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.

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…

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.

Letting go of my dream life/part 3

I often wonder how my stars were lined up during those commuting years to Seattle.

I packed my bags in Sweden with my DAT tape recorder and my Sony PD 150 video camera. Sometimes I had stories arranged at my arrival, but often times there were only ideas or not even that. I left Umeå where most everything was a struggle and landed in Seattle. Breathing in that moist red ceder, felt my lungs expand with possibilities and life running through my veins. It was a transformation I experienced 2-3 times a year for about 15 years.

At that time I was a public service journalist, freelancing for Swedish National Radio and Television. My field was vast and I could find stories most anywhere. And did so! Those were years when I just happened to be at the right place at the right time, as the expression goes. Things worked out for me in a way they never had before, and never would in the future. Stories and people just fell right into my lap!

The examples are countless. Like when I was doing a radio piece about the book circle If All of Seattle Read the Same Book. That month Seattle read The Sweat Hereafter by Russel Banks. And the City librarian asked me if I perhaps wanted to interview the author, he would fly in tomorrow? Yes Please!

Or that time when I was planning a TV story for the local news in Umeå about a tiny company in the small town Bjurholm, who produced and delivered the device that would lift the engine for the new Boeing Dreamliner into place, and my arrival in Seattle was timed up with the virtual roll out of the Dreamliner! I was the only woman in the line of many men from all over the world on the huge camera podium at the Everett Boeing Factory on that historic December morning 2006. 

This might be my favorite: I happened to be in Seattle when the last episode of Seinfeld was on air. I watched it at a full Paramount Theatre house, an event called the Sein Off. Right after I walked the four blocks to the hotel I called home for many years, doing a live report in a Swedish National Radio morning show. And by the way, Frank Sinatra died a couple of hours later so then I reported that as well.

And how do you like this? There was something really big happening at Microsoft in 1998 and I needed to get in contact with someone crucial at the company. That week, at my friends Terry and Doug’s kitchen table I met Jeff who handed me over a piece of paper with a name. Call this woman, we were in the same class for our MBA, say hello from me, she is best friends with Melinda Gates. 

I am not kidding, this is how it was! Back in Umeå I fought so hard to make things work in every aspect of my life and my heart was constantly heavy. In Seattle I felt like the whole city was welcoming me, there was a flow and I was surfing effortless on the waves moving my way.  No wonder I felt Seattle was my place on earth. This is where I am meant to be, how could it not be?!

I am remembered of my Seattle flow this week, the week of the Twin Peaks season 3 premiere. As the home of the series is Snoqualmie and North Bend 45 minutes northeast of Seattle, the occasion is of course a big thing in the area. My sons were way too young in the beginning of the nineties when Twin Peaks was on air, but they have watched the series later. And our visits to Snoqualmie Falls and Twedes (the RR Diner) have been many.

So the fact that Trouble 2 and Audrey booked a room at Salish Lodge (the Great Northern) and was a part of the event there for episode 1 of Twin Peaks season 3 was just right. And my heart started pounding… I would have gotten both radio and TV stories out of that! Being at the right place at the right time! But I am glad Trouble 2 and Audrey were. And for their own pleasure.

Trouble 1 and Ellna

- Are you the mother of the Swedish artists?

I was dropping Trouble 2 off in the Primary room at Valley School in the morning one of the first weeks of the school year fall 1996. And there was this woman putting me the question, pointing at the wall, wallpapered with my son’s drawings. Trouble 1’s 4th grade room was the same.

This is a post by itself, but just very briefly: there were these two Swedish boys new at the school, not speaking the language. And the incredible teachers immediately found their talents and gave them an identity and self confidence in this foreign world. They became the Swedish artists. And the woman who pointed this out to me was Terry who came to be one of our crucially important Seattle people still loving my children like they are one of her own. Hanging out with Trouble 2 and Audrey this May.

I wasn’t aware of my sons being especially artistic. They drew all the time. We provided them left over papers from work, I brought the endless telegram out prints from the TV station, perfect for covering the kitchen floor drawing on the back of them. And of course pencils, crayons and water color.

On our first Seattle stay in 1993 we found the perfect art kits at the Seattle Art Museum store. Regular size ones to carry around and the big one kept on the dining room table in our Juanita home. Paper and colors neatly organized, I wanted one myself! The smaller kits always in the car while on the road. Finally in Missoula the floor in the back seat of our little Chevy Cavalier completely covered with drawings produced during the long and hot trip.

I don’t know if my sons were more than regularly talented or if what we did was creating an environment where they had access to the the right tools so that they could playfully practice, practice, practice. That’s the eternal question, right?

