they are the kind of men equipped with that kind of tools. In a couple of hours the roots were gone and my ditch and parts of the lawn looking like a crater. 

During the winter already I had started my research for what kind of new greenery I would add to my life. I was desiring something blossoming like crazy in the early summer! Like cherry trees… But would it work on latitude 64°?

Well it turns out that sweet cherry don’t like it this far to the north of course, but some sour cherry do. And my choice fell on Prunus Sargentii. It’s a tree which says to be overloaded with pink blossoms in June and that’s what I am dreaming of!

Now the plan was to have the trees planted the week after Midsummer so that I could start enjoying them this summer already. That didn’t happen though. In short, the company that took on the job didn’t deliver. Yeah, those things always sucks.

Some weeks ago, finally, it happened though. Taking photos of trees rising is so much more fun than trees falling! To watch the three trees taking their posts along my ditch was magical! There they were, looking as natural as I had pictured them. Starting their job balancing my front yard and guarding me, welcoming the lost birds, making my eyes happy and my soul sing!

Most things I do here at my place at the end of the road, I do for the future. I take care of things the best way I can so they will be here for my sons and presumptive grandchildren if they so wish. 

But these cherry trees I did for myself. I bought them big enough so that I could start enjoying them right away. Waiting for trees to grow is a tedious work of mind. And I don’t have that time. So it was a happy discovery the trees are treating me with insanely red fall colors! I am praying they will survive the winter, make the sky pink in June and complete this change of time I have been working on for twenty years!