KINDNESS

Easter morning we had planned to mount this mountain peak, very small, with a wonderful view. A sudden change in the weather made spring into a wet and snowy day. Nevertheless none of us thought of staying home, and we spent a wonderful day together. The kind people who owned the land let us borrow dry clothes and fed us with an excellent Easter Lamb dinner after our excursion.

My first cousin Vivian came all the way from Chicago to be with her two ill and aging uncles and their wives for three days in November latest.

She moved us all beyond tears and words.

Husband Gunnar drove six hours in the middle of a roaring hurricane one dark November night to bring home this blue oil barrel. Daughter Serina was granted this special instrument from her favourite group "Kaizer's Orchestra" after a concert in Bergen. She was overwhelmed by the gift, and did not hesitate to ask for her father's help. Their relationship exceeds kindness.

Everyone who's being kind to my baby, here at her confirmation day, is a friend of mine.

If some should try to hurt her, I have no mercy at all.

We've had three cats. One died at the age of eighteen, one was only three. Marcello, the happiest and kindest of them all, disappeared at the age of two.

We have organised searching, have advertised in the paper, on the radio and in the shopping centres. No results in three ears. Our hearts are bleeding.

Serina's grand aunts who have been more than kind to all of us sitting at our terrace. Their concern, cordial and munificence are beyond borders.

One has got to love them back plainly and simply.

Guess that I, like amongst others St. Paul, have an honest will to do the good, but lack the power. I therefore was not happy at all when the word to contemplate on for this week was kindness.
I am more of a bitch than that of a saint personality. Hence the name of my blog.
"Didn't mean to be unkind.
You know that was the last thing on my mind," Tom Paxton wrote.

Actually I am being kind to helpless children, animals, elderly, the mentally retarded and some of the mentally ill.

I claim that virtue.

I am, however, not a kind person, not to mine or my nearests' and dearests' experience, - alas.
Most of all I'm acting like a hedge-hog when I feel frightened, angry or insecure. I curl up to a ball and unfold my hundred spikes. I kill mice and snakes, though, and am an extermination threatened species myself.
I humbly let those who feed me pat me on my head, and spread shit on their terrace, if they scare me.
Guess I need kindness, and like to show kindness, but not always or in general.
Hmm.. I'll have to reflect more on this theme.
"Tomorrow is another day," Scarlett O'Hara would have said.

THE GOOD AFTER EASTER LIFE

My word of meditation for the two Easter weeks was "openness". Yet I have not had time or power to write a single word in my blog.

We were gathered at my parents home in the snow sport village Sauda and about the only ones who did not go skiing and obtaining the attractive Easter-tan.
Good Friday Gunnar's aunt had to undergo a major aorta surgery. (Which by the way seems to turn out well.)

It's both tough and rewarding to be together with my parents. Sad to see my father grow weaker every day. Wonderful to see him smile, get his blessings and be allowed to tell once more how much he has meant and done for me throughout the years.

My mother is of course also getting more and more worn, but she's got her foremothers' stayer-genes. She works eagerly in the garden, and is seriously considering investing in an oven for burning porcelain.

It's great to be at my parents', to know we mean a difference. That we are able to add some light in their too hard life.

Even so, we have kind of had to put our lives on a hold for almost four years now.

With Gunnar's aunt to care for as well, and our own "daily over- struggle", I certainly appreciate being at ease in our own home.

I've come to love the days with no plans, must do or ought to do.

Reading, listening to music, doing a bit of gardening and the odd cooking for Gunnar and Serina. A walk on the beach, picking the newly sprung white anemones in the woods in the neighborhood. While the birds are pouring their hearts out in the evenings, trying to find a mate.
The birches outside our kitchen window have got "mice-ears". Next week they'll fold out and form a green wall against the street outside.

I am indeed enjoying and embracing life's many small wonders.
In addition I am gratefully aware that there's only one thing worse than having too many duties to fulfill.
That is, not being able to, or allowed to participate.

