Copenhagen Follies

Paul Dano

2012-01-10T08:34:00.002+01:00

Is it just me, or is he everywhere?

Delightful movies these!

Life Resolutions

2012-01-09T13:06:00.004+01:00

Not doing the New Year's resolutions - if you hadn't noticed.
Everyone's got them, right?

But. As we know, I'm not getting any younger.
Consider these life resolutions then.
I'm pretty certain that if I don't make certain...tweaks, now -
I won't ever.
But I will.

I'm not going to say "starting now", since that's a crock.
Let's say yesterday.

Well.

I'd like to use more expletives on print.
Less in conversation.

I'm going to stop focusing on being skinny one day (not gonna happen) and
focus on being healthy.

Gonna stop talking about doing stuff
and just do it.
(Damn)
(But I already started doing the podcast, so I'm halfway there, right?)

I will get over my aversion to being successful.
It's like I never thought I was good enough,
or didn't deserve it.
But I am.
And I ...

But I am keeping my goal.
My one goal that surpasses everything else.
To be happy today.

If there's one thing that's more important to me than anything else,
it's that my family laughs together.
Every day.
Any other way is futile.

I don't blog enough, a victim of micro-blogging on social media, like everyone else. Find me there!

Podcast!

2012-01-06T11:57:00.002+01:00

Hey everyone, just a little plug here for new stuff going on at my Confessions of a Climate Worrier blog. I've got myself a little podcast now, so as a more personal supplement to the writing, you can hear me talk about my experience with climate depression and how it might be a new and much needed approach to tackling this huge problem.

You can hear the first episode of my podcast right here .

Feedback welcome.

Anyone else fold their sheets like this?

2012-01-04T15:28:00.001+01:00

Please say yes.

Gratuitous Pic Post for a Grandchild-Starved Mormor

2012-01-03T11:50:00.004+01:00

Everyone can run along until the next post.
We had a nice holiday season, time flew by, kids were sweet as ever, and friends superb as always.
May it thus continue!

Note - that third child that keeps popping up isn't ours. Almost, though.

Monkey

2011-11-20T20:00:00.001+01:00

I snagged this little clip of Halfdan without him knowing.
So sweet, sitting there on his little stool, opening peanuts, eating them, and throwing the hulls in the trash.
Sigh.

Fall

2011-11-20T19:41:00.003+01:00

This Fall has really been amazing.

First, a few weeks back, we had days on end with a thick fog that just wouldn't let up.
It was magical, and I really enjoyed the lovely atmosphere it gave.

The school.

Then, the fog let up, and the colours were back, full throttle.
We live close to a lovely churchyard with its own natives.

It's turning bitterly cold now though.
Can't be long before we're up to our necks in snow...

Friday

2011-11-20T19:23:00.003+01:00

Friends over for pizza on Friday. Syl and Rikke, with their myriad of kids from different marriages.
Rikke asked us four times if we wanted to buy a place together and live as one big happy.
Co-living. Anybody out there doing it?

Anyway, they have a baby, and Mik just loves babies...

I really have no idea.

That's our babysitter's finger by the way.
We love her.

My friends are animals. Beautiful animals.

2011-11-05T11:39:00.005+01:00

Had a few friends over. Also ten children. No one cried.
Amazing.
I enjoyed tidying up this morning, reminiscing.
Very zen.

3 things on my mind these days...

2011-10-25T19:20:00.005+02:00

Kimchi.
In fact, it's been getting me to sneak out of bed at 11pm to eat it straight out of the jar.
Nekkid.
Sorry neighbors!

This song.
Best song ever.

The color yellow.
Finally found the perfect shade for our living and dining room floors.
I swear by the time I'm done, yellow will be a neutral!

2011-10-24T22:18:00.002+02:00

They're so much fun right now.
We just had them home all week for "potato" break. Before, that would have killed me. Now, it's a joy.

They are so different, but so good together.

We don't overstimulate them a lot (except for when I bring out toothpicks and teach Dante to divide and multiply about 3 years before schedule), and they're so good at finding stuff to occupy themselves with. They ensconce themselves in their room together. Play games, do puzzles, listen to cds, paint.

Couldn't possibly have asked for more, could I?

Show and Tell

2011-10-17T11:09:00.002+02:00

It's all you're getting for now. It's still not healed, so you'll have to make do with a fleeting glimpse. It's a hamsa, or Fatima's Hand on my left forearm. Somewhat inspired by our trips to Morocco of course, but also the state of the world.

Let's just leave it at that before this gets too cheesy!
I have been planning this for two years now, so I'm excited to be wearing it finally.

Ink

2011-10-12T19:37:00.004+02:00

When I was a kid, I distinctly remember my dad's sister say to me - Jennie, if you ever get a tattoo, don't bother coming to visit me!

Sorry Aunt Norma, it was nice knowing you.

(Btw - I never really got over that one time you told me that children were meant to be seen, not heard. Yeah, that sat with me, and to be honest, I still shut up when grown ups are talking, even though I technically am one, so thanks for nothing)

Found It!

2011-10-08T15:33:00.002+02:00

Remember in City Slickers, when Jack Palance's character holds up his finger, and tells Billy Crystal's character that the secret of life is just one thing?

I think I found it!

Am I going to share it? Watch the clip.

Magic

2011-10-04T09:59:00.004+02:00

Yet another magical weekend in a quaint spot with good people.

Dim Sum

2011-09-30T08:30:00.004+02:00

Copenhagen has dim dum.
Amazing dim dum.
Amazing dim sum to share with funny ladies.
Funny ladies that eat tripe. Okay, only one of the funny ladies ate tripe.
Ladies that appreciate a good congee with scallops.

Seriously, if you want a delicious, cheap meal with hilarious servers, not to mention a bevy of menus spanning Danish, Vietnamese and Chinese fare, go to Saxo. But - just get the dim sum and congee. Trust.

You don't get to choose your family but...

2011-09-26T14:13:00.002+02:00

sometimes your family chooses you!

Turns out that Mikael has a half-cousin that no one in the family has known about for reasons stemming back many many years.

This has all the makings of a drama of sorts, but it's turned out really quite lovely. Mikael's new found cousin invited us and some other new found family members to a charming spot north of Copenhagen yesterday. We got to know each other better in lush surroundings, aside Denmark's second largest lake. Coincidentally, we've been living in very close proximity for a number of years, so now that we're familiar, I have no doubt we'll be spotting each other on the street from time to time.

A few choice photos from the extended family outing.

You could say that there are lots of people we choose to be with, an elective family of friends, but it's nice to see the real family grow. Mikael and I are both only children, so it means a lot that we gift the boys with people who they might know for the rest of their lives, come what may.

Touring the 'Hood

2011-09-23T15:58:00.003+02:00

Sometimes I discover places in Copenhagen that add about 3% of mass to the city as I know it. We've got harbor everywhere, but I've never realized there was such a charming harbor spot just around the corner.

A place where boats are kept, and worked on, and where the boat owners meet up with other boat owners, drink beer and shoot the breeze. I'm totally squatting this place next year. Hope you don't have to own a boat to frequent it!

There's even red and white checked tablecloths and charming barrels!

And a snazzy husband. Sweater by Zara, scarf a present from Morocco.

Met this guy today as well. Alterative neighborhood watch I suppose!

Stars

2011-09-22T10:40:00.002+02:00

Once every 5 years or so, we think it's in order to go out with friends and eat well. Really, really well.

This well. Sorry it's in Danish, the translation reads: "fucking spectacular food".

We were out celebrating this gal's 40th. She loved it!

The rest of us enjoyed it too.

I Love This

2011-09-22T10:37:00.002+02:00

I saw someone say that the "two kid gig" finally paid off. When I catch moments like this, I agree.

Crisis

2011-09-14T14:20:00.006+02:00

I think I'm having a crisis of sorts. It goes pretty hand and hand with the crisis the world is in, and that the ruling parties haven't quite taken to heart ie. changed their policies because of.

It's partly a crisis of identity, because in some ways I really think I've got a multiple personality order. To call it a disorder is too negative. I'm still trying to settle into my own aesthetic place in this world, I can't seem to accept it, embrace it, own it. And I can't change it.

But mostly, it's an existential crisis, as pertaining to the aforementioned larger crisis upon us. Is there time left on this earth to do anything? This isn't strictly a Climate Worrier post, so bear with me, but still - we appear to be so screwed right now that wouldn't it be better to just drink myself into a stupor and stay that way til the very end?

But I digress. I'm 33, I'm still not done with school, I'm married and have two kids which honestly fills my days up pretty good already, on top of which I'm supposed to write a thesis, earn money freelancing, enjoy off-time with friends, keep life in all my many projects start new ones, and maybe even paint my floor before 2012.

So not gonna happen. And I'm okay with that. Almost.
Because when we arrange fun, political events at our house and I'm surrounded by people who in one way or another not only seem to be going somewhere, they already seem to be there. The Swedish journalist, the philosopher, the theologian, the artists, the 26 year old activist, not to mention my husband the political journalist who's not even got a university degree to his name! Such powerhouses of creativity and energy, not to mention a deep knowledge of their fields. It's inspiring, and completely overwhelming.

And I know I have lots to offer, just can't figure it out. Can't see the woods for the trees. And between the school runs of the day and other practical duties, I can't even find the time to remove my chipped nailpolish properly, nevermind being utterly brilliant somehow. I give up. We can't have much time left anyway, North Pole's melting right before our eyes, and when that's happened completely, we don't have much time left. And that's my true calling somehow, dammit, I want to save this amazing place. I put children here, I have to for their sakes! But it's like I'm waiting for some big job offer in the paper "World Governments Offer Fulltime Position Unfucking Everything Up" (where is that job advert btw?) - I'd apply in a flash!

My life has become a Cohen brothers' movie. But definitely more Burn After Reading than A Serious Man. Yeah, they both didn't make any sense at all (that was on purpose btw), but the one was a hoot, the other was not. Clinging to all the hoot that I've got.

To Our Benefactor (Who Shall Remain Anonymous)

2011-09-06T12:08:00.003+02:00

The Finnish necklace - LOVE the necklace, that goes with the bracelet I got last year.
And so timely - I'm on my way to a reception at the Finnish embassy in a few hours, will be wearing both.

The boys also love their books, and we all love the colorful glasses!

Thank you!

Turning the Tables...

2011-09-05T17:11:00.003+02:00

on my faithful readers Martin and Katrine who check in on this blog often to ogle my kids, I shall now let my readers ogle you.

Thanks for the nuptials Saturday - charming all the way through:
Church built in 1325!
Martin's curly haired family! (Loved them all - I felt somehow at home among them)
Relaxed atmosphere for the gazillions of children everywhere!
The cakes!

It all bodes very well - both the bride's and groom's parents are still happily married, they're good natured, aforementioned curly-haired genes abound...

Also - we'll always remember your wedding day, because it's the day after ours, which we always forget, but are reminded of when flowers arrive from my mother in law, and which end up dying somewhere in our home. Every year!

2011-08-22T17:40:00.002+02:00

Been needing to file stuff for...years.

Been needing to do my taxes for...months.

Been needing to hang stuff up in the boys' room for...weeks.

Been needing to write a new climate blog post for...days.

Been needing to drink more water and go for a walk outside for...hours.

Oh, yeah, and I have a thesis to write.

Stuff gets in the way!

So today was one of those days where I've been doing everything else than what I'm supposed to be doing - favors, laundry, thinking about trivial things, thinking about things way to big to grasp. Regretting. Despairing. Planning. And one thing is for sure, no earning of money was involved. Nada.

I need more stress. I need a mission.

I need a job.

Hair

2011-08-21T13:07:00.006+02:00

A lot of the profile pics I have around town show me with curly hair. So people always ask when they meet me - why is your hair straight? Last asked by Emi on Lidingö. You really want to know?

Ok. My curls only look nice if I haven't shampooed for a week or two. The natural oils collect, keep my curls bouncy and tight. Which is fine for most occasions. But sometimes you just don't want to meet people with a head full of natural oil. So I shampoo, flat-iron, and have Pantene commercial-ish hair for a few days before I give up and start over. That's the hair cycle. If I have straight hair, it's because I didn't want to feel like a hobo when we got together. If I have curly, it's because I couldn't be bothered. Ha!

Also, people take me more seriously when I have straight hair - it's true! Because otherwise, I'm a lunatic. Fact.

Struk

2011-08-11T00:23:00.004+02:00

Once in a while some Twitter friends I have get togethers we call "struk". In Danish "strik" roughly means knitting, and "druk" means having drinks with friends, Strik + druk = struk. We meet at someone's house and knit and have drinks (or just tea). It's lovely. I actually don't get to knit all that much, because I'm always busy patching the boys' pant on my trusty sewing machine kindly donated by my aunt.

Few weeks ago, after those awful awful things happened in Norway, I was feeling really down about the events, and I needed company to keep me from being a sobbing mess. I tweeted to the ladies that I'd love some spontaneous "struk" if they were up for it. They came, they knitted, we talked, it was just what we all needed.

The boys got some lessons on braiding yarn as well, by the patient and sweet Lisa in the photo above (kindly sent by Karen, or @kmdk).

And they also got to try on her latest project.

Picture of Halfdan pilfered from Lisa's (aka @risager's) Twitter feed.

I hope the ladies come over again soon for some knitting and drinking (kninking?! dritting?! knunk?!)

The Deceptive Vacation

2011-08-06T23:27:00.008+02:00

Home. For the past week, we've been home. Just not in Copenhagen.

Swedish blog friend Anna offered her exquisite, yes I said exquisite, home to us, for a whole week. Only happy to oblige, we trundled off to Stockholm last Saturday.

We felt welcome, oh so welcome.

We were told to make ourselves at home, play with the toys, eat what the garden had to offer.

You betcha!

We love Stockholm. Been there many times now, both of us. Last year, it was a short three day stay at a hostel on the way home to Denmark from Finland.

It was a great trip, and we loved some of the attractions so much, that we did them again this time around!

Like the children's tour of Moderna, where an art teacher brings it down a notch for the youngest visitors, introducing an artist to them in terms they understand, and then after the 40 minute tour of the exhibition, leading them to try their own hand at creating art in the same style. Fabulous concept, loved by all in the family.

At Moderna, believe it or not, we ran into one of my oldest friends in Denmark, Lise, and her boyfriend and baby (turns out they were in Stockholm last year when we were there as well, honestly!). We had a quick chat and made a dinner date for later. Then they hopped a metro out to the lush suburb where we were staying, and we treated them to homemade pizzas and homegrown squash blossoms, stuffed with ricotta, gardenside.

We enjoyed dessert, aka the baby, inside.

Next day, we met up with Emi at Millesgården, just like last year. We shot the breeze amongst the many statues, and children running around. Since we'd borrowed Anna's car for the day trip, Emi invited us to her home, not far away. Apologetically saying that she had to work that evening, that there was only time for a quick lemonade, we were getting ready to leave when her husband came home and started making us dinner. I guess we just have that effect on people.

So we sat outside in the garden and ate, their friend Thomas joined us, and I very nearly puked over this view. Having a forest in your backyard should be illegal people! The conversation was lovely, and Emi and husband are so relaxed with their children, who played so well with ours: Joel and Dante on Wii, Niki and Halfdan in the garden plucking raspberries - it was lovely. When we left, their oldest Vanja suddenly gave me a tight hug goodbye, and I almost couldn't take anymore.

