Florence, the city with a ruby flag, a pageant of color in art, markets,galleries, street life, living history and powerful young students of art and music making their way into the future.
Something old, (Florence)
something new,(streetpainter)Something borrowed,(hubby Gunnar & daughter Serina also pushed the button)Something blue.(me, longing back to Italy) 
Ruby nightowls. Serina and I on the carousel just before midnight.With a Mom who has to sleep in the middle of the day, there will always be late nights. Serina made this picture of Gunnar and me resting on a genuine old stone bench before walking home.
Oh,to think, just two years ago we were the unconquerable trinity exploring the beauty of one of Europe's noblest cities.
Originated by MaryT, check hers for today.
In our over-consumer-society, I guess I've fallen in the other ditch. I buy used, and too seldom throw away.
17 years ago a friend and I drove to a flee market at a mission-house, or a prayer house, as we put it. A Bethel. There I found this bench, just like the benches from the Sunday school of my childhood. Hubby Gunnar turned red and white when he saw it. "Where is that bench meant to be placed," he interrogated. On the balchony. He laughed and meant it would rot within next spring. My sweet husband soon made up. Later on, that summer he made me a solid wood table to go with the bench, and painted them red.
The pair have been our outdoor furniture for 17 years, no rot, despite lots of heavy weather, rain, storm, snow.Now they're placed in the upper garden. A quiet place around sundown-time. Inviting for reconciliation and devotion.
Originated by MaryT, check hers for today.
Originated by MaryT, check hers for today.I collect, therefore I am.
As my memory is slowly getting blurer, things, smells, music, scenery, houses make my past vivid.Life has been good, mostly good.
I do not expect a rainbow to last forever, but I sure do what I can to keep the golden seconds linger on.
Freud, perhaps, might have had other explanations for my collection of purses and handbags.
I stick with mine.
The taffeta pompadour was hand sewn for me by my mother in 1956. It matched a similar dress, also pointed with glass bead.
Did I feel like a princess? Nobody even 
guessed that the dress was a former suit of my American aunt.
The purse with gold embroideries has actually never been used. It's on display on my bedchamber dressing table.It was not cheap either. I bought it five years ago in the V&A museum shop in London, after visiting an exhibition of objects from the art decor period.Eleven friends went over to England to celebrate the 110 anniversary of one of the couples.Later that summer my brother was diagnosed with cancer pancreas, my mother had to undergo a total hip replacement surgery and my dad had a brain hemorrhage, which finally killed him last summer.I do so cherish the rainbow before the lightning struck.
Coincidentally we also visited a breathtaking exhibition of Salvador Dali at The Old County Hall on the South Bank.It revolutionized my perception on the multitalented and brilliant artist.
The perfume bottle is designed by Dali.
Hubby Gunnar says I must start using an ordinary camera to get control over the light exposure.Daughter Serina cannot understand that I don't put all my pics through photoshop. Maybe its time to let the old cellphone go?
“The best things in life come in threes, like friends, dreams, and memories.”
The heather blossoming, the rose hips ripe for harvesting. 
For three months I have hardly been out with my friends. Now the time allowed me to participate on the Tuesday hikes again.
Did I feel blessed even if the rain was pouring.
Tilly, Turid and Liv well equipped for a stroll in autumn scenery.
There's no hurrying. Inhaling the odours of the clean air, bending down to examine, taste, feel; lots of laughing and talking. Picking blueberries and eating, recalling childhood memories, whilst moving slowly forwards.
No competition, just sharing in perfect harmony.
We went along on hill tops and along the shore side. I picked lots of sea shells for my garden.
Liv had planned it all perfectly. Even brought wood for a bonfire in the lavvo (that is a hut or a tent with an open roof to let the smoke out).
There are at least ten lavvos in the outskirts of the town and on the island. Kindergartens, schools, scouts and ordinary hikers are free to use the lavvos whenever they want.
The community is even providing raindeer fur for us to sit on. and even though adelossents often will use the lavvo in the evenings, there's supprisingly little damage.
We, the elderly women enjoyed our tea, coffee and sanwitches for almost an hour, before we called it a day.
"Oh gift of God,
oh, perfect day,
whereon shall no man work but play,
wheron it is enough to me,
not to be being,
but to be."
Originated by MaryT, check hers for today.
I am only human. I admit like shopping. I also like to make a bargain now and then, like I have not been out spending money, but actually saving...
Who am I fooling? Certainly not my hubby.
The only shop he'll follow me shopping is the Salvation Army's store. He's steering straight to the books. I, after long of hesitation, also buy clothes.
This rubyrosed dress I found just a couple of months ago. It is actually a tiny bit too small, so I did not buy it first time. I kept dreaming of it, solid cotton fabric and those thick ivory laces both on the dress and the shawl.
My daughter said she could help me change it, so I dived in. Bought it. Serina, when she should rip it open, noticed the label. She blogged it and found that Liberty of London was an English made fabric from the seventies, used by famous designers.