TRUTH

The word for me to be focused on for the next two weeks, is truth.
"What is truth?" Pilate said, cunningly answering a problem with an impossible question.
"Be honest," my mother always told me," it's a virtue free of charge."
Which is crap, of course. Truth can cost one's carreer, fortune and good name.
Nevertheless; this has been a blessed truth-week, combined with the art of keeping my mouth shut, and thus letting the liars' lies fall yellow to the ground.
A seldom victory to me, who usually will "go tell it on the mountain" .
Point is, I may well tell the truth, but I don't need to tell all of the truth all of the time.
I am not on trial, and people might get hurt.
So I should keep my silence when, what I consider to be the truth, actually might do unrepairable harm.
Besides St. Paul says in 1. Cor. 13.12, "the chapter of love":
"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."
Indeed, keeping my attention on the one single word has been helpful and blessed to me.
I am that kind of person who is in need of these kinds of victories and self insights.
Hopefully I'll be able to keep up the good work and continue focusing on the truth issue,- at least until next Thursday.
I know I will. Truth is a diamond with a thousand beautiful spectres.

BATTLE TIRED

Judging Amy tonight;
"She's just being battle tired."
"When is that?"
"That's when the burdens of your past and your worries for tomorrow are too heavy to bear."

I think my mother has been battle tired for a long while.

More Judging Amy:
"She's closing us all out. She won't let anybody in."
"That's because she's afraid what we might find."

Poor mother, poor me, poor all of us.

I often longed on tiresome road

out there - to peace,

but land of elves first is revealed

when sun goes to ease.

COUNTING MY BLESSINGS

We have passed the vernal equinox. That's a milestone on my mental calendar as well. Now the dawn is tip toeing at half past six, and dusk bluely changing the world at half nineish.
Our pre-Easter morning paper reading at the post breakfast table is bathed in sun.


Today I drew the word "delight" at the end of our qi-gong lesson.
Iiijk. I could not avoid thinking of an Agatha Christie novel built over a poem:
"Some are born to sweet delight,
some are born to endless night."

For one week now I have been concentrating on "Healing". Believe it or not, but it has worked. I've also been very much focusing on its positive content, and brightened up my inner self.

Today I plunged right down. Fell again and hurt my knee.
Got bad, bad news about a dear friend having severely spread cancer.
An aunt of my husband died this morning. My brother in law was hospitalized two days ago. My father is much in pain and we're having trouble finding the right treatment. Gunnar is only getting worse with his allergies.
I simply thought this "delight" must be a hostile, angry joke.

That proved to be so very wrong..
Our friend got a major work insurance payback, and could buy expensive medicine from abroad. We were celebrating with two other couples Saturday evening, and were having a great time together.
I had a healing appointment Thursday and came up with no pain at all in my damaged knee.
My father is miraculously recovering and my mother has been in a much better mood as well. Spring and garden work has done wonders to her depression and exhaustion.
I have been out on two spring walks, one on the beach and one up a mountain peak. The sun is shining, today the temperature was 12 Celsius +degrees.
Daughter Serina has gotten her red "russ"outfit, which means she will be celebrating for to months that she has completed thirteen years of primary school at the highest level. That is an achievement she can be proud of, and so are we, her parents.
Spring has definitely arrived these last days. The birds have returned from their winter vacation in Egypt, the daffodils, snow bells and crocus are blossoming even by the salty seaside.
I have spread cow manure in our garden and Gunnar has done some major tidying up. Today we had the first coffee on the terrace enjoyment. That is early here in the best west.
This afternoon we went to our secret place and harvested the first allium ursinum, wild garlic, wonderful, tasty herb, which has been growing here since the vikings dominated the area.
My brother in law is home from the hospital, nothing serious, just wrong medication, (which could have cost him his life, though.)
My niece made a successful piano concert for her exams at the music conservatory.
Tomorrow we'll have Gunnar's very best quality aunt for dinner. I'm so looking forward to meeting her.
Life is delightful for true in this best of all possible worlds.