The rest of the week was a blur really. We just enjoyed ourselves at home for the majority. Gathered gooseberries, eating most of them them straightaway, but still having plenty left over.

Sat in the sun or the shade, reading, watercoloring, staring into space...

Oh we took a walk now and again, even found this great example of guerilla knitting by Mariatorget.

But really, we just played house. I got up, did laundry, hung it to dry, mowed the lawn, watered the veggies, took the laundry down, folded it, put it away, drank white wine, stared at the boys, doing...whatever.

The deceptive part was just that - feeling at home. Just like in Morocco. And not only feeling at home, but meeting up with friends, maintaining bonds with places and people that we feel comfortable around. And then, all of a sudden, a train awaits to carry us back to that other home in a parallel dimension where we, you know, have to do stuff, and not just want to. It's okay, I'm looking forward to getting in the groove again. Dante starts school here in Copenhagen next week, so we had to come back. I do find my self wondering how fast he could learn Swedish though...

Things That Made Me Go "Wow".

2011-07-22T14:23:00.004+02:00

I got my first email account back in 1996. At that point, I'd known about email and ICQ chat for about a year or so. We didn't have internet at home though. We were one of the last ones on the block to buy at cd player too, just sayin'. Email came in handy when I moved to Denmark. I lived in Odense, and my boyfriend lived in Copenhagen. At my school, I'd use every break to read new emails from him, and write some back. This was also before we had cell phones btw, so no secret texting in class to be had!

So, email was a great thing. But the moment I really discovered how great the internet was, was after I'd moved to Copenhagen, where I lived with my boyfriend, who had internet, and one of those painfully slow modems, dinging and buzzing and lighting for half a minute before you were connected. We were hanging out at home, the windows were open, it was summer. Everyone had their windows open. Someone in a third floor apartment across the yard was playing a really good song that the breeze carried in. We didn't recognize it, but there was an unusual beat, strange pinging sounds, and a refrain that kept on, with a few words we could decipher. Something about a bong. And then some French. Again and again. We googled, no, we yahoo'd (remember Yahoo? Yeah, me nerither) the words we thought we'd heard, and something turned up. It was this.

From then on, finding information seemed so easy. It's evolved since then, of course. If I hear a song I like at a bar, I whip out my smartphone and Shazam it. No more asking the bartender what they're playing. That's when it all took off really. Information wasn't at a library anymore, it was at our fingertips. I hope it stays that way, come what may.

What was your first internet "wow" experience?

Let Them Eat Cake!

2011-07-14T08:47:00.002+02:00

And they did.

On the left, chocolate layer cake with turtle cream. Everywhere. Worth repeating.
On the right, vanilla layer cake with vanilla cream and banana, rhubarb compot and pear. Not bad, but vanilla cream a bit bland.

Colors were smashing though. The blue was accidental spillage of food coloring. I swear!

Baby Love, My Baby Love

2011-07-13T08:00:00.003+02:00

Four years ago right now, my baby was being born. Just 2 hours after I biked myself to the hospital (good for contractions, seriously!) he popped out and was our little love monkey. Halfdan, I still think of you as the new kid, but you complete us!

A little cavalcade. *ONLY FOR HARDCORE FANS*

Not even a month old. If I had any milk left in my boobs, I'd totally be leaking.

Around 6 months.

Nude dancing.

Completely aware of his own cuteness.

Cuteness talking!

And this is pretty much how everything ends with him around. Free entertainment!

Link Love

2011-07-11T12:15:00.002+02:00

I just realized it's been ages since I've updated my links to other blogs on the right side of this blog. At some point there were a lot of blogs that went private, so I removed those, since it was futile for the general public to click anyway, and then I lost track of everything! So if we have a blog relationship and your (open) blog isn't here, please pipe up and I'll put it right with some link love!

Morning Rumble

2011-07-06T09:05:00.002+02:00

This was taken not even an hour ago. This is how we sometimes start our day, with a groovy song and some dancing. The last bit is especially entertaining if you understand Danish.

Damn, my lens has some scratches that show up in the glare of the morning sun.

Last Weekend

2011-07-02T11:33:00.002+02:00

A week ago today, I had a dinner date with some of my oldest friends in Denmark. I've know them for well over ten years, and we've pretty much been through everything alongside each other. Old friends are a blessing (as are new friends!).

We went to Christiania after dinner. Caught an open air concert, swayed to the music, got hugged by happy strangers, it was perfect. I was so happy I cried.

New Blog - Part Deux

2011-07-01T19:45:00.003+02:00

Up and running!

For those of you who know me through Facebook or Twitter, my climate angst shines through my updates - maybe trop beacoup. I started a new blog Confessions of a Climate Worrier for all my thoughts on our predicament. I'll try not to be too much of a downer, but I just need this space to get stuff off my chest, and I hope I will get people thinking, and better yet - talking!

See you there!

New Blog

2011-06-29T13:26:00.002+02:00

This blog isn't going anywhere. But if I were to start a new blog, where I channel all my thoughts on climate change, the emotional aspects of it, my fear etc., what should I call it?

I Heart Boy

2011-06-28T13:50:00.003+02:00

This weekend.
Went here.
Bought this.

Then I went here

Naked men and ice cream, what's not to like?

Also, my husband came home from Spain, and does not own a house. Phew.

Stretched Thin

2011-06-25T09:02:00.002+02:00

Once in a while I've taken stock of things, a much needed objective look at my life and what the hell I'm actually up to. Sometimes I feel absolutely overwhelmed, without feeling I even have a reason for it. A few years ago, I was a breastfeeding machine, with small young ones, a husband with a secure job, good friendships with lots of coffee dates and a house to keep. Not to mention a bachelor being taken on the side. That was a pretty comfy fit.

Nowadays, it turns out I've got a husband perpetually looking for a job or a house in another country, to young boys with their own friends and playdates all over the place, one membership in the co-op yard group, one membership in the daycare parent board, one masters thesis looming over my head, one freelance job, one pending internship, numerous groups of friends that need tending to: the latinos, the foodies, the expats, the professionals, the twitter group, the academics...and I'm trying to get a number of other creative projects up and flying besides that. It's too much.

What has to give?

2011-06-20T13:17:00.007+02:00

Wednesday morning, extremely early (though not before the crack of dawn, seeing as it's practically dawn here in Scandi-land at 3am), we headed for a few days on Bornholm, our favorite island smack dab in the middle of the Baltic. Our friends living on the island, and with whom we exchange homes once in a while, had asked us if we'd like to stay at their place while they also were there, since Bornholm was hosting the first ever Folkemødet, which is a politics based festival, which is a concept the Swedes have been doing for years and we've only just decided to steal now. Our host was actually one of the project managers, and he knew that there was a good chance that Mikael, our very own political journalist at home, would be covering it. After a bit of hemming and hawing, his workplace did decide to send him, and the kids and I tagged along, ever eager to visit this craggy island and enjoy some R & R.

We rode our bikes to the station, and drove them right on to the stepless train carriage, it couldn't have been easier. We enjoyed having our bikes with us, since busses run only once an hour or so, and it's nice to not be dependent. We also rode our bikes straight on to the ferry as well. Again, almost floored over how effortless it all went.

The goings on were spread all around the town of Allinge, and we did do our fair share of walking around. We took the bus to the site, as it was a bit far for biking. No matter, all the bus routes on the island are stunning. I might just want to be a bus driver there when I grow up, and that's only half in jest. I imagine it's hard to be stressed surrounded with views like that. Gentle sloping fields, forests, rocky beaches, quaint villages with medieval round churches dotting the landscape. Ridiculous!

The kids went about most of the time gathering balloons and pinwheels, not to mention candies from the different parties that were out flaunting their views.

Our bonus gran Cornelia joined us the days we ventured up to the festivities, and we had our own route of sights to see, including the local grocery store where she had to get cat food while visiting the "big city". We enjoyed visiting Gæstgiveren, a very colorful and personal inn that's always buzzing with city slickers. Did a bit of celebrity spotting, and had coffee and juice while enjoying the show de jour.

The boys enjoyed jaunts by the sea as well, lugging huge stones around, only to throw into the water. The scenery here is lovely, not Danish at all, geologically akin to Sweden. The people speak a lilting dialect of Danish that's very similar to southern Swedish, but not quite as harsh to the ears as Skånsk (sorry to any Skåninger out there!). At any rate, I'm glad the people of Bornholm insisted on being Danish, back when Skåne was handed over to Sweden in the 1600s. I'm glad it's "ours" to be honest. Our only chance at getting a few meters above sea level!

The boys also enjoyed playing with the children, in fact, I used to go to Lamaze with the host, which is how we hooked up to start off with, and Dante and one of his very first friends had some serious catching up to do! It went extremely well. Their two boys and our two boys kept themselves seriously occupied! (Not always watching films, mind you, this was just the only shot I had of them together!)

We saw some local petroglyphs as well, almost 3000 years old! Love it! Always so fascinating to speculate as to the whys and wheres of the people who were on this very spot so many years before.

This is a library. It has nothing to do with anything.

These are clouds. See above.

This is "our" street, at 10:30 pm. Seriously.

It was a lovely trip, Mikael did quite a lot of working, and we did quite a lot of walking about alone and such, but it was nice to be back at any rate. Yes, it was.

STFU and Dance II -or- My Feet Didn't Bleed This Time -or- The Song Nazi

2011-06-13T11:37:00.007+02:00

It was that time of year again.

We cleared out the dining room.

Left wine and earplugs outside the door for any disgruntled neighbours (one pair of earplugs was missing the next morning).

There were a few benchwarmers, but most of our 24 guests cut a rug or two at some point.
(Not in the least thanks to my habit of finding people 30 seconds before "their" song started and forcing them on the dance floor. Hey - it's a DANCE party)

Including me. Barefoot this time around. I learned my lesson last year.

Thursday Projects

2011-06-09T14:13:00.003+02:00

Project 1: buy über-cheap Ikea frames, hang them up with the best of the kids daycare paintings, etc. Done. Looks pretty good, and the kids feel quite proud.

Project 2: Clean up this mess before a party. Yes, there's a desk under there somewhere. No, I don't know what the kitty is for. Not done.

Symptom

2011-06-07T14:37:00.005+02:00

So I had this symptom. Not a visible symptom, but a when-you-go-to-the-doctor-and-get-your-check-up-they-notice-it-symptom. And I'd had it for a long time. Very long. I was starting to freak out. But the doctor finally convinced me to go get thoroughly checked by specialists.

So first I was sent to an ultrasound. Of my kidneys. A-1 kidneys. I went back to the doctor. Looked hopeful that she'd just close the case and that was that. But no. Now, it was time for the cystoscopy. As in...a camera in my bladder. You know where they stick the camera in, right? I pleaded, citing numerous websites (from frantic hypochondriacal hours on the internet, hoping to read definitively somewhere that I wasn't going to die) that said that a cystoscopy almost never found any cause for my...symptom. She just looked at me and said, do it, get it over with, and you'll never have to think about it again. Ah damn, good point.

So I went to the other specialist. Wore a pretty dress and pretty shoes for the heck of it. Was called in. Asked to leave clothes there, sit there, scooch up there. I asked if I could live tweet it. They looked at me funny. I asked if I could take pictures. They looked at me funny again. Asked if I could keep my shoes on. They pointed to a spot on the floor and said I could leave them there. Tough crowd. All women though, that was something at least.

They prepped me and got down to business. Not fun, but I didn't die. I was told that my bladder lining was a rosy pink. Not sure if that was positive or not.

Here's a picture of the procedure.

Unlike like the victim in the picture, I mean patient, I didn't get to follow along on a screen, which kind of pissed me off, but not enough to make me want to do it again.

They found nothing, the symptom is now in my journal as a quirk that my body has, I have chronic micro-hematuria, and that's that. Quite happy about that, wasn't keen on the other options.

Weekend Before Last

2011-06-02T16:48:00.001+02:00

Sun, wind, water.

Garfish.

Blue bones.

Duvet in the garden.

Let's do this again soon.

Pixie

2011-06-02T16:39:00.002+02:00

Pixie, we really dig your lemonade and convenient location.

Oversized fruit playground, we really dig your bananas and pears.

Fellow guests, next time I'll try to make my kids not shout right next to you as you're sipping your morning latte and reading your paper.

Conversations on Life

2011-05-29T18:53:00.002+02:00

My friend Indra has started a blog where she posts a new interview, or conversation on life as she calls it, every Sunday.

I'm honored she chose me to be her first interviewee, we had a nice chat over Skype, and I got to talk about a lot of stuff, from how I pick colors at home, and male prostitutes, to peak oil.

You can read the interview here. It was interesting to have to think over some of the subjects she brought up, so thanks to Indra, for forcing some reflection upon me, well needed, and good fun!

Deep Breaths

2011-05-18T17:27:00.004+02:00

I might just have fucked up. Real good.

So, when I started this blog, I had a hotmail address. At some point, Blogger got bought out by Google, and my new Google account (which I didn't really want to start with) was built around that hotmail.

Years later, I see the point in getting a Gmail address, problem is, I have to get a new account. Now call me anal, but I'd rather not have too many accounts to keep track of. That's why, for the last two days, I've meticulously been transferring my online life from the first Google account (hotmail address) to the new Google account (Gmail). So far so good.

I added the "new Jennie" as an administrator to this blog, gave it full rights, took a deep breath and deleted my old account.

Now, it seems that all my photos that I've uploaded to this blog by "old Jennie" were attached to "old Jennie" and seeing as she's gone, they're gone too.

Seriously freaking out. The writing's still there, thank god, but the photos! Ok ok, they're all in my iPhoto, but still - do I really want to spend the next 3 months uploading them once more?

Very very sad.

Genius (No Bias Whatsoever)

2011-05-14T10:14:00.002+02:00

Mik's birthday was back when we were in Morocco, but I never did get him a gift (btw, I don't do birthday gifts, it's not personal, it's just...awkward). I fell over this awesome t-shirt, and just knew Mik had to have it, birthday or not. Let's just call it an early anniversary and Christmas gift too (don't do them either). This is right after he opened it. Make sure you catch Dante at the very beginning, even if you don't understand Danish, I think you'll get it.

And after that little display by Mr. Smarty-Pants, I thought I'd test out our own version of Vanity Fair's In Character.

Your friend Noah just asked if you could come over and play.

You got caught stealing at the corner shop.

Your best friend hit you with a ball while playing.

Your kid brother just stole your candy.

Your dad just tickled you.

I reckon he'll be ready for VF in a year or two after a little more pacing. And without the tomato sauce smear on his cheek. Amateur.

8 Women, 1 Cottage, 3 Days

2011-05-09T08:57:00.007+02:00

Got back yesterday from a marvelous weekend.
A group of friends that have known each other for about a year, through Twitter, managed to find a weekend where we could all find the time to get away.

I think we had an average of 5 gadgets/devices per head, and there was always a mess of iPads, Mac Airs, chords, mini speakers and smartphones lying about. Nice to be in company where it's kosher to have a conversation while fondling electronic devices at the same time.

