Dec 30, 2018

It's been 20 years now

It was between Christmas and New Years 1998 that I separated. The yellow dream kitchen was just finished. I knew it would be hard. I had no idea.

Correcting myself, I knew it would be hard initially. And for some time. But I pictured myself starting LIVING eventually. A different life. Happier. More me. A me I could sense deep inside me waiting to be let out. Soul. Body. I was so sure of it. Positive.

But completely wrong.

Nothing went my way. Not in any sense. I was waiting for the turning point. Expecting it. Looking for it. Around every corner. That’s what they say, right? And that’s the story in every story. After rain comes sun. The turning point will come. When everything will be elucidated. The hardships explained. Making sense. Your ship comes in, someone offers you a hand to get onboard, you take it and you sail away in a good wind.

When I made that move during the holidays 1998 I felt like I was standing on a diving board. The 10 meter one. I didn’t have a choice any more. I had to jump. Hoping there was water in-under.

It wasn’t. I landed on the hard grey concrete and broke every bone in my body.

They don’t do that in the stories, do they? Or is it that those stories never get told. They are too painful. And too shameful.

I became a hermit. Was for the longest time. Shying away from people. Avoiding questions. Eye contact. Until I got cancer and had to start asking for help. 

It was at Christmas time. As well. I’ve had very many dramatic Holidays. For a lot of years my anxiety started building up in November. What will happen this year? Which catastrophe is lurking in the weeks ahead? The colour red made me feel sick. I couldn’t listen to Christmas music. Decorations and tree for as short time as possible.

This year something is different though. I think it started already last year. It’s not that my ship has sailed in, finally. Nothing like that. 

They say time heals. I don’t think that’s entirely true. The place where grief is located in our brains doesn’t have a time perspective.

The expression “time heals” often includes a ship sailing in. A positive turning point facilitating healing. The winds changing in favour for you.

If you don’t get that kind of fortunate help from life circumstances, work is what’s needed. Therapeutic work. Which, of course, always is a good idea. I’ve worked a lot with most of my issues over the years. But something was missing. And I knew what.

I needed to write the story of me and my long time life partner. I needed to write our saga.

Late summer and fall 2016 I was sitting in my sun chair at my west wall. Listening to a piece of music written by a talented young man that I know. I had been singing that wordless music already, and I knew from the start I wanted to write lyrics for it.

In the late sun I struggled with finding the right words. Catching the images. The feeling of them. The narrative.

It was hard work. Painful. Difficult. But there was also the lightness. The smiles.The good days. After many weeks I had written our story in all it’s complexity. From the beautiful beginning to the sad end. It was the closure I needed. Not until then, the story was complete. 

During the Holidays the same year I realized a different story project. For many years I had been dreaming about writing Swedish lyrics to the hauntingly beautiful Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas Now. An impossible task. To lovely to touch.

But I found a way in. It was when I knew I needed to write that lyrics to myself. And maybe others who can’t dream of some day everyone being together again. A song as comfort and support. A song offering a shy light among the lingering shadows from before.

Formulating the saga of me and my childhood love helped time heal, finally. And sending myself comforting light and warmth disarmed the Holiday traumas. 

At last I am at ease with Christmas. It’s taken me twenty years, and that’s sad of course and even shameful. But I am grateful and happy that I am finally there now.

Dec 23, 2018

Merry Christmas from a winter wonderland at the end of the road!

To be filling my lungs, lifting the tones of Christmas up under the church vaults, that’s food for the soul and stars for heaven!

One really fine thing with being a choral singer is the fact that Christmas doesn’t come as a surprise. Like, oh, is it here, it’s too soon, I can’t find my Christmas spirit! No, a choral singer starts feeling the spirit already mid fall when we begin rehearsing for the Christmas concerts, looking at well known favourites as well as having a first glance at new material.

The name of my choir is Kammarkören Sångkraft / Sångkraft Chamber Choir. I’ve been a member for 29 years, split over two periods of time. Choral and vocal group singing has been and is an important part of my life.

Umeå is known as The City of Birches, the same way as Seattle goes by the name The Emerald City. That’s why Kammarkören Sångkraft’s Christmas concert is called Christmas in The City of Birches.

We usually give the show at three occasions, and this year in three different churches. Thus, this week turned out a Christmas tour in Umeå! Three concerts in just a couple of days is a lot to take for my body. As I can’t stand up for more than a little while I am sitting on a barstool while singing. Still, it’s difficult. 

