The Swedish Academy and the 2nd Amendment

I’m not sure why it makes me think of the 2nd Amendment but it does. Maybe I’ll figure it out while writing.

In order to to make changes in the Swedish Constitution, the Parliament is required to agree on two decisions with the same content, and a general election between the two decisions is required. So, it’s a slow process but possible of course since a country is in constant change. Last time the constitution was reformed was in 2010.

Then there is The Swedish Academy. Founded by King Gustav III in 1786. Governed by statues from the same year. Still.

These last couple of weeks this stiff organization has been shattered by internal strife. From the outside it looks like it started with a man in close connection with the Academy, during the Me too movement being accused by 18 women for sexual assault and rape, ending with the Permanent Secretary Sara Danius having to step down the other day. Although that’s not the end of course. That’s so far.

The 18 members of the Academy are elected for life. If a member chooses to no longer be a part of the work of the Academy, his or her chair will be empty until he or she dies. It happens. For the time being 7 of the 18 members are women. Although at this point only 3 are a part of the work. 2 have left by their own will, 2 have been forced out. 3 men also left the Academy last week. So, at this time the 18 are down to 11.

This mess is compared with Paradise Hotel, House of Cards or Game of Thrones. Great entertainment! That would be fine if it wasn’t for the important work the Academy is set to do.

The Swedish Academy is an independent cultural institution, founded in 1786 by King Gustaf III in order to advance the Swedish language and Swedish literature. And, the Academy has also awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature since 1901. There you have it.

The in and outs of this appalling story is complicated and as the Academy is a closed room there are mostly speculations and guessing. The story contains everything for the perfect drama though: sex, adultery, financial irregularities, nepotism and leaking of top secret information - the Nobel Prize winners names. 

What’s very clear though is that the main part of the men in the Academy is buddying up protecting a sex offender who has been known for his behavior in the inner cultural circles of Stockholm for about twenty years. And Sara Danius, the first female Permanent Secretary in the Academy history, who tried to modernize the organization within the statues, has now been sacrificed in the name of peace and healthy work environment. 

Have you ever heard of a position elected for life being a good thing? Didn’t most of us just agree (not Donald Trump though) on the idea of the Chinese president extending his assignment for life being worrying? Holding a position for life means you are not accountable to anyone. So imagine a whole community in it for life. With statues 232 year old, not touchable. A secret society.

Now, where do the 2nd Amendment fit in to all this? Well, to many people outside the U.S. it’s incomprehensible how it is not possible to change the weapon laws when they so clearly contributes to mass shootings and fatalities all over the country. Just change them! No, says the NRA - and some more, it’s the law!

To a Swede it’s unaccustomed how the Constitution and Amendments is perceived like the Bible. But even the Bible isn’t read like it was 2000 years ago, right?

So tell that to the Swedish Academy!

Now, an unexpected player showed up on the field last week. As the Academy was founded by a king, the Swedish King Carl XVI Gustaf is it’s highest protector. Generally that wouldn’t mean anything at all. A Swedish monarch doesn’t have any power. He or she is not allowed to vote in elections and should not speak up his/her mind on matters of importance or at least politics.

But it turns out the Swedish Academy might be a loop hole in terms of power of the monarchy. As it’s highest protector the king might have a say here. Carl XVI Gustaf is genuinely engaged in the Academy and of course takes a big interest in the Nobel Prize. Therefore he is now opening up for and suggesting changes or amendments to the 232 year old statues.

Personally I hope he succeeds. Sweden has two important brands. The Nobel Prize and the Swedish welfare. Both are at jeopardy. Let’s take good care of the both of them.

Breathing with my logged out brain

I looked at the yellow tulips (although I was thinking they were daffodils) and wondered: has there been some kind of holiday?

Tuesday morning I woke up feeling strange. Like I had been dreaming something making me uncomfortable. I tried to grasp the dream floating on top of my head and pull it in to my brain to get a grip of it. I didn’t succeed. I got out of bed, saw the tulips and couldn’t understand what they were and why. 

Yes there was a holiday last weekend. In Sweden Easter is a four day weekend. I had four unscheduled days at home with myself. I normally don’t enjoy Easter. It’s a really long and lonesome holiday. It kind of never ends. But for the first time in many years I had been looking forward to it. Four days of nothing was just what I needed.

