So here is 2010...

Taking a walk around Blogland during the shift from 2009 to 2010 leaves me reading numerous posts on Holiday celebration recaps, different kinds of summaries of 2009 and ambitiously formed resolutions and goals for 2010.

If I were to write about my Holiday celebrations I'd mention the fancy iron I got from my parents and how it makes ironing shirts almost - note the almost - a pure pleasure. I'd mention how much I enjoy the company of my family and relatives on my mother's side. I'd mention the fact that I got to celebrate a white Christmas as we had snow on the ground!

If I were to summarize my 2009, I'd probably mention a couple of knitting and sewing projects I've made. I'd mention my two major vacation trips; Canada and the US in February/March as well as Italy in September/October. I'd mention changes at work. I'd maybe mention my cats and their adventures.

But my thoughts aren't in 2009. Nor 2010.

I've started yet another attempt at tackling The Writing Project. And yes, it's "tackling". It's tough. I'm doing things a bit differently this time around though. My research is different. The choice of format for my words is different. And I'm bringing back memories differently as well. In the last six weeks or so I've spent time every day with diaries and letters and emails I wrote (and received) from 2001 to mid-2004.

It exhausts me as this period of my life was much like an emotional roller coaster.

But I find it necessary as I during these years spent a lot of time reflecting on the aspects of my life that I'm focusing on in my Writing Project. 'Cause yes, I'm using my own experiences here.

And if I were to make resolutions and goals for 2010, like so many others in Blogland have done, I'd either end up with a list too long or too short to take seriously. I know myself well enough to recognize that...

Keeping sickness and illness from one's family

I met my mother yesterday for a fika before my knitting group met up. She told me about seeing one of her friends/former colleagues, who were diagnosed with chronic cancer a couple of years ago. (To my understanding it means that her cancer is always present, but that it sometimes goes from taking a nap to being wide awake.) She's in treatment at the moment as her cancer decided to move into her liver and kick around in there.

At her latest doctor's appointment she was given good news about the treatment. The tumour had shrunk by one third. Hearing this my mother had asked how her friend's husband had reacted to the good news. She was told that the husband only heared it after the appointment was over "as he was waiting outside". This surprised my mother and she asked why he wasn't in there with her seeing the doctor. The response she got was "well, he prefers not seeing the doctors with me as he's not good with handling bad news and is really struggling with me being sick again".

They've been married for 30 years. And he's not in there to see the doctors. 'Cause "he's struggling".

This got me and my mother wondering how my mother's friend behaves when she's given bad news from her doctors. Is she sparing him the details? Does she deal with the pain, the anxiety and the worrying on her own?

I had a colleague who lost her father a couple of years ago. He had found out that he had some kind of kidney problem but he chose not to tell a soul. He got sicker and sicker but pretended everything was fine. And then he ended up in hospital and died two days later. Leaving his whole family in shock as they didn't have much or any time at all to prepare for what would come.

A woman I met while studying in Canada kept her disease a secret from her family while she was fighting it. Her family was on a different continent, several time zones away. She didn't want to worry them and she didn't want them to persuade her to come home. She wasn't done with Canada. And she knew she'd probably get better treatment there as well. But without her family close by.

I know of several people who've kept depressions from their families and friends. Who've struggled on their own. Sometimes letting it go so far that they end up in hospital before saying something.

What makes people do this? Why do they think they're sparing others when they keep sickness and illness to themselves? When they decide to go in battle on their own? Or when they decide to give up without support?

Do family, relatives and friends deserve to know when one gets sick? Do they have a right?

I don't know.

But I know I'd get mad as hell if any of my family members kept a serious disease or condition from me and I found out. I might thank them for wanting to keep me from woryring but then I'd smack them. 'Cause I'd be angry. And probably feel a bit offended. I wouldn't be comfortable knowing that I was considered "too weak" to be counted on as support.

'Cause that would be my role. I'd be the support. And I'd feel robbed if I wasn't given the chance.

And wouldn't most? Or is that just me being naïve and blue-eyed?

When I struggled with my depression some years ago (almost 7 years now; time flies) friends found out before my parents got the whole picture. But I did tell my parents about it. Several weeks before I hit bottom and had to call them to come and get me from my office floor. And knowing that I had already told them about my tears, my doubts, my anxiety and my fears, made it so much easier calling them for help. And they did help. I got picked up from work and driven straight to the psychiatric emergency. I moved back into my old room and lived with my parents and sister for two months. And during those months, they all took turns babysitting me. I wasn't left alone more than an hour at a time, and never in the evenings or at night. Not because we feared I might do something terrible (I wasn't ever suicidal) but becuase I was too scared to be on my own as I couldn't handle my anxieties and my tears when I was on my own. I was terrified of ending up hyperventilating on the floor again.

These months were tough on all of us. It wrecked my mother to see me sit hollow-eyed or teary. But mostly, it was hard for her that I doubted the person I was. That I didn't particularly like the person she had been a part of creating and loved. I don't think I've ever seen my father with such a deep wrinkle in his forehead. And my sister, taking on such a responsibility while still a teen... But... There's also something very real about crying in someone's arms. It creates bonds. Strong ones.

If I hadn't let my family help me through that year, I don't know if I'd feel as close to them as I do now. I don't know if I'd trust them as I do now. I sure hope I would, but I don't know.

I'm sure glad I let them be my support. And I know they appreciate it as well.

But did they have a right to know? Was I obliged to let them in? You tell me!

Wandering mind on a Saturday

My work consists of spending a lot of time in front of the computer. Or sit in on different meetings. (This week I did, however, leave the office to go "sightseeing" with one of my colleagues. We took a car and drove for twenty minutes to check out a library and take pictures of trees in a forrest. A most exciting afternoon for me...)

I do spend time on the computer in the evenings and on weekends but I limit myself. Partly because I need to do other things, partly because of my boyfriend and the attention I want to give him and our life together, and partly because I know I can get way too involved in the "fake world" of Internet communities.

I email friends. I spend time writing in my blogs. I read others' as well. I have an account on Ravelry and I spend on average fifteen minutes there every day. I'm a member of a forum with some of my knitting friends (I'm one of the least active on it). I post pictures on Flickr and check out my friends' contributions.

I don't do Twitter. I don't have an account on Facebook. I don't join discussions on Ravelry or participate in the forums. I don't get involved with people or in groups on Flickr.

