Jun 25, 2017

Letting go of my dream life/part 4

I am opening the red duffel bag unprepared for the scent washing over me. I was ready to take on the content of the bag, but the scent…

Trouble 2 and Audrey returned from their US trip a couple of weeks ago. At the clearing out my Seattle storage we sorted my things in four piles: leave in Seattle with my Tempur Pedic mattress, throw away, give to the boys’ Seattle sisters Zoe and Becca, and bring back home. 

I didn’t know how much bring back home to expect since I didn’t know the outcome of Zoe and Becca’s digging in to my give away pile. But it turned out they had picked most of the favorite things I had in mind for them, and it makes me so happy knowing Zoe is wearing my super cute black and white dotted dress and Becca my sand colored softer than cloud suede hand made Italian shoes, we are exactly the same size the two of us!

The evening the red duffel bag landed in my great room I went to bed suddenly feeling oddly stirred up. I couldn’t tell why. And not really in what sense. But there was something making me uncomfortable. I was lying min my bed feeling a little bit scared.

Walking by the bag the morning after I had the same feeling. It turned out a bag had arrived from Seattle with Seattle feelings.

I asked Jannie who works here to put it in my guest room. I had turned acute some day before and couldn’t deal with anything more than that for the time being. I was expecting the content of the bag making me emotional but I wasn’t prepared for anything more than that.

Scents and smell is a very powerful thing. Reaching us totally unfiltered so that we will run out of a smokey room without thinking, doing what it takes to keep us alive.

Today I opened up the bag. There wasn’t that much in there, which was a relief. A plastic ziplock bag with some bathroom necessities, oh that lavender shower gel purchased in this cute little store in Winslow, was it summer -05? Or possibly December -06? A white bed sheet. An off white tank top with a little bit of needle work. A gauze scarf, do I have to mention it’s white? A light white linen dress, perfect for above 90° (32°C) hot Seattle summer days. And then there was the beautiful white/beige Eileen Fisher knitted cardigan my friend Randi handed me over summer -10. I think this is more you than me, she said, and gave it to me. Thank you!

The scent from all this is Seattle. A scent bringing up pleasure, loneliness, longing and fear. And the over all feeling is the cramp in my stomach that comes with the question and exclamation “How do I do this? I can’t manage this!

This might come as a surprise to you considering my deep love for Seattle and my constant desire to be there. There is an explanation to it though. The cramp in my stomach is the lifting of my over packed luggage and the dragging of the heavy and ungainly Tempur Medic mattress across the ocean and between my temporary Seattle homes. It is being stranded in hotel rooms, basements and pent houses with my back out, not knowing how to get myself back to Sweden. It is having to ask friends and strangers for help in vulnerable situations. It is a sense of homelessness among my boxes, suitcases and video-audio-photo gear in every new occasional Seattle home of mine. It is my late evening mantra “you know it will feel better tomorrow” helping me through that first night most every stay.

So why did I do it? Because I wanted to. Because I wanted to so badly. And because I needed to prove myself more sturdy than I felt. And was. It was a challenge I was willing to take on. And those times not ending in a trauma or being too bad made me grow.

Now, this scent from the red duffel bag, what is that? What’s the Seattle smell? Normally the Seattle bag smell is damp and quite unpleasant from the moist that sits in the walls of old Seattle houses, transferring to your clothes.

But this isn’t that. This is something different. This is a (emotions unattached) pleasant smell. And the first thing that comes up is that it’s the scent of Randi. Which can’t be possible. I’ve had her cardigan for seven years and it’s even lived in Sweden for a while, there is no way it can still wear Randi’s scent. I am burying my face in the linen dress, the bed sheet and the cardigan. Is it the smell of the mattress that’s so familiar and strong? It can be. But these things have not been stored with the mattress, they have been in a separate box. Is it the smell of my latest and last Seattle home, the lower Queen Anne pent house with the killer view? Or is it a detergent? Did I wash the sheet, and my clothes now smell from it? And in that case, does Randi use the same detergent?

Now, this is a mystery. Maybe I will come up with the answer. But for now I have the choice of bury myself in this scent and feel every emotion hidden in there, pain and pleasure. And hopefully eventually it will help me let go one more step. Or, stay out of it until the scent wears off and fades away. 

Jun 18, 2017

Alida a hundred years

Writing the birthday card from Trouble & Trouble and me I am struck by how fast it is writing the number 100. It is like I was expecting it to be more complicated and take more effort. But it’s ridiculously easy and done in a heart beat. 1 0 0. An impressively long life with all it’s hardships and pleasures, struggles and joys, sorrows and blessings takes no more than three seconds to note in figures. It’s almost offensive.

Alida is my neighbor. The woman next door. She has been there all my life. All my children’s lives. All my mother’s life. And half my grandmother’s life. Alida carries all generations within her.

When Alida for some reason was away, I felt like my backbone was gone. When her house was empty I was unguarded. I dreaded the day she would be gone, and it happened soon to three years ago. She moved away, into a nursing home. 97 years old. And I have had to learn to live without her.

