text and images britt-arnhild
The winter has given us one storm after another. As I sit here typing this, early Saturday morning, all is quiet outside. Yesterday morning was different. The news were filled with car accident stories, several of them fatal. The funeral was outside Trondheim, near the coast, a 100km drive and a ferry ride away. On our way we passed several trucks which had driven into the ditch, hailstorms hit us and the roads were slippery. But Terje is an experienced driver. I felt safe all the way. Safe enough to chat comfortably, safe enough to listen to music, safe enough to take a nap.
With music filling the car I let my thoughts drift around old memories, and when Ola Bremnes sang about an old guitar of his, I was taken back to when I was 15 and got my own guitar. I played day and night, teaching myself, the world´s most charming boy taught me, but most of all I loved to listen to this boy, playing, singing. I was deeply in love. So was he. Both of us were too shy to say anything. Eyes meeting over his guitar spoke it all though. Once we went to a camp together. We played a kind of guessing game where we formed groups of two and two which had to walk around to different posts, answering questions. I was asked to sit guard at the last post, asking a question. The charming boy was asked to sit at the first one. When everybody had been at his post, he came over to sit with me. My heart beat like thunder. I was sure he must hear it when we sat there in the silence, waiting for people to come. Then one came and I had to ask the question which was written on the paper I had been given "who sat at the first post"
The boy and I looked at each other. All of us knew of course that he was the answer. And as long as he sat there with me, everybody would remember. We all laughed, though my heart cried when he rose and left. I so much wanted him to keep on sitting here, at the post under a huge fir tree. Just me and him.
Sitting safe in the car with Terje. On our way to a tear filled funeral. A heart filled with love for my husband through almost 32 years. The little girl I once was, the teenager in love, the young student waiting for life to unfold, the fresh mother filled with dreams, the middle aged woman safe and comfortable in the middle of a hail storm.
Thank you very much for sharing your tales on yesterday´s post.
BALISHA, your Christmas story toughed my heart deeply. We all have a lot to learn from it, a lot to pay forward. Thank you.
ANNA BLUEBELL , good luck with your memoires
Thank you IN THE SILENCE
NICCA, I love your stories from Venice. One day I hope we can meet, may be in......Venice :-)
GEMA, how lovely to have your childhood stories to bring with you through life. Thanks for sharing.
UP, thank you!!!!!! (a separate email is sent you), Readers, you should all go to UP´s blog to learn from him how to look at life with a smile though all its hardship.
MARTA B, that´s so funny :-) Poor driver.
ELY, thanks for commenting.
And the giveaway............
the handwritten letter........
Of course I can not chose just one of you. Send me your snail mail address and I will write you a letter.