Our windows have been cleaned to honour the revealing sun.
Four versions of Cohen's Hallelujah are playing non stop, while I'm trying to compose a heartfelt dinner and coffee meal for auntie Lilly.

I've decided to rank The "Baffled" king David an equal number one to St. Peter.

Only tiny, little wish: Two tickets for the Bob Dylan concert at Wembly in April.(Hint, hint).

Soon we'll be headed for the Sauda mountains .
I'm looking forward to that indeed.
I am delighted.

HEALING

It's easiest to believe in healing, when all other options have failed.
The words are not mine, but an old missionary's, Marie Monsen.
We have doctors and free medicare, free hospital treatment. We need not worry about health insurance. Everybody's got a right to help.
Then it happens that one gets one of those chronic illnesses, like my severe osteoporosis.
I've been on medical treatment for seven years, but my skeleton is still transparent.
My backbones, wrist, rib, elbow and ankles have been broken.
So, when I today trod over on my right ancle and fell on the street, whom did I call??
First God. And - I managed to get home on my own. Then I sent an sms to my best friend and asked for remote healing.
I will not do more for the moment.
St. Paul says, " When I'm weak, then I am strong." (2 Cor. 12. 10)
Since "healing" was the word I drew at end of the one our qi-gong training today, I'll give it a week, I think.

ODE TO JOY

Girls should love their fathers, and possibly also be closest bonded to them.

Mothers, me included, have this never ending bad habit mixture of anxiety, grooming and life-educating their daughters.

There's one thing though, that mothers and daughters understand better than any father.
That's the sober,infinite joy of shopping.

My daughter and I have shared unforgettable moments, or more likely hours, peeking, negotiating and making some excellent deals in auctions, street-markets, flee-markets and bazaars home and abroad.


Flirting, chit-chatting, and, wow, the victorious feeling of making a really big scoop leaving all our savings to the laughing salesman.

The funny thing though, we have been nicely treated at Harrods as well as in the bazaars of emperor Julian in Istanbul, even if we did not buy
much at the first place.


We are often frequenting local flee -markets for charity organisations.
That way we are able to make super bargains for a good cause.
I don't quite know if the Lord agrees to that. But there's also the aspect of recycling. And that is needed in our spend and throw away town.

I felt like a million dollars, spending a few dimes at the Salvation Army's second hand shop, wearing Prada, Gucci and YSL...
Only yesterday Serina found a perfect fit, tailor made, black dress and a gold purse to go with it. I waved my brand new, black Versace jeans over my head as we returned from our nesting tour.

GERD-LIV VALLA RYGGBRUKKET

Hun som vet at sommernatta aldri blir helt svart.


Hun som har kjent den aldri sviktende, blå evigheten,

og har plukket blomster, som ikke kan kjøpes ute i havgapet.

Hun som henter krefter i stein og jord,
og har vært ett med elementene,kan ikke "trues av tårer til hvil."

Det har lenge vært kjent herskerteknikk på norske arbeidsplasser at fagtillitsvalgte som hadde bein i nesa ble forsøkt sparket oppover av arbeidsgiver.
Utrolig mange har latt seg korrumpere. Det er noe uimotståelig smigrende i det å bli tilbudt en jobb man egentlig ikke er kvalifisert for.
Gerd-Liv Valla lot seg verken true eller kue. Tvertimot, pingla Stoltenberg ble tvunget i kne når det gjalt sykelønnsordningen.
Norges mektigste kvinne, kalte VG henne, før de systematisk tok alle midler i bruk for å knekke henne.
De brukte Norges mektigste menn og media, og så Yssen da, klysa fra det inkarnerte Oslo 3 miljøet. Hun har vel ikke engang en fjern anelse om hvordan sykelønn staves, bagler-damen, med dominante "quisling" gener.
Jeg ekles ved synet og enda mer ved de utspekulert forræderske metoder hun har tatt i bruk.
"For støtt der normenn lyt væra med/ der Norigs merket skal hoggast ned," sa Sivle om hennes like.