And the weekend started with me getting the relieving message the City had decided not ruining my life! As you might remember from last weeks post I had been waiting in anxiety for five months of what would happen with my home care.

Also, for the same amount of time I have been trying to get myself a pair of new glasses, my old lovely ones had been pinching a whole on my nose and there was no way back, I had to let them go. This turned out to be an extremely taxing project where no frames worked because of the little wound and the glass itself was a disaster. Last week, on the fourth try, I was finally delivered a pair of glasses that works for me. The wound is still there but now at least (sex months later) hopefully it has a chance to heal.

So, I entered Easter with a pulse slowly finding a better pace. I totally enjoyed my four lonely days. Took care of some office things I’ve been wanting to attend to for a long time. Wrote my blog posting on Sunday of course. And spent Monday preparing for a meeting. Good days of my own choice.

And on Tuesday morning I couldn’t tell tulips from daffodils and only had a vague idea of a holiday. When Mohammed came (I still haven’t told you about Mohammed, but I will) I told him I was feeling strange and that I might start repeating myself. You already have, he said, five times.

I have been here before. Some years ago. At that time it was straight away to the ER, I was thinking stroke. I was thoroughly examined for 24 hours but found free from that kind of brain damage.

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2015/09/the-stroke-scare.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2015/09/being-mount-rainier.html

The damage was on a cognitive level. Facing a difficult loss my brain logged out. That’s what it feels like. When you don’t find your way in the cell phone. When you reed an email you have written yourself and don’t understand it. And it looks different at every read. When you are repeating yourself over and over again because you don't know what you are saying. 

This is scary stuff. It’s like your brain is wide open. Anything can come out of it and anything might dive down there. It’s like there is no filter protecting. You simply don’t have any control of your brain. Well, we never have of course, that’s an illusion, but an illusion that mostly works.

So why this time? It’s pretty simple. After months and months in an extremely strained condition the tension slowly let go. And it’s not only the home care decision and the glasses, no it’s been one thing after thee other for more than a year now. No catastrophes, for which I am truly grateful, but lengthy difficulties draining me. 

It’s also been fun stuff which I have enjoyed. But even fun can be draining when there is never space to recuperate.

Here was the space though. Four unscheduled days by myself. Pulse slowing down. An opportunity for the brain to realize on which level it’s been working. And to put the brake on. Okay guys, this is it for me for a while. I’m off for vacation. Or a really deep nap. 

I hadn’t experienced any warning signs. It has definitely been a lot for a very long time, but I have been handling it. Handling it pretty good I’ve been thinking. Been kind of proud of myself.

So here I am now. Soul and mind fragile. Loosing words here and there. Heart off and on raising. Unexpected anxieties floating up rushing over me. Exhausted. Eyelids closing. But also talking in hyper speed without breathing. I had no idea I was in such a bad condition.

What to do? Well, I remember coping strategies from last time this happened. Protect myself from input and information. CNN a big no. Way to loud and frantic. Breath. Put the computer away between every email, close my eyes and breathe. 25 in and out. Only have one window open at the time. Treat everything I do as an isolated act between which there is to be a pause. This is not easy, it needs training to not fall into reflex behavior.

What more can I do? Not much really. I am not in charge over the home care personal situation which is crucially important to me. I know the management is doing everything in their power for me, but sometimes the situation is unstable and I have to be brave and strong and smiling although I just want to give in and cry. That’s of course taking it’s toll and a significant part of where I am at right now.

Acknowledge the place I am in. Let the anxieties show up and watch them. They are okay, only neglected. Pet my lovely cat lady. Enjoy the April sun outside my window reflected in a meter (3,28 feet) of crisp white snow. I’ve left my balcony door open an inch. Suddenly a tortoise-shell butterfly finds it’s way in leaving me and my cat astonished. A meter of snow and a butterfly! Poor thing. I am thinking I am not the only one confused and lost in context. I am in good company.

Who is in control of my life? Pain and the City of Umeå

Yes, there are two players. Pain and the City of Umeå’s social services.

Once a year I get a visit from an official of the social services at the City. The social services is the office deciding what help and how much of it I am entitled to due to my physical restrictions run by the pain from my dysfunctional body.

This annual visit is something I am dreading. The months leading up to it my fight and flight system starts preparing. Although there is nowhere I can take a flight. So fear is what it comes down to.

Once a year a woman or sometimes two sits down in front of me in the great room where I am mostly living my life. I am lying on my couch.  Lying down before the people making these crucial decisions about my life is not a good feeling. But that’s how it is.

