Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

A Night to Remember

                                                                                                                                                                         I am making my studio desk a table for birthday gifts. Last night I gathered all the gifts I already got back in April, and in the middle of the desk is a small book sending out a flood of memories - the program for the opera La Nozze di Figaro.

Visiting Copenhagen a few weeks ago on business, I wanted a couple of extra pleasure days. My good friend Preben invited me to stay with him, and in an email he asked me what I wanted to do on Saturday night.

"A night in the opera" I wrote back. "Are you serious" Preben replied "I am not actually an opera fan. What about a ballett instead? I know of a few good ones. Or a concert? I love classical music."

But I was sure, my dream was to go to the opera, with or without Preben.

A few days later I got another email from Preben. "I have our tickets. I will be going with you to Figaro. A friend have told me that the music will be good actually, so I have started to look forward to the performence :-). And don't send money for the tickets, this is my birthday present for you!"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       There is no need to tell that the night was a huge success, is there?

Last week was Prebens birthday. I bought him a double cd and mailed it down to Copenhagen. Which cd you ask? Oh, can't you guess.......

Sorrow and joy they walk hand in hand.

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Joy and sorrow they walk hand in hand.

Terje and I take a break in our party praparations to go to a funeral.

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A beloved husband, father, grandfather and great grandfather has reached the last step and was welcomed by His Creator.

Photo: roses and quilt in The Blue Garden

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Another sorrow last night was to read about the death of Tasha Tudor. She has been of great inspiration to me for many years.

I'll be singing in the rain

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The weather forecast is generously promising us rain on Satuday. The garden party will be a water party, and we'll be singing in the rain. When gaz prizes go wild in Norway we still have waterfall energy!

Note: the small "booklet" of songs and a series of photos of me is finished. I am having so much fun :-)

Photos: Marta photographing waterfalls last summer.

Writing lists. Anticipation. Enjoying myself..-with update

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With a huge rosemug filled with mint tea (fresh leaves from the garden, picked a minute ago), I am having my early breakfast out on my new kitchen veranda. The veranda is facing west so there is no morning sun here, but I am too busy to care. My diary lays opened on the pink table quilt,  I am writing lists. Long lists, short lists, creative lists, lists of names......and in between writing I find myself pausing in long moments of anticipation.

I have taken today off to start baking for The Party. Friends will bring cakes so there is only a couple I will bake myself, and a barbeque doesn't need much baking, but the house will be filled with houseguests and I want to fill the freezer with pastries for long breakfasts, a Sunday picnic to Tautra, late suppers.

I write one list of pastries I want to make, another list is a grocery list, one contains the names of the guests and I feel pleasure fill my body and mind when I try to decide what to say about each of guests (dear friends and family) during my presentation of them. One list is a concert program, the party will start at 4pm on Saturday with a concert performed by my mother and brother and several friends. There will be piano, viola, a trompet and alot of singing. Later in the evening the viola might even play some folksong music fit for dances. Another lists is of songs we mights sing, yet another contans games we might play.

I have had a few nights lately when I couldn't sleep, worrying about all there is to do to make a party for 60, with food and all. But now when I am in the middle of it I feel deeply that I enjoy every minute. I feel blessed. I am 50, I have a loving husband and the best kids in the world, a wonderful group of friends, a job I love, the best colleagues imaginable, nice neighbours........and on Saturday they will all be here to celebrate ME!

Photo: Marta started baking cup cakes last night. She will make one for every guest,creatively decorating them the way only she can master.

It is some time since I updated my Blog of the Week now. Here is a link to Maryam in Marrakesh, a very interesting blog from a very interesting city.

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Three different types of pastries are now filling the fridge, I have started the ehuburb lemonade which will take two days to finish and Marta is making more and more and more cup cakes. In between I have squeezed a couple of hours of gardening. Saturday is coming closer.

After a sunny morning it has now started to rain. It is time to start working on the list of songs we will sing.

Only one week till school vacation

                                                                                       Photos: Marta playing with her cousins.

Think of the long trip home.......

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Think of the long trip home___should we have stayed at home and thought of here?___Where should we be today___Is it right to be watching strangers in a play___in this strangest of theatres?___What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life___in our bodies, we are determined to rush___to see the sun the other way round___

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The poem is lines from Elizabeth Bishop's Questions of Travel from 1965.

It is Sunday morning and the blue table in the garden has a pile of travel books.I am dreaming. Travels gone, travels coming, travels in mind and in dreams, but most of all; travels in litterature.

Herodotus: Histories is on top of the pile, followed by Ruszard Kapuscinski's Travels with Herodotus. The Sunday is sunny, the Sunday is mine. The Sunday is to be filled with words and dreams of travels.

No problem, Mom.

One week left till the big garden party and the house needs deep cleaning. I phoned my two boys a few days ago. "Can you give me three hours of your time to help clean the house on Saturday?" "No problem, Mom, we are coming. Can you make us a nice dinner then?"

The boys will soon be here and the house will burst with activities. I plan to make Italian pizza for dinner.

Do you ever pick wild blueberries in your woods?

     Constance's (Rochambeau) question yesterday sent me down memory lane. "Do you ever pick wild blueberries in our woods?"

We do, oh, yes we do! Actually wild blueberries are the only blueberries we have here in Norway. Some garden centers try to sell cultivated blueberry plants from time to time, calling the berries American Blueberries, but they never sell well. And why should they when our woods are filled with wild ones, which is smaller and much, much sweeter.

"Båbæ" (for blåbær/blueberries) is the first word I learned to say, the year At the age of 15 months, sitting in the middle of blueberry land, picking one and one berry from a straw, all I could think of was to get one more into my blue little mouth.

      I have posted about blueberries several times, the first time was back in 2005, the first year of The House in the Woods. And blueberries were again a theme the following summer, this time in connection with Frances Mayes (you'll have to read the post to see the connection.....)

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I am looking through old photos these days, to find photos to illustrate the songs we will be singing during the garden party next Saturday. A few days ago I came over these two "mother and children" taken 18 years ago, Ingrid was one, Øystein was 6 and Torgeir was 8. The young mother was.......much younger than she is today.........

After the storm

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The sun surprised me last night and blew away the rain. It didn't take me long to change to an old pair of jeans and a black swether (it was still cold). I put my feet into my old, worn garden boots and the gardener was ready.

The white peonies have seen their best days, but I found that most flowers around the garden had used the last days's opportunity to drink greedily from the cold water sent them directly from heaven (the Norwegian word for heaven and sky is the same - himmel). Now they raised their arms to praise the sun and to praise life, letting me know and sense that their main purpose of life is to bring joy.

Blow a wish.

.     The dandelions are overtaking my lawn. My eyes tend to look at them as weeds, but then I remember they are part of God's creation. They are beautiful. And I can blow a wish. Yes, with the hundreds I have I can blow enough wishes for a lifetime.

Come, blow with me. Let us make a common wish for an end of all powerty around the world, and let the wish make us start with ourselves, to start with sharing. Are you in?

I need a dandelion reminder every year. Here is the one from last June.