The psychologist, yoga instructor and I did the sauna thing.
I even made our own vihta for the occasion.
The start-up maven cut the radio personality's hair.
The cook made dinner.
The journalist made insane cakes for dessert.
The e-learning consultant complained of sore ribs from laughing so much.
We all seriously underestimated our rum-drinking capacity.

It was fabulous.

Let England Shake

2011-05-05T10:21:00.005+02:00

I've been inundating my Facebook feed with this, so if you've already seen it, run along then!
I'm absolutely smitten, no, obsessed with PJ Harvey's latest album. Every era has its defining album, and by God I think this is ours. By far the best album I've heard in a long time, possibly ever. Absolutely brilliant. Makes me wish I'd been born to sheep farmers and started a career in music in the nineties. Blew that one I guess.

On top of that, there are short film videos to the songs, that are all equally brilliant and poignant, and have had me in tears more than once. You'll find all the short films on this YouTube channel. I really think PJ Harvey's reviving the political music of the Vietnam war era, not a moment too soon. Time's are calling for it, aren't they?

I'll leave you now - I'm headed for three days in a summer cottage with some girlfriends. Hope to get some writing, relaxing, drinking, running and cackling done, not necessarily in that order! Have a lovely weekend.

Losing Paradise

2011-05-04T12:37:00.003+02:00

We all dream of Paradise, don't we? A mythical place, with lush greenery and no wants. We dream that we might experience it when we die, or maybe just when we sleep. But it's right here. We're in it. Life on Earth is Paradise, it's as close as we'll ever come. If you don't feel that way, you have to change it as much as you can. Only you can do it. Or Paradise will slip away, right between your fingers.

Bearable Lightness

2011-04-27T11:21:00.003+02:00

I never saw the movie, The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Or read the book. But the title is one that imprints itself on you. Although you don't really grasp the essence of it.

After our first 8 days or so in Morocco, I had this feeling. We hadn't touched alcohol in that period. We ate a less than usual, only when we were hungry, not keeping the usual rigid schedule. It felt so good, yet odd. I felt so light, so unhindered. Physically, but metaphysically too.

It didn't take long for that feeling to go away though. Beer and wine snuck themselves into our routine. Then a visit to the countryside where all we did was eat. It felt heavy, but safe. So strange, right? I mean, everyone dreams of being free of too much baggage, physical and otherwise. But because it's a new feeling for some, it's unsettling. Trying to wrap my head around this these days. I've always been slightly (work with me) overweight. I've always had some degree of Weltschmerz. It's been that way for so long that it feels safe for me.

I'm starting to get that light feeling again. Don't know quite how. Maybe all my runs are doing it. It's lovely, but I have to fight the urge to ruin it. And I want to ruin it, because that's what I'm used to doing. Pure craziness. I'm trying to hold on to my lightness. Make it bearable somehow.

The Best Five Minutes You'll Spend Today, Promise

2011-04-25T22:42:00.003+02:00

ps - this is largely how I felt after my dad died. I just wanted to be happy. But even that feeling, that unspoken promise to yourself, can get watered out with time. Make that promise again. This time, say it out loud. Again and again. Every day. Time for some mental weeding here, in my case.

Zombie Jesus Day

2011-04-25T09:15:00.003+02:00

Our Easter Sunday was filled with nature, a long bike ride north of Copenhagen, burial mounds and hot air balloons. How was yours?

Blooming

2011-04-21T19:28:00.004+02:00

This morning, I took my laptop back to bed with me with my coffee. I wrote two posts and subsequently deleted them. The first one was about sickness. The second one was about death. Morbid much? I'll let those posts float around in cyberspace, and I'll keep those thoughts in my head.

So - let's talk about the weather shall we? It's been lovely. Easter is quite late this year, so we find ourselves in our co-op yard all day long, soaking up the warmth in scant clothing. I'm only wearing two layers! It's fab!

I went rogue a few years ago and bought a compost bin for our kitchen scraps. It did give some black gold last year, but not nearly as much as this year. Wow, it's a black goldmine! There are thousands of beautiful pink and yellow worms chomping away, and their castings make their way to the bottom of the bin where I collect them. A sight to behold!

I mix it with a bit of potting soil and toss it out among my beds. I've got blueberry bushes, roses, an herb patch, and other flowery odds and ends I've bought here and there. It's coming along quite nicely, though I daresay a nice garden takes a few years to get on its feet. Got something to look forward to, don't I?

So, being the lovely weather it was, we broke out a bottle of bubbles to celebrate the next (hopefully) 6 mos. of enjoying our urban garden. Note the mulchy palms!

I must also ask that one notice the table and chairs (there are two more chairs to go along with it, both blue). I was given a certain amount by a generous benefactor last year to do with what I pleased. I'd been salivating over the beautiful garden furniture and decided to splash my gift money on some colorful additions to our little nook. Although we are the only ones to use it, I think my neighbors appreciate them all the same for the aesthetic augmentation.

Got a bit more planting to do tomorrow, and I'm soaking these seeds so they're ready to be poked into my freshly mulched bed tomorrow. Shame the lupins won't flower until next year, but better late than never I suppose.

I might be a bit late in doing so, but I've just got these babies started, hoping to sprout some heirloom peas and bell peppers soon and plant them in the bed too.

It never fails. I can shop all I want, go for runs, eat yummy things - but really, I'm most content when I'm pottering about, back achy from standing akimbo over my beds, ass in the air, weeding, seeding, turning the soil and massaging it (massaging!) until it's soft and pliable, talking to my plants (talking! I've got witnesses), waiting for things to grow and enjoying those that have. I'm guessing most people my age have some similar experience. It's as fulfilling as falling in love, getting pregnant, expecting and having a baby, just without the same gross economic and emotional expenditures. That said, I haven't had one of my roses die on me yet.

Bjørn. Bjørn, Bjørn.

2011-04-19T07:19:00.002+02:00

My husband sent me this link the other day. He's more of a fan than I am. Or, shall we say, less of a non-fan. Bjørn is right when it comes to many things. The role the economy plays in all this. He's spot on. But that's what also cements him into an old paradigm. He's no revolutionary, that's for sure. And just look at the way he shrugs off the rise of the oceans. Also, 1 ft? He underestimates a lot of the facts, at least when he's out preaching his "Cool It" gospel. Sometimes, the notion hits me that he knows it's bad, in fact irreparable, and therefore that's why he wants the world to use its money on making life comfortable. While it lasts. He scares me that way. Oh, Bjørn. He doesn't have any children. I wish he would adopt one. Might give him a much needed spark when talking about the future of all things.

About Time for some nepotism

2011-04-14T21:04:00.004+02:00

This is my mother. Today happens to be her birthday. She just started her own business, at the age of 64. The latest venture in a long line in what can only be described as serial living. She's been an au pair, a stewardess, an aerobics instructor, a hospice nurse, a counselor, a program director for bereaved children, and now she is an expert on old age and dying. She also tap dances, stars in musical productions and sings in an a capella choir in her spare time. So old age and death are her living, but she's knows how to live as well!

My mother's many many years as a hospice nurse have made her the expert on how the elderly and terminally ill, and not least their families, can come to terms with, cope with, and prepare for death. She's damn good at her job, which she practices locally in my hometown of Denton, Texas. I remember, as a child, how grateful her patients and their families had been for her care and expertise - they showered us with gifts and my mother with praise. She is highly esteemed and loved in her community for what she does, and for her lovely demeanor on top of that.

Even if you do not live in North Texas, or even in the United States for that matter, you can still benefit from her work. She has a website where you read more about what she's about. There is also a Facebook page where you can stay updated about her goings and doings, and watch a video about herwork. And lastly, there is an audio version of her wisdom on this subject to download.

If you have an aging family member or friend who could benefit from this information, I highly recommend it. She's helped so many people through this process before, and there are so many yet to reach. Check it out, spread the word.

This week's feelgood song

2011-04-14T10:27:00.004+02:00

Totally have it on repeat. At the office (my living room), out jogging, getting dressed in the morning etc. Might as well go to iTunes and buy the whole album now.

A Space of My Own

2011-04-08T15:15:00.003+02:00

I'm so excited. I finally got around to making my own little niche. I got this desk for free off Freecycle and brought it home to be my sewing table/office space, but I just never got around to using it, because it was up against a wall in a dark corner. Re-arranged it now so I'm not facing a wall, got our wireless fixed, and now I'm back in business. It's perfect. In fact, I feel like sitting and writing here all day!

The Almost School Boy

2011-04-05T20:53:00.005+02:00

When Dante was about a month old, we were driving around Copenhagen in a rented car when Mikael spotted a young school boy, with a huge rucksack on his back, on his way home from school. He pointed him out and said "one day, that'll be our boy". I cried. Given, I was tender with maternity hormones. But really, the thought of my boy making his way through crowded streets, possibly taking the bus by himself on his way to and fro was too much to bear at the time.

Dante hasn't started school just yet, but we did pull him out of Kindergarten before heading out on our Morocco trip, and started mentally preparing him (and ourselves) on the next step. And Friday, it started. It was his first day at the after school club where he'll be mingling with the older school kids before starting school in August. We all did well. He loved it, not only due to the fact that his best friend from Kindergarten was there as well, but also because of the new grown-ups there, the new playground, the new friends and the endless new games to play with them. And I never even had a lump in my throat! It was the most natural thing in the world.

It's a great place. There's a lot of cultural diversity throughout, kids and adults alike. One of the adults has cerebral palsy as well, and it was interesting to see how the kids reacted at first, staring at his funky feet and arms (his words!), and then subsequently forgetting all about it as he played with them. Dante was in fact supposed to go to another school, just as close by, that we'd heard a lot about - that it was a pretty homogenous place, a "white ghetto" if you will, a bit boring if still a pretty decent school. So we decided to enroll him in the other place, despite its reputation as problematic, being rather large and according to some "too culturally diverse". His friend was going to go there, and we decided that since we live in a culturally diverse neighborhood, he should go to a school that reflects that. For the record, his friend is adopted from a lusophone African country, and has an older sister adopted from Asia, and they fit right in. There were so many other children from different backgrounds, with exotic names, I practically felt we were living elsewhere, sending our kids to an international school. The common denominator was still spoken Danish though. And cooties. Pretty sure that's universal. But I digress. We loved it, is the point.

I am now the mother of an almost school boy. Big rucksack and solo bus trips coming up.

Oh!

2011-03-30T22:14:00.005+02:00

How could I forget? It was also time to gussy our door up! We'd bought a bronze Hand of Fatima in Essaouira and brought it back, just for this very spot. I also carefully cut our names out in new sticky stuff for the door, a bit less funky than lass time, but I like it. And yes, I've blurred the names for the sake of privacy. No, not for you, the crazy one.

Little by Little

2011-03-29T15:51:00.003+02:00

As most of you know, I'm continually decorating our apartment. We've been living here over five years, and I'm not finished yet. But then again, will I ever be?

After our homecoming, we've had the time to get some things done that we otherwise don't have time to. Wallpapering the den was one of them.

It's more blue live, but it looks fabulous. Really great.

And Mikael finally got around to putting up some tiles that we bought in Istanbul in 2007. Just behind the bathroom sink.

They look fabulous with the rest.

Next up, yellow floors.

Milestones

2011-03-22T07:00:00.003+01:00

I've been writing this blog for five years now. A little over, actually. I'm quite glad that I do. It all started when images of pen and paper, and myself as a writer started swirling in my head years ago. (note: I don't call myself a writer - yet) I went to a Palmist, and he saw a big fat pen in the middle of my hand. That was before I met Mikael though, who's been a writer for years. Then I went to a clairvoyant, and I asked him about the writing. He said, "not yet", but that I should start a diary. I had one teeny tiny little baby back then, and realized the value of starting a blog. How it would save me time, save others from receiving group mails with the latest pictures. At first, I was stumped with what to call it. Then, divine inspiration. Rather, Mikael was reading the latest (at that time) Paul Auster. Brooklyn Follies. It was right there, on our dining room table. And so the name Copenhagen Follies came to be. I'm usually not one to commemorate milestones. It's all just part of the rituals that frame in the goings on of our lives. I'm more for shunning the rituals as much as possible (not easy, rituals permeate the human soul), and just getting on with the other stuff. But I'm learning that they have their purpose.

While we were in Morocco there was a milestone, day after Mikael's birthday in fact. I only realized it a week afterwards though. My Dad had been dead for a decade! Ten whole years, how about that? Took me a bit by surprise, how can one be so nonchalant with the death of a parent? The first few years were grusome, just awful. Grief and a super-imposing existential crisis took its toll on me. But then I moved on. And sometimes, I even forgot. And I kind of made an unofficial deal with myself that I wouldn't let grief do that to me, ever again. Haven't had opportunity to test that out yet, thankfully. Death is necessary, it's a part of life, and if people didn't off and die, I doubt we'd appreciate them half as much. So, thank you death. Always a silver lining!

Another milestone. Also, while we were in Morocco. My mother sent a mail that her mother, my beloved Danish granny, had finally gotten a space at an old folks' home. It's not a nursing home, thank goodness, she's too feisty as yet, it's simply a small, well functioning apartment, with its own garden, garage, patio, kitchen, living room, bedroom and bath, connected to many others of the same, and connected in turn to a community center where there is the option of eating, meeting and any other number of activities. My mother flew over to help with the move, almost a month she's been here! Just flew home today. After our homecoming, I went to Odense, not so much to help, since most of it had been done, but to visit, to see my grandmother in her new place, and to visit the old place and take any trinkets I'd like. It was incredibly tough. Although I'm incredibly happy my granny is alive and fit for fight, she did seem a bit frail in the new place. And the old house, where my family had been living since 1960 was so empty. I had a good cry, and went about my snooping, taking a statue here, and some vintage toys there. Perhaps it's best this way. Saying good bye to the house first, after all, it's a house! But it's a lovely one, albeit run down. It's nestled beside a big urban forest in Odense, right next to the local railway. A really great location. I'll miss that more than anything. The sound of trains, day and night. And the smell of the forest, available at any open window or door. Tearing up just thinking about it. I've tried to convince Mikael that we should move there, but he won't be having provincial living, and I don't blame hime. But that house! But granny's still here, and I love that, of course. And at the new place, she made me lunch. Herring, schnaps and stinky cheese. Smoked her long brown cigarettes in her chair, while I sat in the big brown sofa across from her. We scrabbled. So what was the big deal again?

Last leg

2011-03-14T22:00:00.002+01:00

After the ferry journey from hell, we found a café in Tarifa where we hung out for a while, had coffee, nursed a bloody finger, got the color back in our cheeks from the choppy trip. It didn't take long before we were our old selves again. We're usually pretty good at laughing at our predicaments, you know, when we've had a drink or two. But even though there was a couple at a nearby table enjoying beers at 11am, we stuck with coffee.

We then walked to the part of town where the bus to Algeciras is. Took the bus the 18 kilometers through lovely mountainous terrain to the train station. Bought tickets to Madrid.

There a few hours to kill before departure, so we walked downtown to the local veg market. Had more coffee, goofed around. Another thing we're really good at - waiting. We just kind of enjoy pottering around as it were.

Caught the train, and we were in Madrid five hours later. It was a bit late, and we looked for a hotel. Only, we had overlooked a small detail. It was the carnival! We tried four hotels before finding a room, and even then it was quite expensive. But since we didn't fancy dragging the fatigued kids around for a few more hours, we took it! Big "phew"!

