HOME IS WHERE YOUR HEART IS

This is the hallway in the home where I grew up.

From the secret garden with the little birch tree where we used to hang our hammock. I made my mother an angel for Christmas four years ago. She will not remove it even in summer.

We need angels all of the year, she proclaims. My mother of age 82 has got a tumble dryer, and she is tired and does not move easily. Nevertheless she insist on carry her wash and hang it up outdoors.

My parents spent lots and lots of hours gardening.

My mother always had a wish of a pond for waterlilies. My dad used a chisel and crowbar to dig deep into the mountain. In between Serina was born, and the pond was made as a safe place for her to play. My dad told the fairytale about the castle with a thousand footsteps. I was enchanted when he started building a similar road down to the river which flows about thirty metres below the rest of our garden. Two summers my father spent to make this road, not waisting the soil, but carrying away buckets for mom's flowers.

We were not allowed to come down until the fencing was done.
I used to sit on that moss grown stone right and get all absorbed by the sound, smell and sight of the foaming river, while writing poems in my diary.

My father must have watched from above, 'cause he fenced out the stone.. I had to find a more secure sitting place,- at least half a yard inside.

This is called "Kitten's garden", wild strawberries and white anemones are blossoming there, and it is and wild be my place of peace on earth.

Backside of "my" garden where my father has piled a mountain of stones when he made our lawn.

The upper part of "secret Garden" where my mother and I long time ago built a fire place. My father coming home from the office, was not impressed.

"It will fall down next winter," he prophesied.

Mom was determined to prove him wrong, and put in a dash of concrete now and then. many a kettle of coffee is boiled here, and heaps of hot-dogs grilled.
One week ago. Gunnar is showing Mom the pics I made with my cellphone N73.

NATURAL REFLECTION

Serina's picture from 2006 Fall is coming on heavily.
We have returned safely from our London trip.
The yellow leaves are falling off the birch tree outside our kitchen window.
Planting purple heather and onions for the spring to come is my garden work in between showers.
Gunnar dismantled our new garden pavilion before the autumn storm did.
The kittens visiting our garage have disappeared.
(Sob, sob)
The golden oldie girls have taken up Monday hikes.
Healing time on Thursdays.
The Qi-gong lessons are also on.
Next month the very free hobby club will slowly find its rhythm. (Willow garlands, driftwood painting, weird wool work, stone and seashell decorations, bead work.)
The flea market season is over us. Church rings, schoool classes, Red Cross, you name it, they're at it. Gunnar and I have been to a few sales. We need a bigger house for all our good bargains! We at least help recirculating so that Al Gore can continue his campaign from his private jet!
I've got the blues.
Missing my dad, missing Serina, missing my Mom, missing mountains, the smell of moss and heather, the soothing sound of waterfalls.
I still got Gunnar's safe back to crawl tight to in sleepless nights.

LONDON FOR NIGHT OWLS

London was, is and probably always will be my favourite city.

Altough I have been visiting to and fro since the summer of -69, I feel I have barely scratched the surface.

My hairdresser equipped me with Andy Warhole styled hair, on a bad day that is. Our plane was five hours delayed and the tickets we had bought on the internet for "The Merchant of Venice" at the Globe, proved to be false (!!!!!) Nevertheless we had a wonderful trip, and will repeat it when opportunity knocks.

Theme of this trip was art galleries, Tate Modern, Salisbury wing at National, with Dutch portraits and the best; the Cortauld at Somerset House.

Shopping only for Serina and Gunnar had his uaual visit to Apple store.

Best thing was having ten Celcius degrees more to live and breathe in.
Woolen overcoats and thick underwear were stripped off. We went happily about in T-shirts.
Add a slow boat to Greenwich, pubs of better qualities, night walks along the Bank, my usual fight with a cheap hotel owner, thundering travels on the Tube, I, me, on my own.

That largely summons up our five Londonian days.

Hope next time St. Martin-In-The-Fields will be reopened.

I missed the Sunday service, the jazz in the crypt and a candlelight concert.

In return we got to celebrate the new milllenium with the Ethiopians at Trafalgar Square.

"But what have they done with the seven other years?" my mother asked.

I AM MEDICATED, HOW ARE YOU?

Serina has presented her first picture from school.
Let an apple describe you as a person.

I'M HANGING ON

Never was nor want to be a preacher.

If my life should be a testimony,- than it better been torn up.

I am hanging on though,

clinging to the solid rock.

Have no other place I wish to go.

SOLID ROCK

Well, I'm hangin'

on to a solid rock

Made before

the foundation of the world

And I won't let go,

and I can't let go,

won't let go

And I can't let go,

won't let go,

and I can't let go no more.

