Thursday, March 10, 2011


I have had this weird and yet not fully explored or treatable illness called ME for 22 years. It took the doctors, 25 specialists, 9 years to tag me with that specific label, and I guess it's as good as it gets.
Sometimes I wish I could walk around like Steve E and say, "Hey, I'm Felisol and I'm an ME."

The problem is, since there is no definite cure or rather; no cure at all, ME people are the targets of every snake oil salesperson in the world.
I have no account of the amount of money I have spent on so called alternative treatments.
Last weekend this self established Guru Ms. S, made 29 hope seekers pay 1500 solid NOK to attend a 10 hours course containing nothing new at all. She performed a T'ai Chi sequence like a lousy ballet, and luckily didn't try to teach any of the participants her fake version of the honorable Chinese combat sport.
She introduced Qigong as if it was her own invention, and of course I got over-trained, even if I did practice the movements for some years, before I found out it was too tough for me. I am a born overachiever and don't have a built in brake button.
Finally she put in a Feldenkrais crawling sequence. Been there, still practicing.
Why do I bother writing about this?
1. Because I feel cheated and angry on behalf of all the snake oil buyers of the world.
2. Because some arrogant lady has the incredible boldness to "steal" old techniques and sell them as her own research and invention.
3. Because I also bought her book, as did most of the participants.
4. Because I'd love to own the ancient Italian monastery where one can attend a 20 hours course for 20 000 NOK.
5. Because I've been crashed, bedridden since the course ended, swallowing antibiotics by the score against several old inflammations which have popped up again.
We were warned that might happen. "Just a sign that the exercises are working."

I guess I'm not cut out to be a disciple or a milking cow.
"The proof is in the pudding," the English saying

Wednesday, March 09, 2011


The Peter Pan statue in Kensington Garden was one of the "must see" places for this trip. Somehow I'd never seen it before, but it's one of Serina's absolute favorite places. I wanted to share her joy.
J M Barrie, the author of Peter Pan lived near by Kensington Garden and did give this fabulous art nouveau statue to the children of London.
I do recommend people to take time and enter the magic world of the Serpentine,the fountains, the swans, ducks, squirrels, Diana, Princess of Wales' playground,snowdrops, daffodils and last. but not least the fairytale of Peter Pan.
As you will see, some tender soul had placed a crystal bowl with a pine shoot to feed the squirrel. I bet it will remain there in peace for quite a while.

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Tuesday, March 08, 2011


Finally they're here; the five newborn wonders of Ms Kitty. She's such a confident and proud Mom. Her little ones are weening, but their Mom is purring the moment we enter the downstairs bathroom; for the time being the nursery.
Some smell, I have to admit that, but we are doing or best venting without getting draft in the kitties' room.
I am totally amazed by the wonder of God and nature, and am so hoping for the best for these little fur balls. Photo Gunnar.

Monday, March 07, 2011


My brother Knut Erik/aka Kel invited me to London to celebrate his 60th birthday. Since he's my only sibling, just 15 months younger than me, Irish twins they call it, we've always been very close. This time we made London for eight days. The first time we went over the North Sea in a cargo boat ,in1969, we hardly could afford visited a café at all. We survived mainly on the solid English breakfast they used to serve back then.

This time we decided it was a shame we hadn't seen the longest running play in history, The Mousetrap, written by an old favorite of us, Agatha Christie. We had some trouble finding the appendix of a street where the theater was situated. Thanks to all the red we found it, and it even was on Tuesday last.

The piece is just a tiny bit younger than we are. It's running in it's 60th year.

I didn't bring a camera, only my cellphone. Even so an overeager guardsman stopped me when I tried to shoot some interior pictures before the curtains went up.
I wouldn't even dream of telling you, who was the murderer.

After theater time we still had some shopping to do. Bro Kel needed a giant suitcase for the 900 CDs he had bought. Collectors do that kind of stuff. We found London mild and cheerful and stopped outside an outdoor café for a cuppa on our way home.

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