Britt-Arnhild's House in the Woods

Digging through the old piles

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
It is called spring cleaning, isn't it? This strong, primitive force that lead you to sharpen every pencil, sort though the drawer with paper napkins, reorganize your thousands of books (do I really have that many!), rewind old yarn skeins, handing Terje and old cloth while pointing to the dirty windows, sorting through stack after stack of papers.......

 
I am a collector. The stacks of papers are many and huge in The House in the Woods. Concert programs, letters, dentist bills, garden magazines, grocery shopping lists, passport........YES, there it is!, travel brochures, seed packets, newspaper clippings, lovenotes.......or actually one lovenote (from my lover of course - a yellow postcard he found in Copenhagen, with the words You and I = We).

The stacks are always growing. Precious memories can't be thrown away.

 

In one pile I find a handwritten book, almost a hundred years old. A kind of round robin written by grandmother Olga and her friends. Kind of a newspaper or magazine from a time when printed papers were scarce. A treasure. I struggle to read the oldfashioned letters.

In another pile I find a manuscript for an unpublished book. Almost finished.......

 

All of a sudden the spring cleaning is forgotten.

I have words to write, a manuscript to complete.

 
Photos: along the river Nidelven

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Travel memory from Syria, last autumn:

Arise and go into The Street Called Straight

"Arise and go into the street called Straight" The Acts 9,11. These were the words said by the Lord to Ananias when he wants Ananias to go out and find the blinded Saul, later to become Paul, or Paulus as we call him here in Norway. The first time I heard about the Street called Straight was in the Bible, but I had no idea this street still excist today. Then, a coupld of months ago, I found Damascus. Taste of a City by Rafik Schami and his sister Marie Fadel. As I told you yesterday, Rafik lives in Germany. His sister is still in Damascus and together, by the help of long phonecalls through a whole year, they wander the areas around the Street Called Straight together, he through his sister's words. Rafik shares their memories and talks in his book.

 
To visit the Street Called Straight was high up on my list when we finally arrived in Damascus by the end of our week. Saturday morning were spent sightseeing with our Syrian guide, we had lunch at a wonderful place near the Grand Mosque and then the guide took us to the bazaar and gave us 90 minutes to walk alone. Before leaving us in the middle of the bazaar he pointed out to a side street and said, "If you walk up here, the second street will be The Street Called Straight"

A friend and I decided to walk the 90 minutes together. First to buy Damascene table clothes, yes we did buy some great ones, but then we had no spesific plans "Why don't you come with me to The Street Called Satright" I said, "I so much want to see it, and hopefully we can find a coffee shop there where we can sit down"

We found the street easily enough. A busy shopping street, nothing at all how I had imagine The Street called Straight to be though, but........ We found a bench where we sat down and asked a man"Is there a coffee shop here?" There weas not.

Still I felt happy and content, I was in Damascus, I was inThe Street Called Straight. Life was good.

 
After a while we walked the street, up and down, just a little, but still, it was The Street Called Straight. Or was it not........

Back in the bazaar we still did not find a coffee shop, but ended up in a completely unromantic kind of place with plastic chairs and ugly tables. There we bought water and coke, and I dreamed of my cup of Arabian coffee. Time went fast, our 90 minutes were coming to an end, the whole week were coming to an end. We still had some Syrian money left and decided to buy scarves, my friend for his wife, I for myself. Back in the textile store where we had bought the table clothes there were hundreds of scarves. I fell in love with a soft one in silk, I wrapped it around my neck and both colour and texture made me feel like I was swimming in the Mediterranean Sea. Unfortunately I did not have enough money for it, instead I ended up with a second best beautiful scarf in pashmir and silk.

Later several things happened:

• our Norwegian guide who travelled with us told me that the street our Syrian guide had pointed out was not The Street Called Straight at all.....
• Preben in Denmark sent me a message: You have been to Damascus without telling me.......did you meet Amer? He has a shop on the corner of The Street Called Straight and the Annanias Street. Close to Baab Touma......
• I am back in Norway and dream of the ocean silk scarf

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I am glad I didn't make it to The Street Called Straight. I am glad I didn't meet Amer. I am glad I didn't buy the silk scarf.

