Wednesday, February 11, 2009

I always was my daddy's girl.
Tied to him by innumerable bonds. Here we had traveled six hours by boat to get to the ophthalmologist. I was three and my dad taught me reading and writing on that trip.
As years and tears go by, I realize that in life's versatile areas of knowledge,learning,skills,ethics, love, no one has had this immense influence on me like my father had.
To cell and backbone marrow level, that is..
After finishing gymnasium, I wanted to work for a year, to find out where and what to study. At the age of eighteen I became a teacher for half a year. Just past nineteen, I decided I had to try something else. Got a job in an old fashioned psychiatric ward. There was a nurse and me, taking care of 30 men.
My parents did not like me to leave home in that mission. My father had to go to his office. When I came down the morning of departure I found this message.
We didn't know of Valentine's back then, but the date is February 14th. The paper has not been manipulated. It has had its place in my Bible all these years.In my 51th year, I in three days managed to break both wrist and ankle. Diagnosis osteoporosis. My dad came to town comforting and helping out. He was 79. Gunnar caught this precious moment..
Thank you, EG Tour Guide, for helping me out with the pictures.Wow,I even managed to sharpen my Ruby homeoffice collage. By and by I will get better.


I hope that all of you will post this somewhere on your blogs. All you are asked to do is keep this circulating. Even if it's to one more person. In memory of anyone you know that has been struck down by cancer or is still living with it.

This is for you, B.
Love you,

Dear God,
I pray for the cure of cancer.
Cousin Sylvia. This is for you too. You are so brave.

Monday, February 09, 2009


February second is reckoned to be first day of spring in our part of Norway. February fourth winter came with snow, frost and total transformation of the scenery.
Outside my kitchen window the Birches, the Lilac tree and the Spirea hedge looked like a carefully made art of filigree. The only red being the reflex of the lamp and two candles.
Since January first I have fetched Forsythia branches from the garden and driven them to bloom indoors.
The first ones took two weeks, now four days will be enough.

In January I also start buying Primroses, four per week. They'll then fall down and are being replanted outdoors. Often they will bloom a second time in May.
The flowers make my kitchen table look like an immense firework of spring forces.
I drink tap water filled and chilled on empty Martini bottles in the fridge. While listening to The Spring by Edvard Grieg I am living happily in the sudden winter, with a certain knowledge of the joys that is to come.
For the Valentiners:
Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory -

Odours, when sweet violets sicken,

Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

Are heaped for the beloved's bed;

And so thy thoughts,
when thou art gone,

Love itself shall slumber on.

Percy Bysshe Shelley