Therefor, I am so happy and grateful that I could do it. All three of them! My voice wasn’t letting me down either which is always nice. Landing on my couch last night after the final concert I was filled with joy and contentment, the way you feel only after a well done job. Surrounded by my US-inspired densely dressed Christmas tree from my woods, as well as the more minimalistic Swedish white stars in my windows. And embedded in the most perfect snow landscape you can ever imagine.

It’s been snowing most every day this last week. Feather-light snowflakes slowly falling from the reservoir above us serving us the exact amount of white fluff we need and can handle. It’s a crisp -14°C/6,8°F outside tonight and the full moon lights the landscape up as the big spotlight it is.

My need for carolling is satisfied, the outside setting is perfect and tomorrow my house will be filled with me and my sister’s families. The conditions for a successful Christmas Eve seem optimal, and so I am wishing all of you out there just the Christmas you need as well! 

Dec 16, 2018

And at the sight of it, my father is doing his little dance from above

We are entering the week leading up to Christmas. Ideally it would be a peaceful week. But four months after the election Sweden still doesn’t have a government and nobody knows how to get there. Brexit and Great Britain is in equal limbo. France is on fire in protests compared to 1968. And of course, in the US the White House Circus is spinning as usual.

But here at the end of the road the world is white and quiet. Sören, who takes care of my fields, drives his green tractor up the field road for feeding the wild life which hide in the forest on Dry Mountain. The trees are covered with frost, it’s cold and perfectly still.

In the mornings my front yard is perforated with traces of deer. How many visited during the night? At least four, maybe even seven! Sometimes I see them up the field on their way to Sören’s food hide away in the grove right behind the flat rock my mother used to call the tiny mountain, it was her playground. A couple of weeks ago two of them crossed over my road right infront of me at my next door neighbour Melker’s. 

The morning after Sorella’s funeral four beautiful deer gracefully jumped over her  grave under the cherry tree, as paying her their respect. And one afternoon two stately red deer strolled over the fields in the dusk. Trouble 1 had been driving me back home and we caught them in the shady light. Hearing their hooves making their steps in the crisp snow crust. It’s a bit magical.

Those of you who have been following me know I am in love (or possibly obsessed) with dressing my place here at the end of the road with lights. If I didn’t it would be pitch black here. And although that would make room for the Milky Way that darkness consumes me. So, I chase it away with spotlights and light strings. I make my place visible in the dark. I decorate it, making it an outside room.

Now, there is a fine line between tasteful and tacky. And I might just have passed it…

For years I have had this ridiculous vague fantasy about placing an illuminated deer somewhere in my surroundings. You know one of those animals shining with a frosty cold white light. Expensive, but going for half prize at the after Christmas sale. And last year I went for it… A red deer, but the size of a deer.

The thing is, when I was a little girl, my father used to put together beautiful snow landscapes for me and my sister do admire and adore. Wooden cottages and mirrors as frozen lakes in white cotton snow. Deer at the lake, a fox hiding behind the cottage, even a bear at the edge of the forest. The landscape was placed at the top of a drawer and my sister and I could sit there for hours, fantasising, moving the animals around.

Last Christmas it struck me: I am living in one of those landscapes! Snow, cottages, forest, animals! The only thing missing is a lake, I can’t do much about that unfortunately. Anyway, that’s when I realised I could allow myself a luminous deer!

It’s been siting at the back of the coach house since the sale, red tag still around the neck. I had an idea for the location in my full-size snow landscape. Deer are shy, so it might be a good idea to place it a bit aways. 

At the edge of the forest to the south there is an outhouse. My father built it when he tore down the barn, where the original homestead outhouse was located. It carries the signs of dad. It’s a sweet little house. 

And now an illuminated deer is peaking out from the dark of the back left corner of it. I can see my dad smiling from above. I can hear his laughter doing his little dance of joy at the sight of a full size frosty deer in my full size snow landscape. 

Dec 9, 2018

Dark and light on the Nobel Day - Jean-Claude Arnault convicted

- See you in Stockholm!

The classic sentence tossed between successful scientists all over the world hoping to one day achieve the most attractive of prizes. I wonder if it’s a say between authors too? 

Tomorrow is the Nobel Day. December 10. The day for awarding the most accomplished of those scientists. They will see each other in Stockholm. However, no author will take the stage in 2018.

The reason is a man who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and his hands off women. His behaviour made The Swedish Academy shatter, implode and collapse. One of the finest (we thought) institutions in the world lay flat in pieces and was denied the assignment to appoint the Nobel Prize in Literature 2018. This is all a disgrace. 

