It’s not often I am stumped these days and so to be stumped twice in one week is an interesting feeling.  Requires some consideration.  What is this? And where does it come from? It is something unfamiliar… or maybe not. It is something so familiar, just wrapped in paper and left in the back of a dusty cupboard for a while. There was a time when I had no answers. None that I could articulate in any case. They ricocheted off the inside of my skull and lodged themselves, unheard, in the back of my throat.  Their extended echos ringing in my ears 24 hours later. There was no purge. The unsaid would torment me for weeks. Somewhere along this journey I met with courage, and eventually invited it into my home. Now the answers are part of my repertoire.

But then I found myself stumped. There was no answer. Neither a question. Tvärtom. There was silence. I was sat with a friend. A friend of a friend. Acquaintance, kompis, vad som helst. And I forgot how to talk.  But a moment of peace is a welcome pause sometimes. It allows time for reflection. Recollection. It was not so long ago that I required others to carry the conversation. Hiding behind a notebook and scrupulously observing. Where do these people come from?  How do they feel? What is there relation to one another? Are they really as relaxed as they look? How would I feel if it was me? Silence broke but the conversation is different. Somewhere between art and science there is passion for research.

My second stumping was wordal, not verbal. Beskriv din dröm resa. A simple homework task. My dream journey. The holiday of a lifetime. The ultimate adventure. Jag kunde inte. När man säger ‘dröm’ betyder det något som har inte redan hant. But it is done. Jag längter inte efter något mer. Jag kommer inte att vara snipig om jag aldrig resa igen.  There are journeys I would like to take. That saturation of culture, sights, tastes, sounds and smells is as heady as any other drug. To feel these breeze of another ocean, eat the fruits of another land. It is to live and grow. But I have survived my growing pains and now it is time for some kind of stability.

In six month I will fill first quarter century. The first has been nothing to sniff at.  Circumstances have made my life worth it’s weight in literature. But I do not wish to fill the next period with the same feeling of disattachment. I do not hanker after the dream journey because I no longer have a  great need for it. I have seen enough of the exotic, the foreign, the wondrous, the dangerous and the heart breaking to know what I am among the luckiest to walk the plains of this great green earth. I have found my place without religion, addiction or conformity. I dug out my bunker, started living underground, then it became a hut above the ground. It is becoming a way-side in. People come and go. They share their stories, their experience, the advice. Eventually it will become a library full of unknown authors. Those who made their impact. Ready to share with anyone who cares to take an interest. You are allowed to talk. Take a cup of coffee, try the cookies and the comfy chairs. They have memory.  There is wisdom in walls. Magic in the air. It is called a home.

I don’t think there is ever an end to the journey. But it is possible to travel on the spot.  The places we can be transported in good company are as remarkable as those we can attain by car, bus or train. The aeroplane has made it ordinary. The extraordinary. Thousands of kilometers become a small cloth package with free socks, a blockbuster film and a selection from three warm meals. Where is the adventure?  For the near future I am prepared to forgo that luxury in favour of mining local gold.

Unleashing some monsters and Västerås Scribbling Society

I begin to wonder if I miss this. I no longer have the time to write every day, or every other day, as I did in the summer. Sometimes I long for the lonely hours during which I play my heart on a keyboard, but truth be told, there is little to miss. Life is full. Not to capacity, but it is full in alla fall. Before I sleep I still rewind my day, playing over conversations, but I don’t re-write them any more. I make mistakes, they are not important. I could have said this, done that, made a better impression, but who cares.  Not me, and not the people around me.

Life is still a yo yoing roller coaster ride, but it is built on steadier ground. Last weeks drama was washed away in a weekend of social and alcohol. I consumed more than intended, and felt the worse for it on Sunday, but without any tinge of regret.  I had fun, I trust these people. Earlier this month I wondered if I was taking on too much, am I stressed? Is the occasional sleepless night a sign of something to come? But the passing of another lunar and menstrual cycle with the usual tormenting aches and pains confirms with my conscience that things are going ok.