My two main reasons to stay away from Facebook and Twitter are my need of privacy and my fear of getting too involved. I had a couple of years, while being a student, in which I spent way too much time in the computer lab socializing on chats and forums. I knew the names of the security guards that came on nightly rounds to check the university premises. They knew mine.

I had a lot of fun during these years, and I met people I'd never meet without the Internet; the short twin from Stockholm, the British girl who lived in Gothenburg, the guy who looked like Kalle on the kaviartubes and the swimmer who had a sick dad. But... It was tough on my life in general. I made my Internet friends a priority over my other friends. And my family. And my studies. And I knew I wasn't doing anything good when I started to lie to people around me so they wouldn't know exactly how much time I spent in the computer lab or where I was spending the weekend.

Things changed about 6 years ago, and I dramatically cut down on my Internet time. I still keep in touch with some of my Internet friends from "back then" (crrly and monaihallen to mention two) but most of the relationships I had with people faded and vanished.

Now I'm more picky with the people I chose to communicate with over the Internet. And I don't give them the time I used to give my Internet-relationships. And I don't feel (too) guilty for chosing to let emails wait for replies or comments to go unanswered. 'Cause I'm not willing to get too wrapped up in the Internet world again. Therefor, I'm doing things more on my own terms.

.....

I've been wandering. I started this post talking about my job and the amount of time I spend in front of the computer during the day. I was supposed to go from there to the fact that I'm not glued to the computer in the evenings and on weekends. And the point of the post would be to tell you all that I've spent approximately 5 hours playing with our new MacBook Pro today. What a Saturday!

7 weird facts about me

I know this meme hasn't really been in motion for a long time, but as I never got around to share 7 weird facts about me and my life when it was popular, I'm doing it now.

1. I'm addicted to using Q-tips/cotton swabs in my ears. Cleaning my ears with a Q-tip is among the five first things I do every morning (waking up, getting out of bed, peeing and brushing my hair are the other four) and I do another round before going bed. I hate the sticky feeling of not having cleaned my ears.
   
   
2. When working at my computer I always keep programs opened in a certain order; Outlook, Windows Media Player, then Internet Explorer followed by Acrobat, Word and Excel. When I use any of our other work-related programs, they go after Internet Explorer. If I already have one of the latter programs open, for example Word, and need to open our special programs, I close Word and reopen it after the other program has been set up.
   
   
3. I have gotten locked up in the city library once!
   
   I taught myself how to read when I was 4 and I've always loved books. Growing up I was most often found with my head in a book. I read anything really; romantic and tragic stories à la Virginia Andrews, thrillers and scary novels á la Stephen King or mysteries à la Enid Blyton or, later, Agatha Christie.
   
   One Saturday afternoon when I was 15 years old, I was curled up in a couch in the kid's section of the city library when I noticed it had gotten darker around me. I looked up from my book (I believe I was rereading either Thursday's Child or Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfeild) and realized that there were no lights on in the library. I also noticed that it was awfully quiet. I couldn't hear a thing.
   
   I got up from the sofa to find the whole library deserted and the main doors locked. After having walked around trying to find a janitor or something that would let me out, and after having checked my pockets for change so I could use the phones and call for help, I checked one of the entrances next to the main doors and found it to have a lock I could open without a key. I stepped out, waiting for an alarm to go off and was surprised to find that there were none.
   
   I guess not many people can claim to having been locked up in a city library! (Ten minutes before closing the library everyone was, politely, told to get out of there. I showed up five minutes before closing thinking they were open for another hour. I used the side entrance and slipped right into the kid's section and didn't see everyone moving towards the main exits... As I was sitting by the window I got the light from outside and didn't react to the fact that they put out the lights.)
   
   
4. I can't ever become a blood donor as I was infeceted by malaria in the mid-90's while spending time in East Africa.
   
   
5. I have a thing for the white stuff on citruses and the "strings" you can get on bananas. I can't stand the texture in my mouth. I peel all the white stuff off. It takes me superlong to get a clementine, mandarine or an orange ready for me to actually eat it as I pick and pick. And pick.
   
   
6. I eat meat. But I don't eat meat that I have just seen close to a bone. I cut the meat from my pork chops ½cm from the bone. I don't do chicken drums or wings. I do breasts.
   
   I guess seeing meat close the bone reminds me of the fact that what I'm eating used to be alive. I have a hard time eating fish if there's skin left on it or, even worse, the fish is served whole; with the head, fins, skin and everything.
   
   
7. When we're on the subject of things I can't stand; I'm utterly disgusted by worms, snails, slugs, jelly fish, leeches, eels, octopuses, squids and anything slimey like that. It doesn't matter if I see them alive or dead, in reality or in pictures. I get goose bumps. And shiver. And have to look away. (Not as much with the worms as with the rest of pack, but wet days when the pavement is full of worms can leave me teary and very upset.) Watching underwater programs on TV, I have to hold the remote in hand so I can switch channels when they get to the eels, giant jelly fish, octopuses and squids.
   
   I don't dream nightmares (can remember three that I've had in my entire life), but some of the worst things I can imagine in life would be getting a bucket of jellyfish, slugs, leeches and squid thrown over my head or being forced to stick my hand in a barrel of octopuses, eels, worms and snails. (Just thinking about it here gives me goose bumps and makes me shiver...)
   
   Rhubarbsky used to have a picture in her banner of a snail climbing up a shoe. I'm sure most people found it cute. I read her blog posts from my Google Reader so I wouldn't have to go to her blog...
   
   I have once stepped on a slug and instantly thrown up.
   
   This summer, I stepped on a slug while barefoot, and ended up crying in our shower while franticly trying to get the slime off of my foot and from between my toes. We had guests.

Highlights (1)

While I was a student at the university, I was a member of an online community in which I had a diary open for the other members to read. The diary was used for all sorts of writing; reports on what I did, felt or saw.

During my student years, I spent my summers between semesters working outdoors. I loved my summer job and kept returning to it year after year. Nevertheless, some days were boring. Or cold. Or made my body hurt. One summer, on such a day, I heard kid's laughter coming from behind me. I turned around and saw two small boys playing with a ball on a lawn. It wasn't football/soccer. They weren't tossing the ball around. There was no running involved. They took turns holding the ball and while hugging it close, jumped. And jumped. And laughed.