The start of the fall of The Swedish Academy, was 18 women (as a part of Metoo), accusing a man in close connection to the Academy of sexual assault and rape. The name of this man is Jean-Claude Arnault, married to one of the Academy members.

I have been following the tragic, dramatic, dirty and historic events of this filthy story and here is more to reed.


Out of all the accusations towards Jean-Claude Arnault - events which had been going on for decades - two held all the way up to court. The long timespan has been a negative factor for the victims. Arnault denied all allegations, but on October 1 he was convicted in the District Court of rape in one case. For that, he was sentenced to two years in prison. The verdict fell the same day as the Nobel Prize in Literature should have been announced. A coincident, nevertheless symbolic. 

The prosecutor pushed the second case to the Court of Appeal. Arnault has been held in custody since the first verdict. And on December 3 he was convicted on rape in the second case as well. For those two rapes he will spend 2,5 years in prison.

The Swedish Academy is undergoing some process of renovating itself. But this is a building which needs to be demolished. Although Arnault now is a convicted felon who will do time, there are still pals within the Academy who have his back, meaning it’s all gossip. 

Tomorrow it’s December 10, the Nobel Day. Stockholm will be star spangled. Extraordinary minds. Extraordinary dresses. Extraordinary festivities. There will be a dark shadow clouding that starry sky though. The loss of the Literature Prize. And the reason for it. 

But there will also be light. 18 women told there stories a little more than a year ago. And there are probably many more narratives which have not been heard. Two of all those stories have now gone through the Swedish juridical system. There is no doubt, Jean-Claude Arnault is a serial sex offender. And every woman he has laid his hands on can stand tall. Because the verdict tells the story. Just in time for the Nobel Day.

Dec 2, 2018

A change of perspective

When you are spending most of your time on the couch, that couch might be a bit beaten up. You eat in it, you write in it, you drink in it, you watch TV in it, you have your cold in it, you cuddle with your cat in it, you live your life in it. No wonder.

1,5 years ago I had worn out the mattress cover. No wonder. An upholsterer took on the job to sew me a new one, and I’m not quite sure why but it kind of didn't happen. So for a very long time now I’ve had a bed sheet wrapped around the mattress. In the wait for the new cover. Which could happen any day.

The sheet lived it’s own life on my mattress with me on top. Often a wrinkly hunch inunder my right shoulder. A loose piece of fabric floating around in constant need of adjustment.

I don’t like it when things are out of place. And I really do hate temporary solutions. The in betweens. Especially when transforming into a constant. So, 1,5 years.

This week though, it happened. The upholsterer was ready to do his job. And I was out of mattress for two days. I put some replacement on the base of the couch but it didn't work at all and was bad for my back.

That’s why I suddenly found myself sitting in my sofa chair.

Sitting is usually hard for me, but at this point the only place to lie down was worse. So I came up with a way of doing it. Legs and feet on the ottoman. And found it really interesting.

First. It’s a big difference between lying and sitting, even though in a cozy sofa chair. You feel stronger. More upright. Of corse. More normal.

Secondly. Spending some hours at a different place in the room gives you a different perspective.

For seven years now I’ve been lying on the couch in my upstairs great room. I know every angle of the room looking at it from the east corner of my day bed. The sofa chair on the opposite side of the coffee table is mostly empty. Sometimes there might be laundry waiting to be folded. And occasionally someone is sitting there. A visitor, or one of my home care people. But the sofa chair is not a place inhabited by me. Has never been, actually.

Sitting in the sofa chair that first evening I felt like a guest in my home. I looked over at the couch. All the pillows for my support. The walker - which in Sweden has four wheels and is called a rollator, I can never understand how old and disabled people are helped by a walker which you have to lift to move forward! The eaten dinner tray on the table. The pile of news papers and magazines. The throw. My calendar. The chargers for the different technical devises. I am looking at my life over there. 

I am taking a good look at it. And sitting upright makes me mentally able to take a step back from it. I am liking being in this new place. Wanting to do it again. Which I did the second evening. Liking it as much.

On Wednesday I got the mattress back! Upholstered. Looking good. Feeling good. Clean, in one piece, solid, nothing even remotely temporary about it. Everything about it was right! I love it, and I love lying down on it.  And I can finally cross it out from my eternal list of big and small things to attend to and fix, how wonderful!

I also love my new perspective from the sofa chair. I am actually sitting there writing this posting and it feels really good. I want to spend more time here, when I can. Three feet away from my life on the couch. I feel like I am on a vitalising trip.