The next day, we made another date with Anne Sofie and her daughter Alma. We met them back in 2009, when we were in Madrid on our way to Morocco the first time (or on the way back, can't remember). Anne Sofie stopped us when she heard us speaking, hoping that we lived in Madrid, so she could expand her expats with kids network. We had to disappoint, but we've kept in touch, and she promised to take us to eat tapas at her husband's family's restaurant.

But first, we went to a huge playground at Plaza de Oriente and...played. A lot. Dante is so good with smaller kids, and took his turn pushing Alma on the swings.

Then we strolled through the charming streets and checked out one of the covered market places that every country aside from Denmark seems to excel in! And finally, we enjoyed tapas and paella at David's restaurant while the kids kept us on our toes.

Mikael and I have now been in Madrid five times together. And each time, without fail, we end up staying in the area around the Plaza Santa Ana. We just love it there, there's everything you need: playgrounds, bars, supermarkets, friends, open air cafés, parks and museums aren't too far. We discussed the possibility of trying someplace new next time, but somehow I don't think that's going to happen!

After two nights at the expensive-ish place we did move ourselves to a cheaper hostal. We hadn't quite counted on this third night, but as luck would have it, all trains to Paris were fully booked! I took advantage of this, and spent my last night in Madrid with Anne Sofie, bar hopping, as one does in Madrid. She showed me some great places that I hope to take Mikael to next time. We both managed to get a little tipsy, hooray!

The next day, we commenced with an alternative route, taking a train to San Sebastián instead of Paris.

I've never been to Basque countrym unfortunately our stay was short, arriving late and staying at a hotel only to wake early the next morning and check out. We took a walk around, saw the cathedral and other impressive monuments by night.

The day after, we took a bus at 9am to Biarritz. Not recommendable. Take the train instead, even though you have to switch trains at one point. The hilly terrain is beautiful, but unfortunately makes for a bumpy ride that left me with a bout of motion sickness, and I was minutes from spewing when we pulled into Biarritz. We whiled away a few hours at a huge park close to the station, the weather was gorgeous! Not Morocco, but still, 15 degrees Celsius, sunny, birds chirping. A taste of spring, lovely.

We alighted the TGV to Paris and were there hours later. We only had enough time to jaunt across the street and order frites and vin rouge. The waiter was surprisingly sweet and refreshing (in Paris! who knew?), took a picutre of us, and himself. Never caught his name, but left him a healthy tip. If you're around those parts, just remember that the red-head at Aux Villes Du Nord is about the friendliest waiter you will encounter in those parts.

As I said, we didn't have much time. That's because we had to catch a train to Brussels! Only an hour and a half, luckily, as we were acutely aware of the fact that these days of travelling were starting to take their toll on Halfdan. He's such a homebody, doing well on three day stretches at hotels, but getting uneasy after a few too many consecutive train/bus trips. We arrived in Brussels quite late, and took a cab to our friends' place for a two night stay.

We were a bit travel-weary, but made the most of our stay, enjoying wine and conversation with our hosts. Their apartment was pretty much in the shadow of the parliament building of the EU, quite fitting since our friend Michelle is a political journalism intern there now. The city is dynamic, I must say. Charming old buildings under the imposing figures of modern monster buildings that appear to have popped up overnight.

Quite charming details once in a while though.

And also here did we make friends with friendly waiters. Here, the boys' new best friend at Pulp on Rue Archimède.

And lastly, a picture from Place Jourdan, where Belgium's best frites (that's French fries for the Yanks) are to be had. Oh indeed, they were excellent!

Needless to say, we're home now, settling into life again. That alone will need its own post. Our trip is still not completely digested. All at once it dominates my being, but is obstructed by the thoughts that the everyday forces upon it. I'm grateful for the everyday, but cursed as well. And now, I suffer from what can only be called Post Vacation Stress Syndrome. It involves Weltschmerz, yelling and a big dose of escapism. I'll be back.

The Missing Revolution

2011-03-12T16:23:00.004+01:00

Before moving along on our trip, I have to address an issue several people have asked along our way - did we feel any revolutionary waves in Morocco?

The first reaction is "no". Morocco is a bit different than other Middle East nations. The Moroccans we asked stated simply in a most heartfelt manner, that they love their King. "J'aime le roi!" We didn't doubt they meant it. The current King appears to be a good one, paying attention to neglected parts of his Kingdom, taking care of some of the most needy. Without a doubt he is a reformator compared to his father. The members of government were not so well loved (although they are...appointed by the King), but were on the brink of being traded out for new members, always a popular thing to do in times of strife. Also, the King had made sure to keep food prices down, another popular move.

There were demonstrations in Morocco while we were there, mostly peaceful. My husband went to a demo in Essaouira with our friend Salah, and it was completely non-violent. There were some plain clothes officers around, but no large armies of military or men in uniform carrying arms. People in Morocco are quite free to demonstrate and speak their minds as far as we can see. One demonstration in a coastal town up north was not so lucky. There were lootings during the demonstrations, and a bank was set alight (by looters). Five people inside the bank died. However unfortunate, it was with relief that we noted that there was no violence from the police or military's side, that utself effectively being the problem in the other surrounding dictatorships/countries.

I'm sure some people have had their misgivings about us taking our children on a trip to a potentially dangerous area (potentially in regards to how other people may view it). I'd like to point out for the record, that we'd never do anything we didn't feel was safe. For example, we got off the subway in Bruxelles after only one stop because there were a few troublemakers. We feel quite safe in Morocco. We know the people, we have friends, we've always felt safe there. And despite my no-flying policy, I'd be the first to get on a plane out of there at the first signs of true unrest.

I can think of several other destinations that have nothing to do with the Arab revolution that have been constant tourist attractions despite on and off conflicts. Life is dangerous, but we're not really thrill-seekers, as far as that goes.

But something about Morocco and revolutions together has been swirling around my head since our trip. We do know some people personally there, and although their stories are not mine to tell, I can honestly say that if there's to be a revolution in Morocco, it should be by and for the women. They really got the short end of the stick. I would wish for them that they empower themselves, mobilize themselves, and take their fates into their own hands. Undoubtedly, there are thousands of emancipated Moroccan women out there, leading lives they sculpt for themselves. But for every one of them, I fear there are a thousand more, living in unhappy marriages with no way out, finding themselves the victims of domestic abuse, getting cheated in their jobs or upon divorce, economically and otherwise, as divorced mothers are forced to give up their children to the fathers upon re-marriage. There really is no justice for them. But Moroccan women are the force of the country, they give birth to every member of that nation (goes for all nations, come to think of it), feed it, take care of it, love it - and still, they get a bad deal. I hope they get what's owed them.

The very last of Morocco, from Brussels

2011-03-10T16:03:00.005+01:00

Yesterday was crazy. Woke up in Spanish Basque country, had lunch in France, went to sleep in Belgium. But more on that in another post perhaps. Here are the last remnants of our time in Morocco.

As I've mentioned before, there are cats everywhere in Essaouira. We discourage the kids to pet most of them, as they're not quite as clean as we'd like. We did fall over one particular kitten however, that really took the cake. We met it at the fruit and veg market, and also at the spice and fish market. It was instantly recognizable, with special marks on the ears. And it was just the sweetest, most mild mannered cat ever. It put up with the boys when they were a bit too rough, even willingly coming back for more. We were very, very close to trying to bring it back with us. We even named it, München (don't ask). Such a sweetheart that cat! I fear we shall never find its match. (Salah, if you're reading - find the cat and love it for us!)

A couple of days before departure, Latifa gave me the gift of having her cousin do me up in henna on all limbs. Last time, it was her aunt. I observed the technique, and I have a bag of henna leaves with me, and a squirty thing, to try on myself. We'll see if I can get nearly anywhere as good.

Last day, Latifa started the waterworks, and I followed suit. I'm not usually sentimental type, but it was touching. And sad, and heartwarming, and wretched, all at once. We left on a bus for Marrakech, arriving three hours later. Already then, Essaouira was far away. Marrakech is an entirely different animal. The first impressions aren't necessarily favorable. Although the city is esthetically beautiful, the first impression both times we've been has been people on the street, singling us out, following us for as long as needs be, trying to make a buck. Something we haven't really experienced in Essa or Tangier, thankfully so. It's really, really irritating. People need to eat to, all respect, but I'm more inclined to goodwill towards those who understand that you don't like being followed around for five city blocks. But enough about that.

This time around, we went to the Majorelle Gardens, which almost redeemed every bad thing we've ever encountered in Marrakech. Wow. I know a certain godmother in California who would feel quite at home here. Canopies of lush green leaves. Such a diverse mix of flora, beautifully cared for. A very inspiring place.

Halfi was inspired enough for a complete breakdown.

Bougainvilleas so big you could build a house under them. Or a large tent at least.

When in Marrakech, you must go to a hole in the wall kind of place for a break, drink tea and eat m'semmen, delicious crispy pancakes with honey. One of those things I will try to replicate in Denmark. But really, the most inconspicuous of places make the best fare in the city.

Though one must eat at Djemaa el Fnaa at least once. The food is really good, such a wide variety, mergez sausage, seafood, harira. It's all excellent, and the best/worst thing is just deciding on which food vendor to patronize. They all beckon you, hassling you in a jovial way, sometimes a little touchy-feely, and always absolutely disgusted when you keep on walking passed them. Quite fun once you get used to it, actually! And if you can get to higher ground and take in the view, you must!

And promptly after this, everything changed. We took the night train to Tangier. We woke up, and were cheated 20 dirhams by a cab driver. Then, some guy self-appointed himself to helping us by ferry tickets, although we declined his "help". First, he ripped money out of my hand to give to the legitimate ferry ticket salesman. Then, he followed us up the ramp, wanting money for his "help". As fate would have it, he'd ripped the last dirhams out of my hand to give to another. Shame. At that point, these events were unfortunately overshadowing all the good things we've ever written/gushed about Morocco before, and we were glad to leave. First impressions AND last impressions are the lasting ones. Dammit.

And then it was choppy sailing to Spain as you've read, Mikael vomited, Halfdan smashed his finger, I kept supplying a woman at a neighboring table with sick bags and wet wipes - good times. And they were hardly over...

Neither here nor there

2011-03-08T23:50:00.003+01:00

For those interested in how our trip is panning out...

We're in San Sebastian. Just off the train from Madrid, and a lovely three day stay. The rundown:

From Essaouira we took a bus to Marrakech.
Stayed a night in Marrakech, watched snake charmers, ate at Djemaa el Fnaa etc.
Took a night train from Marrakech to Tangier.

Woke up in Tangier, took the first boat to Spain.
Somehow, that boat trip just didn't work out so well.
Waves. Sea sickness. One of our children getting a finger caught in a door and nearly ripping his fingernail out.
Blood and vomit.
But you know, we are just the kind of people who can laugh at that kind of thing only an hour after it's over.
Thank heavens for that.

Train from Algeciras to Madrid.
Hey - Carneval!
Hadn't quite thought of that.
Off the train at 9pm with two tired kids and tried many a full-booked hotel before we found a place.
Had playdates and coffee with an Danish woman we met on the street the last time we were here.
A kindred spirit, who also enjoys politics and cocktails.
Had tapas and paella at her husband's family's restaurant.

Tried to book a nighttrain to Paris.
But there were none!
Well, when there was it was booked.

Plan B.
Train from Madrid to San Sebastian today.
Tomorrow morning (early!) bus to Biarritz, TGV to Paris.
Train from Paris to Bruxelles (we hope), in time for champagne with friends in Bruxelles,
and hopefully a good night's sleep at their place.
Then, nighttrain to Cph.

Well, that's the plan, at least.
Kids are troopers,
just remember a first aid kit,
and wine.

Not quite the end.

Farewell Mogador

2011-03-03T11:36:00.007+01:00

Our last day here. This afternoon, we're taking a bus to Marrakech, staying a night, and then the plan is to go to Fes, Tangier, Madrid, Pamplona, Biarritz, Paris, Brussels and finally home. It's all good, it's time to head home. But it's sad, and I'd rather not think about it. It's been wonderful.

I don't have time to explain each and every photo, but here's some things we've done, and thing's we'll miss.

For some reason, they love putting meat on fake, plastic grass at the butcher's. Just go with it.

Evening shower was always good fun.

Back at the farm, a few turkeys added to the mix.

Maman M'barka (always smiling!) making bread raïf. The oven is in the same room as the egg laying hens.

Ergo the egg laying hens get put in a sack for the duration!

The fire is lit using old leaves fallen from the olive trees in the orchard.

Latifa doing a not very good job of mounting the donkey.

I've put on some weight on this trip. I've given Latifa the blame.

Chicken-love.

Well.

On the way home in the gangsta-mobile. Oh, there are seatbelts. But not enough for the seven people crammed in the grand taxi, not including the driver. (Spare me in the comments section, there is no alternative!)

So...gotta go get my kleenex ready for our farewell.

Dernière Semaine au Paradis!

2011-02-24T10:46:00.009+01:00

I know I shouldn't be counting my sorrows already. But we've got just a week left. And it will be a week under the constant shadow of "Almost Over". Bittersweet. Some things I will miss:

Colorful tiles, in unexpected places.

A carpet of baby chicks to look at on the main drag.
*Note, not crazy on the concept, more the reaction of my children seeing something they'd never see in Denmark*

Market stalls galore.

Olives galore.

The bread man. (Don't let him ask more than 1,5 dirham for a loaf! We've got him figured out now!)

Terrace fun.

Fetching soup at the restaurant below. 2 bucks for a hearty meal.

Ridiculous sunsets. Really.

Our cozy living area at night.

Our children entertaining themselves. Here, drawing Batman faces on each other.

Latifa playing second mother to Halfdan.

Taking pictures of our new motto.

Getting friendly with kittens at the local supermarket.

And so much more. Also a bit sad that we haven't had time to enroll the boys in the local Koran School. They could do with a bit of discipline while we sip martinis on the rooftop. Next time perhaps. Hope to have one more Essaouira post in me. We're going back to Latifa's parents this weekend, more cow pictures to follow...

Follow up post, with videos!

2011-02-14T18:13:00.002+01:00

For some reason it takes forever to upload videos to YouTube, but better in a later post than never.
I'm sure the grandparents will appreciate them more than anyone else, but here goes.

Here's a clip of Latifa pushing the boys on the homemade swing.

Dante with the calf, and the scenery in general.

Here's a little impromtu game of footie, while a local herder in a djellaba gets his sheep home from the pasture for the night. The air was so lovely that moment, with the sun going down over the countryside.

Bihat

2011-02-13T22:26:00.013+01:00

Yesterday, we spent the whole day in the country. We were here on our last visit, invited by Latifa, who works for the owner of the apartment we rent here. Basically, we went home to her parents in the countryside, in the small village of Bihat. We stayed the whole day, doing absolutely nothing. It was magical.

Bihat is about a 35 kilometer drive from Essa. Then, from the road where the grand taxi drops you off, you walk through a miniscule village, about a kilometer, until you reach the handmade square of mud bricks that is their home. Immediately, the animals hear us coming and start braying, barking, clucking. Quite a welcome.

