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.

COMING UP FOR AIR

Sigve has been hospitalised once more. We're all mourning.
Maybe just therefor I need to hold on to some of the bright moments of this summer.
Last week at "The Sand", the local term for the wonderful beach 20 minutes from our home.

Gunnar having a lonesome night walk at the Sand

Only in Norway can such beauty be combined with perfect peace.

Popping in at aunt Lilly's. She has knitted Gunnar a new Islandic sweater, recovering from a severe op at the age of 86.

Serina also doing some recreating in her very best corner.

The great heaven painter spreading his brush.

Sundown time is when we are at our thriving peak.

Three minutes from our house is Harald the Fairhaired,the king credited to unite Norway in the year 872, buried.

Sun in from west. I in my garden gnome outfit, gathering herbs.

Beach wild flowers.

I once had a boat...

Serina V has made this self portrait with Garden Jasmine.

NOT A SAINT, NOR A WHITCH, BUT A WEAK BITCH

Serina II
Serina III and IV

I am a descendant of coast women, mostly.

My fore-mothers were a long line of strong, conscious, educated, but family oriented females.

Farms on the south west coast of Norway were often too small to breed the large families.

Husbands had to seek a second outcome either by fishing, market trading, or as very often was and still is an option; Cross the Atlantic for work either in farming, mining or fishing.

Their housewives then were left alone with everyday responsibilities for house-holding, animals, feeding young and old, cultivating land and educating youngsters. A poet said, "they believe in the shilling, but seek their comfort in God."

They had to, though, 'cause the times were rough, they became worn, but their souls stayed warm.

They were trusted members of the community, but treasured cooperation the most.

They laboured as if in front of God's face, not to attract humans.

Half of my genetical inheritance come from these hardworking, stubborn, outspoken, at times, alas, self righteous..and a tiny bit narrowminded, proud and gifted survivor women..

To me that means I've got to do and say what to my best knowledge is true and right.

I've got to defend the ones that are weaker than I am, who cannot stand up for themselves.

That's how I choose my education, my occupation and later on family life.

I guess that is as far from American middle class culture as one can get.

No climbing culture, no sucking up, no backstabbing, always calling the thing by its right name.

I cannot be otherwise.
I'm struggling keeping my mouth shut, though.
"He who can strain his tongue is stronger than he who can conquer a whole town," my father used to teach me.

My best friend and colleague said, "Why do you always have to be the first to put your head on the block? Give us a chance as well!"

The other thing is learning to distinguish between people who really do ask for advice or just seek consent to keep on doing what they anyway are determined to do.

There's no use in discussing when the answer is already given. A complete waste of time and effort.

I'd rather go collecting snails in my garden.

My intention with this blog was actually to show more than one dimension of my life.

I first and foremost am a God fearing mother and family oriented woman.

I also have many skills, interests, thoughts and ideas about malfunctions in society, about hypocrisy and the real evil doers.

I actually want to be bitchy when pointing finger at topics usually swept under the carpet.

I have not been directed that way lately.

I have had to learn a hard lesson of being dependant on others, above all on God.

I don't at all like the feeling of being small and weak, it's threatening to the very core of my personality.

Nevertheless I am a richer and wiser person now than I was 6 months ago. I have endured a great loss, but also experienced what really is fireproof.

God and His Grace alone.

MY HUSBAND'S CANADIAN LOVE

I am a bit distressed over mixing the date of Canada Day.

So I'll reveal a secret to make up for it.

Gunnar has had a long going affair with an English/ Canadian Lady.

She's younger than me and he fell in love with her at the age of 21, AND HE'S STILL MADLY IN LOVE.

I am a fourty-niner, she's born in 1954.

English born, but set sails for Canada the same year.

She landed in Vancouver and was immediately adopted by a Vancouverian family, whose name is still unknown to us.

Her name is Morris Garages, if that rings a bell to anyone..

and she's formally addressed as MG TF 1954.

In the years she stayed with this Vancouverian family, her skin was changed from black to salmon pink and ended up as ebony white.

Our spring of 87

English Jeff and Norwegian Thurid met in Vancouver 1963. They fell in love, bought themselves the car and drove Canada coast to coast, before the three of them went to live in Norway.

My Gunnar was a poor student when he first met with the MG in 1970. (Jeff and Thurid were running a farm and had meanwhile changed to Rovers.)

First he asked Thurid if he might be allowed to buy the car of his dreams, and then he pledged his father for financial support.

The girl of his dreams became his for 1200 American dollars, and that was quite a sum in those days.

He also had to give his word, never to let her out with a salmon pink coat again.

By now the two of them have stayed together for 36 years. Gunnar has picked her apart and rebuilt her two times. She's changed from dark blue to ivory white, including eleven layers of special coating.

20 years ago, when Gunnar and I became a pair, she carried us all over the county.

Gee, was I proud, when he drove me to work in that little, white wonder.

Spring of-07

Being a genuine vintage car enthusiast, Gunnar has all the facts, books and papers of his car, except for one.

What was the name of her first owner??
Does anybody remember seing this beaty riding the Canadian roads from 1954 to 63??

The person able to supply us with information, will be offered a free ride....at least in Norway.

Any kind of information will be highly appreciated by the whole family.

It's all about roots, or rather about peerage when the Noble Lady MG's concerned.

Good night, sweet princess of the garage.