For me He was chastised,

for me He was hated,

For me he was rejected

by a world that He created.

Nations are angry,

cursed are some,

People are expecting

a false peace to come.

Well, I'm hangin' on

to a solid rock

Made before the foundation

of the world

And I won't let go,

and I can't let go,

won't let go

And I can't let go,

won't let go,

and I can't let go no more.

It's the ways of the flesh

to war against the spirit

Twenty-four hours a day

you can feel it

and you can hear it

Using all the devices under the sun.

And He never give up

'til the battle's lost or won.

Well, I'm hangin' on

to a solid rock

Made before the foundation

of the world

And I won't let go,

and I can't let go,

won't let go

And I can't let go,

won't let go,

and I can't let go no more.

Bob Dylan

SHE'S SPREADING HER WINGS

Nobody was able to explain to me

how unbearable the leaving of one's child hurts.

I've been preparing for this day at least a year now.

Intellectually.

When Serina lay seriously ill in hospital

and last week when all the bad symptoms reemerged,

I told myself, silently,

that if she could only be well enough

to embark on her journey for life and development,

I would only be happy for her.

What a monstrous lie!

The three last nights neither Serina nor I have been able to touch bedsheets until seven in the morning.

(Fooled you, Gunnar!)

This morning they went in a fully stuffed car,

over the Long Mountains, dividing Norway in east and west.

Eight hours drive by good weather and open tunnels.

She took my heart with her.

I've been circling inside and outside our house,

totally numb,

with a lead lump where my soul used to burn.

In my despair

I've telephoned to all the mothers I know of,

who have been in a similar situation.

My sister in law comforted me.

She told, "I'm not saying that my kids are moving.

I tell myself they are away to get some education."

My mother's only words were, "I never get used to it.

It hurts like I'm going to die every time I say goodbye."

Turid said,"Don't you ever dare tell Serina how you feel.

I had three children leaving home in one year.

You knew when she was born, that she was not for keeps."

Theoretically I knew.

Now I just have to find my breath again,

and keep the nightmares from coming true.

In a month she'll be home for autumn vacation.

My flower girl knows more about herbs than most her age.
Here gathering Jasmine flowers for tea.

I hope I have been able to provide her with living water.

It's the ordinary everyday life, I'll miss the most. Big girl making her own peanut butter sandwiches.

One of the few sunny days the summer. The cooking may not be first class, but the company!!

Father and daughter combines the joy of a new laptop with watching TV in the living room.

Her whole body was hurting so badly in hospital. Silly mom had to try to get her forget.

Which made the pains even worse.

I just have welcomed the happiest russ this year.

When she's laughing, when she's laughing, the whole world laughs to me....

All our major events have been celebrated in this Chinese restaurant. Like when Serina and I lay exhausted in hospital, my mother, father, brother and Gunnar welcomed the newborn baby here. The first day at school, first ballet performance, first concert, the exams, any major occasion calls for an eight dishes menu at the old Chinese. Yesterday's farethewell meal was a success like the others..
"I Will Always Love You"

If I Should stay

I would only be in your way

So I'll go

But I know

I'll think of you every step of the way

And I...

Will always

Love you,

I Will always

Love you You

My darling you

Bittersweet Memories

That is all I'm taking with me

So good-bye

Please don't cry

We both know

I'm not what you

You need

And I...

Will always love you

I...

Will always love you You,

I hope life treats you kind

And I hope you have

all you've dreamed of

And I wish you joy and happiness

But above all this

I wish you love

And I...

Will always love you

I...

Will always love you

I,

I will always love You....

You Darling

I love you

I'll always

I'll always

Love You..

Dolly Parton & Mom

THAT WAS THAT WEEK THAT WAS

Sunday: Sigve died Sunday morning after three weeks of unbearable pain. Liv came home from Bergen. Turid and I went to welcome her with flowers and food (Turid's very good idea).
Monday: The Three Musketeers, Liv, Turid and I went for a walk in the forest. Liv and I took an ice cold bath in fresh water.

In the hillside we caught site of a deer mom with her fragile child. Then of a sudden a deer ram came bursting out of the woods, chasing the mother and leaving the disturbed deerling on its own.

It felt like a "Bambi" reality sceen.

Preparations for three guests coming from the far North to stay for the week.

Tuesday: Followed Sigve and his nearest friends to the cemetery chapel to say goodbye. It was heartbreaking.. Grandchildren sending self made poems and their dearest toy with the casket. Liv sharing words from the Bible and a huge bouquet of Bluebells.
Later on long time friend Rita came with her two lovely daughters. We have known each other for thirty years, but now we had not met in nine years.

