GRANT ME PATIENCE, BUT HURRY

I'm a sucker for happy endings. I prefer feel-good series on TV.

I love the Christmas Gospel, the Son of God born as an innocent child with angles singing and wise men bringing gifts.

The fulfillment of God's salvation plan, crucifixion, a tortured man forsaken by his friends, family, even by God, who sent him...It's too tough, really. I'm not a huge Easter fan and would make a lousy Catholic. Even though there was a happy ending on Easter Sunday...

Even though I wear a cross around my neck as a symbol of my belief.

I feel so devastated when things go wrong in my life. I keep putting so much effort in getting things right.

Then I fail. Others fail too.

I can't take it. I need a happy ending.

Or at least an ending.

I simply cannot allow bad attitudes keep on being passed on for generations.

Guess I need to call upon my favourite, Saint Peter, for help, at least to make me a better person, and to heal open wounds.

RESPECT

My father had a brain hemorrhage some years ago. He's now 86, and dependent on help from nurses, who come to his home five times a day. They are underpaid, not well educated and always in a hurry.
If my father is talking to me on the phone or hasn't finished eating his dessert, he has to stop at once. "Move, hurry, straighten up," they're shouting, not unlike an army sergeant to his hopeless recruits.
We all feel humiliated by the way my father is belittled.
He is not senile, he is not used to being bossed around. He is and has always been a very polite, gentle...and wise person.
He never was much of a talker, that is, if he did not have anything of importance to say or tell.
Chatting or smalltalk was never his style.
Now he needs more time to formulate his thoughts. That makes the nurses believe he's not so bright anymore.
My husband has always been on the same wavelength as my father. They have never stopped to like or respect one another.
Today my father took a long look at my husband's jogging suit.
"Nike", he read. "Nike of Samothrace," he added.
Gunnar looked the words up in the encyclopedia, and they both had a nice talk about the goddess of victory, whose artful elaborated statue is displayed in France.
At the end of the day;
we became somewhat wiser, renewed our somewhat blur knowledge of the Greek Antique, and my father regained some of his self respect.

Rocky Road to Bethlehem

Almost finished.
December means two birthdays (mine and my husband´s). This year it has also been necessary to be three places at one time. Doing all the shopping for my brother, my mother and ourselves, writing cards, sending flowers, decorating our home, then five days at my parents´to prepare for the big family gathering due to last a week, more shopping, more ill relatives, very little sleep. BUT this is just the dark side of the Christmas moon. Now I´m looking forward to celebrate and relax together with the people I love the most.
The first day of Christmas, when all the giving and getting are done with, church has been visited, hymns are sung, candles lit on the graveyard, the offers for charity made, my mother´s wonderful dinner eaten and peace is in the house and hearts, that´s when the ultimate Spirit of Bethlehem embraces me.
God bless all of us!

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ROLE PLAYING

Daughter Serina is and has always been very shy. She is well gifted and scores high on IQ tests. Nevertheless she is troubled by her low self esteem, except when she is role playing. In the tensing choir she always loved the drama group. Working in kindergartens or in the local grocery shop, it's fine, because I'm playing a role, she says. This summer she was at Madame Tussuad's in London with a friend. They really had a ball.

Tomorrow she's gathering with senior high students from all over the county in Stavanger, acting in a "mini UN" conference.

She is supposed, together with three others to represent Lebanon. A complicated and tough task. She is however really looking forward to this meeting.

I would never have believed that possible a couple of years ago.

God bless her, my father keeps praying.

So do I.

MINIMALISME

I en ellevill, overdådig julepyntekarusell slår det meg, minimalisme er oppfunnet av travle folk med mye penger.
Ukristelig dyre møbelstykker står og poserer enkeltvis, mot hvite vegger og mye luft.
Lett å holde rent, samt tidsbesparende investeringer.
Det er egentlig innlysende at de rike også er de toneangivende hva angår kapital verdi. Da plebsen fikk råd til å kjøpe Le Courbosier, falt bunnen ut av liggestolmarkedet.
Etterat alle hadde kastet emaljegrytene fra syttitallet på søpla, pryder de rød/hvite kokekarene kjøkken i halvmillionklassen.
Nå, så får vi som ikke har råd til å følge den rette sti(l), heller pøse på med engler. kongle, glitter og nisser med lys, så ingen busk er mørk..
Alt det vi kan kjøpe på Rema, Rimi, Lidl, Jysk og Nille.
Så blir kremmerene enda krommere, og bruktsalget på Årabrot enda mere fullpakket av ting ingen vil ha.
Vi kan jo kalle det tradisjon.

