Change of scenery

Time flies without me hardly noticing, and we´re almost half-way through the summer now. Even my dad has started his holiday, since the buses in the city centre are on strike (good time for mum to force him to build a new deck outside the front door), so the customary voyage south will commence tomorrow morning (the earlier the better unfortunately for me who have problems with sleep). With dad driving (or me when I was still fit enough) its a rough 12 hour day door to door, but since he has opted for the MC, its mum who´s at the wheel, and although she´s been down to Denmark on average twice per year for 56 years, she still navigates as though we were on a gravelroad to rural Mongolia.

So for once we´re spending the night in Helsingborg, partly because gran always has wanted to go to the summer show at Fredriksdalsteatern, and since its mums birthday in july, dad decided to get some tickets. Not that I think there is much of a point to give presents when it has to motivate a row 3 times per day. Since dad still thinks it kosher to leave presents a surprise and mum can´t handle not planning every hour of the forseable future, she asks over and over exactly what we do and when (although she keeps saying she wants it to be a surprise), until dad gets annoyed and hence the row.
I´m so sick of sitting listening to my parents, this whole holiday is going to be one long argument (it always is). Dad not wanting to do work on the house and then saying that he don´t want to be in Denmark anyway cuz he doesn´t understand the language (but he does want to go to all sorts of countries where they don´t speak swedish either). Mum wanting to work and never stop to do anything else. They are so wrong together, and I hate having to spend more time with them than a normal 20 something mingle with their folks (about 2 weeks per year).
But I´m gonna stick by my hammock, my ample stash of podcasts and as many literate hide-aways as possible.

And ofcourse I´m not going anywhere without a clear path of stich and purl enterprises now after having been contaminated by the knitting bug. I´ve always felt a surprise to how few cardigans I`ve owned every time I open the wardrobe, even though its pretty much all I wear, so there we have first base right there. Total yield will be narrated upon return.

Last crack with the needles was an attempt to introduce myself to the art of lace knitting. And although I doubt I have a great adeptness for this counting and skipping sort of thing, I can understand the vocation some people develop for it.

Swinging contraptions and the all-organic experience

I aimed high today, and we ventured out to Rosenhill for lunch and hammock shopping. I´d forgotten how long it takes to get there, and even though I wasn´t driving its pretty stressfull to be a passenger when mum is the type of driver who sees a potential accident in every overtaking car; and week long spells of being completely lost, would she take even the slightest wrong turn.

But it was all worth the smell of burning clutch and it was a super day for being out in the country. With having ME I never know in advance how my crappy body will react to activities. Default is ofcourse in the negative, but sometimes, regardless how I feel before leaving the house, moving around outside feels ok, as long as the momentum lasts. Then afterwards I always collapse the minute I get home, for various lengths of time, but it still feels like it is worth it for a few hours taste of what life almost used to be like.

Luckily there are no far distances to walk (unless u want to botanise in the fields), and we tried pretty much all hammocks they had at Stora Famnen (big arms/hugs).

Mum really got in to the idea of having one, but gran was in doubt regarding the mechanics of getting in and out, and patiently left the joy of ungraceful wobbling to the younger generation. I really like the idea of having a Mexican hammock, the ones made with cotton nets. They shape better if you are more than one person (some has the size and strenght for 4 adults), and dry quickly if it rains while they´re out. But in the end I opted for a fabric type, mostly because they´re less sensetive to things getting caught in them (branches, keyes from a pocket, corner of books etc.) and they are the most comfortable if you lie long and can´t be bothered to put blankets in the bottom. Also it looks better would I ever want it indoors.

So here she is, my new Brazilian girlfriend Rio! White was the only colour they had, but she washes in the machine, and I´m planning on a colouring project when she start hinting on a permanent dirtier shade. I was thinking onion peel dye actually. Remember trying that at Bäckedals folkhögskola once, and it resulted in a deep red/brown shade. Only problem is that we´ll be havin onion soup for weeks to get enough peels going for something this size...

Now we just have to figure out how to hang a hammock without trees... While in Denmark we should manage, but unfortunately mum´s manicured garden at home has no time for pesky leaves falling all over the place.


Moving on to the café and shop, we did the all organic lunch experience. I wish I one day will get the chance to go to one of their bar and gig nights, because since the sunny summer days require that you sit out on the cozy poorch of this very rough and ready barn, you miss out on the fabulously cool inside of the lounge (today acompanied by just the right level of Johnny Cash).


Unfortunately we were too early in the season for their apple must (juice) pressing factory to be open, but there were still no shortage of spending opportunities in the shop.

So afterwards I now feel like the flu deluxe, and will probably be a permanent couch fixture for quite some time. Its funny how I have two settings for when my body gets knackered out, either my limbs get so heavy I have to put up even the slightest muscle exertion for later, or I get these flu like symptoms, when even my eyes ache as if I had a fever.