They ask me how I am doing and I am giving them a summery. Sometimes they tell me they want to make sure I have everything I need, but that’s not true. The truth is their assignment is to keep the money in the City wallet. To spend as little as possible on me and everyone else who is in need of their help. Who can’t help themselves. Who is sick, old, alone, vulnerable and has no other option.

This annual meeting is a horrible thing going through. To be questioned and an object of suspicion as I am letting them in into my pain, loneliness, vulnerability and the most intimate spots of my difficult life. I am a wreck for days after.

The 2017 meeting was in October. There would be two officials as I was such a big and difficult case. Big, yes, I need many hours of home care help a week. Difficult? For me, having been feeling difficult all my life, using that word on me is like stabbing me. And what’s difficult about me in this case? My guess is that I am younger than most people in my situation. I am lucid and can speak for myself in a good way although I am lying down claiming I can’t do much else. And I am wearing mascara. Sometimes nail polish. 

Mascara or not is something I am weighing carefully before these meetings. I realize looking really bad and worn out probably would speak for me. But it also makes me very week. Looking my worst is draining me of power. And that’s not helping me. So I usually walk a middle way. Mascara yes, but no eye liner. A shy lipstick. And transparent nail polish. So they won’t get the impression I was out dancing partying the night before.

Sending two officials isn’t a good sign. That’s signaling they need to be in power. In this case though the women were very young, I am guessing early-mid twenties. They were also really sweet. Hadn’t yet acquired the cold distance officials are armored with some years later. 

The young women asked me and Jannie from my home care company Civil Care if we had everything we needed and they actually meant it. They were caring and forthcoming. I have never during my then five years in this situation been so well treated. The officials even suggested extension on some points. I think they were a bit taken by my destiny.

These young women weren’t in charge of the decisions though unfortunately. They had a boss. In a month or so they called me back and I could tell on the tone and the questions that this boss was waiting for them. And their suggestions in the spur of the moment at their visit had not been such a good idea. In fact, now they wanted all of the daily chart notes from more than a year back and Civil Care had to give an account for every single minute they are spending with me and how they use those minutes. My case was now up for audit. I was under scrutiny.

Week after week passed. Month after month. I was nervous. This was not a good sign. Although I tried to put my fear aside (there was nothing I could do about the situation anyway) the anxiety has been hanging over me like a dark cloud. I was afraid they would take time and help away from me and then how would I get by?

Thursday before Easter they called. My heart was pounding. Five months later they had finally come to a decision. 

In 2014-16 I appealed against a social service decision all the way to the Supreme Administrative Court. One of the points in the court case was the right to be supported by a person while moving from my bed or couch to the bathroom. I was allowed support when getting up and down from lying to standing and to sitting on the toilette, but not the walk in between. During those few minutes the personal was supposed to leave me and attend to other things. Which they didn’t of course, they would never leave me hanging. Which the City and the courts know and takes advantage of. 

I lost the case. 

So, the call on Thursday before Easter. No, I hadn’t been denied any of the help or time I already have. I could feel my body starting letting go of some of the built up tension as we spoke. And due to problems with my feet and wrists which has occurred since 2016 they had now added support on my walks to the bathroom! I am sure it will  only be a few minutes spread out over the week, but finally I have the support I need and should be entitled to on paper, and my personal isn’t breaking any laws helping me! It feels like a victory after all these years!

If you by any chance would be interested reading about my long an forceful fight with authorities you will find it here:

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2014/10/this-is-case-my-case.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2014/11/this-is-case-my-casepart-2.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2014/11/this-is-case-my-case-part-3.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2014/11/this-is-case-my-case-part-4.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2015/01/this-is-case-my-case-part-5.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2015/08/this-is-case-my-casepart-6.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2015/11/this-is-case-my-casethe-end.html

http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2016/06/this-is-case-my-case-endfinal.html

Three days after that relieving phone call my pulse is calmer. The fact that I don’t have to worry about this crucial part of my life until a year from now is slowly sinking in.  

Who is in control of my life? Pain and the City of Umeå’s social services. Ah, I can hear you…“What about yourself?” I am doing my homework, of course. Coping strategies, mind set, gratefulness, all those things. But the fact is, if the City of Umeå is not allowing me to get out of bed in the morning, it’s their decision, not mine. It’s not under my control. Nor is the pain keeping me there.