Now I have three important reasons to go back to Syria.

Some day.

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And The Street Called Straight or not. I had a great afternoon.

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Photos: not from The Street Called Straight

The Rainbow Flowers and the Camellia

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
The rainbow play an important part during Lent for me. Readers of my book will know a lot about it, and if you have read my blog for some years you will also know some.

Lent has seven weeks, the rainbow has seven colours - one colour for each week.

The first week I planted paprika seeds, red, the second week tagetes, orange. Tiny plants are sprouting, sign of spring, of hope in all this falling snow. A couple of nights ago I decided it was time to buy more seeds, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.......I want the whole rainbow in my garden.

After coffee and the news at 7pm, Terje and I drove over to the closest garden center, packets of seeds and planting soil on our shopping list.

I gathered what I needed, and then we decided to walk around a little, enjoying, gathering ideas for The Blue Garden.........when we suddenly came to a rack of camellia plants! Camellias in Norway? Is that possible? The prize tag showed an almost impossible prize, but there was no way around. I simply had to have a camellia!

 

 I saw my first camellia in Copenhagen a few years ago, in Tage Andersen's shop, and was hooked there and then. I wrote blog posts about my passion, and one time a dear blog reader, Debbie in California, sent me a camellia seed (or is it called a nut?). I tried to plant it, without luck, and had to tell myself that camellias for me had to be enjoyed on travels, through photos, in my dreams.

Untill now. Just now there is a camellia blooming out in our hallway, hopefully the temepratures there are the best for it.

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A link to one of my posts from Tage Andersen's flower gallery in Copenhagen

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Two dear friends came to my mind in the garden center when I found the camellias - Debbie in California, Preben in Copenhagen who first showed me Tage Andersen's shop.

When we came home from the garden center the other night I opened my computer - to find a comment in my blog from Debbie. Coincidence?

This morning a message from Preben found its way to my heart from my facebook wall - the snowdrops have been blooming here in Copenhagen for a few weeks now. They remind me of you and Our Lord! Coincidence? (Why me and the Lord you might ask? :-) Well, that's about a legend I wrote, in Norwegian, about God giving colour to the snow with the help of the small snowdrops. The legend, printed and handsewn/binded was my Christmas gift to family and a few close friends last Christmas.)

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Today's memory post - socks and camellias in London February 2009

 

I packed three pairs of socks in my suitcase. And yarn for more sock. The first pair was given away already in Oslo, the second pair was meant for Roz, the third pair was for my friend Carol whom I met at Leicester Square Thursday afternoon, and with whom I spent a wonderful afternoon and evening browsing Covent Garden market, eating at Bella Italia, enjoying Phantom of the Opera.

I never met Roz, and I didn't want to bring the pair of socks with me back to Norway, so what to do? I knitted during the conference. One day one of the ladies came over to my table. "Your socks are so beautiful. I wish I had a pair. Then I could keep my feet warm when I work." "So please tell me, what do you do for working?" "I sell sausages outdoors, and it is so cold now with the snow we've had this winter." The second pair of socks got a new owner there and then.

   

I wanted to photograph the socks I knitted in London while I still was in London, but I kept on forgetting. All untill the last day, on my way to Paddington Station and the Heathrow Express. Struggling with a heavy suitcase, again I bought too many books, I passed a small square, Sussex Garden, and I knew it was my last possibility to photograph the socks. Businessmen on their way to work almost forgot to swallow their coffee on the go - a crazy woman in Sussex Gardens photographing socks! But nobody knew me, so I just kept on with my task......

Leaving the garden I saw a blooming rose bush near the gate. Roses in February? I took a closer look and relaised it wasn't roses at all. So what could it be? Can it be a Camelia? Debbie, please help me, is this a camelia?