APROPOS iTunes

"I ain't saying that I beat the Devil, but I drank his beer, and then I stole his song" quote Kris Kristoffersson.
Now I'm looking forward to Christmas, opening that huge, fat iPod, that I know, for almost certain, will be lying under the Christmas tree.

DONE

I made it through the night.
Moonlighting music till 5 in the morning. Now I have got a mouse arm and a rat's shoulder. I'll have to rent help for the Christmas house cleaning, (which by the way has to be done extremely thoroughly in Norway). I'll stick to making hearts of wool for the kitchen windows instead.
It's the first day of advent. My daughter and I started the celebration one hour after midnight. We turned off the electric lights, lit some candles and watched the first show in the veteran series "Christmas in Cobbler's Street"

iTunes 4450

I hate systems which make me feel like an idiot.
My neck is stiff, my blood sugar low and my intelligence insulted by the iTunes reappearing dialogue telling me that burning disc failed, due to error 4450. Then I have to click on the OK sign to try once more. It is not OK at all. For the time being I loathe Steve Mac Jobs and his red chinned Appleboys.
Since I was stupid enough to download the new version of iTunes, my middle name has been failure and trouble.
My husband is blindly fascinated by the Apple brand and likewise negative to Microsoft. I think he has been fooled. Jobs is just another rip-off guy, who wants to make big bucks and leave his grey haired customers to handle his cheap solutions. If I lived in the USA, I would sue him for all the hours I have been forced to spend burning two CDs.
As it is, I can give up or change to Media Player.
I'll have to think about that.
The problem is, I am no quitter. It has cost me dearly.

VICTORY

I made it, all by myself.
Managed to change the Blog setting, and now all my November Blogs are recovered.
WOW!

WASTE OF TIME

Because of my ME, I have to be choosy when deciding whom or what to share my time with.
I've made up an access denied list:
1. Reading Sophie's World, The Da Vincie Code, Harry Potter, Tolkien (anything) or The Half Brother(sorry, Saabye Christensen, I've tried twice, the novel is booooring).
2. Give Blogger.com another go if I fail reloading the blogs written in November -06.
3. Working for free for millionaires. ("You can always send in a story to my magazine if you like to!")
4. Allowing my daughter work weeks after school, writing a karate play in English, directing the same play, making costumes for the play, rehearsing and acting, and not even getting credited for her free work. Shame on you, Alf Ronny!
5. Be over eager reaching out to help "people in need". They always spit on me when they've gotten what they were after....And then come back for more.
6. The worst thing of all, become bitter and unforgiving.
I'll have to use my brain eraser, forget and go on.

NORGE HAR SAGT NEI TIL EU

Enkelte politikere synes å tro at om de ignorerer dette demokratiske dobbelt nei lenge nok, vil minus og minus bli til pluss, og svaret JA.
Om ikke lenge blir vi manøvrert inn i en tredje folkeavstemming.
Blir svaret ja, får vi garantert ikke flere anledninger til å si NEI TIL EU i min levetid.
Derfor kommer Carl Bildt og hans kumpaner og snakker om hvor farlig det vil være for Norge til å legge ned veto mot Eus tjeneste direktiv. Da kan det til og med bli vanskelig for oss å være med i EØS. Når-hvor hadde vi en folkeavstemming om EØS?
Det er et samarbeidsforum som vi ikke trenger.
Mor Norge har mer penger enn hun kan bruke. Vi er med i forsvarsalliansen Nato og tverrfolkelig samarbeid på alle nivå i FN.
Vi trenger ikke EU. De trenger oss.
Vi har frihet til å si nei til alt vi vil.
Tenk det, Lillebildt.

TIME

"We are such stuff
As dreams are made on;
and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
One has to love a man who can define the complex whos and whys so beautifully. It 's a waste of time to analyze or dispute the text.
I want to stay within it, enlightened, comforted.
When needed I'll take up the challenges of loss, failures, goodbyes, God & his angles, Jesus & eternity.
This rainy day I'll play Bach by candle lights.
And enjoy.