Nå gjenstår det å se hvor mange dager det tar før nye velferdsordninger er rasert for fattigfolk.
"Fra dem som intet har, skal det tas, det de tror seg å eie," sa - ikke Marx,- men Jesus.

19

My baby girl is now 19.
Last year as a teenager.
Last year living at home.
She wished breakfast in bed, real champagne and American doughnuts.
The start of 24 hours of celebration.
My best birthday since I was five, she said.

WEB OF LIFE

Being is belonging. Either you are part of a web, or caught in one.
In my nightmares I am nothing, but a helpless prisoner.
I pray to God that my worst dreams prove to be just that.
The tiny weaver making such an intricate pattern.
So strong and captive, and yet so fragile.
Just like life itself.
So hard to mend when a thread is broken.

Norwegian spiders have no poison in them.
They just keep on making these wonderful works of art to survive.

HAUGESUNDS AVIS

Nyhet 1: Forsythiaen blomstrer på bar kvist.
Nyhet 2: Småfuglene har hatt en rimelig god vinter.

Vår gamle lokale blekke har de to siste ukene overgått seg selv i hemningsløs vannglass storming.
Et utbrukt og musikalsk tannløst lokalt "band" har sparket sangeren sin. Det er andre gang så har skjedd.
At det skal kvalifisere til tolv dobbeltsidige oppslag, kvalmer meg.
Det er til de grader uinteressant, utgått på dato og ute av fokus at jeg rødmer av skam.
Går det virkelig an å ha en så enorm navle at en by med så mange store problem, (narkotika, ran, vold, alkoholmisbruk, forsømte barn og gamle, veivandaler, pedofilsaker, mord, nedkjørt pskyiatri, you name it, we've got it) - er blind for alt dette og serverer oss Vamp sine trivielle - og mulig uetiske - småklynk til frokostbordet i mega format.
Jeg akter ikke å betale for å lese "dårligere enn Se og Hør" journalistikk i lokalmonopolet vårt.
Jeg vil ha pengene tilbake eller erstatning for bortkastet tid og miljøforsøpling.

JA TIL STATSKIRKE

Landet vårt har sekstenhundre statseide kirker. De er en unik kulturarv, som ikke bør regnes om til forgjengelig mynt.
I Haugesund har vi tre særmerkte kirker som står og forfaller til fordel for et miserabelt synkende skip av et kontorlandskap med klatrevegg.
I en tid da barn daglig fraktes gjennom flere bygdelag for å dyrke sin spesielle hobby, der skolene sentraliseres som aldri før, og man er nødt til å bruke bil for å handle tre liter melk, brød og pølser, så skal altså særmerkte kirker stå ubrukt fordi noen maktkåte ignoranter skal ha klatrevegg i nabolaget.
Fei dem ut. Bruk de mange målene med ledig kapasitet til barnhager, og la våre kirkeskatter i fred.
Skulle så galt skje at stat og kirke skiller lag, bør staten selvfølgelig ikke selge, men leie ut kirker til det de er vigslet for.
Leien bør dekke drift og vedlikehold.
Jeg tror alle de, som nå i skjul har posisjonert seg til å bli storhåvmestere, da klokelig vil takke nei.

EMIL MOHRS SYKELØNNSORDNING

Noen dyr vil alltid være mer like enn andre.
Slik som overlegen på vårt lokale sykehus. Han har, og bruker all makt han kan og litt til.
Nylig sendte han hjem en dame på 92 år, med flere smertefulle bekken brudd.
"Hun er ferdigbehandlet hos oss. Hennes datter i Bergen bør ta seg fri fra jobb og komme til Haugesund for å pleie sin gamle mor. Det er et familieansvar å ta vare på de gamle. Jeg har avtale med min arbeidsgiver om at jeg kan ta fri et år, om jeg skulle få bruk for det."--Sånn noenlunde korrekt etter HA.
Tror noen at hans hjelpepleiere får samme tilbudet??