We got there early, about 10am, since Latifa wanted us to get the maximum out of doing nothing the whole day! The countryside was very different than last time. Last time, it was July, and extremely hot. The earth was scorched, schvitzed, to use a more colorful term, but it was really. Hot, hard, barren. This time it was moist, red, green with grass and the air was rife with the lovely scent of innumerous flowers. It was perfume! Really lovely!

We started by having our second breakfast. Bread, dripping in homemade butter, homemade honey, homemade olives, homemade olive oil. You're getting the drift right? They do everything themselves out here. It tastes...more. All of it. And it's all organic, needless to say, but that's just what they consider normal.

Then we went outside to look at the fields. We started by eating sweet peas.

Then, Latifa walked us through the fields where her father grows wheat, alternately corn. There were also argan trees (they produce nuts they crush for oil), olive trees that produce a ton of oil a year, figs trees, almond trees, apricot trees, lentil plants, and a host of animals of course. We settled in a field where a cow and her calf were grazing. We stayed there for a while.

Latifa kept going to and fro, bringing things from the house to us. First, a rope and a sack of grain strung up in an immense olive tree became the swing that entertained the kids, including Latifa's daughter Ahd, for hours.

Then she brought popcorn and fresh milk, from the cow we were lying next to. Delicious milk, best I've ever tasted. The calf did start mooing a lot right about then...The man on the right is Salah, the apartment manager, a friend of Latifa, and ours now too. He's also a real estate agent in Essaouira (Salah Immobilier), we might try to get him to find our own Moroccan farm to live on.

A few of us settled down on blankets for a little snooze out in the open, while the children played, and while Latifa made butter the old-fashioned way. But not before she's brought us pillows for our heads and almost admonished us when we weren't asleep yet!

When we got up from our snooze in the pasture, it was time for lunch. Latifa brought an enormous plate of chicken, vegetable and cous cous out to the field. Her mother, who'd been at a neighbors making bread, and her father, who'd been at the local Berber market, buying and selling, joined us.

In this part of the world, you eat only with your right hand, out of a communal plate. I love it. And the hosts make sure you get your fill by shredding bits of chicken and laying them on your side of the dish for you, and shoving vegetables your way. And they keep saying "eat, eat!", so we ate, and ate. We drank the fresh buttermilk from Latifa's butter churning with the meal. Halfdan drank the most, he loved it. It was very good, but I couldn't quite get used to the small globules of butter still in it.

Mikael, as always, was thrilled for this opportunity for the boys to experience such a different way of doing things than they experience in Denmark. Me too, of course. They were a bit shy and apprehensive about all the attention the adults bestowed upon them, but they enjoyed themselves, and they quickly got used to the paradigm of the Moroccan countryside. They only took food with their right hands, they remembered to say "Shukkran" (thank you) everytime they were given something, and they tried almost everything they were offered.

After the meal, god help me, we were told it was time for another nap! We went back to the house. The men stayed in the living room, I was ushered into the master bedroom with a huge blanket, and I settled in while the kids watched a Bollywood film on the black and white tv in the same room. I woke up when the movie was interrupted by the afternoon call to prayer ("Allah u Akbar"!), but I got almost an hour in.

After our second nap, there was coffee and cookies in the living room, after which, I thought our time was up and we'd be heading home again. Almost, but not before we were to eat again! I was still stuffed from the cous cous, but at any rate, a tajine was brought in with vegetables and beef this time, and we ate, again. And had oranges for dessert. At this point I was bursting.

Then, it was time to go home! Latifa's mother and father followed us out. Gave us a liter of their own olive oil, more olives than we can eat, bread. Kissed our cheeks and told us we're always welcome, we're like family to them now.

The taxi driver who'd brought us out came and fetched us again, but it coincided with evening prayer, so he had to take his mat out and take care of that business first, while we waited in the car. Love it. That's him in black, kneeled in prayer on his mat.

The day's activities had exhausted the children, and Halfdan who was sitting on Latifa's lap on the way home fell asleep first, cradled by Latifa's and Ahd's arms. Then Ahd fell asleep up against Latifa, then Dante fell asleep against her, his arms around her. Do you think my heart could take it? Fabulous day. So happy our city kids have this opportunity to see another way of doing things, to shit in a hole in the ground, to meet people they don't understand, but who they learn to communicate with anyway. If you have small children, don't wait, this time is golden, and perfect for these kinds of experiences!

Home is where the Medina is

2011-02-09T21:58:00.005+01:00

Thought I'd better hurry up and better the scenario I laid out in the previous post. Lo, Halfi and I were ill upon departure, 'tis true. But Dante was as excited as a five year old can be. The minute I said it was time to get our coats on, and head to the station, he was literally jumping for joy, scrambling around, hooting....yes, hooting. He kept it up all the way to Madrid. We had to keep our yelling in check, we knew we just had an overly excited young man on our hands. So thrilled he was, he could hardly sit still for just a minute, quite a challenge on some our our train travels. But it was a good balance. The ill being kept in entertainment and high spirits by the borderline obnoxious. Come to think of it, that's kind of my life in a nutshell.

I reread the guidebook we brought with us on this trip, and last. The main attraction here, apparently, is the beach. Yeah, yeah, it's a great beach. But it's a beach. Much like other beaches. Salty water, shells, icky sand. Not my cup of tea, though I don't mind watching the boys frolic along the water's edge, as long as I don't have to touch their sticky/wet shorts afterwards. Such a barrel of fun am I. No, my heart is in the medina.

Our first day back here, I took a short walk around to buy provisions, nescafé, milk and bread. I remembered my way along the crookedy old streets, remembered even the angle at which the sun hit the whitewashed walls along our alleyway. I could have cried. Almost did. I love the medina. The shopkeepers remembered me from last, even. Such a good feeling!

We finally got around to trying the local resaturant. Excellent harira, excellent tagines. Cheap.

The restaurant from our bird's eye view.

This town is quite small, so taking a post-dinner stroll to the ramparts and indulging in a photo-op on the canons is child's play. Literally. The view of the crashing surf along the raggedy cliffs below at sunset is....unparalleled.

There are as many cats in this town as there are gulls, which is many, this being a seaside resort. There are fish bones littering the streets on every corner, where diligant locals make sure the cats are well fed. They are friendly, albeit a bit scruffy some of them. No matter, the cats in our particular alleyway are entitled to some lovin' too.

There are plenty of other species enjoying second hand wares. Here, a row of birds perched along the door of our local supermarket.

Just days before, we had bought some pasta and grains from these very bags. And we'll probably buy more, no matter!

Here are some birds from the other end of the food chain! Not buying any of those! Some of them are even partially plucked already, ouch.

I must remember to take pictures of the olive man, the sugar man, and the bread man. So many of our shopping destinations, run by the same people, day in and day out. Always with a smile and an extra olive or bread for the boys. Oh, and just today the (toothless) bread man extolled my beauty at great lengths in French! Probably trying to get me to forget that he'd asked two dirhams less for the same amount of bread just yesterday. The cheek.

On the other hand, I bought three pieces of cake from the cake man on the other side of the street for just nine dirhams, so what the hell.

We've been here a week tomorrow. It all goes by so fast. I'm just now properly relaxed and acclimatised, I fear the next three weeks will disappear in a flash, must remember to write a poem or do a watercolor while there's still time!

CPH-Essaouira

2011-02-08T11:04:00.004+01:00

We're here!

Our day of departure started a bit ominously. Halfdan coughed the whole night through, before contracting a fever and sleeping most of the day. I was feeling achy, and knew in my bones it wasn't going to go away lickety split, and that whatever I had, Halfi had it too. I called my mom the nurse, asked what to do. She asked: can he laugh? We made him laugh. He's fine, she said, go! We went. All the way to Tangier Halfi and I played fever tag. Some days better, some days worse. He got to be carried a lot, but always at the end of the day, be it in a hotel or train bed, he was fine while watching a film on my computer. Creature comforts never fail.

But we're here now, on our fifth day no less. I've read two books, fiction, which I never do. My head is empty, oh so empty, I can't ever imagine having to string two thoughts together again. In a few days I will be ready to attempt a watercolor, or a poem perhaps. For now, I'm content with daily walks through the souk, a bit of hand washing the clothes, and hanging them up to dry amongst the gulls on the terrace, falling asleep at 9pm. For now just happy. Here's a small clip of our walk up from the street to the terrace. The stairs seem worse than they are!

Leaving on a Sleeper Car

2011-01-26T11:34:00.002+01:00

I hardly remember the last time I was in these parts! Ah yes, little Halfdan had his arm in a sling, and it was Christmas. I was round the doctor's with him yesterday, turns out his clavicle had been broken, poor thing. Must've been hairline, that's why three doctors missed it on the x-ray I suppose. It can happen. But there's still so much fibrocartilage on the spot that there's no doubt there was a small fracture. Young children are champions at healing bones, luckily, and he's fully mobile with both arms in all directions, so no harm done.

Also since last, two exams. One written, one oral, and I've only gotten the result on the oral so far, but I passed and thank god for that. Theory is a strange animal. Last year, I did poorly with some quite simple theory, this year I did better on theory that was far more complex. And oral exams. Who needs them? Make no mistake, I am a procrastinator when it comes to school, and would have done well to have prepared myself earlier on. But life with small children seems to take precedence somehow. So again, I found myself at the last moment, cramming and sweating and suppressing academic anxiety attacks. I'm quite good at taking a few minutes out of studying, when it's really bad, sitting on the floor or bed, closing my eyes, taking deep breaths to calm myself. It helps. I can envision myself finishing up some reading within an hour or see myself putting the last touch on that paper a whole day before it's due, and it always happens. Visualisation can come quite in handy. Perhaps my breathing was too deep (not a word!), but the sound of my pants zipper opening a little more with each new breath jolted me back to reality. It's an exam. It won't kill me. There are far worse things to be concerned about, and so be it. I survived again. And now I'm somewhat of an expert on Icelandic reggae. If you ask me.

Only thing I have left now is my master's thesis. I'm so ready to write it. Except of course for the fact that I don't know what to write about yet, but it's forming. But I look forward to the goal of writing page a day. Delving into a narrow subject, and getting to be smart as hell on that one thing. In my second life (the one from around the time my dad died in 2001 to now), I willingly had no ambition other than happiness. That has changed. I look forward to meeting this academic challenge, and having it kiss my ass. My third life is starting, and it's okay to be happy and have ambition.

So, what else? Well, lots. My mother's come and gone for another biannual visit. We've been in a cottage by the sea for a weekend with friends. Dante's last day of daycare ever is on Friday. We'll be living in Morocco for a whole month, and we're leaving on Saturday. An out of town friend is using our apartment while we're away so the plants will be watered, and the mail will be checked, but damn it feels odd to be leaving just now. I know I'll love it when I'm there, but I suppose I have an agoraphobic core that would keep me home in the everyday. Don't we all? Well, I'm leaving it behind for now. It won't be quite the adventure our last trip was, since we've been there and all, but this time will still be special. We know people, we have nothing to do, we are wide wide open.

I've blogged about it before, several times. The fact that the movie Bright Star by Jane Campion was only released in Denmark ages after it was released everywhere else. I just knew it was a film I had to see. And a kind soul, you know who you are, made sure I got a hold of it. There are no words. It's the most beautiful film I've ever seen, the most beautiful love story I've ever known, and if you haven't seen it, it is indeed your loss. Jane Campion is my hero. I'm not yet an artist by any account, but if I can only learn how to convey such beauty and eternal knowledge in just a fraction of the scale she can before I die, I win.

See you in Morocco.

A Flash

2010-12-31T17:14:00.006+01:00

It occured to me just recently (two days ago), that today, a decade was ending. What a decade it was. A not entirely inappropriate quote to sum it up would be: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times".

Ten years ago tonight, I was celebrating my last New Year's Eve before everything just started unravelling. It was such a serene time. The world was good and bad, as it always has been, but in retrospection, there wasn't the stark polarisation of forces that would appear in just a short matter of time.

I was young, happy, relatively carefree.
Within the year, my father had put a bullet in his heart and the World Trade Center had collapsed upon itself, sending world politics as we knew it to the grave. Something much more fearful and volatile took its place. And it's still here.

And to think that on that New Year's Eve, we thought things were looking up. We thought for sure that we were going to lick poverty, hunger, AIDS, war and a host of other worries that pre-9/11 humans had. Wow, were we ever being duped.

Good things happened too though. Web 2.0 aka the internet as we know it arose, making the world ever smaller, cementing globalisation, bringing people together, democratising ideas, getting people involved. It has never been easier to waste so much time sitting in front of a screen, but it's never been easier to get involved! Unless you live in North Korea (or China, or Kasakhstan, or...oh forget it)...let me put it this way: If you can read this, then you have no excuse for not helping shape this world into what you want it to be. Period. Anything is possible.

This decade saw me start a blog. 5 years this past November, I just realized. Congratulations with me you guys, I've been great! Just kidding, I feel privileged to have this outlet. Although I dare say I could utilise it better (anyone say New Year's Resolution?).

I met my husband. Had my children. I mentioned my dad before, and honestly, even though the guy was an asshole (with a heart of gold mind you), his death basically reset all my settings to zero. I didn't care about much. Nothing shocked me. Emotion? Meh. It made me a tough broad. Though it also reset my life goals. Meaning, I stopped having any. Or, being happy was simply all I wanted. No unrealistic expectations of a life I didn't even have planned. It's amazing how many people are sour and surly, because they're bitter over the life they didn't lead, instead of embracing the life they didn't know they would.

My kids changed those settings. Made me realize that at some point I might want to have a job that didn't involve serving beer. I had to be "better", just a little. And my husband has been nothing but supportive in any way he can. And why shouldn't he? But it was the total opposite of what I saw in my own childhood, so halleluja, right?

Whatever. We all have our path. Mine is full of juicy berries right now, so the decade turned out ok, none the worse for wear on a personal level. Let's just all do our bit from now on ok? The next decade is not going to be easier than the last. There's a whole new set of problems on the horizon. They're big. They're existential, from a living organism type perspective. If you're over thirty, you have no excuses. Kids in high school are more on the ball than folks my age are. Let's get with the game on this whole climate thing. Man made or not. It's there, and we have to deal with it.

On that note, here are some shots of the boys. The first one is Halfdan (before haircut), because he sprained his clavicle of all things last week, and had to wear a sling. Sling's are adorable by the way.

Then après haircut. Hey, I didn't say it was styled, ok? Dante looks so much like his dad in the first picture, ha!

See you on the other side.

Yule

2010-12-25T22:16:00.002+01:00

I gave Halfi a haircut. After this photo was taken. Of course. There are still curls, but now Halfi has them, and not the other way around.

There is a lot of snow here. And while it's not always fun to live on the fourth floor of a four floor walk-up, it does pay.

But the snow makes us enjoy other activities, like bathtub fun with friends.

And long pancake breakfasts with the paper.

And snow is the perfect accompaniment to Christmas. Just like homemade Christmas trees, with too many presents under them (I'm talking to you mother-in-law).

Today, we were supposed to take the train home to my beloved grandmother on the island. But the train was cancelled. And we were not the only ones who needed to travel in that direction. So we went home. And we missed what possibly was the last Christmas lunch ever at my grandmother's house. I was sad. We will visit her in a couple of weeks though. But still. A lot of people have been stranded in the snow here, so we are not alone.

More snow will fall.
Gas prices will soon go up.