PENGER I SKJUL

Det har gått opp for meg at det fins flere gråsone mennesker med makt og midler enn hva man til daglig tenker på.
De som bekymrer meg mest, er organisasjonseierne.Den litt freaka Fredrick Hauge i Bellona, rebellen Kurt Oddekalv i Norges Miljøforbund, sympatiske Erik Damman i Fremtiden i våre hender Har eiet organisasjoner i over tjue år og uttaler seg med tygde, eller tier rungende når man skulle forvente opptil flere varsko.
Det blir et flere strandmil av motsetning når Oddekalv snakker varmt om allmennigsretten og fri ferdsel samtidig som han eier en av de mest attraktive strandeiendommene som fins utenfor Bergen.
Det er ikke bare spill for galleriet, det er en hån mot alle oss som støtter og håper at miljøvernorganisasjonene skal være en motvekt til korttenkt grådighets kultur og miljøkriminalitet.
Jeg kan med megen motvilje forstå at SV solgte seg i CO2 rensesaken. De har så mange vikariende motiv.
Den totale mangelen mot stortromme engasjement fra miljøverneirne, forekommer meg imidlertid ytterst suspekt.
Tilbake på valen står bare de gråtende, besvikne tenårings jentene fra Natur og Ungdom.
Heia Lina Kristine & co. Dere er framtida.

STATISTIKK

Det finnes løgn, forbannet løgn og statistikk.
Når regjering og arbeidsgivere gjør felles sak mot sykemeldte arbeidere, er det mye som bevisst blir utelatt.
Offentlig sektor har de siste femten årene skåret inn til beinet når det gjelder "folkene på gulvet", det være seg lærere, pleiere og sosialarbeidere. De gjenværende har fått mangedoblet arbeidsbyrden, og blir syke. Altfor få diagnoser blir imidlertid relatert til arbeidsplassen.
Skjelett og muskelsystem blir ødelagt av overbelastning, mangel på hjelpemidler og tid.
Magesår, hjerteinfarkt og slag er også vanlig stressutløste, invalidisernede sykdommer.
I vår by sender de vrakene på bossplassen for å delta i søppelsortering og annet enkelt forefallende arbeid.
Det er ikke ironisk ment engang.

DR. NO

Legene klager ikke lenger over press, lange arbeidsøkter og dårlig lønn.

Fastlegeordningen har gjort de fleste til mange millionærer, for navn på ei pasientliste. Legen trenger ikke være tilgjengelig mer enn et par dager i uka, han følger skolens ferieordning, men har ikke lærernes tallløse hjemmearbeidstimer.
Til gjengjeld sparer han staten for noen milloner ved å henvise til privatpraktiserende spesialister, der pasienten selv må betale behandlingsutgiftene.
Man snakker ikkke helhetsvurdering av pasienter med multiple lidelser, det blir for lagt å lese, selv på datamaskin. mere effektivt å vippe opp reseptblokka og prøve ut det siste nye i symptommaskering. Da blir det en liten påskjønnelese fra de mektige farmasifirmaene også.
Pasienten fungerer som inntektskilde for fastlegen, privatspesialisten og medisingigantene.
I tillegg skal de få dårlig samvittighet fordi de forblir syke...
Det er aspekt OECD meldingen ikke tar hensyn til.

TØFFASTE MORÅ , HU E MI, HU

Ingen har ei så formidabel, brakerotseig, nesten sjøldestruktiv arbeidsom og utholdende mor som jeg.

Her er hun i full gang med å demonstrere for sin svigersønn hvordan hun klarer å vaske huset sitt utvendig ved å skjøte ei list til en vaskekost med brun tape.

Det hun unnlot å ta med var gardintrappa hun balanserte på for å nå hun opp. Det var da Gunnar ville tildele henne villmannsknappen med Selo-Zok.

Hun har en hjerteklaff som er defekt, angina, en mislykka hoftetransplantasjon som gjør at hun vagger med uomtrollerte sidestep når hun går, gråfugl på begge øynene, mikrofoner på begge ørene, en klump her og an annen der.

Hun passer far 24/7, har fem timer i uka til å utføre handling, legebesøk o.s.v. på.

"Nå er du nødt til å ta det litt rolig," sier vi. "Æg må arbeida. Æg kan klara alt, bara æg får arbeida," understreker hun med et slikt ettertrykk, at selv Vårherre forstår.