GERD-LIV VALLA

Hvis VG og de andre altfor villige medmobberne av alle kalibre nå klarer å knekke Gerd-Liv Valla, skal det bli interessant å se hvor mange døgn eller timer det tar før sykelønnsordningen er blitt rasert.

I LIFT UP MY EYES TO THE HILLS

There are times when I, bewildered, don't know where to turn or what to do.
All possible options seem to be tried, without satisfying result.
This has been one of those frustrating weeks in limbo.
I was about to make one last phone call, as my eyes fell upon the calendar standing on the kitchen table. One of those with a Bible verse for every day.
This very Thursday the quote was from Isiah 30,15:
"In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength."
I'll have to rely on those words. I wouldn't dare not to.
Guess I have a bit of growing up to do.

BEWILDERED

Three ducklings in the hurricane.
Out on the roaring sea, boats going under.
Ashore houses are being lifted from their foundation.
Roofs flying through the air like huge condors.
In times like these it's not easy keeping the aim in sight.
Or clinging on to the belief, that every hair is numbered,
like every grain of sand.
Yet there is no other reasonable alternative.

THE THIRTEENTH FAIRY

Midst in the infinite wonder of motherhood, she sat quietly in the dusk nursery, humming and rocking her firstborn to sleep.
A sudden chill filled the air, as a blur figure materialised beside the mother. Bending over the cradle, she, of a sudden, revealed herself as the thirteenth fairy.
In a cracking, but distinct voice, sounding like an unforgiving curse of the doomed she proclaimed:

"May the baby give you as much sorrow, anger and despair as you yourself have caused."
The innocent, newborn infant opened its blue eyes, and chased all evil away.
For awhile.
The mother was left in eternal fear.
The spell had cunningly been engraved in her heart,
ensured to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Until she one day realised:
"But I never was really bad. I've never willfully harmed anyone. That label was deliberately put upon me by someone, trying to hide her own hatred and defeat.
I am free.
My fragile treasure is saved!"

MY WILL, THY WILL, WHOSE WILL?

This picture of my father was taken Jan. 27th 2007

Very often, as I stumble along, so much wanting to do the good things, the right and obvious necessary deeds, I find my self stopped, trapped and haltered with "no particular place to go."

I stand bewildered before the Lord with all my whys.

Taking care of and comforting the helpless must be right, isn't that so?

"I was sick and you did not look after me?" He said.

That's just what I want to do and I am so vigorously hindered.

I am confused and hurt and helplessly scared.

Should I not honour and nurse my ill father?

He, who has been nothing but good to me all these years.

Whom I have loved and cherished since I was a child.

He who has carried me, patiently taught me and picked me up whenever I fell.
I need an answer and I need it fast.

Just a few years ago my father sat truly by my side, while I had broken both wrist and ankle, and was diagnosed with osteoporosis.

BE A BROTHER

I've worked with people all my life, since eighteen actually.
During discussions I've kept repeating, "People need people."
Whether it meant keeping mentally retarded in single flats, with no common areas, elderly living alone in their homes forgotten by family and with no friends left or the lonely kids in school, somehow not accepted by their classmates, (as if that possibly could be the lonely kids' fault). Nobody chooses solitude without having been severely hurt.

My friend Ole is a Benedictine monk in the Netherlands. I'm in closer contact with him than most of my friends in Norway. I even stayed in the monastery for a week. There was friendship and genuine care between the "brothers" and towards the guests.
They live by this rule to greet and embrace every stranger as if they were meeting Christ.
Of course there will be problems in a monastery as well as everywhere else in this world, but they can always be dealt with because of their fundamental, indisputable rules.
It would not be a bad idea if other churches , not to speak of our Civil Service institutions picked up some of old St. Benedict's wisdom.
One even might get tempted to try it in one's own family...