There is this Swedish very cheery birthday song, Ja må hon leva. The lyrics is something in the neighborhood of “Yes she must live for a hundred years”. Alida’s dear husband Värner passed away at the age of 98 when Alida was 91. Her older sister and best friend Sigrid died at 97 a few years ago. When singing Ja må hon leva to Alida on her birthdays the last 6-7 years I used to joke about she only had to make it so and so many more years to reach the 100. Her eyes and ears started failing her, she often fell over badly, all her friends were gone. Her life was more or less a past tense. 

We weren’t really aware of it, but it seemed Alida made it a goal to live to her 100. And Monday June 12 she reached that goal. And was honored a telegram from the Swedish king and queen. Among other things.

Her granddaughter Josephine and I visited her on Wednesday. I hadn’t seen her since she moved away from home. Alida had turned into a close to deaf and blind little sparrow over these years. They had told me, still I was not prepared. But oh the joy, when I placed myself infront of her and she lit up. She must have recognized the shape of my body and my voice after all!

It was a beautiful pre-summer day. I had brought the Swedish book of hymns, the songs which have been a foundation in Alida’s life ever since her childhood. I sang her the Swedish summer hymns. Den blomstertid nu kommer. I denna ljuva sommartid. En vänlig grönskas rika dräkt.

Her face became still. Her eyes bigger. It was like singing to a baby who stops crying, meeting your eyes in complete contact. Clear. I could see Alida’s mind become clear behind her shadowed eyes.

Help, she said, help. It means help me remember. And we remembered together. Martin and Kerstin, my parents. Carl and Signe, my grandparents. Erik, my sons’ father. They were all so kind, she said. Good neighbors. Our families have always been good neighbors.

Alida’s husband Värner passed away in June 2008. At his funeral I sang Bliv kvar hos mig - Abide with me, the beautiful and poetic evening hymn which also feels so right at the end of a life. And I promised Alida that I would sing the song at the end of her life as well.

On Wednesday, after remembering all our loved ones in the summer afternoon, my body was tired and couldn’t take much more. Alida lasted longer than I did, still we had to call it a day. I asked if she wanted me to sing Bliv kvar hos mig - Abide with me, and yes could I? Of course.

I couldn’t do it that well though, as tears came in the way. But I was in good company. We all cried, Alida, Josephine and I. Little whimpers came over Alida’s lips. Home, she said, home.

These hymns are the blood in Alida’s veins running through her body. To hear them is like transfusions bringing memories and feelings to life. Familiar words shaping her parents, siblings and children. Sensing them. Seeing them. Her home. Djäkneböle she says, with a whimper. Djäkneböle. That’s our village. The village that was her world. The village containing everything and everyone she needed.

Josephine and I are driving back through Umeå, white, pink and violet from apple trees, cheery, mountain ash and lilacs. The birches are full but still light pre-summer green. This is our city on the 64th latitude when it’s the most beautiful and magical.

We are sitting quietly together, filled with Alida. Our afternoon has been powerful and emotional. It’s sad to know Alida won’t remember. She is already back in her shadowed mind. It’s a comfort though knowing she isn’t suffering in there. And she is well taken care of. And we are so grateful to have had this moment with our beloved Alida together.

To Josephine I am the woman next door. The one who is always there. Which is such a gift to both of us. And I know, when my ears and eyes start failing me and my mind becomes shadowed, Josephine will help me. She will help me remember.

Jun 11, 2017

Letting go of my dream life/the Stratus part 1

In 2007 when I before me in bright colors saw the start of a life spending a lot more time in Seattle, I was house sitting in Greenwood for a family I didn’t know. They were in Sweden for the summer (yes, the mother happened to be Swedish!) and I took care of their house and cats.

Close to Greenwood is the Aurora Strip were the used car dealerships lie side by side as a string of interesting pearls. My first visit here was in 1993 on a photo project portraying the dynamic characters owning these places. Later, a hot summer day 1997 a Swedish family just arrived wanting the American experience, bought the beloved Buick 1981, a big silver ship we maneuvered through Seattle for a year. So these were familiar grounds to me.

In this coming fresh new part of my life having my own car in Seattle felt crucial. But how would I do that? To find a car wouldn’t be that hard, but would I be allowed to own a car in Seattle when not being a resident? Could I get insurance? And above all, where would I keep it?!

The family I was house sitting for was a bit unusual as they only kept one car. An absolutely crazy idea came to my mind. Would they maybe like one more, not having to pay for it? Could I possible have shared custody of a car with this family?

Writing this I am still shaking my head on this memory. I emailed David, the dad in the family who I only met once briefly and didn’t know a bit, and popped the question. To my great surprise and joy he respond yes, why not?

Hallelujah! I was over the first obstacle! There would be many more to come though… Anyway, I started walking the dealer lots of Aurora feeling my heart pounding. I was going to buy myself a Seattle car! My 2500 $ limit quickly raised of course and my eyes fell on a Dodge Stratus ES year 2000, charcoal color, leather seats and an openable sun window on the top. Most important, the interior was very well kept and there were no funny smells! And God, was it fun to drive! 5900 $.

I managed to keep my brain in the business though and listened to my friends who told me to check it up. Through the VIN number I got to know it needed a new timing belt and water pump, and a mechanic recommend two new tires but other than that told me it looked like a really good car!