I had to stop and find the socks once more. Socks in the camelia bush!

   

   

The Blue Garden

Text and photos Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
Beautiful in January, beautiful in February amd most of March. But now it is almost April.

Our backyard has been covered in snow since early November.

 
A pair of magpies are busy building a new home in on of our pinetrees.

As I look out my office window, it is snowing heavy! But the local weather forecast is promising no more snow from tomorrow.

Deep, deep in my heart I so much want to believe them.

 

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In the middle of the snow I am dreaming of India:

614 rock-cut steps

 

At 6.30 am we started our last adventure together, Vinay and I. With us was Yogi, the young boy who helps in the house. Our goal for the day was Sravanabelagola and Gomateshvara Statue.

 

"The 17,5 m-high statue of the Jain deity Gomateshvara, said to be the world's tallest monolithic statue, is visible long before you reach the pilgrimage of the town of Sravanabelagola. Viewing the statue close up is the main reason for heading to this sedate town, whose name means 'the Monk of the White Pond'. The statue's simplicity and serenity is in complete contrast to the complexity and the energy of the sculptural work at the Belur and Halebid temples", South India, Lonely Planet.

 

" The statue was commissioned by a military commander in the service of the Ganga king Rachamalla and carved out of granite by he sculptor Aristenemi in AD 981. Bahubali's father was the great Emperor Vrishabadhadeva, who became the first Jain tirthankar (revered Jain teachet), Adinath. Bahubali and his brother Bharatha competed fiercely for the right to succed their father but, on the point of victory, Bahubali realised the futility of the struggle and renounced his kingdom. He withdrew from the material world, entered the forest and meditated in complete stillness untill he attained enlightenment. The statue has vines curling around his legs and an ant hill at his feet, signs of his utter detachment. The gallery around his statue has many smaller images of Jain tirthankars" . South India, Lonely Planet.

 

"You must leave your shoes at the foot of the hill......Those who prefere not to tackle the steps can hire a dholi with bearers for Rs 150" South India, Lonely Planet.

  

It would have been fun to be carried, but of course I walked, fit as a fiddle;-) And had alot of fun doing that. Then you can stop, when you need to get your breath back, and there are always someone else who need to catch thier breath also and you can make friends,

 

or you can share a good laugh when a small boy comes running up like a puppie, making delighted noises.

 

India is filled with adventures, and I am filling up my adventure chest.

 

To make the best of what you have

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
You always have a choice. You can lay down, cover yourself in your eiderdown duvet, hibernate and despair......or you can always look at the bright side of life.

When it comes to snow, snow and more snow I tend to do the first, though I strive, I really do, to find some bright sides.

 
You, my dear blog readers, are the best in offering help. Like yesterday - it started with Fran's words; I hope soon, you will see the snow give way to those beautiful blue scillas which bloom outside your cathedral...hold on, for Spring is surely on her way to you:)

I read Elizabeth's haiku:

Will you never end?
You interminable cold
I wish you would go....

and love it......and smile when I continue with Laura's words:

Have faith... to everything there is a season.

Before we got 6 more inches of snow last week, I could see the tips of the day lilies next to the house peeking out of the ground. The plants know Spring is coming. The days (and the icicles) are getting longer!

Yes, Laura, you are so right, days and icicles are getting longer, but today again it is snowing so hard here!

 

I was downtown Saturday morning, first shopping with Marta, then we met Torgeir over at the old antiquarian and had coffee. We decided to stay indoors, though with outdoors tables, sofas and chairs like this, we were almost tempted to grab a blanket and have hot chocolate outside.

 

Indoor was our correct choice though. Don't you agree?

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I am trying to find an old post with the cathedral park coloured in blue scillas (the one Fran mentioned), but I am unable to find it.

A postcard from summer Trondheim to the first one to find it........

....Thank you Pene. I'll find a beautiful postcard for you :-)

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A blue walk to celebrate the new path (from april 2009)

 

The diocese board had a meeting yesterday, and I got the new job. Well, partly a new job. I will still be a deacony adviser, but I am now also the leader of my section. A big hurray for me :-)

To celebrate I did a walk in the Cathedral park, the one I see from my office window. Do you want to do the walk with me? Come on then.