The photo album/holding life in my hands 2

30 years ago I had just been let out of the hospital where I was nesting a baby for three months. That’s because my second pregnancy was close to a way too early end in the 25th week of the pregnancy. To try to keep the baby in my uterus as long as possible I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed other than going to the bathroom, and I was kept in the hospital as the doctors didn’t trust me on that if I would be at home. So for eleven weeks I was pretty much locked in as the snow fell outside my window day after day, week after week, month after month.

It was difficult. Still, it had a happy ending.

At 36 weeks a pregnancy is considered complete, and that’s when I was allowed  returning back home to Trouble 1 and his dad. And March 29 a healthy baby boy was born, Trouble 2.

When Trouble 1 turned 30 I made photo albums from out his first five years. Old school albums, taping pictures in beautiful files, adding stories in words. Finally, I would say. I always was a diligent photographer and up until my own 30 I put together albums for myself. When the kids arrived though… well, not so much.

 http://homeisawayawayishome.blogspot.se/2016/04/the-photo-albumholding-life-in-my-hands.html

I know I’m not the only one keeping photos in shoe boxes. As I am a well organized person the practical aspect of the whole thing wasn't a problem though. All the pictures are archived in years and events. Christmases, vacations, birthdays. It’s just picking them, one after the other. 

No, the real work was of course the emotional part. Digging deep down in memories and emotions. Sentiments and nostalgia. It was exhausting. And a truly effective self therapy.

Which has been proven these last few weeks as it was time putting together Trouble 2’s firsts years in photo albums. The emotional part of the work hasn’t been as difficult this time around. Moments for taking deep breaths of course and breaks returning to the reality of today, surface after diving deep. But for the most part I have been enjoying the process. Finding myself smiling, in pictures and words creating Trouble 2’s story at the start of his life.

It was snowing as I woke up this morning. My sister and her family came early to help set the table, decorate with glossy balloons and shining streamers, and of course shovel the snow. And as the guest of honor and all the family arrived, the sun did too!

We were sixteen people in my sunny yellow (and now pinkish) kitchen celebrating Trouble 2 today. Sixteen people who all love him very much. Brother, girlfriend, sister-in-law, brother in law, cousins, aunt and uncle, grandmother, in-law-parents, cousins kids. And mother.  

He opened the presents. The photo albums were much appreciated. I feel like I did a good thing. That’s a nice feeling.

In a few days my baby boy is turning 30. A young man now a grown up. Kind, caring and handsome. I am so grateful Trouble 2 is my son. And that I get to be his mother.

Cherry memories

I am told this weekend is the peak of the cherry trees blooming in Seattle, I wish I was there!

My first memory of the tree blossoming season in Seattle was 1993. We arrived March 22 and our first Seattle home was actually over at Eastside. The cherry tree blooms covered the ground for Trouble & Trouble 4 and 6 years old to play with outside our townhouse in Juanita, Kirkland. We had left the white spring-winter in Sweden for the great adventure, and the cherry trees were snowing!

For me, one of my most exotic Seattle memories is from spring 1997 when we had our home for the year at Portage Bay. Packing our downhill ski equipment on and in our 1981 silver Buick while the cherry trees in the alley told Swedes it was summer. Driving the one hour trip up to the Snoqualmie ski area. Met by tons of snow and great skiing. In the late afternoon heading back to Seattle welcomed by summer. I can still feel the fascinating magic of it.

To Seattleites that’s all spring. But to a Swede from the northern parts of the country it’s summer and winter in a wonderful and amazing package. 2 for the price of 1! I remember Trouble 2 (now 9) having a burger in the sun at one of the ski drive in restaurant porches announcing: this is life!

During my commuting years following I loved packing my bags here at the end of the road this time of year, crossing the ocean, landing in Seattle. Filling my lungs with the fresh sent of moist red cedar and my eyes with the white and pink color from the cherries blooming all over town. Still now, I can sense my body and mind expanding from joy of once again arriving in my second home so different from my first; Away is Home, Home is Away. Just wanting to stay there forever.

I celebrated my 45th birthday on one of those visits. It wasn’t a happy birthday, at least to start with. I was separated going for divorce. I felt old. I had a future in mind which I knew wouldn’t happen. But I had a new semi professional video camera!