BEING BORN, BUT SLOWLY

1951

Jeg kommer både sent og godt. det er jeg såre fornøyd med. Jeg har aldri vurdert verken bøker, musikk eller bildende kunst som en motesak som går ut på dato.
Ble overlykkelig da en venninne overlot meg et eksemplar av Zafons "Vindens skygge". Det var en bok som burde vært skrevet for lenge siden, den fylte et savn.
Nylig var vi på Lions bruktbokmarked og dro med oss tre bæreposer hjem. Deriblant Elisabeth Wurtzel sin Bitch. Boka er jo allerede ute på dato og sikkert umulig å skaffe på vanlig bokhandel. Vi må få flere bokkirkegårder, slik at bitchene får et liv etter jul de også.
Jeff Bucklys versjon av "Hallelujah" kom inn i mitt liv i formiddag. Når det ikke plent skal være Cohen, kunne det ikke gjøres bedre. Ooooh, halleluuuuujah.
I London har jeg hatt noen besttende møter med Salvador Dahli og Caravaggio. Deet pinlige var jo at jeg alltid har nedvurdert Dahli som en posør og PR kåt klovn. Så lite mottagelig at jeg skammer meg. Det er jo jeg som er overfladisk og dømmer uten å engang prøve å bli kjent med..
Nå er han en av de kunstnere jeg setter høyest. Det er burlesk fantasi, smerte, dybde, kjærlighet og vrede i en salig blanding, så pinefullt, kirurgisk nøyaktig fremstilt.
Og Caravaggio, outsider og rabulist som uten kompromiss maler Salome, i ømhet Narcissus, med utspekulert fandenivoldshet den unge Bacchus.
Vi hadde et kjærlig gjensyn i Uffizi galleriet nå i høst.
Det er et rikt liv med så mye uopplevd, så mange skatter skjult i mørket, som Bibelen sier.
Og alt har sin tid!

IN A SUNDAY MORNING KITCHEN

Early in the morning. Nobody has even dreamt of leaving the bed yet. Five candles lit, mirrored in the black kitchen window. Dear hymns and soft voices on the radio, my favourite slow time medium. Two fresh magazines and a challenging book on the table. Maybe I'll call my mother, she also loves the silent hours with no demands attached. A mail for brother Ole in the monastery. He's been up for several hours already.
The magic moment when the filigree birch branches suddenly emerge from the dark. The sky becomes alive with dimly lit clouds, still in black and white.
I am lucky to have upholstered leather chairs in the kitchen.
I'm at peace with myself and the rest of the world.

WOMAN DIVIDED

I'm longing to be back home, where my two parents are struggling bravely towards the ends of their lives. No one can really imagine what they have to deal with these days.
I should be there all the time to ease their burdens.
Then again when I'm staying in my bedchamber where I grew up, where sorrows became hope, where a bud developed into ripe fruit, I miss my daughter and my husband and the surroundings of the home that we have created.
I need to spend as much time with them as possible before my daughter is going to try her wings in strange towns, finding her paths in life.
I am blessed though, to have friends who will always be there, when I have an hour or an evening to spare.
Guess I am blessed and should not complain at all.
I just need the day to last for 48 hours.
That's all.

FORGJENGELIG

Å skrive på data er mer forgjengelig enn livet selv.
Er jeg heldig, varer maskinen i fem år, og nåde meg om jeg ikke har backup på ekstern harddisk.
Jesus skrev i sanden, mens han ventet på at mobben skulle falle til ro. Det var horkvinnens liv det gjalt.
"Hva skrev han?" spurte Sigurd Hoel.
Mine forfedre risset runer i stein. Det er et mektig syn, selv for den som ikke kan kodespråket.
Men skrive i luft med tallene 0 og 1?
Min lit står til sommerfugl effekten.

BLOGGER; BLOGSPOT; GOOGLE

New wrapping, worse shit.
I simply cannot find myself on the internet anymore.
I've been forced to accept terms I dislike to be able to continue blogging.
I lost more than 400 old blogs when I was working with changing to the new address.
And now I have lost my way home.
Mother, please help me, before I break my laptop to pieces.

SLEEPLESS IN NOVEMBER
Woke up at three o'clock sharp. The television was about to call it a night in front of my closed eyes. I stared into the fading blue screen, wide awake. Turned aroud. No husband. He was probably safely snoring away down below.
Our tenant was busy going to and fro for an hour or so, ringling with his keys, opening his car, his front door, his loo. The storm was even more disturbing, rattling dead leaves about in the frontyard, shaking the tree's branches against the wall. Noises in the attick. Were mice holding a Thanksgiving feast over my head?
Three books in my bed, "The dark heart of Italy", "Bitch" and "Bestseller" failed to distrackt my thoughts from the uneasy present.
Tried my oldest trick: Which outfit to wear for the morning event. I composed three variations: Black high heeled boots, bluejeans, black wool jumper, long ivory pearl necklace, black and white blazer and a light black velvet cape with matching leather gloves and a big Mulberry copy bag to go. Black and white tweed cap topping the costume. Notice, I have not described underwear. Similar work in dark brown leather shades and finally the favourite based on my rich camelhaired cappuccino overcoat.
My brain was overheated, would not, could not relax.
The light on and off, into the kitchen for a banana, in case I unawaringly should be hungry.
Bach organ playing comfortly on the radio. At least three Pater Nosters.
No sleep, no order in my head, just a merry-go-round of unimportant details not to be forgotten.
All because I am to be escorting my mother to hospital in less than two hours.
Wish us luck