I watched them for a while and then found myself standing there with a stupid grin on my face. I wasn't bored. I didn't feel cold. My body didn't hurt. I was just enjoying myself.

Later that day I published a post in my online diary called "Dagens höjdpunkter" (="Today's Highlights"). I did the same the next day. And the next. And it went on for a long time. I realized I spent more time smiling and feeling good about myself and the life I was in when I focused on noticing all the good stuff around me.

I've been collecting highlights on and off since that first day of publishing them in my online diary. I thought they would make an appearance in this blog from time to time.

~~~~~

Today's Highlights (October 14th, 2009)

* The sky is absolutely clear blue and the air feels clean to breathe in
* The meeting I was in before lunch today in which we prepared for an important meeting we're having next week
* Making my sister laugh on the phone
* The warmth I get from the purple (and fake?) Pashmina shawl I bought in Florence
* The leftover pie and salad I had for lunch today. (It was my turn to house the bookclub meeting yesterday and I had made a pie with feta cheese and olives in it. I had also made a turkey salad to go with it.)

Yes, I am alive

This poor neglected blog needed some help breathing so I stepped in for a quickie.

I'm sorry for the lack of interesting activity here lately. I'm not staying away because I feel bad or ill. I'm doing just fine, thank you. I'm not working on secret projects I can't blog about. I'm not "living in a bubble" unable or unwilling to share with you. I haven't lost interest in my blog and my readers.

I'm just sick of it being dark every time I plan on taking pictures for blog posts with some depth in them. It's dark when I bike to work at 7.30am and it's dark when I bike home at 4-4.30pm. I had planned on taking pictures this weekend but got busy doing other things on Saturday and yesterday I made my boyfriend a priority. We went for a looong and nice walk in the snow and sunshine.

I have a mental list of things I want to share with you:
- proper FO-post on my Kauni-vest
- pictures and words on my Amanda hat
- WIP-pictures of my mother's Laminaria (Christmas gift)
- proper post about my mother's birthday gift (a pair of pot holders based on the same Amy Butler-pattern as these) (ETA: posted here)
- pictures of the adorable lining fabric I got for the Birdie Sling I'm making my sister for Christmas (ETA: posted here)
- an update on how I'm doing with my Getting Things Done-project at work
- some flash backs from being an exchange student in Ontario, Canada, some hundred years ago

Stay tuned! And please, be patient with me. If nothing else, I'll get more daylight in less than a month!

As random as it can be...

The cake I made Friday night was excellent! It turned out a bit dry on Saturday (I had wanted to keep it in the fridge overnight but boyfriend had a very smelly cheese in the fridge and I was afraid the cake would take on some of that foot sweaty smell...) but we solved that with vanilla ice cream on the side.

~~~~~

Laminaria has grown! I managed to get by the pesky four rows in the transition chart that gave me trouble and I'm now working on the blossom chart. I think it looks lovely!!!

Have to say though, those 3-into-9-stitches make my hands hurt. Especially my right hand.

~~~~~

I spent many hours working with fabric this weekend. I'm sewing a secret project that hopefully can be revealed next week or so when it has arrived at its proper destination. I have some bias tape left to attach and I'm sort of nervous about it. Think I might end up stitching the second side on by hand. Just in case.

I bought myself a fabric cutter a couple of weeks ago, but didn't get a cutting board/mat to go with it. Don't know what I was thinking. I got one on Saturday. And man, does it make cutting fabric easy, or what? I love it!

~~~~~

When sewing this weekend, I thought about Christmas gifts I can make for family members. And then it dawned on me... My sister won't be home for Christmas.

This will be my first Christmas ever without my sister... When I was in Canada for a year, she came over to see me during Christmas break and we celebrated with friends of mine. It was great spending Christmas with people I knew from before, and people I had gotten to know during my time there in Canada, but having my sister over was the best.

This year, she'll be in Canada. Or in the States. And I'll be in Sweden.

~~~~~

If Germany had beat Spain yesterday in the finals of the European Championships, boyfriend would've won 2000kr/US$330 in a betting we were in.

He didn't. 'Cause Spain won...

~~~~~

I fell asleep on our lawn yesterday. I had every intention to read a book but after a couple of minutes wrapped up in a blanket, I dozed off. The wind was a bit on the chilly side and I had rolled myself in the blanket to keep warm. I think I got about an hour of sleep out there on the lawn, only waking up twice when the cats wanted to join me. Skorpan was in there with me for about half an hour I think. Curled up by my side, purring.

~~~~~

Skorpan managed to get out of our garden twice this weekend. On Saturday I found him on the fence between our two neighbours' gardens. I called for him and he came closer but not close enough for me to reach him. The hedge between our garden and the neighbour's is too thick and high. He looked as if he wanted to come to me but was too afraid to jump from the fence to my hands.

In the end, I had to go inside and fetch a bowl with some food in it. That got him moving and I could reach him at the side where there's no hedge but just a fence...

Yesterday I found him outside the fence walking in the bushes that face the public "park" we live next to. I got out of the garden and walked up to him. He really didn't look as if he wanted to be where he was. When I sat down about a meter from him, he ran up to me and hid his face between my knees. I could easily carry him inside.

The combination of a curious cat and a cat stupid enough to not realize how to get back into the garden is an unfortunate one.

~~~~~

This morning I decided to walk to work instead of using my bike. I got my Walkman (yes, an old Walkman) and an Enya cassette I didn't know I had and started walking. It takes me about 25 minutes to go to work on foot. This morning I decided to only breath through my nose during the walk and I have to say that I felt both calm and energetic when I arrived in my office. My head seemed clearer than it normally is on a Monday morning...

~~~~~

We're changing phone system at work and this morning everything is chaos. Some numbers have been changed properly and some haven't. Some stationary phones don't work at all. Nobody can get through to their voice mail. The receptionists can't forward calls properly. And so on...

Interesting start to the week.

~~~~~

My vacation starts on Thursday. I have 3½ weeks off this summer. I'm using 15 out of this year's 25 vacation days and two days from working overtime. We don't have any special plans for this vacation. Maybe a few daytrips to Denmark and a visit to my parents' summer house. We have some things to care off with the house as well. I hope to finish painting the garage...

We might take some time off later this year and go somewhere. Boyfriend has a "dreaded" birthday coming up.