The antique lover in me spoke. Now i wear the dress with pride, but always with a jacket, to hide the half open zipper.
Morale; recycling is good, bright, googling daughters even better.
Double click to see the dress properly.
The town and the island are siblings, connected by a bridge. The town thinks she's more modern and sophisticated than the island.
The island knows she posses the roots, the culture and the beaches.I enjoy the mixed company. This summer more than ever. Due to sickness we have stayed home, vacating in our immediate neighborhood. It has not been bad at all.
The last days before Serina went off to college we cruised along late nights and early mornings with a thermos, photoshooting. I with my cellphone, Serina with her SLR cam. 
The Bay Of Whales, our best next door destination.
The nights have grown darker, but the warmth of summer still lingers on.Nevertheless; a nice cuppa coffee helps towards midnight.
Shopping rest in the main street.
We are hard on the double espressos.
Second week of August Christa came to stay all the way from Schliersee in the German Alps.
We have been friends since she worked a year in Norway back in 1970, and have followed each other ever since.
The vulgar-posh town was in between Herring-jazz and film festival, so her galleries and churches were closed to prepare new exhibitions. The island has built The North-Way History Center midst among ancient King graves and the Medieval Church.
Christa very much liked to visit our stone age-viking collection.
No horns on their helmets emphasizes the guide.
On Island of Rams is a "real"viking farm. School kids are having camps here, learning ancient methods of burning tar, building with wood nails, weaving, spinning, cooking. 
Christa and the five foolish virgins. They actually are menhir stones from the time of the druids, but as Christianity won, the old stones got biblical names.They were not removed though. One did not feel quite sure about the strength of White Christ.
Daisies is English, Mille Fleurs in French, Thousand-Joys in Norwegians. That's one of my nicknames for Serina.
Night south of Bay of Whales
Me, I guess, facing town.
The island, Karmey is 35 kilometers long. Down at the southern peak Skudesnes, with authentic white wood houses built for the tall ship owners and captains at the end of the eighteen hundreds.Their descendants still live and thrive in these narrow idyll.
These streets belong to my favorite places on earth.
Serina and I was here, so was Christa and I, and late one night Gunnar and I had a slow stroll through South Street of Skudesnes.
Serina of course went raiding in the small shops there. This old lady made all of her goods herself, knitting and sewing. Serina bought a green and violet cap. Just what a young girl need.
Here once was a thriving industry, sailmakers, fishsalters, barrel makers, rope braiders, smiths,- the lots. 
The founder of the fog horn factory is embraced by Serina.
Like any town of class old Skudesnes had and still have its park.
Not any park has a moon stone though.
Double click to read. Any picture on my blog may be enlarged this way.
Young Jane climbing to actually touch the moon stone.
The park ends here. Convenient viewpoint over the sea for the old captains' wives, scouting for white sails afar.
My monkey girl was not contented with the view, so she climbed down the rock side. I could barely bend over the stone fence to take this pic.
Sky and Sea is the name of a little cafe. To honor Jim I'm posting these homemade Belgian Chocolate confectionery. These were the last for that day. Fresh would be made next morning.There were absolutely jammy with the double espressos.
The best beach on the island. This day it was crowded, but weekdays and evenings one can have the sand all alone.
We were eating, drinking water and coffe while reading crime novels. What a day.
Gunnar one late evening in The South Street.
Lots of cats are lazy watching us go by.
These kids were at a wedding and therefor allowed to play alone in the street.
So peaceful, you would never believe.
Gunnar resting in front of the Fog Horn Factory.
Outdoor restaurant at the waterfront.
Gunnar having a great time.
Flower dress meets The Lady of The Park. The Lady being a former figurehead of a tall-shop.
One night we went to the island again.
This time to the Saint Olav Church to listen to The Orthodox Singers from Estonia.
Four girls and four men filled the church with unbelievable choir music in honor of Saint Olav, who's memorial day it was.
The church was restoered two centuries ago. This door handle have I but only seen in Greece.
Outside the church is a huge bauta (menhir) stone.The druids again. Old cult places were taken over by the Christians, so that no one could worship the old gods there.
The stone is called Virgin Mary's sewing needle.
The saying goes; if the needle touches the church wall, domesday will come. One can see the old priests were anxios to postbone that event. On the inside they have cut off the stone as it moved.
Saint Olav's Church from south side.
A lilly for aunt Lilly who has been hospitalized for six weeks now.
Sundown at Harald Fairhaired's memorial.
This is how they thought Harald's ship looked like when he gathered Norway to one kingdom.
Opposite view from the memorial. A lighthouse and sheep grassing amongst the ancient graves hills.
Oilplatform in the shipyard in the background. A tired, but lucky Gunnar up front.
Something old, (Florence)
Oh,to think, just two years ago we were the unconquerable trinity exploring the beauty of one of Europe's noblest cities.
Originated by MaryT, check hers for today.