Yesterday we had our second scribble meeting. Unleash your Monster was a roaring sucess! At least we had an attendace of 17, all of whom left happy and with suggestions, compliments and satisfaction apleanty. Hard work pays off. It is good to follow an idea through. Maybe snowball theory is worth it’s weight in associated papers.

Talking of which we have had our first snowfall today. I dressed up for school - one of the advantages of not being able to cycle is that I can wear a skirt and fancy hat! Oh what wonder to stand in the bus stop with biting wind chewing my ankles and that crisp dry snow smell in the air. This is my high time. Class with the pussycat, Javier and Bell. Everything is relaxed, there is something that flow through our classroom door - and we missed it last term. Debate på lunch, what constitutes a suitable sacrifice. Who should when it comes to affairs of the heart? Grammar spilling out of my ears, but even the teacher smiles more. Then lunch. Hugs and faces. Faces and hugs. To many to name one by one.

I talk too much.

These people are the ones I have been missing. 

Hang on to something good, but don’t be afraid to let it change.

Keep thinking.

My ‘city break’ thanks to cheap flights by ryanair  proved to be an uplifting weekend (although the mystery of the disappearing baggage allowance has yet to be resolved… maybe the Hardy Boys have a clue?) I am convinced that ’short flight’ should be a regular synonym for ‘I think I am going to catch a cold.’ and I have no wish to badmouth a city I lived in for so long, so shall but say “boy am I glad I don’t live in Chester any more!” Now all this may seem rather contradictory to my initial statement, but it is in fact, quite the opposite.  Firstly, was a genuine pleasure to catch up with a few old friends. With such people it feels like time stands still. Despite 12 months of separation it was easy to slide back into conversation. Friday’s cottage cheese and chocolate binge with Kate was followed by a Saturday night of considerably heavy drinking (pre-wedding practice) with the glorious Poles. Incredibly hangover free jag umgick hos 46 för en stund och åt smoked salmon and scrambled eggs accompanied by a hazelnut cappuccino. I had underestimated the number of customers who would remember my face and want to chat! Veggie curry with Kate and Mike and then off to Sarah’s house to be mauled by a kitten and a sausage dog. We spent a number of easy hours blabbering away in the conservatory.

Yes siree, it is fine to be among friends.

Secondly however, ye olde Chester kände INGENTING like home. Perhaps I approached the place with the wrong attitude. Of course I did. A place can only be as pleasant as you attempt to make it… that said… I’m glad I was  just visiting! The ‘ghettos’ of Västerås put Foregate Street to shame. Litter, broken glass, glittering capitalist bling and the masses of lumpy, grumpy people! I dare say I sound like terrible snob, but I truly understand why mum and dad get so stressed out when they travel ‘down south’ these days. There is no space to move, let along string together some kind of positive thought. Town is saturated with crumbling temples to consumerism and the stench of fast food.  There is nothing that could have made me more thankful for my current situation. I arrived home full of snot and tired as hell, but home is a haven and I love it.

The grass is greener on my side of the fence.

Back to school today, and what a treat it seemed to sit in a two hour grammar lecture! Then fika with a Russian, an Iranian and a Swede. We discussed the future of the Scribbling Society, the joy of people and quite a lot in between. Trundled through town in a red velvet skirt and my beloved woolen coat. The sun set through a veil of red leaves as I rode the bus home. Scarlet berries garnish the rowan trees, and there is a new batch of home made kanel bullar in my freezer. 30 pages of grammar exercises and I am beat. Tomorrow is another day, bröstbakalse med Constance, studying på MDH och my favourite lekture - svensk film.

Here’s to all yet to come. Skål!

Peace.

This little one has had a rather spectacular week so far. Thanks to all involved! I am so tired I feel like my eyeballs are going to fall out.

Night night!

How much can happen in a week is unbelievable. We could write lists but they’re lacking in moments that stick everything together. Sometimes those moments are like discarded chewing gum, building up into  unsightly lumps under a classroom chair. They become the stories themselves and harder to remove than the event. This week however, those moments have been more like a good caramel. Sticky enough to hold everything together but dissolving into sweet memory as something more solid takes it’s place.  Sunday afternoon dissolved into such as my book collection turned into an Iranian picnic with Björn’s homemade baklava, fragrant tea from a thermos in plastic glasses and climbing trees with Sam to steal apples.