Are you where you want to be?
Do you have what you need?

All you need is love.
The Beatles are almost right.

You need a little more than that too.
Give that some thought, will you?

Åbent Brev til Irma

2010-12-21T17:43:00.003+01:00

Kære Irma

Jeg var i dag, tirsdag d. 21 december 2010, forbi jeres filial på Østerbrogade ved Nygårdsvej. Jeg så noget som gjorde mig både vred og trist til mode. Billede af det er her.

Danmarks Naturfredningsforening og WWF (blandt mange andre) har tal på, at den europæiske ålebestand er på under 1% af hvad den burde være. Den er absolut på nippet til fuldkommen udslettelse. Jeg er klar over, at ål er en yndet spise i denne julefrokosttid, og at en større supermarkedskæde ikke skal indtræde som forbrugerens samvittighed, men desværre ved alt for få danskere (og andre europæere i øvrigt), at ålen er truet på sin eksistens. Det svarer altså til, at I har en bunke panda-bøffer på køl. På tilbud endda!

Irma, jeg ved det er et spørgsmål om efterspørgsel og udbud mht til forbrug. Men du har det jo med at være trailblazer for en forbedret livskvalitet. For ikke så længe siden, gik du forrest med at fjerne slikken fra kassen, og i stedet indførte tørrede frugter og nødder. Det vakte da også pressens opmærksomhed. Win/win, som det hedder. Og livskvalitet handler ikke kun om sundhed, men også om vores omgivelser.

I kan fortsætte med at være "de gode". I kunne vælge at trække al ål fra alle butikker, og gerne sende en pressemeddelelse til medierne om det. Det vil vække befolkningens opmærksomhed omkring det her, og gør dem opmærksomme på, at I sætter pris på havets økosystem. Jeg er også sikker på, at Irma har medarbejdere på alle niveauer, hvis børn vil være meget glad for at ålen ikke er helt forsvundet når de bliver voksne.

Mvh
Jennie K.
København

Desculpe

2010-12-20T13:24:00.004+01:00

Long time no blog. Been busy. Got term papers to write. Planets to save. Children to feed. In that order. I'm taking the easy way out and publishing some of Dantes own pictures - we are overdue in experiencing ourselves from his perspective. The last ones are taken on my Photo Booth. Just realized that I could use the heat sensor to detect where the worst drafts are coming in, smart!

Anyway, enjoy. If anyone as something to say or ask, just pipe up in the comments section, m'kay?

To Conference or Not To Conference, or, The One About the Time I Started Going to Conferences for No Apparent Reason

2010-12-03T14:14:00.001+01:00

Even though having a blog kind of belies the point I'm about to make, the fact remains that I'm not really all that good at identifying myself as one thing or the other. Being split genetically between Italy and Scandinavia is one thing, having grown up in a third cultural place (Texas) is another, and living a life in one of the first truly postmodern generations is an entirely different chapter of its own. Where the hell do I fit in? I'm 32, and I've still to figure that out.

That is why every time there is some sort of gathering that's happening, and I may know people going, but it might pertain to something ever so slightly exclusive, I automatically assume I'm not invited, it's not something concerning me, my presence wouldn't be appreciated or wanted etc etc. Yeah I know, you'd think as an only child, I'd be ok on the self-esteem issue. Not the case.

Anyway, I've luckily started meeting a lot of new people lately, and these people are getting me out of my self-imposed shell. And I love it.

It started back in late August, when someone emailed me via my food blog that they were starting a Danish Food Blogger Symposium, and would I like to join. I immediately though "who me?", "no thanks, I'm not a real food blogger, I just make food and post pictures of it along with recipes once in a while". Duh, right? Another friend mentioned it to me, and actually, don't tell anyone, she created a food blog just to be able to come and rub elbows with everyone else. She convinced me to come. What's to lose, right? It was free! I in turn, got a couple of other bloggers on the bandwagon, and we ended up having a great day together with lots of great speeches, new concepts, fusion lunch, wine tasting, chocolate tasting and workshops on everything from fonts to how to write recipes. Really not a bad deal at all.

Then, a few weeks ago, there was the Geek Girl Meetup. Again, I immediately assumed it wasn't for me, as I don't classify myself as neither geek nor girl. Then someone from one of my new circles of friends poked me a bit. Aren't ya comin'? Why not? Sure, it'll be fun! And then the magic words....it's free. See, I'm turning into a conference slut here. There was coffee, tea, golden balls (chocolate covered licorice), lunch, afternoon cake, dinner ad libitum, plus some really cool talks about everything from Drupal (which I've yet to become geek enough to appreciate), to cleaning out your closets, to using Google Analytics, and also some behavioral psychology by a woman with a delightful Swedish accent. No matter who you are, if you're online at all in your life, you'd definitely find something useful at a conference like this. Not to mention, there were so many lovely women there to network with. Geek or not, I'll be there next time it rolls around.

And the latest conference I've been to was Tueday of this week. Most people using a substantial parts of their lives on a computer I'm sure are familiar with TED talks. About everything under the sun, but mostly still in the genre of how to understand our world and ourselves better, and how to do everything better. You're only a click away from inspiration on the TED talk youtube channel, and that alone is a beautiful and comforting thing. So, this time, I payed good money to go to TEDxCopenhagen (the "x" stands for independently organized TED events), and actually I had to write an application to even be considered for a ticket, but luckily they deemed me eligible for whatever reason. It was truly a marvelous day. All of the talks were held by Danes, in English, and were all concerning the theme "The Good Life". There were talks about how moods affect our biology, intestinal bacteria as a living part of our good life, a homemade space rocket, building a 3.5 kilometer high mountain outside of Copenhagen, and others you can see right here. I was impressed by the range. I was impressed by the drive, and the hard work done by each of the speakers, to be a real authority on their subjects, even though some of their ideas might just as well have been flukes. It reminded me that if you have a good idea, and you run with it, and spend some serious time and effort on it, it's not just an idea anymore. It becomes a tangible instrument in legitimizing the human role on this planet, something that I've otherwise not been so sure about. It reinforced my view that I can't just allow myself to be along for the ride in the life, which has otherwise been my modus operandi, I need to be an active participant, earn my place if you will.

What a long spiel. The moral of this story is this: by just being human, everything concerns me. So I've learned to realize. Watch out next time there's a conference or a symposium - I'll be there. I'll crash it if I have to. Especially if they serve sustainable sushi (lower left corner).

PS: for the record, although I was pleased with the whole lineup at TEDxCopenhagen, I was a bit disappointed that no one addressed the issue, that in our quest for The Good Life, we are indeed on our way the lowest depth of human misery. As in, we are sawing off the branch we are sitting on. I'm all for medical discoveries, innovative thinking, helping teenage refugees live normal lives, but in essence, everything we do is based on a (disappearing) oil economy, despite the technology we have and (based on poor political judgement and cronyism) choose not to use. That, is the downside of The Good Life. Just had to get that in there.

I have a mandolin, and I know how to use it.

2010-12-01T11:58:00.002+01:00

But I still sing better than I play the mandolin. For now.

(Mandolin kindly gifted to me by our musician, photographer, writer friend Martin Sne, who just happened to have an extra lying around)

A First

2010-11-18T14:15:00.003+01:00

Today, for the very first time in my life, I joined a political party. Desperate times, desperate measures.

If you haven't read my post from a couple of years ago, explaining Danish politics, go to this post, and I'll give you a clue along the way.

There are only two parties right now that are worthy of power in this country, and they are: Enhedslisten (Ø), and Radikale Venstre (B). I woke up this morning, and just knew I had to join a party. And although these two parties are not buddy/buddy per se, they were my top choices, actually the only choices, as the other parties are just not cutting the mustard on immigration and human rights. They are both of a humanist doctrine that appeals to me, they have ambitious goals pertaining to climate change, and they have little bullshit, as far as I can see (the bullshitters they had left the party years ago). One subject cinched it for me, and that was on the European Monetary Unit. I'm against. Do your homework now, and find out who I joined.

As for Danish speaking readers, I highly recommend this book.

A bit blurry. Author: Inga Floto. Title: Dødstraffens Kulturhistorie (The Cultural History of the Death Penalty, Rituals and Methods 1600-2000). Required reading for Danish speakers!

Admittedly, I fell over it because of the death penalty aspect. Being American, I suppose I have a somewhat morbid fascination of it. But on top of the death penalty, it's really put a lot more into perspective. How societies work. How societies have changed in history, and why.

Two things I take with me from the book, every day since I've been reading:
1) Everytime I bicycle past the Parken stadium, close to my home, I think of this man, who eons ago was executed on that very spot. First his hand was chopped off, then his head, and then he was drawn and quartered. Less than a kilometer from where I now live.
2) Cesare Beccaria, a driving force behind the Enlightenment that lead to the eventual abolishment of the death penalty in Europe. He asked the question, do people really want to live in a society that has the right to kill them?

That's the crux of it right there, isn't it? People in this day and age in Denmark don't have to worry about that, we've long since stopped hanging people here. But people are now willingly voting themselves to a country that has the right to make infringements on their own freedom. The freedom to live and love across borders. This infringement is hidden by the fear of The Other, unfortunately, and people apparently feel as though they need to be protected. But this false sense of protection is slowly stripping away their own rights.

The question is now: do you want to live in a country that has the right to decide who you can't fall in love with, and where you can't live, if you do?

Pretty Self Explanatory

2010-11-10T07:14:00.002+01:00

These videos are only for hardcore fans! (ie, my mother!)

Don't mind the laughing banshee behind the camera. Dante's godparents gave him a real, flying helicopter, so we had to try it out.

Halfdan made the funniest faces blowing candles out...

In the Meantime

2010-11-09T13:07:00.001+01:00

I just took some video of a new toy we got here, but Youtube is taking its sweet time uploading it.

In the meantime, enjoy this song which I just discovered, and absolutely love. Not crazy about the video, so that's optional. (God, I'm so grown-up)

I'll be back with the other video asap!

Dig it.

2010-11-02T08:00:00.004+01:00

Something I saw this week, that was even scarier than any Halloween costume was this.

Do others have this experience too: The realization that when you go to the supermarket, basically everything you see (except the shelves and lighting) will be bought, and then in a short matter of time, consumed and subsequently shat out into the ecosystem, and/or thrown away and incinerated. Everything. Scary, especially when we're talking chemicals. I took the picture above at my local supermarket the other day. I especially hate the cleaning supplies aisle. So many unnecessary chemicals, going into our waterways, every single day. Rant over.

But I thought of all this when I saw a blogger friend's picture of pearly tampax. She'd just been to New York, from Sweden, and snapped a shot at the store. Such a banal thing, but it should be illegal. Imagine all the women who, every single day, put chemically bleached stuff into their lady parts, and throw at least one plastic applicator away. Every day. Millions. It's everything wrong with....everything, in a nutshell.

Speaking of nuts.

I've been using soap nuts now for a month or so, to avoid dumping unnecessary, manmade substances into our future drinking water, and the verdict? I'm crazy about them! Completely natural, effective, and I adore the fruity smell of my clothes. They work best with warm water, so for the hot washes I still use my otherwise eco friendly detergent, but that's only once a week. If you live in Copenhagen, you can buy a trial pack at Eco Ego. Oh! And I forgot to add - when they've been used twice or thrice, I dump them into the compost bin we have at home. So really, no unnecessary waste, at all.

Oh, and of course, I can't bash something without providing an alternative, so instead of tampax and pads, I stick purely to my cup. There are a few different ones on the market, so I won't tout one over the other. I'll just say that I practically forget I even have my monthly, and I've already saved money, and a lot of rubbish with it. Possibly not the handiest thing when deep in the Finnish forest, with nothing but a hole in the ground for a toilet, but still an easy and excellent alternative to all the other stuff.

Stepping down from soap (nut) box now.

Follow up...

2010-11-01T11:48:00.003+01:00

...on the theme from yesterday, I remembered something else that happened a year ago or so. The memory came about when Green commented on my previous post. About a sign hanging in a doctor's office, stating something to the effect of: "Everybody wears an invisible sign saying - notice me, make me feel special". I think that's an excellent concept to have in mente while going about one's business in the every day situation, barring having to have a sign up myself. Motivational much? If only that sort of behavior were inherent in our nature, though.

That triggered a memory of one of the salons we had at our place last year. One of the attendees had brought along a friend, a Swede. His outward appearance was a bit too constructed, something that can make me a bit uneasy, but he was really friendly, in a typically reserved Swedish fashion. We were talking about this and that, and he let on a little secret about himself when confronted with a bunch of new people, like the situation that evening. Whenever he's out and about, he's has two rules for himself.

Rule 1) Assume that everyone you meet has something interesting to tell you.
Rule 2) Act as though you're secretly in love with yourself.

I'd almost forgotten his dogma until yesterday, but I will make a point of practicing it (could've used it at a dinner party yesterday, alas too tired to even be in love with myself!). It makes perfect sense. Keep an open mind, tuning in to whatever channel others are on. Being secretly in love with yourself sounds perhaps as though the ego is on overdrive, but in truth, that's just the kind of aura that makes others receptive to you.

I'll stop now, before getting too self-helpy. Also, my mother has just complained that I haven't put up pictures of the kids in their Halloween costumes. Must up my mommy blogger game!

Simple but Effective

2010-10-31T15:38:00.003+01:00

There’s a new movement in Denmark. To counteract the Danish habit of being unintentionally rude, closed, unawares, or just plain mean. It’s a valid cause, so I ”like” this movement on Facebook, and I get an update from them now and again. A few weeks ago, they were asking people to tell tales of strangers, giving a hand, being overly nice, doing a good deed, that kind of stuff. I’ve been on both ends of that situation many times in my life. Sometimes, I’m sure some people would peg me as too generous, although funnily enough, I can be a real cheapskate sometimes, and also with my generosity, but probably mostly when I’m running on empty myself.

At any rate, one incident stuck out in my mind, that I had to share. Something that happened a really long time ago. In Texas. I may have been 15 years old. I didn’t have a driver’s license yet, and you had to be 16 to have one of those. I was hanging out at my favorite café on Fry Street with my friend Benji. He was a few years older than me, went to my high school, had a license and a car, so he used to give me a ride home pretty often. We hung out a lot there, and over time, I had a pretty big crush on him. He was a bit nerdy, but he had the most lovely long, jet black hair, liked heavy metal, and had exceptional features, owing to the fact that his mother was Javanese if I remember correctly. So, one day we were just hanging around Kharma Café, as it was called, and Benji had some sort of Weltschmerz going. We talked for a while, maybe a few hours. I have no idea what I said, at all. I guess I was just ”there”, talking, listening. I do remember there was a lull in the conversation, and a woman and her male companion who’d previously gone unnoticed stood up from their chairs, and made their way to the door. The woman appeared to have forgotten something, headed back, but instead of retrieving something, she headed straight for me, leaned over a little and said, ”Whatever you do, don’t change a bit. You’re a great person, and a good friend”. She then went back to the door, and left. Benji and I looked at each other. Another 10 seconds went by, where I was dumbfounded. Then I ran out the door after her, looking both ways. Neither she nor her companion could be seen.