I woke up in the morning feeling heavy and sad about my whole situation. But I made a conscious decision to pick myself up. And I started playing with my camera. As soon as I looked through the view finder my heart went pounding. I put the gear in my car and headed towards Seattle from Lynnwood where I stayed at my friend/sister Autumn’s. 

I still remember the footage I shot at the marina east of Gasworks Park. Lying on the docks composing the pictures with houseboats, water and blooming cherry treas. I felt a lot better!

Continuing to Seattle Center. The sun was out, and the colors and shapes of Frank Gehry’s Experience Music Project making me go on for hours, and yeah, catching the Monorail through it!

I remember someone calling me on my way to the parking lot, might it have been Craig? By now I felt so good about the day I told him it was my birthday. Like I had to share it with someone. And of course he congratulated me and I have this image of cherry trees surrounding me, is there even cherry trees at the Seattle Center parking lot?

In the evening my friends all gathered in a Madrona pub for me. It feels surreal now but they were all there: Matt and Elisabeth and daughter Becca, Terry and Doug and kids Reed and Zoe, Maria and little Niko, Annie and Harold, and of course my aunt Helen. My sister Autumn didn’t show though, she basically stood me up!

I was pretty darned disappointed and mad at her as I drew back to her house. Hours later she walked in. Well, the thing was, she had been delayed at work. Which I think had turned to a bar or pub thing. Because there was this new guy… and he was trouble…

I actually got to meet this new guy (shall we call him Trouble 3?) some days later. I frankly didn’t think that wold last. I was vey wrong. She stood me up for the Man in Her Life which she met on March 14, my 45th birthday, meanwhile the cherry trees were blooming on all of us.

Fine tuning my kitchen

Friday at dinner time the window dressing was up again and the loud speakers as well. In a week my kitchen had gone through a total make over!

My kitchen is yellow. That’s how I would describe it and I am sure anyone visiting here would too. I designed the carpentry - cabinet, drawers a s o - and it was built by skilled crafts people to match my 1920 house. This happened in 1998 and the twenty years passed have of course added it’s marks. Such as occasional smoke from the fire place providing ceiling, fireplace and wall papers grey greasy areas. My kitchen has frankly changed to my least likable room.

I have an utopian dream of repainting the carpentry in tones on a scale from purpur to light pink. I know, it sounds crazy, but the shades would be kind of dusty and I know it would be super cool. Not possible though. Because it would be way to much work and therefore totally out of my budget. That’s why utopian. So I’ve been stuck with my to parts worn out kitchen.

When my house brings me surprises they are of the bad kind. Water damages, heat pump failure, things breaking. The usual stuff home owners have to deal with, comes with the territory. But suddenly, some weeks ago, it gave me an unexpected nice surprise!

It turned out the water leak I had three years ago which caused damage on the kitchen floor was suddenly my friend. The insurance company would pay for renovating the floor! Sanding it and waxing it, I would practically get a new floor! This message I got at Valentine’s, what a treat!

So what better time to take care of the grey-greasy ceiling, the smokey fireplace  and the dirty wallpaper? 

Per and his daughter Elin (who used to live in my village) came here Monday and started the work. Washed the fireplace and the ceiling and worked the wallpapers smooth for painting them. Already on Monday the ceiling was painted and done and Tuesday the fireplace and the preparatory work of the wallpaper. Per and Elin were doing such a great job and are just the best!

My job was to pick a color for the walls.  I had a clear picture, inspired by a special home in Greenwood which I house sat a couple of summers. The owners had played with colors in a way I wouldn’t have thought of. For example mixing a yellow and blue color in the same room. That’s what I was aiming for here!

I picked a very light frosty blue. I had consulted Trouble 1 and his color trained eye from his profession as an illustrator and artist. We agreed on the frost hopefully working both with the yellow carpentry and the grey wood panel at the bottom half of the wall. 

Per painted on Wednesday afternoon but the light had fallen and I couldn’t make a correct judgement. Until Thursday morning. When the light was bright. And I could tell it didn’t work. Bummer. Damned.

The funny thing was the frost worked with the yellow. And it worked with the grey. But the three of them didn’t work together. It’s so interesting. Designing is like tuning a harmony. If you feel like something is off it is. It’s not like, hey, I’ll get used to it. No, it will continue to chafe on you and make you discordant. As with a harmony you have to find what’s out of tune. And fix it.