 

My office window can be seen.......

 

 

 

 

Losing Faith.......

Copyright Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
I am losing faith in spring..........

....will winter last forever......

 
I play Vivaldi's Spring.....

.....but it doesn't help one single snowflake.....

 

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I am trying to dream myself into summer......all I end up with is snow, snow and more snow:

(from July 2009)

 

Take care, a snowball is on its way.......

We are spending this week at our cabin. From Røisheim to the cabin there is about 400km + three ferries. No autostradas but narrow roads up and down, along fjords, the most amazing hairpin bends, steep mountains.......you name it. My camera was busy all day.

 

On Strynefjellet,The Stryn Mountain, we stopped for some photos of me in the snow, then only a minute later we were met by this panorama. I was hooked. Have you ever seen beauty like this?

 

Let's take a detour up on top of Dalsnibba, Terje suggested. Dalsnibba is 1400meters right up from Geiranger Fjord. I had no objections.

 

The road down to Geiranger, can you see it:

 

Geiranger is very popular among tourists from all over the world. Most of them are coming by ships in the narrow, spectacular fjord.

The day we visited, the cruiseship Jewel in the Crown by Royal Caribbean was there.

 

 

From Geiranger there were sevaral more ups and downs, and then we came to Trollstigen, The Troll Stairs.

 

 

Late we arrived at the cabin. Here we are enjoying long, hot, sunny days where the most serious task of the day is to watch the rosebuds unfold.......

.....or to make a salad for supper

 

More posts from Western Norway:

A Beautiful Garden

Selja

More from Selja

The old wooden hotel at Hjelle

The start of a journey

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Or a Norwegian crazy for snow, all year:

(still July 2009)

 

In several souvenir shops we've visited I've seen the book "50 crazy things to do in Norway". Crazy thing #51 was the prize of the book, so I didn't buy it, though I would love to have it.....

......but really, I don't need his book. I can make my own list!

 

On our way down from Dalsnibba (see yesterday's post), Terje suddenly stopped the car. "What is it now?" I asked. Terje didn't even look at me, opened the door, ran out and shouted: "Look at all this lovey snow. I want to have a run......"

 

I grabbed my camera and ran after him.

Crazy husband!

 

I really believe that my crazy husand is kind of looking forward to winter, and skiing......Mysef, I dream of 7 years with midsummer days.

 

Norwegians are born with skis on their feet. In Norway there are polar bears walking around.

'

What is the craziest thing you know about Norway and Norwegians?

How long will our list of crazy things become?

 

Symphony of a Thousand, Gustav Mahler

The concert from last night fills me today, and will, for a long time

 

I was in heaven. Do you know that music in heaven gives you goosebumps.

 

I just searched YouTube and found a lot of Mahler there. Here is part of Mahler's Symphony of a Thousand, the 8th Symphony

 

Complete, with good help

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 

The entrance and the hallway are now both finished. Terje has done a marvellous job with the handwork, the walls, the floor, all the small details.

The 100 years old dresser has been standing in the garage for years, exposed to heath, cold, dryness and humidity, and it took Terje days to work on the drawers to make them glide smothly in and out. The old mirror was broken, but we have had a new one made in the old artful way. One of the handles was broken as well.

 
At first we didn't quite know what to do with the broken handle, but then I remembered - down at Bakklandet, the old part of Trondheim, there is a small basement shop selling bric-a-bracs, nothing and everything. "You know Den gamle krambod" I told Terje, "I've never been in there, but I often pass the charming entrance and widows on my photo walks. If we shall be able to find a "new" old handle at all, it must be there"

 

The first time I came there, Den gamle krambod was closed, a sign on the door announcing its opening hours to be on Wednesdays from 16 till 19.