Anyway, they went on drawing and painting. I don’t know why, but somewhere around 5th grade or so, Trouble 2 basically stopped. I was sad that he did. Maybe it was there and then he started to make his own choices and figure out that road of his own he has been keeping since then.

Trouble 1 moved on from art kits to art school after high school. And he has continued practicing, practicing, practicing, inspired by his favorite artists and illustrators Greg Manchess, Vanessa Lemen, Phil Hale och James Gurney.

One of Trouble 1’s goals for his professional life has been to publish a graphic novel. During winter 2016 he started working on Ellna, squeezing it in between assignments. Ellna is the fantasy story about the adventures of a little girl in an ancient Scandinavia who comes to understand the world is much more mysterious, frightening and magical than she could ever imagine.

A year ago Trouble 1visited Stockholm International Comics Festival, bringing some prints from Ellna. One of them was left behind on a coffee shop table. Back in Umeå again he had an email from the publisher Epix, expressing interest in publishing Ellna!

It’s been an extremely intense year for the artist and now to be author Trouble 1. Producing a hundred pages containing many hundred more paintings. And two weeks ago he came over here proudly presenting the first copy fresh released from the printing house. A beautiful hard copy book where every page, due to Trouble 1’s layout, is an art piece of itself. 

This weekend Trouble 1 has been one of the Swedish guests at the Stockholm International Comics Festival, signing books and being part of talks on stage. He has achieved one of his life goals. And I am the proud mother of a Swedish artist.

Letting go of my dream life/part 2

It’s actually hard to grasp that it’s done. But it is!

Friday morning Trouble 2 and Audrey vacated my storage unit in Seattle. They brought the sack with the Tempure Pedic mattress and the three storage boxes to the room on 15th and Marion they are renting for their stay.

I had been preparing. Already a week ago I had digged out my Seattle note book. On the last page the list with everything I kept in Seattle.

This is one of my things. I need to prepare. I need to be as ready as I can be. This counts for difficult things as well as fun. But of course difficulties needs a higher level of preparation.

So, that first evening with the list in my Seattle note book I was reading every item. Slowly. Feeling them. The Kalaloch sweatshirt bought on our first stay at the lodge. The cereal bowl from my Boyer Avenue home. The multicolor thick beach blanket - how many afternoons in Gaswork Park? The grayish green knitted halter neck tank from the Fremont market, so special to me.The ice tea pitcher, brand new from my last stay telling I was planning on coming back many times. And so on. My itinerant Seattle home.

Swedes dress in light colors in the summer. We completely change our wardrobe in a way Seattleites don’t. Personally I love white. I’m a white lady. Complemented with pastels and some bright surprises.

Wearing those colors in Seattle makes you an exclamation mark in the beige/grey wardrobe of the Emerald City. I’ve always found it odd how bright the city is and how dimmed the inhabitants dress. But my home grown analyzes is that the nine months a year of wet and grey skies and ground sticks in the soul, reflecting the dress code.

The first years in Seattle I stuck to my Swedish summer colors. I was still a tourist. But as time went by I noticed myself picking up beige tanks at Nordstrom Brass Plum as well the finest latte shades of silk blends at Banana Republic. I was becoming a Seattleite. I wasn’t comfortable being an exclamation mark in my new home town any more.

The clothes I’ve been keeping in my storage have all been the Seattle palette. I wouldn’t even wear them in Sweden. It’s something about the quality of the summer light here that doesn’t work with fifty shades of beige.

Therefore, in this separation I was about to go through, I was thinking of giving away my favorite Seattle clothes. That’s what I was preparing for. Going through the list once more. But in the hours before the actual clean out this Friday I changed my mind. What if? What if I at some point will be able to return to Seattle one last time? And my Seattle clothes are gone. There is always that hope… No, I would have Trouble 2 and Audrey bring them back to Sweden, I would put them in a special box and just keep them.

At my 8PM I waived to Trouble 2 and Audrey over Skype. Hi there! Look at that downtown view from you window, wow! And then: okay, lets do this!

We sorted all my things in four piles: back to Sweden, throw away, Zoe and Becca - would they like this?, and keep in Seattle. Oh, yes, I forgot, my dearest Matt and Elizabeth had most kindly offered a corner somewhere in their Capitol Hill home to store my mattress!!

Trouble 2 is a quite slow and methodical young man, Audrey the exact opposite. Together we went through box after box. The U.S. domestic mail sack where I am keeping my mattress is a magical storage, this I know since before. And in the end “we” managed to squeeze in not only the blow dryer, electric tooth brush and the beach blanket, but also the top 5 of my Seattle summer wardrobe into the sack!

So this was successful indeed! Also, I did not go all emotional but went through this event cheery and without shedding a tear. I was quiet proud of myself I have to say.