If I don't use the rest of my vacation days this year they will just get passed on for next year, which means I can technically take 7 weeks off next year. Just using my vacation time. And if I can get things organized for a trip over the Atlantic, that might come in handy.

Getting to know me - 1

Looking for a note card this weekend, I opened a wooden box I made in school when I was 13 years old, and found a book I thought I had gotten rid off. It's a small book I got when I studied in Canada for a year. It's called "Getting to know you" and in it one finds 365 questions or activities that will "enhance relationships".

There's a special history connected to this book and seeing it brought up a lot of different feelings in me. And I remembered things I had (almost) forgotten. Conversations in a sauna. Laughter. Whispers. Friendships. Basically there was a group of us meeting up answering questions from this book. The answers sometimes led to discussions that kept us occupied for a long time. Sometimes the round of answering was quick and we moved on. There's only one person from this group that I still stay in touch with. (Hej Mona!)

Finding the book, and looking through it, I came up with the idea of using it in my blog.

I know this blog is a mess when it comes to structure and content. I mix knitting and sewing updates with personal reflections and stories about my cats. This probably bugs some people who would prefer this blog to be either "totally craft" or "totally personal". But I don't really care. I like the mix here. My thoughts and experiences are just as much part of me as my crafty side is, and I don't feel like separating them.

To make matters worse/better (guess it all depends on who you are) I thought I'd bring some more personal aspects to this blog. Once a week I will post a random question from the book and give you all my answer. I haven't picked a specific day of the week for this to happen. Partly because I'm not organized enough for that and partly becasue I want to keep you at the edge of your seat in anticipation... :)

~~~~~

This week's question is number 31:

What do you think is your worst habbit? What do others think your worst habbit is?

My worst habbit is probably that I procrastinate. All the time. I always end up doing things at the last minute. And people usually have to ask me more than once for me to do things for them. Or for myself.

When I was in school I was the one studying for tests the day before. Writing my first paper in Canada, I had to pull an all-nighter as I had started the process way too late and hadn't taken into account how much longer it would take me to do it in English as oppose to in Swedish. I file my taxes at the last minute even though I have a month do them. I buy a new tube of toothpaste when the old one is all used up as I can't be bothered/don't remember to do it in advance. I'm almost in panic mode to prepare for meetings and presentations I've known of for weeks, and sometimes even months. I buy gifts a couple of days before Christmas (one year I bought all of them on Christmas Eve). Just to give you some examples...


I'm sure this bad habbit frustrates others as well (ask my mother and boyfriend and they will probably give you more examples of my procrastination skills) but I think there's another habbit that more people react to. I have great difficulties keeping my legs still while sitting or standing. The shaking starts not long after I sit down or stand up and it's something I don't think about. Until someone asks me to stop the shaking... Or asks me if I'm restless or bored...

I've had this shaking going on as long as I can remember. And for years it has driven my family nuts at the dinner table where everything would shake in sync with my legs. And I wouldn't notice... I've had people ask me to stop when I've been on busses and my legs have started to shake so badly that the person in front of me could feel it through the seat. Or people in a cinema who would get annoyed as I got their row to shake. I was once asked, while standing on a train, if I didn't know that there were toilets on the train...

~~~~~

Wanna play along with me? Please do!!! Either tell me your answer in a comment or make a post in your own blog. (If you do the latter, please let me know so I don't miss your answer!

My favourite Swedish word

A couple of years ago, I was walking home in the middle of the night with a man's arms around me. It had been raining and we were walking carefully as not to step on any worms.

We were in the phase of getting to know each other and we both asked a million questions. I remember telling him that my favourite smell in the whole world came from baking; cinnabons and chocolate cakes. When asked about my favourite sound, I said "The sound of my telephone ringing when I feel lonely". They are both still my favourites.

I can't remember what his favourite smell was, but he loved the sound of waves crashing in over a beach.

He asked me what my favourite word in Swedish was. I remember thinking long and hard about it, without being able to come up with a proper answer. The conversation shifted to Swedish words that can be difficult to pronounce for those who aren't native Swedish. Sjuksköterska. Sjöstjärna. Sju.

If I was asked the same question today; what my favourite Swedish word is, I'd know the answer.

It's fika.

Not because of the way it sounds. It's kind of hard with the k in the middle. But because of the meaning and how it's used.

Fika is both a noun and a verb. I like words like that. Words that are multifunctional.

Fika as a verb is something we all do at work. It's almost a social institution here in Sweden. Twice a day (often at 9am and 2.30pm if you have a day job) we all leave our desks and come together to sit down and relax. There's coffee and tea. And sometimes sandwiches, biscuits or cakes. And we talk about work, tv shows, our weekend plans, yesterday's football game and the latest CDs we bought. In many work places, the boss sits there with the employees. And the colleague who choses not to sit with the others is most often considered anti-social and strange...

Fika as a verb is also something we do in our spare time, outside of work. We "fikar" with our friends in cafés or at home. That's when we drink coffee, tea or hot chocolate. If you're not a poor student or on a diet, you'll also have something like a cupcake or cinnabon.

Fika as noun is the whole event. It's everything you drink and eat and talk about.

Asking someone "Ska vi fika?" (using the verb) or "Ska vi ta en fika?" (using the noun) doesn't limit the person being asked in the same way as "Shall we go for a cup of coffee?". Being a non-coffee drinker I don't like that the beverage is included in the question as I want my own choice of tea or hot chocolate... And whether or not I'll include a cupcake or not...

The idea of a "fika" also appeals to me. I used to live in a university town and it was (and still is) crowded with cafés and restaurants where one can go for a "fika". During my student years, I could spend hours in cafés after class. And being a student I'd make my tea or hot chocolate last for a looong time before going for refill.