Having a stranger butt into the situation was, oddly enough, just what I needed. Like most other teenagers, I had low self esteem, any number of complexes, about my body, my intelligence, did people like me. So receiving that kind of verbal pat on the back was really nice, and one of those things that has just stuck with me all these years. Didn’t help my relationship to Benji, unfortunately. He never reciprocated my feelings. He did keep giving me lifts home though.

Last night I went to a dance party. As you probably know, I love dancing. Since today is Halloween, there were a lot of Halloween parties going on yesterday. On my way there, on the other side of the city, I biked past an angel, and a cat, among others. Yeah so, after many years where I kept thinking what a shame that yet another Anglo holiday was making its way into Danish culture, I give up. What the hell. Valentine’s Day can still suck it though, just saying.

A few hours into the dancing, our party got crashed by a pumpkin, Frida Kahlo and a pimp. They were nice enough though, until they started helping themselves to our wine and inadvertantly sloshing it onto the floor with their jerky dance moves. The hostess sent them on their way again, and we kept on dancing for another three hours or so.

The final song of the evening, reserved for the very few and hardcore dancers, all six of us, was Purple Rain. I don’t do Prince. I don’t mind him, he’s just not my preferred artist. I sat that one out, and was enjoying the host couple drag each other around theatrically. Just then, an American footballer, with extra padding under his suit, and a curly white wig on, came in, very determined. He asked me to dance. I haven’t slowdanced….ever. Cheek to cheek. It was nice though, despite my partner smelling like a sweaty ashtray. Afterwards, he said he couldn’t resist, having seen me from outside, 100 yards away. It was the best slowdance he’d ever had. Yeah, so whatever, but it was nice. A complete stranger, butting in again. Making me feel just a little special for about 3 minutes.

It’s a pretty simple formula, but effective.

I was just re-reading this post. Moral? Not sure. Be nice, and butt in sometimes I suppose.

My Favorite Childrens' Book

2010-10-26T14:44:00.004+02:00

This morning, I got a comment from my oldest. "Mom, why does your belly button look so weird?" You know, in all fairness, I shouldn't be prancing around nekkid at home as much as I do, but hey - it's my house! So I explained the whole pregnancy bit, the belly stretching out and in a couple of times doing a doozy on your elasticity, leaving some belly buttons looking a bit...reserved.

I tried to say it as though it didn't bother me. Because it does. I'm so getting a tummy tuck one of these days. But I also tried to impart how different we all our, our bodies, and how differently some people might take a comment like that. He's a kid I know, but he's getting to the age where we can't just let stuff trickle off him because he's cute.

I figured now was a good time to read my own favorite childhood book, People, by Peter Spier. I spent hours, no, days of my childhood reading this one. It's a bit outdated, given. There are old numbers in the book, and some of the tribal outfits in the book can only be experienced in museums nowadays. But still, the message is a good one. We're all different, and that's something to be embraced. Because the alternative is not only drab and boring, it's scary.

He loved the book, and was loathe to put it down, to go to daycare. I hope it becomes a favorite of his, too.

A Tale of Two Movies

2010-10-23T17:08:00.004+02:00

Over a year ago, I wrote this post. I was really, really, no wait for it, REALLY looking forward to seeing that movie. Really. You get it now, don't you.

I waited and waited, and read the paper, scoured the movie section for release dates, but no dice. It was showing in Sweden, so I thought Denmark would pick it up pretty soon. Months went by. I kept wondering what was keeping the movie out of Danish cinemas. I mean, this wasn't just any movie. First off, it was a Jane Campion film. You the remember, The Piano? Oscars all over the place on that one. So you know the movie has previously been through a sort of quality control. Secondly, the movie is about Keats. A poet. He died young, and didn't leave a huge body of work or anything, but still a famous, English poet.

So I started writing emails. First to the artsy cinema in Copenhagen where I knew a film like it would normally be shown. Then, the editors of the film paper that comes with our daily paper. Then, the actual minister of cultural affairs here in Denmark. No one answered. No one. Not a one.

Now, I know there are a lot of movies that come out each year. I know that a lot of them will never see the movie theatres, let alone just skip that all together and head straight for dvd sale. But this...this was a tragedy. I've still yet to understand how a modern classic like this can go unnoticed by an entire country.

And then again. Last week I noticed that the Danish Film Institute was showing it at their own cinema, four days in a row or so. Movie of the month it was. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, having children, guests, what have you, I didn't make it. I have, however, ordered it on lovefilm, where, ironically, they have yet to set a date for their release of it. It's like the movie that I was never meant to see. But I still really, really, REALLY want to see it. And it better be good. Which obviously it will, since a still picture from a scene in it once made me cry. That, my friends, is art!

The other movie tale, while not as dramatic is that Mikael has been wanting to see Il Postino again. I saw it once, a long time ago. It made me fall asleep. Nonetheless, I ordered it from the library. I got a text today, that it was in, and I jumped on my bike to go get it. Imagine my dismay....it was in VHS. VHS!!! In this day and age. Oh, I know some folks still have those archaic old things, like this guy, but weirdos like him notwithstanding...

The point of this story? None really. Well, maybe that my husband and I are equally frustrated. Having yet failed in our travails toward securing a few hours in the throes of cinematic art portraying the lives of poets. Will we ever succeed? Stay tuned.

2010-10-18T11:11:00.004+02:00

Just wrote a long spiel on taking sides, validating others' opinions, inconsistency and subjectivity/objectivity, not to mention diplomacy and a little lecture in disourse analysis. And I deleted it. It'll stay that way. Tucked away in some dusty drawer of my mind. Just not gonna do it. You'll have to make do with a photo of my "gates to the city" by the lakes, caught in a somewhat optimistically ominous moment.

Got Banged

2010-10-13T19:26:00.002+02:00

Admittedly that doesn't sound quite right. But I had a hair cut, and I got real bangs, for the first time in my adult life. They showcase my greying (white-ing actually) locks quite nicely. I like it!

Uf da, I've got lots of pictures from here and there, but tonight I'm more into this cardboard box by my side filled with wine and a movie. Tomorrow perhaps!

Virtual Copenhagen - The Perfect Autumn Day

2010-10-01T10:30:00.007+02:00

A spell of perfect Autumn weather has enraptured Copenhageners for the past few days. It's cold now, but the air reserves its wintery snappiness for the evenings, leaving us basking in the sunny days, with the most refreshing crisp air. I have modified my bike rides through this city so that I keep it interesting, and preferably as car exhaust free as possible.

We have a chain of lakes in this city, that connects four of the main burroughs. My own neighborhood of Østerbro, to Nørrebro, to Frederiksberg, to Vesterbro. There are bike paths along them, the pace may be a bit more leisurely than the bike paths along the main traffic veins of the city, but they're certainly less smoggy, and much more picturesque. I like to think that I'm improving my quality of life by add these few minutes to my commute every day, not to mention a few years to my life. On a day like this, it's worth it.

Notice the swans come flying here. They make the most interesting sound while flying low, over the water. It doesn't sound avian at all.

When I see these buildings here on the left, it's like I see the gates to the city. It's where the slower paced neighborhoods end, and the fast paced city life, repleat with my own internal jazz soundtrack begins.

The sun stayed on my right, for most of my trip. Here, close to city hall.

The high Autumn sun over Glyptoteket, a fabulous museum (free on Sundays!).

The bridge over the harbor. My milestone for being close to school.

And school. The southern campus of Copenhagen University. At the back, the IT-University, and the Headquarters for Danish National tv and radio.

On Wednesdays, we have to pick up our greens at the new co-op we recently joined. We get a huge bag (or bags) of local, seasonal produce for just 100 kroner a week. We can't afford not to be members. In return, you're supposed to give three hours of your time to then, a month, something I have yet to do - working on that!

Biking my produce home.

After I got sidetracked a bit at an outlet sale where I got a really nice, versatile dress, it was dark when I got on my bike again. About 100 meters from my house there's a new football (soccer for the Yanks) field, lights ablaze and all. So much better to enjoy the sight of scantily clad men running around after a ball. Never understood the running around after the ball bit, but the scantily clad bit I support wholeheartedly.

I came home to my boys, brushing their teeth and painting a bit. Dante was mass producing stick figures of family and friends. I enjoy his interpretation of me: pink, glasses in place, holding golden sticks, with Swedish flags as shoes.

A perfect day.

The one where I try to make up for not posting for a while but end up rambling about school and art and posting pictures of pants and alcohol.

2010-09-28T19:38:00.005+02:00

I really wanted to get a blog post in before the two week mark. It's not that I don't have anything to say - I have oodles! So much races through my little head in any given hour, I'm sure there's fodder for at least three posts per hour. Alas, I've become a busy woman.

I'm on my last semester as a "real student". I'll be writing my thesis come Spring, and the realization that this laisser faire life of two weekly lectures, dropping kids off late, picking them up early, planning meals where there is more than one dish served....well, these days are numbered. That sobered me up real good. Actually, I've got a couple of demanding courses this Fall, loads of reading to do, assignments to turn in on a weekly basis - it's as though I saved the real nitty gritty courses for last. And I love it! And I'll be sad when it's over and done with.

Also, my social life has taken off. I'm out quite a bit these days. Expats from my blog community. Girlfriends off their maternity leaves. Twitter posse. Yeah, Twitter friends - I know, right? But you wouldn't believe... I'll save that for another post. Also for another post, did I tell you about the time I met Marianne Faithfull?

But right now, I need to save my writing mojo a bit. I need to write, I've realized. Not blog posts. Something else, something more. And about 227 times a day, when I have my small scheduled hiccups about how the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I somehow always end up at the conclusion that the only thing left is art. To make it. To breathe it. Live it. I have no idea what it all means, but I have a sneaking suspicion that along with the demise of my otherwise lengthy career as a student, something other than my career is metamorphosizing.

So, yeah - busy! And in between all the studying, writing and beer drinking, I went and got me another talent. Sewing. I can sew. Who knew? My aunt very graciously donated her old machine, since it couldn't quite do buttonholes the way she needed them, and since that's not my forte anyway, I accepted. Granted, it sat around collecting dust for a while before I got up the gumption to sit down, take deep breaths, read the manual, and get sewing. Now I'm hooked. Seriously - I can make clothes! It's surprisingly easy, can't quite remember what the big fuss was about back in Home Ec. I made pj bottoms for the boys, and they're both luckily pretty thrilled with the fabric I chose for them. Also, it's a lifesaver for patching all the holes in knees those boys make, from hours of scootching along the carpetted floors of the daycare. Or patching the inner thigh bits of my pants, where my legs daily try to start small fires. Or the ass of Mikael's favorite hang around the house pants. Too much? At any rate, I've discovered that the happiest I've been in ages is at the dining table, with the sewing machine and fabric in front of me, This American Life podcasts on the stereo, mug of tea beside me, kids playing in the next room. Hey, if you feel you need therapy, come over and we'll sew our hearts out together. I'll even let you do it for free.

Back to pants - not bad, eh?

Also good for sewing mojo, grappa. We're drinking more of our fair share these days, because the damn bottle is too big for the shelf, leaving it all alone and exposed on the counter, begging to be imbibed. Someone's gotta do it.

So what's up with y'all?

Never the Last Time

2010-09-15T10:54:00.004+02:00

My mom's been here. She always comes in September since that's when my grandmother's birthday is. My grandmother, mormor, gathers the whole family around her three times a year. Christmas, Easter, her birthday. Sometimes, we stay the night, sometimes we rush home, bellies full of herring and snaps. I love visiting her. She's lived in that house for 50 years, and every member of the family has at one time or another lived under that roof, as children and again later, as adults. Her door is always open. The house is weary and worn, and there are any number of trees sprouting up from the roof tiles. I even heard something scurry along the walls this time. I'm always a little afraid it's the last time we'll visit, but I suppose, it's never the last time. I'm glad my kids get to experience the same magic I used to as a kid. At the big red brick house, nestled beside the forest. Playing with the very same toys I played with at their age, and some even that my mom and her siblings played with. Reading books from pre-war times. Eating lunch on the same orangy-red tablecloth. Mormor-magic!

Back in Copenhagen, my mother has started her own tradition, treating us to an impeccable Italian meal at the same place, a place where they allow children to do their thing, while the grown ups do theirs. The Danes are only just catching up to this notion. I love how Southern Europeans embrace the children of others. We ordered what we always do, a caprese salad, with the freshest mozzarella this side of the Alps, pasta, fish, and a bottle of red. Kids always get a marghuerita pizza to share.

Drinking red wine is one of the things my mother does best.

Eating mussels turned out to be what Halfdan does best. Little mussel-fiend.

Tivoli

2010-09-06T11:04:00.008+02:00

My mother was due for another of her bi-annual visits, so the boys are again in the throes of grandmotherly fun. We normally don't do anything "special" per se, but this year we figured the kids were old enough for a trip to Tivoli, the local amusement park (the oldest in the world, I believe?). It was one very long day, from about 1pm til 9pm, and we averted the crying crises until the very end. A good day was had by all. And by golly, I hadn't been on a rollercoaster for, what, 15 years?!

For lunch, we went to the über-kitschy restaurant, Grøften, where we had Danish open faced sandwiches until we just about exploded. And then back to the amusements!

The Octopus was popular.

Also, the Panda. Halfdan was at first all smiles, but that quickly changed to apprehension, and then plain disgust.

We tried out the Carrousel. Bo-ring. And Dante wanted to ride the fox. Which didn't bob, sway, rotate, nada. But he was content. It was a fox, duh.

Sometimes the littles rollercoasters are the most fun.

My mother spent a lot of time looking like this.

But at one point, Mik and I went for a ride on one of the more dangerous rides, so she got to ride the Octopus twice in a row, lucky thing.

And that concluded our trip to Tivoli.
Hot: seeing your kids faces on a rollercoaster for the first time.
Not: Saying bye to those shoes I've been ogling. Tivoli is expensive! Damn.
Better start saving now for the inevitable trip back, next year.

Fun with blouses

2010-08-27T10:02:00.004+02:00

I did some much needed shopping the other day.
A few blouses.
A cardigan.
A short black jacket-thingy (sorry, my fashion jargon is not up to speed).
A scarf.

There's an awful lot of black, but I needed some grown up pieces, and looking fit for a circus was not on the menu, so - black.

But I can't help it. The blouses just invite to be...well, see for yourself. You can try too, just ask first.

Closer Still

2010-08-25T20:38:00.002+02:00

Our apartment is getting ever closer to The Way I Want It. We've lived here just shy of five years (good god where does the time go?), and it's really been a struggle to get this far. This place was an absolute wreck when we moved in. A wreck I tell you. One day, when the shame of actually having entertained other humans in what truly was a health hazard passes, I will show you pictures of the awfulness in all its glory. The mold. The holes in the wall. The filthy ceilings. The oven so unfit for cooking purposes that we just left it alone altogether.

Indeed my spare time back then was spent in television hibernation, or alcoholic escapism with friends, at least until we could get some of the most important features into good shape and working order. And with every new tile, painted floor, wallpapered surface, properly functioning household necessity, I breathed a little easier. I had energy to do something other than being sucked into yet another episode of Dr. Phil or ANTM. I could read a book without my eyes flailing all over, finding ugly spots that hadn't been touched yet. I could bake a little, without gagging as I stepped over a piece of truly disgusting pre-war linoleum in the kitchen. If everything around you is a mess, an old dirty mess at that, how are you to live? I certainly can't, and I certainly couldn't. Having a clean, functioning apartment is alpha omega to being a productive person. I am loathe to sum up the time that this wreck of an apartment as it was, has literally been stolen away from my life.