I know for sure this would not have been possible without my mental preparation. Grieving my things in beforehand, so to speak. And of course not without Trouble 2 and Audrey’s good spirit, for which I am very grateful.

So, now I don’t have a storage in Seattle anymore. Check! And I feel lighter. But there is more to come…

Letting go of my dream life/part 1

It looks like the sun will be out in Seattle all week! I am happy for all Seattleites who have had the greyest and wettest winter (starting October) in history, but also for Trouble 2 and Audrey who arrived in Seattle some days ago and will stay through the month.

In 2007 I was planning on starting spending more time in Seattle. My sons were growing up and I was picturing myself in the beautiful Emerald City 2-3 months a year, although spread out in about three periods.

I definitely perceived this time as a turning point in my life. My marriage was over. Both my parents had passed away. My sons changing to young men moving in with their girlfriends. And my start up business feeling the air under it’s wings. This was my time coming up.

I knew exactly what I wanted. I remember sitting on the deck of the Bainbridge ferry one of those gorgeous sunny Seattle summer days feeling it right into my bones: this is where I want to be. This is where I should be. This is where I need to be. This is where I must be. This is where I’m meant to be! 

It wasn’t news to me, I had been in love with this gorgeous city ever since we stayed the year 1996-97. Drinking the Portage Bay view from our living room window and driving through Arboretum in the afternoons picking up my sons at school. So I had been waiting for and heading for this moment for ten years. As my sons’ father had left Sweden a couple of years earlier, it couldn’t be full time though, which was okay. Three months a year would do fine as a start. My heart and roots were in my little Swedish village. Seattle was my lungs and the wind in my hair.

I was pretty sure too the Seattle environment would be good soil for my business. Communicating with storytelling was brand new in Sweden at this time, and it’s a tough job to create both a product and a market. Even in Seattle I had to do a lot of explaining on what I was doing, but there was definitely a curiosity and a more matur market.

So, the plan was to find clients and assignments in Seattle. And to create an environment for myself where I could feel like a professional. I was very grateful to all my friends who had let me stay in their basements for a lot of commuting years, but I now desired my own place. I wanted to buy me a city condo with water view, in purpose of renting it when I wasn’t there myself. Now, that utopia stops right there as there was no way I could come up with that kind om money, but the idea was great as well as intriguing.

No, I had to start at a different end. And I did. I bought myself a car. That’s a story by itself, a good one, and I am saving it for a different post. Anyway, I now had my own car! Bliss! That’s the most adequate word for how I felt about that car. And about myself in that car. Driving in Seattle. My city. My car. A Dodge Stratus ES year 2000 with an electric roof window. Leather seats. Color, I would say latte. And driving it… I’ve had some car experiences in my life, but driving that car was pure joy.

Now, as I couldn’t purchase a home I had to find a solution for all my stuff. To start with, there was the Tempure Pedic mattress which my body is addicted to for sleeping. I keep it in an U.S. domestic mail sack. And then there was those special things I wanted to hold on too. My cereal bowl, my tea cup, fragments of my Boyer Avenue home. And all the items so unpractical dragging cross the ocean several times a year: blow drier, schampoo, electric tooth brush, lotions, bath robe, shoes, clothes… Over the years it’s added up to three good size storage boxes. Stored in friends basements. Oh, those friends…

I didn’t want to be a burden to them anymore. And the solution eventually became a storage unit on Martin Luther King Ave half way to SeaTac airport. I really liked the number on that unit. And the view of the new light rail from where the elevator was. It wasn’t a city condo with a water view but it was something. It was my something.

You know all those stories you hear about people changing their lives for the better? Being at a crossroad starting walking towards a goal. I always wonder how that happens. How a plan actually becomes a reality. Mission completed. Doesn’t life intervene? Put up hinders?

This was my crossroad. And I was determined. Absolutely sure I would live a part time Seattle life. Feeling it into my bones. Meant to be.

How wrong I was. First my back crashed, although temporarily I hoped. Then I got cancer. And then my back crashed for good. 

I have been back in Seattle. But only for vacation. I have been driving my car, but only briefly. And I have actually had the experience of city condos with water views. Amazing pent houses, although momentary homes for my cereal bowl and tea cup.

Trouble 2 and Audrey is driving my beloved car right now. But the Doge Stratus seems to have lost it’s former glory since I last drove it in 2012. And my storage unit has turned expensive over the years meanwhile the Swedish crona is not an asset towards the dollar anymore. So.

Now is the time. Trouble 2 and Audrey have promised me to clean out my storage as a favor to having access to a free car. And I am preparing to say goodbye to my never achieved goal and dream life. I’ve known for some years now that it is the only thing to do. It’s just so hard to let go.