My friends and I had different places we went to depending on the mood we were in. Some of our favourite cafés were great to spend time in when one just wanted to hang out and talk. Others had great cakes. Some had great views for people watching. Others had an interesting clientel. A couple had air condition. Or great seats outdoors. Sometimes the process of choosing where to go was just as much fun as the "fika" in itself.

~~~~~

What's your favourite word in your native language? Care to tell me why?

What could have been...

I find myself thinking about things that have been. Things that happened and things that didn't. People I felt close to and now know nothing about. Dreams that disappeared.

I don't know where it's coming from. This past week I have seen things on TV, in the park or in the store that have transported me back to then. Heard songs, voices or jokes that have had the same affect. I've prepared food in the kitchen and been zapped back to then and there.

It used to be anger and hurt. When I found myself back in then. Now it's more... Sadness? Curiosity? Relief? I don't really know. But I know it doesn't hurt anymore. Not as it used to. And I'm not angry. I've given that up.

There are still a thousand questions I'll never get answered, but I'm okey with that. I've grown. And I've come to realize that some things just don't work out for a reason. Some things aren't meant to be. And that's okey.

My life could have been different. But I'm glad it isn't. I'm better suited for the life I live now. A life without much drama, difficulties and trustissues. I actually function quite well with "normal" people. Much better than I thought.

And I wouldn't change my life for the world.

Especially not now when my head fills up with thoughts of what could have been.

Random

1. My Amy Butler fabric squares arrived the other day!!! I got 32 different designs/colour combinations and between 2 and 6 of each. I wanted to immediately start making placemats for our dinner table but restrained myself. There's still some more thinking and planning to do before I start the sewing process. Loooove the squares though and have tons of ideas on what to make with them.

2. Using "tons" above I came to think of the difficulties I had when studying in Canada and having to use both tons and tonnes depending on whether the literature was Canadian/British or American. Or whatever it was. It confused the h$ll out of me. And it wasn't just the spelling, it was the numerical value of one ton not being the same as one tonne. I can't remember it exactly...

3. This got me thinking about this one absurd incident in one of the groups I was assigned to in one of the classes. We had different projects during the semester and everyone in the group took turns doing the tasks for the projects. If I made calculations for the first project, I would make blueprints for the second one, arrange the layout for the third one and takle it to the printers and so on. I was assigned to do the proofreading and corrections before sending it over to the layout and printer girl... I made many people laugh in the computer lab when I told them I was doing the proofreading and that my group trusted me with correcting their English. It felt truly absurd.

4. I picked up Muir yesterday. She was supposed to be a Christmas gift for my mother last year but that didn't happen. My hands started to hurt real badly from working too many projects on small needles, so I had to put her on hold. (Yes, Muir is a she and her to me!) I've managed to do 4½ repeats of the chart so far and I really love the way this turns out. I think the colour changes of the yarn work very well with the designed lace pattern and I can't get enough of the airy feel that the knitting has.

I'm not sure I have enough yarn to complete 13 full repeats and doing the two borders. I weighted my project yesterday and my estimation is that I might have to cut one of two repeats out. I'll probably knit the first border in a bit soo see how much yarn it takes. When the sun comes out again and I'm home to use the natural daylight, I'll take some progress pictures.

5. Sewing projects on the list: Emmeline apron from montessoribyhand for myself (washed the fabric yesterday and hope to start it during the weekend), smaller - and manlier - apron for boyfriend in a thicker linen fabric (washed yesterday and is ready to be cut and sewn this weekend), a door stopper of some sort to keep the laundry room door open for the cats, pin cushions, cushions for the cough, beforementioned placemats, coasters, and... Well, I can keep busy with my sewing machine for quite some time.

6. I might not work a full day tomorrow as our computer techies will shut down our computer system tonight for some superduper difficult and time consuming magic. I won't be able to access any networks tomorrow and to be honest, I don't really know what to do with myself all day if I can't access files and programs I normally use. Maybe I'll do some organizing of my binders and then take the afternoon off?

7. I'm going into town today to see if I can find a birthday gift for a friend. We're invited for tea and scones at her home tomorrow night. Don't really have any ideas on what to look for... I'm thinking my reward for finding her something will be a trip to the library. I'd like to see what kind of books and magazines they have on sewing. Not that I need more project ideas, but I'd love to learn more tricks.

8. There's a phone ringing in one of the offices next to mine and it's driving me nuts as it's been ringing forever. Please hang up if nobody answers after the 20th signal...

9. My boyfriend and I visited my parents yesterday. I've been on the look out for a green or purple rug for our living room and when my mother heard that she couldn't help but getting excited. She had just bought a new rug for one of their rooms as she didn't like the colour ocmbination between the newly-bought table and the green rug. So yesterday we picked up the green rug! I really like it!

10. The cats went crazy after the rug was placed on the floor and boyfriend and I settled down in the couch and comfy chair. They sniffed around the rug and suddenly burst out in crazy runs around the house. I don't know how many times they crashed into the walls... Skorpan got his paws under the rug and started running sideways along the rug's edge. And then he stopped to start chasing the moving object underneath the rug (being stupid enough not to realize it was his own paw and leg)... And then they both sniffed around some more before going for more crazy runs...

11. I went to the gym on Tuesday morning. I'm sore.

12. I have a halfhour presentation in a week and a half that I haven't started preparing for and I'm really nervous about it. I know the subject but I don't really know the audience. I don't know how familiar they are with the subject and therefore don't know if I should go into detail or keep things more general. There's no way for me to find out either. I have to prepare a PowerPoint for it and I'm awfully slow at doing them. And I know I have to prepare as I can't improvise for half an hour.

13. Lately I've been thinking a lot about lost friends. You know the friends you had a couple of years ago that you never talk to anymore. The ones you went to school with and now know nothing about. The girl next door when you were ten. I have many lost friends. Some of which I'd love to get back in touch with but for some reason don't make a priority. I plan on emailing them, calling them or sending them a card, and then nothing happens. I read my books. I work. I knit. I sew. I blog. But I don't take the time to actually contact them. Why is that?

14. In less than an hour, I'll draw the winner of my give away bag. If you hurry, you'll be able to enter if you haven't done so already. :)

Years ago today

Do you ever stop whatever you're doing to think about how you ended up where you are?

I had one of those moments this morning. On my way to work I was letting my mind wander while I pedalled my bike though the park. Suddenly I found myself almost not moving my legs at all at the same time as I was completely focused on the stream I was following. I was looking at the water and hearing its rippling sound. And the sight and sound had my eyes filling up with tears.