 
The coming Wednesday I was on the road somewhere. Terje went down to order a handle, and came home with charming stories to tell about this amazing basement. He had ordered two handles, to have one extra. They would be ready in a week, for me to pick up.

 

The next week I was there at the correct time, and could hardly get out again. Too much to see, too many stories to read, too many dreams to dream :-)

 

...

 
...

 
At last, at long, long last, I came home with the handle.......and the memories of histories told in a small bric-a-brac basement shop.

 
And now the hallway is complete.........

 

......and my handyman is busy with other projects.

 
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Writing this post took me down Memory Lane, to Prague in November 2009:

"Hey, what is she up to now?" I guess you are asking. "This can't be Britt-Arnhild's Prague?????"

No, it is not. It really isn't. It is Prague though, but not the Prague I know.

It was during the rainy day. I was starting to get wet, I felt cold. I had spent time among Alphons Mucha's art, I had sat for a long time in an oldfashined coffee house. It was time to do something new. Something different.

"Why don't you surprise yourself" I thought. I looked around to see if I could get any ideas.....

And there it was. A huge, glittering shopping mall. Thousands of sparkling lightbulbs. I had never rested my eyes on them before, as this is not what I watch for when I travel. But now I wanted to do something new. I walked in. It felt like walking into an alien world. Out in space. Glamour, lights, windows and mirrors everywhere. I walked around, up and down escalators, afraid to get lost.......No map to help me if I did.

Believe me, this is really not where I go if I have time at hand. But travelling is about exploring new territory, isn't it. As I walked on I knew that the other ladies in my group would have been thrilled to visit this shopping heaven. But I was alone and I felt lost. Though I did enjoyed the expedition.

I didn't go into one single store though, well, at least not untill I found:

L'Occitane.....this wonderful chain which sells cosmetics from Provence. Cosmetics which even I can use without any allergic reactions. Suddenly I remembered that I needed a handcream.

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For me the visit to the mall turned out like a surprise, like a treat. I loved it, though I am not sure if I'll feel the need to visit again if I ever go back to Prague. If I do it must be to show Ingrid and Marta :-)

Have you surprised yourself lately?

Done something unexpected?

The Medieval Church

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

The old medieval church is built close to where King Olav, later Saint Olav, died in 1030. The old stones have stories to tell for ears listening.

A heavy, wet snowstorm is visitng my part of the world. I love it when the weather show her force, and during a break I wrap myself up in some suitable clothing and go out for a long walk......to breathe snowflakes, to wet my hair, to refresh my brain.

A message on my cell phone from Ingrid about the Huntington boots she is dreaming about, a few messages between her, me and her pappa, and soon she is the happy owner of lifesaving boots (you really need boots like these to walk though our winters)

 

The old medieval church is closed. I have been inside before, today I look upon the stone walls, the spire, the old roof......and I know, deep inside, that I am part of history.

With a lifted spirit I walk back to the hotel where I am staying, to the meeting I am attending.

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Travels then. Travels now, from June 2010:

 

I have been reading Daughter of the Desert this week, about the remarkable life of Gertrude Bell. I always read with a pen in my hand, and have been underlining sentences through the book. For exemple about her packing, and what she brough with her on her desert expeditions. Not only clothes and food, but a bed, furniture, a bath, china, crystal, silver, a library. Not to forget her camera and the many plates for photos.

We took the girls on a drive yesterday, I guess many of you will recognise these houses from last summer. The girls were busy with their cameras, shooting hundred of photos, and I had to think of Gertrude Bell and her photographing. She took throusands during her expeditions around 100 years ago. She used to bring with her two cameras, they must have been heavy! And then the plates and the work to develope the shots!

Gertrude was a remarkable travel writer. Finding a place to stay in Baghdad in 1917......she put up her two writing desks and filled all her vases with flowers.....

 
......she rented a house in Mount Carmel, filled the room with mimosa, jasmine and wild  flowers, and did her lessons on the diningroom table under a chandelier in which there was a nest, the birds constantly flying in and out of the open window.....