Wednesday: Herring-jazz in town. (that means trad. jazz played in 25 pubs, churches, neighbour islands and concert hall.) We went to the opening in a museum arena by the Dock.

The girls wanted to shop, they're more into popular music. Gunnar stayed home making a party of good food when we returned.

Thursday: Gunnar, Serina and I attended Sigve's funeral. The church was packed with people. Sigve was a social, friendly and well respected man.

Tough..

Thursday is potato ball day in our town. We took our guests out for dinner. The mother had been longing for this local dish, the girls were more into Burgers and ice.(No one blamed them)

We strolled along the Harald's Street, up and down its more than three kilometres.

After resting we went to town again till past midnight.Friday: More jazz, more leisurely, walking, talking, meeting with old friends. The girls made dinner at home while Rita and I had a last round in town.

We stayed up until three in the morning each night.

Will and Terry were heavily in my mind. Tried to write a few words after the others had gone to bed.

Saturday: The girls set off for a long and winding road back home. We were worrying sick how they would manage all the tunnels and bumpy curves.

Serina has got a cough again. Gunnar is my rock.

Tomorrow we'll have to make serious preparations for Serina leaving home for a year.

HOME SICK

I have lived for thirty years On the far side of the sea. I love the ever rolling ocean, the winds, the sailing seagulls and the big, ever changing sky.

But I am rooted elsewhere. In Sauda at the deep end of Rogaland's beautiful Boknafjord. Surrounded by 121 mountain peaks, with breath taking waterfalls and the North River foaming just below my native home.
There I was born and spent the first 18 years of my life. My father too was born there and was 86 when he died in June.

I actually have not been home since the funeral of my father. Mostly due to my mother not being home either for the time being, and me being occupied visiting other relatives in hospital.

I've had 4 incredibly busy months, visiting near and dear ones at the hospital in Haugesund. Gunnar's aunt Lilly, who is much more than an ordinary relative to us all, my father, our daughter, my best uncle Leif, a dear, close family friend, Sverre, my brother-in- law, Terje, and now Sigve lying there for two weeks before he died the day before yesterday.

That's seven of them on the same 5th floor on our hospital in four months.
And Gunnar leaving for his fourth time undergoing rather nasty examinations in the Bergen hospital in August..

Serina will be moving away for one year in August. We hope she'll have a good time, but our lives will loose their focus. She a colourful bird who's kept us fully occupied for nineteen years. She surely deserve to fly. I feel confident that the Lord will protect her and keep he safe as are his promises.

These revolving days I just could not find any rest in our home, I had to touch and smell, see and feel my roots. Gunnar and Serina were only happy to follow, and my mother came back from her visit to her roots and four siblings at Jaeren.

The rivers run high because of all the rain we've had this July. The blueberries in the mountains were ripe and scented of childhood. The paths where we used to leap and run were still there.

There are nine valleys leading down to the centre of Sauda. I was raised in one of them, with the mountains on the east and the river running in the west, southbound towards the salty fjord.

When I go to bed with an open window, the lullaby of the river makes me fall asleep in a wink.

Gunnar and Serina had to return to town for a doctor's appointment, while my mother and I just took one path at a time. We emptied some closets, went down town for groceries and flowers for the church yard (we call it church yards, because there usually is a church nearby the graves), we even had cream cakes and coffee at the local bakery and a long , nice chat with my cousin and his wife.

Finally we hung up some pictures of my father in the corner of the living room where his chair is standing.

It felt kind of good to do these little things, cry a bit, talk, long and laugh at old family jokes. "Do you remember when..."

I am blessed to visit the house that has been our home since 1951, and still is, even though my mother will have to continue mostly on her own now.

Even Serina says, "Sauda is the place where I am free."

Life has changed this summer, more than I like.

Even so I am lucky to have a place to long to, and a husband who is willingly driving, when I feel I just have to arise and go.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now,
And go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there,
Of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there,
A hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there,
For peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning
To where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer,
And noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now,
For always night and day
I hear lake water lapping
With low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway
Or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

William Butler Yeats

ERRORS

I hate to admit it, but at times I am a little sloppy.

Too sure of myself, too hasty and lazy to look up words in my fat, red dictionary.

This is why I wrote so enthusiastically about Black Currant blossoms, when the blossoms I meant to praise actually were those of Black Elders. Iiijk. Silly me.

Next week I'm going to harvest the Black Currants or Sun berries, as they're called in Norway. Our berries are already black, but still taste sour from lack of sun.

That's, howeever, another cup of... juice.