MOTHER's DAY

In Norway Mother's Day is celebrated on the second Sunday of February. The cynics say that this is just another day for the merchants to make more money. How wrong they are. My first and only child was born more than eighteen years ago. I became a mother at the age of thirty eight. I never actually missed being a mother. My life was filled with children and grown ups needing my strength, care and affection. The day I became pregnant my hole life was turned upside down. Focus shifted from me to her, serious decisions to be made, about my job, my civil status, housing, - every aspect of my presence was changed from me to us.
When I talk about my life, it's always before and after Serina was born.
In my mind it seems like yesterday I saw her beautiful blue eyes for the first time.
Now we are frightfully counting month till she has to leave home for further studies.
The Elder called children "The Loans of God". They knew how fast time went by.
Now I'm about to experience exactly the same.
This year my daughter proclaimed, "Mother I have only bought you gifts to be eaten." As if that was only. She served me a most delicious breakfast in bed, consisting of all my favourites including fresh, aromatic strawberries. Light music on the radio and company of the world's best child, the meal lasted for three hours.
Then her father and I went for a slow Sunday walk while she prepared dinner.
After resting while the washing up was done, I woke up to coffee and warm, homemade waffles. I prefer waffles to any other bakery, and daughter Serina is well aware of that.
In the evening we watched an English feel-good movie, while enjoying nuts and chocolate mix.
One of the major days in my life.

PENTECOSTAL PARADISE 1960

My intentions with this blog were to talk straight from the heart about all my worry and anger of subjects, local and global.
Instead I find myself entirely happy and blessed, with no midwinter blues at all.
I got to borrow stacks of old slides from my uncle. Husband Gunnar projected them into my PC via mysterious ways with lots of skills and hours spent.
I got some of the most valuable moments from my childhood
replayed.


When grown-ups forget themselves to pass on immortal life to coming generations, that's when heaven touches earth.
My uncle Leif worked, yes, worked hard indeed, every Sunday for thirty years to spread the good gospel news to children of all social backgrounds and needs.

He had more than 100 pupils in his class. He knew them all by name and gave each a feeling of being special.

The "Christmas Tree Parties" at Salem are still a peak in my life. With a small bottle of soda water and three kinds of cookies in a paper bag we had a ball.

Our parents were ordinary people, trying to make a life for their families after a tough depression and five years of war.

Yet they did not hesitate to buy us guitars to be part of the "Junior Band". Sven and Betty gave one day a week to teach us our first chords. The giggling girl playing the instrument without keeping attention is of course me. There was room for naughty girls as well.

Nils had this unique place by the fjord. An old hut also housing a rowingboat. A shore for bathing and plenty of room for playing all kinds of games for the young and old.

The celebrating of Midsummer, St. Hans in Norwegian, gathered people from all beliefs or none believers as well.
There was no threshold at all.

Import of cars was limited in those post war times. Two of my uncles lent their buses for free, and thus provided transport for everyone on the narrow, curvy "Dollar Road".

No barbecue, no fancy food. Sandwiches and juice tasted wonderful, sitting on an old plaid on the grass.

There was laughter, songs, games, bathing.
The pastor would hold a brief sermon, and there was no end to the variety of self entertainment till the sun went down.

Looking at all the familiar faces I feel comforted.

Some became nurses, drunkards, sailors, managing directors, whores, doctors, musicians, teachers, factory workers, writers, politicians, housewives, engineers, fishermen. Scattered from Dubai to Seattle, the Polar Ice to Australia.

Most of the adults in the pictures are dead by now, promoted to heaven, as the "Salvation Armists" would say.

No one will ever forget the spirit of genuine care and devotion given us in those golden days of our childhood.

Or my uncle's challenge to "stand up like Daniel", and the promise that HE would never leave us or let us down.

So far my uncle's been right.

Hallelujah, I think.