“No one can come. And no one can leave. Now it’s all quiet here.”

I don’t remember in which one of the stories. And I am not sure who said those words. And I am puzzled how to translate them into English. But they have stayed with me. And comes to life a week like this.

“No one can come. And no one can leave. Now it’s all quiet here.”

There is a big storm presumably in the Moominvalley. I am picturing it as a snow storm, but it might be a regular one. Or did this happen at the Lighthouse? Anyway, the storm is so bad no one can get through to the Moomin family’s home. And no one can leave. So technically the situation is dangerous. 

But the Moominmamma (I think) uttered: “No one can come. And no one can leave. Now it’s all quiet here.” As a safe comfort.

The stories about the Moomins are written by the Swedish-speaking Finnish author and illustrator Tove Jansson. The graphic novels are inhabited by imaginative emotional characters in the orbit of the Moomin mother as the safe solid center. The stories are lovely.

Wednesday and Thursday a severe snow storm came our way, here at the northern Swedish east coast. I was snowed in, and as I can’t do anything about that myself it’s always a big weight on me. I am trapped in my house and it’s hard for the home care personal to  reach me. This time around I was really lucky though as my neighbor Magnus at the other end of my road was at home and came to my rescue.

So, living in a remote home can be an insecure place wether you are a Moomin or a physically restricted woman.

For me, I am often feeling insecure in my home. Not in the way that I am afraid some one will come by and stab me. And I am not scared of the dark here at the end of the road, not at all. But being alone with and in my pain is at times leaving me in a cold and dark void that I wold rather prefer not to know of and experience.

“No one can come. And no one can leave. Now it’s all quiet here.”

When I first read that line I knew exactly what Moominmamma was saying. My house is snowed in. But my people are here. And they can’t leave. Which to them is all good. And no one can arrive here. No one can show up at your door step unexpectedly. No surprises to handle. There is lots of dry wood and fires in all the fire places and the ceramic stove. The candles are lit. There is warm tea and blankets. The cat is purring and there is all the time in the world for long uninterrupted conversations. I am safe in my snowed in house. It’s a home.

“No one can come. And no one can leave. Now it’s all quiet here.”  

The storm is over for this time. There is a foot of snow, it’s cold and the sun is out the few hours it’s allowed at the 64th latitude in mid January. It’s beautiful beyond words. A fairy tale. A winter saga. In the dark, my garden spotlights are lighting up the tall pine tree heavy of white fluff next to the field, my father’s big ash, the sleeping lilacs at the baker’s cottage and my grandfather’s old apple tree. The moon is practically full. It’s completely still. Snow quiet. And it’s not dark at all here at the end of the road. It’s the perfect picture for imbedded harmony.

I am often thinking about Moominmammas words. Longing for such moment.