Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

Sunday in Trondheim 4

Our Sunday walk ended in a gallery where we on impulse bought this framed print. It is called Land and made by the Swedish artist Bertil Hansson, now living in Provence.

Just a very short blog today as I am up north at Saltstraumen, posting this from the hotel computer.

Sunday in Trondheim 3

I have lived in Trondheim almost all my life, and belive that I know the city. To experience anything new I must travel. 

Last Sunday showed me how wrong I have been. There are small and bigger new treasures almost around every corner, also here in the city so well known to me. After our harbour and parkwalk it was time for a coffe and a snack, and near the Ilen park we found a café, new to us, Café Filter. Charming interior, caffe latte which will be put on my top 10 list, the most yummy chocolate filled pastry.

Sunday in Trondheim 2

I am attrackted to statues, and have a huge collection of photos of statues from my travels. It is often easy to forget to take photos from uour own neighbourhood, but Sunday I had a good opportunity to do so. After our harbour walk continued our walk in the Ilen park, a small but beautiful recreation area.

This mother and child statue is among my favorites. I love the splashing of water on the little girl, and how the mother is there to watch over her, seeing to that the daughter's life is safe though playful.

King Sverre is watching over his beloved city.

Sunday in Trondheim 3 will follow tomorrow.

Sunday in Trondheim 1

A Sunday walk in Trondheim can give perfect images. Come with me for a walk at Skansen.

These photos was taken this morning, in between watching our daughter play handball. Sunday in Trondheim 2 will follow tomorrow.

Shine your light!

Long summer days are gone, darkness creaps into our nights, and stars are again visible in the night sky.

Our candles and candleholders which have been tucked away during the summer months ,find their way to tables and windowsills.

Candles burning have different meanings. I lit a candle tonight for the leaders of the christian and the islamic world. God, give them wisdom to make the right desicions, God, give them wisdom to say the right words. God ,give them your love. God, give us all your eternal love to be the pencils in your hands.

Colette.

Colette is the pseudonym of Sidonie-Cabrielle Colette, born in Burguny in France in 1873, died in 1954.

I had never heard of this writer untill a few years ago when I found her mentioned in Frances Mayes's book Bella Tuscany. I didn't take much notice then, Mayes gives so much great information there has never been enough time for me to check it all out. But in her new book. A Year in the World, almost a whole chapter is "dedicated" to Colette, and my curiosity was trigued.

I wrote down Colette's name in a small moleskin I have where I keep a list of intereting books I want to read, and not long after that Colette was again mentioned; this time at a yahoo group where I belong - Women Writers Through the Ages. The group will read and discuss Colette later this year, and this was the opportunity I needed. I "went" straight over to amazon and ordered two of Colette's books. One has not arrived yet, but Vagabond came a couple of weeks ago. I have almost finished the book, and though new and unknown to me, this is a writer I want to read more of.

I always read with both my eyes and my hand, always with a pen or a pencil in my right hand to underline phrases, words and sentences I want to go back to. I love lines in my books, I don't mind dog ears, books are for usage, not for decorations. The Vagabond already has got alot of blue lines, and will get more as I reread. Here are a few "golden lines" I want to share with you:

Me. As the word came into my head, I involuntarily looked in the mirror. There's no getting away from it, it really is me there behind that mask of purplish rouge, my eyes ringes with a halo of blue grease-paint beginning to melt. Can the rest of my face be going to melt also? What if nothing were to remain from my whole reflection but a streak of dyed colour struck to the glass like a long, muddy tear?

To write, to be able to write, what does it mean? It means spending long hours dreaming before a white page, scribbling unconsciously, letting your pen play round a blot of ink and nibble at a half-formed word, scratching it, making it bristle with darts and adorning it with antennae and paws untill it looses all resemblance to a legible word and turns into a fantastic insect or a fluttering creature half butterfly, half fairy.........

and a favorite of mine:

"She's made of steel!" No, she is merely made 'of woman' - and that is enough.

The photo os the front cover of my one and only Colette so far.

Practice makes the chef!

10 year old Marta wants to be a chef. And she loves practicing. Her dad has been away all week, and will be coming home tonight. And this afternoon she wanted to make something special for him for his supper. He comes after she has gone to bed (school tomorrow), so I will be the lucky one to eat with him :-)

After some planning she decided to make these breads, we call them "horn". They are filled with ham and cheese, and are a favorite in The Blue Café , and touched by no other than 10 year old hands, they taste extra good. Then, when the horn were finished, it was time to make a flower decoration - daddy will for sure know that he has been missed :-)

Time given

Time is not mine to control. Sometimes a day slips out of my hands, sometimes I am given an extra second, an extra hour, and extra day.

Time is surrounding me, and precious are the moments when I can sit down for reflexions. Sit down to let my mind find it's own way down the river of life, let my mind wander, let my mind rest.

Tonight is a night of time given. I was supposed to pack for a two day's trip up north to Tromsø, for a conference. I was looking forward to this trip and to this conference. But plans have had to be changed, and instead I have been given extra time for reflexions, but more important| - extra precious time to spend with my youngster, which is in need of my time right now.....

But now she is in bed, so tonight the time is MINE.

Heirloom beauties.

Our home is filled with a mismatch of things and styles. I love decorating, but my style is truly my own. Books take a huge part, and so does quilts. Travel memories, plants, board games, knitting kits old furniture, ......you find it all.

Among the favorite pieces I own though, are family heirlooms. China, silver, bed linen, old letters and notebooks, crafts, a violin, a few frames and photos......it all remind me of a long line of dear grandmothers and grandfathers who helped me get to where I am, be ME.

I have very strong memories of my two beautiful grandmothers. Quite different personalities as they were, they both have given me their best, and it is now my responsibility to live it out, the love and beauty they both gave without bondaries. I miss them. I would like to sit down to chat, about their childhood, their youth, their prime, their adult lives.I would like to learn more about their cooking skills, their sewing skills, and to tell them how thankful I am for what they payed forward to me, which I now am paying forward to my kids and will be paying forward to generations to come.

Thank you grandma Olga, Thank you grandma Ragna.

The photo is showing part of a table cloth crocheted by grandma Ragna, now owned my my mother.

Five years after.

I suppose that we all remember what we did on September 11th five years ago. I had a meeting at work, and will never forget how one of the people in the meeting got a phonecall and how he asked us all to come with him and check the computer, and then, when we understood this was really happening, we found a television, turned it on and sat there wordless, not believing what we saw. My ten year old Marta has a clear vision of what she did that day, even remembering where she sat when she watched television (we have moved since then).

Just a couple of days after 11th September I flew down to Eritrea to spend two weeks with our friendship group there. People had heard of what happened to the Twin Towers in New York, but it was so far from their life it didn't influence them much. Their lives were filled by the ongoing war and conflicts with Ethiopia, the drought which came back year after year, water supply problems....

An important perspecive. We shall never forget September 11th, and in deep respect for the people who died, and the firemen giving their life that day, I try to spend today in reflecting silence, praying for peace. At the same time I also remember my friends in Eritrea and what they have to struggle each and every day. One of my Eritrean friends, Mr. Zere, member of the Trondheim-Keren Friendship comitee came to Trondheim yesterday to stay here for a month. Tonight we are having a welcome party for him here at "the blue café", and while making waffler and "trollkrem" for the party, I will pray for the Eritrean people, and I will pray for the world after September 11th.