In this case I couldn’t take out the yellow although I wanted to. Not the grey either. I had to take the frost out. Which really sucked as that’s the one I wanted to keep!

Even more, I had to abandon my blue track. I couldn’t afford taking any more chances. I had to go for a safer track. Which turned out to be the pink one. Yeah, I know it sounds awful. But the pick is a dusty light shade where you find both magenta and  beige depending on the light. And it works. It works really well! It brightens up the dull grey wood panel and the yellow carpentry looks… nicer. My only objection: it's a bit too feminine for my taste. But most important, my kitchen is in harmony. The cord is tuned and my soul is calm.

Yesterday evening my friend Mats and I celebrated our birthdays together, we are only days from each other. It’s an old tradition that’s been down for the last two years when we both turned 60. But last night we brought it to life again, and it was such a delight filling my just made over kitchen with our families, having a delicious dinner and a lot of fun together again.

And. I just had this idea. What if I painted the carpentry in different shades of yellow instead… that would definitely be doable. And the dusty light pink stays on the wall. Yeah… that might work. I hope. Well, it would need some tuning I’m sure…

Chewing intellectual carrots

So, how do I see to not becoming completely stupid? Declining intellectually and loosing brain capacity? That’s the question.

My life now is very different from the one I had when I didn’t spend most of my time on a couch. In my Before Life I had a social life in company with people always ready to discuss the goings on in the world, reflecting over them. I went to concerts, festivals and I read a lot on the cardio bicycle. I spent quite a lot of time in Seattle, challenged by the language, a big city and my politically engaged and extremely verbally talented friends who made my brain work at the maximum of it’s capacity. 

And I traveled elsewhere. I exercised my profession at interesting work places with colleagues of my kind. I listened to Swedish National Radio (the Swedish equivalent to National Public Radio in the US) while in the car and making/having dinner in my kitchen, and I hardly watched any television. Although I worked in it, which was kind of odd.

It all feels strange and foreign thinking about those days today.

So what about now? Well, my only time for reading literature would be before lights out, but I have chosen to dedicate those minutes to Italian studies. I don’t make dinner any more and as I am eating half lying in my couch, it’s the natural time to put the TV on. I know, I could make a different choice. I could listen to the radio instead, but heck, the TV is so much more seductive as dinner company…

As I am not by any means drawn to junk TV, I still find my TV menu more entertaining than educating. I follow the National Swedish Television news every day of course, but most often a short version. I also watch Wolf at CNN, I have a hard time deciding on if that’s educating or plain entertainment though. I would say it’s both. 

How ever sad the Trump White House is I have gotten used to (and how horrifying is that?!) the horror of it and it’s become a TV series with a plot you couldn’t even come up with. To justify myself I am thinking I am getting a one hour a day dosage of journalistic English, and listening to Wolf’s competent and engaged panel is highly interesting and I would say educating. 

So what more? Well, as I’ve reviled before I have since last summer been following the Turkish drama series Paramparça. That’s my one guilt pleasure. And only half an hour a day. I have become fond of the two families who got entangled in each other as their daughters were exchanged at the hospital when they were born and the drama that’s creating. But although I am learning bits and pieces about the Turkish culture and by now recognizing a few words and can pick the language if heard elsewhere, it still makes me feel kind of bad…

I am also watching what we would categorize as quality drama series. One hour a day. For my soul and senses. For my inspiration and joy. As an evening treat before the day turns to night. 

As I find my intellectual diet too poor I have started this year adding healthier ingredients. Paramparça is on a break so that helps. Instead I am watching conversations in cultural arts, philosophy and politics. Many times I am honestly more up for something less hard digested, but I am forcing myself to chew carrots instead of drinking Coke. Which, of course, feels very good afterwords. 

I am to a large degree lacking people my own age for reflecting conversations where I am using my mother tung to it’s fullest. On the other hand it’s a linguistic challenge to narrow down my sometimes luxuriant language to a level where I am easy to understand. Some of my wonderful home care personal are fairly new in Sweden and in the process of learning a language completely foreign to them. 

We are having mutual language lessons. This winter has been a good one for learning all the different words describing snow, cold and road conditions. And I am having my first opportunity getting aquatinted with Arabic phrases. We are chewing carrots and it’s such an intellectual satisfaction. And oh the joy when I am discovering some of the few Turkish words I have picked up during my guilt pleasure TV watching, show up in the little Arabic I have now learned! Ha!