So when we had our little party last weekend, we got around to installing a few lamps I've had in the attic for ages. Our living room walls are red, but still not enough bordello atmosphere imho (or light, more importantly), so we added the lamps, and moved a great big, faux rococo mirror from the hallway in. It's perfect. These subtle changes, one by one, slowly, give me vital energy. It's quite intriguing how that all works really. Now we've only got a handful of things left to do before The Way I Want It is complete. Then we'll have to have another party I suppose.

Some of the energy I got from our last surge was this DIY project. I'd been meaning to do it for ages, and am really a bit ashamed I hadn't done it sooner, as it was so easy. Take one ugly-as-sin office chair. Staple cheapo Ikea fabric to the seat and back. Et voilà! Really. So easy I'll gladly change the fabric every six months or so.

My Feet Bled

2010-08-23T09:34:00.003+02:00

So much dancing!

Last week, I kicked off a dancing spree by literally dancing in the streets. A friend, a fashion designer, invited hoards of visiting fashionistas to a dance party in front of her boutique during Copenhagen Fashion Week.

Here's the girl herself, and husband Syl.

There were Balkan Beats, and chain dancing. And coincidences. I was there alone, but ran into the mother of a friend who lives in Rome otherwise. And then some artists who I share an office space with. And first then, when one of the artist's wife arrived, did I realize that he's the stepdad of an old friend. Ay, this city is so small!

Then, this weekend, we had had our own dance party. Beautiful people arrived to schmooze and dance. I love throwing parties, not only are we lucky enough to have an apartment big enough to have people dance and schmooze in separate rooms, it's always a good catalyst to get stuff done. We moved a lot of stuff around, set up lamps, a mirror, coat rack. Always very industrious days before these parties. We need to have more! Though I'm not sure our neighbor would agree.

And although I tried to avoid too much kitchen schwatz, it was unavoidable. Apparently, I know people who have interesting things to say to one another. Go figure. But why does everyone always end up in the kitchen?

Alas no pictures of the dance floor. What happens on the dance floor, stays on the...But if I say so myself, I had put together the wickedest dance list ever. A couple of guests said that while arriving, some girls bicycling behind them deliberately slowed down to enjoy the music streaming from our windows. Success!

And my feet bled.

STFU and Dance!

2010-08-17T23:49:00.004+02:00

We needed a party. A dance party. So I've invited a bunch of folks round, on the premise that they tell me which song makes them dance, without fail, every time. I've just spent six (SIX) hours making a playlist that will keep us dancing through the night. There are nine hours worth of tunes, we should be okay.

My tune is Smalltown Boy, by Jimmy Somerville.

What's yours?

Summer Vacation Part 5 - Stockholm

2010-08-13T11:12:00.028+02:00

*Warning - really long post. Excessive amount of photos.

The good thing about that "circus boat", is that early in the morning, I wake up, all the party animals from the night before are still sleeping (or passed out on a bench smoewhere on the deck), and it would seem I have the whole of the archipelago to myself. I sleep fairly well on those boats, being lulled the whole night through, but I have a habit of waking up everytime the boat creaks, groans or "brakes". Which is often. In the middle of the night the boats make a stop at the Åland Islands, a necessary stop for the whole tax-free concept of their stores to be legal. It takes ages of shuddering, and maneuvering into harbor, and out again, and I'm fairly certain no one disembarks there. At any rate, I always wake up with a start, and the word "Estonia" flashes through my head, I panic quickly, but then I remember that it's just the usual midnight stop, and if worse comes to worse, at lease our cabin is above the car deck this time, so we should have a fair chance of survival. Plus, it's summer, and the water's warm. And there are no sharks. And then I fall ito a peaceful slumber again.

And then I wake up and have the sea swans all to myself.

So we got to Stockholm, where we decided to stay for three whole days. It's been a while since we were here, separately, in the day, but Mikael is smitten with the place, and love any chance I get to brush up on my Swedish. Unfortunately, the weather was not the warm, dry weather that Finland had been so generous with. It didn't just rain. It poured. We got out and about when we could, but literally were trapped by the downpour downtown for a few hours. Our gut reaction was to have some hot chocolate somewhere, to get out of the downpour. Mikael threw in some cake, you know, just for variety, and it took all of three and a half minutes for the sugar to hit their bloodstreams. Count your blessings I suppose. Right about when this picture was taken, an armless woman entered the café, sat down at the table next to us, and proceeded to enjoy her coffee and cake solely with the use of her feet. I was quite impressed, but I suppose if you're born armless, you acquire a certain flexibility. The point of this segue is, that thankfully, the boys didn't notice. Thank God.

The rain was still coming down, and we walked only as far as our umbrella could take us before we gave up. We had a bite to eat, and Mik and I had beer. We needed it. Right about now our new buzzword was "infanticide".

On our way home actually, the sky opened up, even more, and basically threw buckets at a time upon us. We got soaked to. the. bone. Dante kept crying, "I'm wet, I'm wet!", very displeased, I kept trying to downplay the fact that we were practically swimming back to the hotel, "It's just water!", but our oldest was first happy when we were back at the hotel, in dry clothes.

I have to admit, we were about ready to head home a day or two early. Dante kept asking when we were going back to Østerbro, and I really just wanted to do a nice big pile of laundry, you know? We went to bed, decided that the next day, we'd head to the train station and change the tickets to go home earlier.

I think Stockholm heard that, and got its act together. It was cloudy, but not rainy, the next day. And to our luck and amazement, the Moderne Museum of Art in Stockholm was literally in the back yard of our hotel. We headed over after breakfast, intending to take a quick look around, when we in fact ended up staying three hours or so.

The main attraction was Ed Ruscha, which I quite enjoyed. Pop Art has never been my favorite, but maybe it was the setting, maybe he's something special, because I liked it!

The fire hydrant is so post-modern, don't you think?

It was Sunday, our lucky day (my birthday no less), and every Sunday at noon there was an art workshop for the younger crowd. We signed up just in time. Roberto, a South American who spoke Swedish with the most adorable accent, showed the kids around the Ruscha exhibit again, this time, from their perspective. I'm not sure how much Swedish the boys caught in the process, so Mikael translated the most important stuff.

After the exhibit, we went down to the basement, where a whole room was dedicated to children and art. There were unlimited resources, paints, watercolors, paper, easels, funky music, an aquarium. It was even ok to paint on the walls and floor. Our boys did their thing for over an hour, churning out colorful pieces like there was no tomorrow.

After that, we headed to Lidingö, home of Millesgården, arguably Mikael's favorite place on the planet. You board a small, noisy train to get to the island it's on, an attraction in itself.

It was a destination to start off with, but I'd also arranged to meet with a blog friend there, since she lives around the corner anyway. As it happened, it was my birthday. And around this time of year is also the anniversary of when Mik and I became a couple. Six years now. Just puke and get it over with.

The boys ran around.

I got to talk to Emi aka The End Consumer offline, which was nice for a change. Admittedly, I was a bit apprehensive meeting her. I read a few Swedish blogs, some blatantly, some secretly. I've had to cut down on them, because honest to goodness, I've got enough complexes without following picture perfect Swedish lives, and the great style, gorgeous interiors and disgustingly adorable children that go with them. Just sayin'. But luckily, a few are them are real enough that I feel connected at some level, and have had enough feedback from them that I knew they were worth meeting. Emi was one of them.

Even though we had kids up to our ears we enjoyed a nice couple of hours, her husband even bought us cake!

Notice Halfdan's stripes. He fell into a fountain (not deep, no drama there) and was soaking. This resulted in Emi's husband driving Mik and Halfi home for a change into dry clothing. I recalled my mom telling me that I did something similar at his age. Genes.

We parted to head our separate ways, we went to town for a birthday Thai dinner and saw this on our way home.

The next day, we'd planned some more serious sightseeing. Dante was hooked on a little boat trip, so we crossed the bridge from our hotel to the harbour where we could catch a boat to Skansen, our next destination. We spent five hours there, and could've been there twice as long if Mikael hadn't been carrying on about beer. Definitely worth another visit.

I fell in love with this pig. Really adorable, as pigs go.

Emi suggested dining at Blå Porten. So we heeded her advice, and were not sorry. Beautiful but laid back place with great grub. And great benches for naps, since Halfi fell asleep after all the new sights.

We promenaded back to the hotel, "catching fireflies", waking homeless people by jumping off benches (yeah, sorry guy, didn't mean to wake you up!) and making otherwise a spectacle.

The next day, our last, I had a small window in which to meet up once again with Emi, and also Anna, once a colleague of Emi's, and now my blog friend. We had just an hour or so before I had to high-tail it to the station to catch the train to Copenhagen, but she utilised her time well, dazzling me with her perfect English, her white jacket (she has two kids! How does a jacket stay white under those conditions!), and I could finally see how much her son indeed looks just like her! And she smelled fabulous (what was that perfume?!). Unlike myself, since there was a shortage of soap at the hostel, and I'd been wearing the same clothes for way too long. Time to go home. I met up with the boys, and boarded the train, but not before collecting some botanical toys (no parabens!) from the park where I met Emi and Anna. Amazing how such a simple thing can entertain a family of four on the train.

We watched the quaint red painted houses fly by outside, put up our feet and took a nap afterwards. Before we knew it, home.

A fabulous trip, all in all. Felt like we were away for ages. Mikael's already planning his next trip up, and I'm already conspiring to get my new friends to come here for cocktails next time.

Summer Vacation Part 4 - Back to Helsinki

2010-08-12T08:53:00.006+02:00

Again, I'm going to keep this short. I haven't lost my writing mojo (I hope), but I'm writing this from Copenhagen, where we've been home for two days already, and there's so much to do! The last installment will be in tomorrow I hope!

We were a bit sad to have to leave the summer mökki so soon. Mikael was quite smitten with life in the woods, as were the children. I had been there before, once, ten years ago or so, and this time it was even better than I remembered. We will be back, I do believe.

Back in Helsinki. The children, despite being quite able, started complaining a lot about walking so much, although we took trams whenever we could. We only covered a fraction of the city, mostly downtown naturally. It also decided to rain a bit, which wasn't too bad, though our children (again with the children!), who we now have dubbed Niles and Frasier Crane, weren't all that enthused about getting either wet or dirty by legging it everywhere.

We had a really nice stop at a market place. There weren't a lot of people perusing the wares for the downpour, but everybody was crammed under the orange tent, eating rice porridge, listening to a three man band. We joined them.

I left Mikael and the boys at the Fazer café, where they have the richest hot cocoa you will ever taste. Fazer, is the big Finnish chocolate brand, and I daresay the boys have become acquainted with it through the years with the numerous Fazer filled packages from their chocolate pusher, Riia. Coming here was like being at the mother ship.

Helsinki is really stunning, architecure-wise, in the older parts of the city. The Jugend is...breathtaking. There's a bit fairy tale fascism over it, it's exquisite in a slightly surreal way. I should've snapped more pictures, this hardly does this building justice, so I suggest to experience it for yourself one day.

We spent a few hours (and more than a few Euros) at my favorite bookstore in the world, The Academic Bookshop on the Esplenade. Love that place. Many years ago, it was my savior on dark, cold days. Their selection of English language, non-fiction literature sends me up and down their aisles like a kid at Toys R Us. Oh the restraint I am forced to employ!

We had a little lunch with Riia täti before taking the ferry. The children are always equipped with coloring books and (washable) markers, so that they can entertain themselves.

Riia had arranged a marching band for us, before we had to go.

Not equally appreciated by everyone.

Who promptly fell asleep on our way home to get our bags.

And just before arriving at the ferry terminal, they both conked out in the tram. Yeah, that was a logistics nightmare.

The first ferry we'd had from Stockholm to Turku was lovely, just lovely. This ferry from Helsinki back to Stockholm was...a circus. It was a huge, shopping mall/discoteque. Word to the wise, enjoy the view on deck, eat a picnic you brought from land, then disappear to your cabin when the sun sets. Oh it's not that horrible, at least they had a playroom for the children where they were for literally hours. But there were also acrobats in stretchy velour outfits that the 80s don't want back, juggling in the middle of it all, and a lot of cheasy restaurants and bars, and animal clad humans wandering about for "entertainment" purposes. The whole thing was repleat with glass elevators. Yeah, so I think we'll stick to the Stockholm-Turku route, and take the train to Helsinki from now on.

But this view, from the ferry, over the whole of Helsinki. Is worth it. I was a bit sad to leave here as well.

Next up: Stockholm! Epic downpours! Meeting blog friends!

We interrupt this vacation broadcast...

2010-08-11T10:45:00.007+02:00

Mary's having twins. Found out while on vacation. Fine by me, she's 38, so it's about time, if they wanted more kids! But - you know who else is having twins? Bettina Aller. She's the fun, adventurous, immensely freckled, 48 year old, Danish magazine dynasty heiress. Due in November.

A little story. Years ago, after my Dad died, and my ex fucked me over, I was afraid of life. I was afraid of everything. Riding in busses, I had to know exactly where the emergency hammer was. Walking down the street, I kept my eyes down, for fear of making eye contact with a knife wielding psychopath. Flying? Back then, it was a necessity of sorts. But surely, every flight was my last. So once, when I was flying home from Stockholm I believe, I sat in the plane, waiting for take off on my last journey ever, because surely it would crash and burn on its way to Kastrup Airport, and we were told we would have to disembark, and board another plane. Not helpful on my condition really. I looked to my left, and saw Bettina Aller sitting there. In coach, no less! She hardly seemed concerned. We disembarked, hopped on a bus to our new plane, boarded, and went to our assigned seats, the same as previously. Bettina was still there, on my left, in coach, unfazed. I relaxed. Bettina is a tough broad. She's been to the North Pole, like, 6 times. Once on her own I believe. She had to kill a polar bear on that trip. It was going to eat her otherwise. I figured, an heiress who has killed a polar bear is not going to die in some mediocre fashion, as in a plane crash from Stockholm to Copenhagen. No, no, no. Her demise would either be much more spectacular than that, in a helicopter crashing into an active volcano, or, she'll go quietly in her sleep when she's 105, with her family gathered around her.

People have asked me probably a gazillion times, are we going to have another baby. I used to think so. I used to want four kids! But that was before my environmental woes, or in truth, the realization of how off-kilter our ecosystem is going to be in a short matter of time (because I had environmental woes even before I realized how bad everything really is). I just met a blog friend for the first time in real life yesterday, and she said - "but those are two separate things!". The world going to hell in a handbasket is one, and having more babies is another. True. And, a very Lutheran standpoint at that, to which I normally subscribe. No matter what happens, to keep doing what we normally would do is arguably the most sane thing to do in most situations. As far as having babies goes, I may need to do some more meditating on that. For now, I think having two kids who quite possibly will see the end of our way of life as we know it might be enough.

But Bettina. Again Bettina. She's 48, she's no dummy, she knows about AGW (Anthropomorphic Global Warming). Her husband knows what's facing the planet. But at any rate, they are willing to bring more people to what may be humankind's Swan Song. And I again vividly remember looking to my left, catching Bettina's gaze in seat 7C, she flashed me a smile, and I knew I was going to be okay.