Yes, I'm sick and tired of grey days and this shitty season of the year. I'm kind of blah about a lot of projects at work. My hip and shifted upper body is still bothering me. I don't sleep all too well. A lot of the time I feel inadequate and I have to struggle with my priorities.

But I'm happy. I love the set up of my life at the moment. I love having a home with boyfriend that's ours. I love inviting friends and family over and not feeling ashamed of how I live. I love being able to bike through a park to get to work in less than ten minutes. I love walking around in our residential area and seeing how the neighbours live. I even love the fact that our neighbour across the street always waves at me when I come and go.

So, sitting there on my bike this morning with tears in my eyes, I couldn't help thinking about the last couple of years. The last seven years.

Seven years ago today I was in Canada. Having one of the best years of my life, meeting some of the people that are the most special to me today, trying out new things and routines for my life (grocery shopping on Saturdays, ice cream and basketball on tv for breakfast on Sundays, Survivor with friends in a University bar/coffee shop, working on assignments at the library or in my "home building" 'til late at night, having Cinnabons at the mall, phone calls with my family in Sweden almost every Saturday, hours and hours of chatting and emailing, discussions on ethics, moral, culture and religion with my room mates while eating ice cream - I looooved that year).

Six years ago today I was back in Sweden. Feeling lost in my city and among my friends. It was so much harder getting back into life in Sweden again than it was starting a new one in another country. I wasn't prepared. I didn't think I'd have to be. In 2002 I started working on a master's project while trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Ggetting more and more anxious about things. Not feeling comfortable in myself and things and people that had shaped me into what I was.

Five years ago today I was still struggling with that master's project. Now in a paralyzing panic mode. I was so freaked out about the project, about the future, about money and about myself that I couldn't produce anything. I was running out of financial funding and had to get a job. Even though I hadn't finished my master's. I spent the nights crying in my apartment. Some nights I fell asleep on the living room floor exhausted after hours and hours of crying and hyperventilating. Too exhausted to even being able to get into bed. Felt lonely. In a very hurtful way. And I questioned everything about myself. Thoughts about what and who I had became occupied my mind all the time. I was disgusted with myself.

Four years ago today I was feeling much better. I had had an emotional breakdown in May the year before. I had started taking antidepressants. I had spent the summer living with my parents and sister as I was terrified to be on my own. I had gotten to see a therapist who had me working on many of the issues that I had non-resolved. Started to let go of my father and I started to like myself again. Bought Skorpan and JumJum. So in January 2004, things were much better. I had gotten off the antidepressants (or was just phasing out - I can't remember). Still had my temporary employment to support myself.

Three years ago today I was feeling even better. I had gotten myself a job in the field I was trained for and I was enjoying the fact that I was "growing up". For the first time in years and years, I knew where I'd be for the next two years, geographically and financially. I was happy about the special connection I had made with one of my colleagues. Can't remember that I had many crying nights around this time. Felt more stable. More grounded. More secure.

Two years ago today I was living with a man!!! In his house. In the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees and fields. I think this is the most shocking thing to ever happen to me. In my entire life. That I actually chose to move in with a man. For one (or two or many) reasons I never thought I'd be a person wanting to spend my every day life with someone. For as long as I can remember I've always said that I'd refer to stay in a relationship where both parties had their own living arrnagements, their own lives, their own spaces. And that you'd get together for quality time now and then. Suddenly I wanted to be with him. Even in the mornings when he's at his worst.

One year ago today we had moved into the city. We had decided to rent an apartment as circumstances forced us to live somewhere easily reachable by train or bus and we hadn't been able to find a house to buy that both of us were willing to pay for. The previous year had had some ups and downs. Some days I was certain I'd move back to my old apartment and some days I couldn't even think about living away from boyfriend without getting all teary and upset. In the end we both decided that we were committed to our decision about living together and we both made compromises. In January last year I was enjoying the easy access to shops and restaurants. I was enjoying our biking distance to work. I was looking forward to joining a gym. I was looking forward to being more mobile and flexible with buses and trains within a couple of minutes of walking.

And today I'm in our house. And feeling more comfortable, more secure, more stable than ever before. I'm happy. And even though I'd never want to go back to where I was a couple of years ago, I'm glad I have the experience. I've been there at the bottom looking up. I got out of it. And decided to listen more to what my heart was telling me. Listen to my intuition more often.

If anyone had asked me five years ago if I thought I'd own a house with a man in 2008, I would have laughed real hard and asked them if they were on drugs or something. Couldn't have imagined that to be in my cards. Or something I'd do voluntarily. If they had asked me if I thought I would get teary by biking along a little stream on a January morning in 2008, I would've giggled and asked them if they were nuts.

But here I am. In my little house that looks exactly like 500 other houses in a city I never thought I'd live in. And I'm happy as ever.


Do you ever stop whatever you're doing to think about how you ended up where you are?

Cassette tapes

I opened up a box of cassette tapes yesterday when I was looking for a photo. Had forgotten about all the tapes I brought with me when we moved last year. Looking through them I was surprised to see some of the tapes as I was certain I had gotten rid of them a couple of years ago. When I had "the big clean out".

I couldn't help but wonder if he ever thinks about me.

Their home isn't my home

I met my sister and parents yesterday. We had great Italian pizzas (thin crusts and mozzarella cheese, baked in stone ovens and with exciting toppings) before going to my parents' new apartment for a cup of coffee (and a cup of tea for me). My parents bought an apartment earlier this fall and have spent the last month working on it; totally redoing the kitchen, painting all the walls and the ceiling in all the rooms, permanently turning a doorhole into a solid wall... It's turning out great!!!

It feels kind of strange thinking that this beautiful apartment will be my parents' home for real in a couple of weeks. Up until seeing the place yesterday it's sort of just been a "project" for me; something my parents do to keep busy. Now it's starting to get settled in me, the realization that when my parents talk about going home, it won't be the home I'm used to. It won't be the home that partly belongs to me. That is part of my life. Or my siblings' lives. This will be my parents' home. And just theirs.

In a week or two I'll help with "the big clean up" of the old apartment, and that will be the last time I'll ever see it from the inside. It will be somebody else's home. A couple in their forties with an 8-year-old will move in. I was nine when we moved there. My brother was a couple of years younger and my sister had just started walking.