School is consuming but it initiates stability. I have taken to studying in Kåren or the library after lectures. I can not claim that this provides fewer openings for distraction as I appear to have acquired a large, loud, Turkish stalker, though it is a little easier on the legs.  I have lectures and meetings throughout the day and capoeira in the evenings. Of course I could cycle home, but once there the desire to leave again diminishes significantly. I worry a little that I spend more on food with this routine, but I suppose I save on electricity and the social contact is welcome.

Västerås Scribbling Society is taking off unbelievably well. It feels like I have been selling the idea harder than I have been studying, but it pays off. This evening I gatecrashed the ‘fadder’ meeting of the International Committee på MDH and did my piece. I’ve been instated as part of their admin and as such have direct access to several hundred email addresses… hummm…. worming your way up is terrifyingly easy! Anyhow, vi få se hur många kom den här helgen. Then we have our first meeting at Kåren on the 7th of October. So much to buy, so much cleaning to do, so much paper work to keep on top of. Cash box, teabags and kettle are the priorities, along with a multipack of canvasses and some fat markers… I wonder if I can take a trip to Sthlm for some real material shopping… or should I think about buying things when I am back in the UK…

CVs and cover letters have been rewritten and sent. My reklam is on arbetformedlingens website and circling every ICA in Västerås. The therapist has been visited and instructions have been taken to heart. Even those activities which I initiated myself are ongoing. Sometimes I surprise myself with my continuity. The fridge and freezer are full of blueberry treats and today I shed an incredible ammount of skin. It is something like having serious sunburn with a shiny picture underneathth. The capoeira video is on it’s way to my inbox. Tomorrow we do a ‘dramatic’ presentation på svenska and my afternoon will be filled with referats about the secular culture in my chosen land. Träining finns, men jag vet into on jag har nog stamina.  Mahgol is consumed by emotional conundrums, Hubert is off toRyssland to  see his little one, Constance is my regular fika studybuddy, Burak professes his undying love (for his car) several times a day and TG is still on paus.

Our grammar teacher is as enthusiastic as a child and our new projektwork leader encourages us to sing ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ (huvud, axlar, knäar och tåar) with actions, at least once every lecture. It seems none of us are as alone as we may think.

When there is something to be done it is amazing how many other things it is possible to do! After food shopping, applying another coat of varnish, some cutting out, clearing my desk, organising a Scribbling Society meeting,  feeding the frog, making a couple of sketches and sanding down the table a little more I finally sat down and wrote my CV. Eugh. Not fun in one’s mother tongue, but down right bothersome in another language. Anyway, it is done, along with a cover letter, plus or minus some editing.

I have been wondering recently whether it would be possible to paint a park bench in daylight. If I dressed up as a commercial decorater and took along the right tools, would anyone say anything? There are a myriad of benches arround this town that could do with a little TLC. If they are done tastefully and professionally, who is going to complain? Is it worth the risk to make the place look a little more welcoming? My reasoning for doing it during the day goes as follows… only people doing something ‘wrong’ paint at night. So if someone comes accross you painting during the day they will assume that you are supposed to be doing it. Paint a bench at night and if anyone sees you no doubt the police will be informed. Surely painting a bench is not vandalism if it improves it’s appearance? Jag ska fundera lite mer.

Oh yeah,  I decided to organise a Scribbling Society meeting despite having heard nothing about funding yet. I had a lovely day recently with Hubert and his little family, picking cherries and making pie as a diversion from International Presence Exhibition work. Reminded me how nice it is to have a house with people in it. Check out www.vscribbling.blogspot.com for more info.

Tomorrow is another day.

Baldie strikes back.

Chances are, it won't be pretty.

Sometimes we slip into moods, usually not the best, because they are farmiliar. Even familiar discomfort can be enjoyed. There is something calming about finding yourself in a state of mind that you recognise. Is it destructive to wallow for a short while? To lie back and  float? Just to tread water? So long as one is conscious I see no reason why. Swimming against the current wears us all out eventually.