I have filled my father in law's diningroom table with my computer and my books, like I have done for all the 30+ summers I've been here. I can't actually say I am having my lessons, like Gertude did when she studied Arabic. I do my blogging though, I write letters to friends worldwide, I write and I read. (And I DO plan to start learning Italian in the fall.....) Or may be I CAN say that I am having my lessons........I have started to study Rebecca West's Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, a brick stone of a book  about the former Yugoslavia. I am preparing for our upcoming trip to Croatia in August.

Like Gertrude Bell I bring a lot of books when I travel. More so this time as we are travelling by car and I have no limits. Gertrude had some books she always brought with her in her travel library. Like a complete Shakespeare.

My New Testament always travel with me, and in the summer my books about old wooden hotels of Norway. Herodotus should go with me on every trip, though I forgot it this time.......

It feels good to travel today. Convenient. And it feels lovely to dream myself 100 years back in time, going along on a camel on one of Gertrude Bell's desert crossings.

Thank you Marta for your photos.

Happy travels.

 

Ducks and snow and a tale somewhere

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
From the wooden pedestrian bridge I watched with a bird's eye. The ducks were playing in the fresh river water, licking up snowflakes, trying to pass on a story to the silver hair woman who always search for words, for tales, always search for the key to the world of fantasies.

 

The ducks looked up at the woman, then swam around, making patterns for her to interpret.

A pattern for a necklace, a living rosary, colourlines to paint a long winter.....

 

Come into our circle, put your swords down, let your thoughts rest......we have room for you, we have time for you, we have joy for you.......

 

I played for the better part of a long time. Then, when the ducks kissed me goodbye, I turned, with wet hair and the first tunes of a new song in my heart. Then I walked home to bake bread.

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Alhambra in August, a couple of years ago:

Some books follow me. I read them again and again, I bring them with me, I read parts and pages, or I just know they are there, somewhere in my shelves. A Year in the World by Frances Mayes is one of them. With Frances I have travelled all over Europe, mostly from my armchair, but also from time to time with the book in my backpack. Through Frances I learned about Federico Garcia Lorca, and reading her book, I armchair walked to Granada and through La Alhambra for the first time. Years before I actually came here myself.

When I came to La Alhambra last week, I brought people with me, in my mind and heart - Frances Mayes, Lorca, Robert Irwin.... Through their words they had given me an image of the place. Created images are not like the real thing though........the atmosphere, the architecture, the people, the gardens, the scents, the heath, the noises, the water......and of course the colours. Now I met it all, in real life.

Outside the gates we were met by our guide, Spanish, still she spoke a very charming Norwegian. She has lived in Norway a winter as an exchange student, some 20+ years ago. Vividly, fascinatingy, she took us through La Alhambra, for three hours leading us through centuries of history.

As the guide tells us about the Moors, Isabella and Fernando, the Nasrids.......I hear Frances Mayes' words; As we learn about the Alhambra and gardens, what fascinates me most is how art was so closely connected to living. Through the decorative - interior design and landscape design - the entire panoply of Moorish art is displayed....

....We walk as they lived, with the sound of water, soothing to us and to the ears of desert people....

Robert Irwin wrote The Alhambra, first published in 2004. He compares Alhambra to an Arabian fairy tale palace, and quotes The Tale of the King's Son and the She-Ghoul from The Arabian Nights. He continue to talk about The Alhambra looking like a Hollywood version of an oriental palace.....and, indeed, both the Court of the Myrtles and the Court of the Lions have been used as sets in Ray Harryhausen's Sinbad films.

I've read somewhere that there are about 6000 tourists waking through La Alhambra on an average day. Somehow it never felt cramped, or too busy during our walk. May be because all I could concentrate on were the stories the guide told, and the atmosphere of the place itself. It was easy to lock out everything else.