TIL Å BLI KLOK AV

Den som mater sjelen, går aldri sulten, sier Mr. Lee.
Vann klarer hjernen, siterer min far.
For mye er nesten nok, skrev Anne B Ragde.
Dette var mitt Waterloo, men jeg er ikke Napoleon, ler datter Serina.
Du er en visuell eksplosjon, fastslår pappa G.
Det blir 'kje mye gjort av den kånå di, sukker jeg etter en time med Snood. -Nei, du e ei løvinna onner treet, sukker gubben.
"For gamle til pc og internett? Det er jo min generasjon som har funnet opp begge deler," fastslår Gunnar indignert.

LABELS

I detest being labeled.
People's need to put a sticker on one another,--and then evens worse, making any effort to make their narrow minded judgements come true.
"Oh, you are calling yourself a Christian and then you are drinking wine?!"
(You are cannot be one of us.)
"You are diagnosed with osteoporosis, you should not be so fat."
(Stop eating, pig! Do some exercises, lazy bones)
"Your criticism of the society must mean you are a communist."
(Anyone who is not for us, must be against)
"You shouldn't sleep in the middle of the day. You'll get troubles sleeping at night."
(We don't believe in your ME story at all. We don't know what ME is. We don't want to learn anything about it.)
"How come you can make walks in the forest, and still need a taxi to go to the physiotherapist?"
(Again; you must be faking ?)
Take a break , morons.
I'm fighting for my right to be ill, - as well as regaining some health.
I've lost more money than I can count by not being able to continue with my occupation.
I've tried any alternative treatment in the market, on top of what the Norwegian health care system can provide.
I do not wear a band aid every time a spine bone breaks, but I assure you, it hurts like hell.
I suppose I could put some stickers or buttons on my chest to keep you satisfied, but this will have to do for now.
I intend to go on loving life ,and in fact cherish and embrace it with all my strength and will.

GENOCIDE, FOLKEMORD.
60 Minutes hadde en hjerteskjærende reportasje om folkemordet i Sudan på TV i kveld.Det nytter ikke å beskrive hvordan en systematisk utryddelse av et helt folkeslag foregår.Det blir allikevel bare tomme ord.Det helt uforståelige er at FN vet det, USA har fordømt det fra deres talerstol, mens Sudandelegatene satt og lo.De visste at USA gir dem støtte, fordi regjeringen der gir en viss informasjon om et enkelt menneske; Bin Laden.Kan hevn over en terrorist rettferdiggjøre lukkede øyne stilt overfor de mest grusomme forbrytelser mot menneskeheten? Noen må oversette Øverland og lese for Bush:"Du skal ikke tåle så inderlig vel, den urett som ikke gjelder deg selv."

HEEELP!

I am a nurse. I have been in the educating and helping business more or less since I was nineteen. I am trained to spot people's needs and wants, to speak up for the weak ones and to provide care whenever possible, even when that meant setting aside my own interests.
Now, at the age of fitysix, I am at the other side of the counter. I've got far advanced osteoporosis and am diagnosed with ME. Tough luck.
I am not unique. What I really hate about my crippled situation, is having to ask for help. I have recently been in need of other people's mercy, and even worse: Not getting help when I ask for it.
I have done, and still do more than my share of chores and caretaking.
When I ask, I will not ever be met with the spiteful remark:" Should I have done that, while you were sleeping.?"I sleep to survive, I'm loosing years of my life lying in bed.It's not for fun, and it's humiliating.
"I called you, but you were asleep." "We came to visit, but you were in bed."
I try to live and make the most of it when possible, and it's really boring listening to people talking about their illnesses.
I deserve some respect when I ask for help.
Yepp, I do.

Green love.

Grass grows.
Grass covers up.
Grass develops.
Grass cultivates.
Grass can be eaten.
Grass can be slain.
Grass can be harvested.
Grass, soft and healing for sore feet.
Grass of our garden, green and fragrant.
Grass, the last to fade away before winter kills.