I love that place. My parents' have really invested money and time in turning it into something special. To a lot of people it's just a rental, not a real home but not to my family. The fact that my parents didn't own the apartment didn't keep them from turning it into our home. They redecorated the bathrooms, completely blew out the kitchen and put a new one in, put in wooden floors in the whole apartment except for the entry hallway that got a funky checkered white and black vinyl floor, painted all the rooms regularly, tore down parts of the outer wall and built a huge balcony... The place looks much better now after them living there for 21 years than it did when they moved in.

And that's where I grew up. Fights with my brother and sister. Endless hours of homework in my room. My first attempts at making pancakes. Getting found out to have been shoplifting in a toy store and being forced, by my mother, to go back to return the things while everyone in line saw and heard me apologize. All the nights I read far too long and didn't get enough sleep. Scaring my sister half to death when I acted as the family's Santa. My first experience with death when my "grandfather" died. Endless hours on the phone talking to friends. My first period (that happened to come on a day when I had had a huge fight with my mother and was so angry with her that I forbid her to go with me to buy pads). Sleepless nights because of growing pains in my back and knees. My first Valentine's card ever (from an American guy I had a crush on). My first time staying at home on my own when the rest of the family was away on vacation. Starting my first diary. Sleep overs with friends. My first sexual experience. My first hair perm. Hours and hours of reading out loud to my sister or having her read out loud to me. Taking care of my budgie. My high school graduation party.

When I started University, I decided to move to my own apartment after a year. I then lived 7 minutes by bike from my parents and siblings. Far enough to have my own life, but not far enough to be unconvenient when my fridge was empty. I could always come and go as I pleased. And I did. Sure, as soon as I moved out, my sister took my room, and I didn't really have anything in the apartment that was mine. Except for memories. And as the years passed, I spent less and less time there. My brother moved out and my sister changed rooms again. The summer after that, I lived in my old room for a couple of months as I was fighting a depression and wasn't brave enough to live on my own. I needed the security of company and comfort. Needed to hear familiar sounds outside my door when I woke up in the mornings and when I went to bed at night. That was my last time actually living in the apartment. 4½ years ago.

And now my parents are leaving that apartment behind. Moving on to something new. Something that suits them better. My mother has been talking about the move for years now. When you kids have all moved out, we won't need this much space. Last year when my parents started to seriously look for a new apartment I was the one out of us siblings who applauded them the most. Who told them what a sensible thing it was. Who told my brother to stop being so selfish when I heard him trying to keep our parents in the apartment by being sentimental.

Now the move is here. And it's time to say goodbye. And I'm way more sentimental than I thought I'd be. (But I'm not telling my sibling that...)

I know this move is the smartest thing my parents have done in a long time. And I love their new apartment. It will look wonderful when it's all finished and they have moved their furniture in. When they have their art up on the wall and their books are in the shelves. It's an amazing apartment. The house was built in the '20s. The ceiling is 3m/10feet up and is curved where it meets the walls. There's a stucco rose in the middle of the ceiling in the two main rooms. There's a 20cm/8in border on the walls down by the floors. There's a bay/oriel window in the dining room and all the windows in the apartment has horisontal and vertical bars in them. The floors are all wooden and old. The kitchen has an old pantry in it. It's an amazing apartment and I'm so happy for my parents.

It's just strange knowing that soon their home won't be my home anymore.

Daydreaming

I'm daydreaming. And realizing that time flies.

While in university, I spent a year in Canada as an exchange student. One of the best years of my life. I often think about people I met that year, people I became friends with, places I went to, things I did, classes I took and the every day life in a house with three other students.

I get nostalgic very easily when thinking about that year. My eyes fill up with tears when thinking about the girls I shared housing with and all the times we sat around the living room, eating ice cream and talking about our lives "at home", comparing cultures. I smile when I think about friends; the tall European guy who everybody took for being my boyfriend as "we looked so good together", the short Canadian guy who used to date a Swedish girl, the engineering girls with whom I did some projects; the one with the German name and the one who had a twin sister, the "rosa häftapparatstekniker"-guy who spent more time with my Swedish dictionary than listening to the profs and who also talked me into joining him playing hockey one night, the girl who used to work for Bell...

And the things I saw. The things I smellt. And tasted. Cinnabon at the mall. Superb ice cream 24 hrs a day. Allnighters in the big city waiting for the first bus back to university town. Hours in the computer room. Basketball games on TV every Sunday morning. Snow blizzards and icicles in my hair. Grocery shopping on Saturdays. Great Big Sea. Niagara Falls. My first Christmas not being with my family in Sweden. Pumpkin pie. Pancakes for breakfast. Studying for exams in the glass hall while wearing thick socks. Scyscrapers. Hockey talk. 137668. My first episodes of SNL. Muffins of all sorts. Phone cards for international calls. Collecting quarters for laundry. Lecture notes that were partially in English and partially in Swedish.

My year abroad means a lot to me. I grew quite a lot being "on my own" like that. Sure, I had had my own apartment for a couple of years before going to Canada, and I had paid my own bills for just as long. But the distance between my parents' home and my student house in Canada was what I needed to be able to grow that last inch or two.

There are so many things from that year that I can recall vividly and I'm gobsmacked realizing that I went there seven years ago... Seven years ago! It doesn't feel like that long.

Looking at the university web page I see changes. The student house I lived in is still there but some of the other graduate houses are not longer for housing. The houses across the street from our house is now a part of the university. There are new buildings. New laboratories. New classrooms. It seems like the campus has been revived.

Googling the town's name and checking out various sites on the Net, I realize that some things I take for being forever connected to the town, isn't there anymore. There's no Cinnabon in the mall nowadays. And no Baskin&Robbins either. (There's a Ben&Jerry's though.) The "luxury restaurant" downtown went bankrupted some years ago.

But on the other hand... The bead shop is still there. My hair saloon is in the same location. The hotel/bar is still there. My bank is on the same corner. The cinema for "alternative movies" is still in business. One of my friends, whom I'm not in contact with any longer, is still at the university. A lot of my professors are there. The Ultra, that was opened 24hrs a day on weekends and therefore was frequently visited by me in the middle of the night when my ice cream urge got too strong to neglect, seems to still be there.

I haven't been there in five years. I think I would enjoy spending a day or two there to see the differences and to find all those things that were special to me. I know I would definately want to see some of the people from "back then". Even the ones I haven't stayed in touch with.

I'm daydreaming. And realizing that time flies.

"10 years ago in Arusha"

It was laundry time yesterday. We have a laundry room in our apartment building that you can use for free. We always book for early Sunday morning. Boyfriend started the tradition as he didn't want the whole day to get interrupted by laundry at noon or in the evening. I gladly let him take care of the laundry for a long time but lately I've started doing it every other week so he can sleep in some. And then every other week I get to sleep in!