Let us continue with Frances Mayes: ......cool off in the Courtyard of Myrtles, beside a long pool and low stone basin of gurglin water. These fountains and courtyards invite strolling, reading Rumi, sipping jasmine tea. They also bounce their light into the surrounding rooms, glazing the tiles and mottling the walls with wavering shadows. For those who lived their daily lives here, the light, the temperature, even their skin was changed by the wet-watercolor reflections from the fountains and channels.

I could go on and on showing you photos, sharing words.....

One book I've been trying to buy, but not succeeded, is Washington Irving's The Alhambra from 1851. Robert Irwin write that Hans Christian Andersen carefully studied Irving's narrative technique.....the tale of the Arab astrologer in Irving's book was retold in Pushkin's folk poem The Golden Cockerel (1835) and.....the artist David Roberts was moved to visit the Alkhambra after reading Irving.

What about you? Are you moved to visit by now, or do you need more?

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Fresh snow in March

Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland

 
The first snow came in November, it is still winter, and fresh snow came again on Saturday. I try, really try with all I have, to live what I learn.......look for beauty, collect colours.......

...and lover of long winters or not, both you and I have to admit that newfallen snow in March, in the wee hours of a week-end morning, in the old part of the most beautiful city in the world...

......yes, it is beautiful.

 

It is a habit now, in The House in the Woods, on Saturday mornings.......Marta still in bed sleeping like only teenagers do during week-end mornings, Terje and I having a long breakfast.....then I ask, always very innocently, always crossing my fingers under the table, hoping to another answer......."what are your plans for today? do you want to come with me downtown?........ Terje looking at me, looking out the window, looking at me again......taking his time........"You know I would love to come with you, but the weather is so nice, the ski tracks are perfect, do you mind if I go skiing today?"

 
I don't mind.......well, most week-ends I don't mind.......usually, most of the time, I am perfectly well and content with my own company. Then I can take the time I want to enjoy an old stone and iron table clothed in snow, I can walk exactly the detours I want, I can stop for coffee when I want and as often I want, only paying for one;-).......

 
Then, after one hour, two hours, three hours.......I go home, tired feet, fresh words in my diary, dozens of photos, bread, cheese, may be some fish from the fish market, a cd with classic music, (a new cd is my week-end flower bouquet,I am allergic to most flowers and instead of missing the colourful bouquets I used to buy for the week-ends, I now fill the livingroom with music).....and make lunch for us. Marta is happy because she could sleep in, Terje is happy because he has had a lovely time cross country skiing......I am happy because I am ME .......

 
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Though some days I do mind. Some days I miss walking hand in hand, exploring our city together.

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My birthday is coming up, in less than three weeks....on a Sunday. I know what I want for my birthday present.........walking hand in hand on a Saturday morning.....

.....I've already told Terje about my wish.

Now I must wait and see what happens.....

 

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Travel memory from a hand in hand-walk in Krakow

"Now I am here, in Krakow, where my life began. I stand on my small balcony, looking out over the Vistula, ready for my morning walk.

It is spring, a mild and sunny day, with the gentle, filtered light of the Old World........I usually walk along Planty Park, sometimes stopping to sit on a bench for a while......

 
A few weeks ago I found two interesting books at the bookshop at Oslo Airport. Both were by Linda Olsson. I started to read the first one, Astrid & Veronica right away (on the train up to Lillehammer) and knew alresady after the first few pages that I had found a treasure. It took only a couple of days to finished the book, and I decided to save the next one for our upcoming travel to Krakow. On the plane down to Krakow I was busy reading The Trumpeter of Krakow, but finally it was time to start my next Linda Olsson; Sonata for Miriam. I opened the book and started to read........now I am here, in Krakow.......

I almost fell down from the bench where I was sitting.......here, in Krakow.

The Planty is several gardens, shaped like a horse shoe surrounding the old part of Krakow. Nice to walk at all times of the day. We prefered the quiet of the early mornings, the light of the fading days.

The Planty gardens were created back in the 1820ies, and along the walk you can still see foundations of the original city walks.

Everywhere there are benches. Everywhere you can sit down, to read Linda Olsson, to watch life, to be quiet.

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