text and image britt-arnhild
When I was 15 I got my own guitar. I sat in my room in the evenings, on my bed, teaching myself to play. I was in love with a guitar player, the most charming boy in town. I sang love songs. I dreamed.
The boy left my life. So did the guitar.
Yesterday we had a Christmas lunch with my colleague, and all of a sudden I found myself playing a guitar again. Singing. With the other women. A song we had made specially for our male colleagues. My fingers were stiff, it must be more than 30 years since they have touched a guitar. But they followed the tune. And as we sang, as we played, my mind wandered back to my 15 year old self. Her beautiful, rose coloured, in love - life.
I knew nothing of the 53 year old Britt-Arnhild then.
Or did I?