In between running up and down with laundry, I checked one of the email addresses I keep alive just for the sake of it. I have a couple of those. Sometimes I wonder why I insist on keeping them. Yesterday I found out why. I got a very short email - just a question about whether I still used that adress or not - and it made me smile from ear to ear.

About a decade ago, I spent two months in East Africa. My two travel companions and I wanted to go on a safari while being there so we bought seats in a jeep that we shared with a driver, a chef, and two other tourists. One was English and at that time he worked for a company in Uganda. I've forgotten what kind of company it was. The other one was from Namibia and he was travelling through Africa and Europe to start a new life in Germany (where his parents came from and where he had lots of relatives).

I ended up spending a lot of time with the Namibian guy. We often sat on the roof of the jeep looking out over the plains, the lakes, the hordes of gnus and zebras, while talking about the world. I found his life to be very fascinating. And the journey he was out on was amazing. He had a travel budget of US$5 a day...

We kept in touch over email for a couple of years. And then it faded. He got married. Became a father of two. Moved to the Middle East. My life moved forward (after a couple of backwards...) and when I finally finished that project last fall - the project that I needed to get my University degree - I wanted him to know. In the emails we sent each other over the years we wrote lots about studying and he told me about his difficulties finishing his degree. How he hated his project. How exhausted he was working in an office during the days only to come home to hours of working on his project. While handling a family. He pushed me to work on the project I had started back then. He was almost parental when telling me how important it would be for me to actually graduate with a diploma. How I just needed to "stick to it". I tried. And fell. Hurt myself badly in the fall and it took years for me to work up the courage to start another project. The old one was too contaminated with negativity for me to ever touch it again...

So last year when I was working on my project, sitting at the kitchen table at night with boyfriend coaching me, I thought about my Namibian coach... And I tried contacting him to tell him about my progress. How I "stuck to it". How I did it in the end. Finished my project. And about how proud I was of myself.

I failed to get in touch with him. My emails kept bouncing back to me. I tried snail-mailing him a card to the last address I had, but it came back with ink stamps all over it.

Yesterday I told him. In an email. After he contacted me. It's funny how relieved I feel. It's like I can cross something really important off from the list of things to do. Just because I keep hanging on to old email addresses.

My parents' storage room

I spent some time in my parents' storage room in the basement this past Sunday. My father had implied for quite a long time that he thought it would be appropriate for me to come and go through my stuff down there and decide what I wanted to keep and what not. He's made it sound like it would be something good for me but I know he's just fishing for me to get my stuff out of there so they don't have to keep it anymore... :)

And I'm okey with that. I mean, I haven't lived with my parents in ten years (actually, on Saturday it's exactly ten years since I moved to my own apartment) so why would they still keep my things?

To be honest I didn't think I had that much still left in their storage room and I was right about that. My sister has waaaay more stuff there... I did, however, find some books on a shelf that were mine. Books from a book club I belonged to for years. I had saved some of my favourites and seeing them on Sunday made my heart skip a beat. I remembered all the nights I had spent reading those and crying my eyes out. (I cry easily and always have. Used to loooove books that had me crying.) Decided to bring them home and read through them once again before deciding what to do with them. I might sell them to a second hand book store. Or give them to someone with a young daughter.

Found a lot of school books; both textbooks and notebooks. I flipped through some of them and was appaled to see my awkward hand writing. And my awful drawings. I've never been able to draw things. Found maths books with almost no mistakes in them. Looked through the extra math book I got in first grade and felt impressed with my ability to solve those problems. Some of them made me confused now. At almost thirty...

I can't tell you how many note books I found that were beginnings to little stories, or novels. Detective stories. Science fiction stories. Boy-meets-girl stories. I had forgotten all of those. I do like to write and there was a time when I spent my evenings writing instead of knitting. Had plans on writing a novel. Did my research. Traced out a plot. Got to know some of the characters. Started writing. Investigated different writing courses as I felt committed. But then things happened and my world got turned upside down for a couple of years. Landing on my feet again I couldn't get back to that writing. Not that story. And not anything else with the same committment.

This summer, my urge for writing has awakened again. I've found myself composing texts in my head. Silently. Have found myself looking at the world more through my writing eyes than my normal everyday eyes. The eyes that I've developed during the last couple of years. While working, while knitting, while forming a relationship with another adult, while growing up again. During my vacation I talked to my boyfriend about it. He was sitting on the porch drawing a picture of the view we had from the cottage. Told him how I longed for writing again. Even though it's all very blurry. We talked about starting a schedule of one or two nights a week for writing and drawing.

Standing in my parents' basement seeing those attempts at writing stories had me feeling all fuzzy inside. I got warm. Even though I felt a bit embarrassed at the quality of my attempts... Ten-years-olds can be very ambitious without knowing much.

But I guess that goes for thirty-year-olds too.

Reading out loud

We're reading a very good book together, my boyfriend and I. Or more to the truth; he reads it for us. Out loud.

Did you have someone reading to you when you were a child? Do you remember how cozy it was? How special it made you feel?

My mother used to read to me and my brother a lot when we were little. I think she stopped reading to me when I was about five and choose to read the books myself. (I taught myself how to read when I was four. Winnie the Puh was the first book I read myself.) When my sister was old enough for books with more words in them than ball, table, kitten, and tree, I did most of the reading for her. The two of us would curl up on the cough or in a bed and I'd read. I'd make up funny voices for the different characters and my sister almost always hated them. She'd force me to change them into something she liked. Thinking about it now I guess she might have had a hard time understanding the different foreign accents I used. Or tried to imitate...

My sister had me read her thick chapter books long after she could read on her own. I remember how my throat always went sore after a while of reading out loud (why is that?) and if my sister wasn't ready to let the book go for the afternoon or evening, she'd pick it up and read out loud to me. An eight-year-old reading to a sixteen-year-old.

Two summers ago, boyfriend was rereading Röde Orm for the umpfth time, and I was soooo tired of him telling me that I should give the book a shot. I told him I didn't feel like reading it but that I wouldn't mind it if he read it out loud to me instead. So he did. Night after night we'd sit on the cough or in front of the fire place and get lost in excited adventures. Together.

He's got the perfect voice and melody for reading out loud. He makes perfect voices to the characters and he easily finds the rythm in words and sentences. I could listen to him reading forever. But it always ends in him having a very sore throat and not being able to continue...