Because of the timing belt, water pump and tires I managed to bargain the prize down (this is a story by itself, I am a really good negotiator…) 1500 $. Shopping dollars with the Swedish krona was a bargain as well this summer (6,70!) and my calculating ended up telling me one month in Seattle for four years driving my own car (insurance included) would equal driving rentals for the same time. And beyond that the car would be for free! As I was planning for considerably more months and years, this was a deal!

Now, the second obstacle, could I own a car in Seattle? According to the now not so friendly dealer (as he felt I was robbing him on his money) in the Frazier’s Auto Sales blue schack, that wouldn’t be a problem. Really? But how about insurance? Still not a problem, call Geico! So I called the insurance company Geico right there, and sure yes, we will be happy to help!

I danced back to my Greenwood home. Is this really true?! Will I be owning my own car in Seattle?! It was true though! After forcing the poor shabby dealer to scrub away some annoying rust on the wheel rims I picked up the lovely charcoal Stratus and it was mine! I was also pretty impressed by my accomplishment and so were my friends.

In about a week Geico called me. So when would I move to Seattle? We can’t insure a car who’s owner lives over seas. I had been tricked into this deal.

Yeah, if things feel too good to be true they most often are.

What to do? The Greenwood family was now back and I had moved over to my friends Maria and Theo’s basement in Ballard. I was sitting at their porch getting the call. I can still sense the panicky feeling of having no idea how to solve this.

I came up with one though. Could I have a co owner? Yes, Geico told me, that would work. David came to my rescue once more. Sure he could be the co owner. That made sense as the Stratus would be on his adress. It might even be a good thing so that he would not drive around a car which wasn’t his.

A couple of days before my departure to Sweden in August David and I spent all morning hours in line at the Department of License office in Ballard. I remember it as we were sitting on the floor. It was like a scene in a Seinfeld episode. In October the title finally arrived and everything was at last in place.

All through the process from scouting the lots for something affordable still attractive to the title arriving, I had no idea what I was doing. What so ever. VIN number, what’s that? Timing belt? DOL (Department of License)? This was a language I didn’t speak. I was panicking. I can’t handle this! Where is the grown up?! Where is the grown up who knows these things, who can help me out and take care of everything? But it turned out I was the grown up. I had put me in this situation, I was the grown up who had to rise to the occasion.

Was the lovely charcoal Stratus worth fighting for? Definitely. But there would be one more fight. Because it only makes sense getting rid of the car would be as hard as getting it. To be continued…

Jun 4, 2017

Read Reed and do not despair

I first met Reed Schuler when he was 11, one of our American kids, one of Trouble & Trouble’s four Seattle siblings. He was the oldest of the three boys and three girls, the most fast talking and undoubtably brightest, no one would argue that. Annoyingly smart. 

Debate was a given on his school curriculum, won all the contests as I remember, even traveling in the subject. He grew up in a family where politics was always on the table, so the schooling for arguments and making ones point came early.

Somewhere in junior high Trouble & Trouble made the situation clear to him: Reed, we will never call you Mr President when you are in the Oval Office!

It did not come as a surprise to us when Reed ended up as a climate change negotiator in the Barack Obama White House. Our hearts were bursting of pride watching him side by side with John Kerry at the Paris Agreement negotiations and even more when the accord was signed. 

I mean, we are all (at least many of us) doing our little part. Recycling, warming our houses with green energy, trying to not over consume, eat less meat or none at all etc. But Reed Schuler has been one of the men and women sweating to make the world leaders come to an agreement aiming for to save the planet!

Since Donald Trump took office in January most every week has been the worst week for this White House. Some have been the worst week for the country. But this week has been the worst for the planet and generations to come.

There is a lot to say about Donald Trump, as we know. Ignorant is a word frequently used, especially this week. A word I have been pondering about this winter is one he uses a lot himself: unfair. And being treated unfair.

If you think about it, it’s not that often you hear grown ups talking in terms of being treated unfair.

Donald Trump though seems to carry that perspective on many things. NATO is treating US unfairly and should be paying back retroactive. The different trade agreements are unfair to the US and should be repealed. By that stance Mexico apparently owes the US years of money. And now the Paris Agreement is unfair to the US.

What I see here is a baby brother standing in the middle of the floor screaming to his siblings: UNFAIR, UNFAIR, UNFAIR, UNFAIR!!!!

If someone would try to tell Donald Trump it’s unfair to the poorest countries in the world and to future generations to treat the planet like we do, he of course wouldn’t listen. As he is always right and never wrong. Infantile.

Fortunately the fight for saving the planet for generations to come will continue. By us who are only doing our share by recycling and by world leaders with different perspectives than Donald Trump. And on this dark Thursday in our environmental history Reed Schuler posted on Facebook:

The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. Today, as President Trump further abandons moral leadership by announcing his intent to withdraw from the Paris Agreement, the arc gets a little longer, and justice slips a little further from sight. This fight isn't close to over, though, and it was never easy in the first place. I'm not going to quit fighting, and I don't know anyone in the cause who is.

Thank you Reed.