Anyhow, after today´s home-growing inspirations, I´m aiming to raid the rhubarb plants as soon as my ailment alleviate slightly (could be a few days, and if I´m really out of luck, a few months). I´m thinking marmalade with cardamom, or vanilla, or ginger...

On the Road

This is one I´ve been aiming at for years now, but every time I walked in to a bookshop I kept walking out with something else. So I thank my sister´s boyfriend Tom for getting it for my birthday, and off we go...

What can I say, other than that I´m converted and now understand what all the fuss is about. Its a great book, written with a sort of manic determiness, the same that Jack uses to describe Neal Cassady. Because of the complete lack of paragraphs, from page one you get the feeling that Kerouac rushed in to the typewriter to get the story on to paper before he loosed track of all the details and the magic vaporizes in to the blurry fogs of forgetfulness, and then he never even stopped to eat (and defenately not sleep) before he´d pinned it all down.

And even though its all going in 100 mph, there is no mistaking the friendship and honesty the characters all share in their search for kicks. All the people they meet are momentarily wound up in their manic experiences, and without selection they are all equally consumed, and then spitted out as the miles rush forward.

Kerouac paints such vivid scenes that I can almost smell the grease of the diners, the dust in the road, the cold wind from the back of a truck, all accompanied to the beat of the bop. I love descriptions like "the fields the colour of love and Spanish mysteries", or his many brief almost overwhelmingly desperate moments of love, "her eyes were great big blue with a soul in it".

Like there is no tomorrow they open themselves child-like at everyting life throws their way, and although Jack´s descriptions of Neal sometimes express worry for the madness that comes over him, and he sometimes get hurt when Neal leaves him for other kicks, he wouldn´t want him any other way.

"Suddenly I had a vision of Neal, a burning shuddering frightful Angel
palpitating towards me across the road, approaching like a cloud, with enormous
spped, pursuing me like the Shrouded Stranger on the plain, bearing down on me.
I saw this huge face over the plains with the mad bony purpose and the gleaming
eyes; I saw his wings; I saw his old jalpooy chariot with thousands of sparking
flames shooting out from it; I saw the path it burned over the road; it even
made its own road and went over the corn, through cities, destroying bridges,
drying rivers. It came like wrath to the West. I knew Neal had gone mad again."
(p.360)

But all journeys have their dark sides, and exhausted they stop and fall asleep somewhere, mistaken for discarded popcorn in some all-night cinema.

"All the cigarette butts, the bottles, the matchbooks, the come and the gone was
swept up in this pile. Had they taken me with it Neal would have never seen me
again. He would have to roam the entire United States and look in every garbage pail from coast to coast before he found me embryonically convoluted among the rubbishes of my life, his life and the life of everybody concerned and
not concerned. What would I have to say to him from my rubbish womb. "Don´t
bother me, man, I´m happy where I am. You lost me in Detroit in August 1949. What right have you to come and disturb my reverie in this pukish can.... --anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what is heaven? what is earth? all in the mind. Gibberishly Neal and I stumbled out of this horror-hole at dawn and went to find our Travel Bureau car. (p. 347).

Like falling cats they always end up on their feet, already running when landing. And the world was really changing in the late 40´s and early 50´s and kids in America felt that the road could take them anywhere.

"Do you know there´s a road that goest down to Mexico and all the way to
Panama?--and maybe all the way to the bottom of South America, where the
Indians are seven feet tall and eat cocaine on the mountainside? Yes! You and I,
Jack, we´d dig the whole world with a car like this because man the road
must eventually lead to the whole world" (p.328)

You can nothing but love this, but for others with ME I would maybe recommend it in instalments, as it never slows down, almost leaving the reader out of breath.

Take 3 - top

Another day has passed, as uneventful as all the previous. I still feel like in transit, who can accept that this is it? The summer is in full swing and I could be on my way to Mexico, at the Roskilde festival, or walking Hadrian´s wall. But I´m not. I move from the deckchair to the couch to the kitchen. Repeat.

I read a little, I knit a little, I feck about on the internet, I eat. Repeat.

Life goes by, without me, and I sometimes wonder if I´m used to it by now. I might be, or it might just be the cocktail in pill-form that dried up the tears.

The knitting has progressed, conveniently in time for my mother´s birthday, and some of the Danish yarn has been turned in to my very first top! I was proud for about 5 minutes, then started thinking about what to make next, and discovered to my horror that nice wool yarn for a sweater costs more than it does to buy the clothes in a shop! It annoys me that the Swedish Ebay, Tradera is crap and has hardly nothing on offer =(

Actually, Sweden still has lots to learn when it comes to selling things of the net and posting it. The point for most is to buy the stuff cheaper on-line since there is no actual store to maintain, meaning the costs can be cut. But then postage in this country is so bloody extortionate that it ends up being cheaper (and much faster) to get it directly from a shop anyway! Having dreadlocks I use a special schampoo I get from a company in the US. They have a few web shops in UK which I used to use, but now when I´m back in Sweden I though I´d find out if there was someone around here who sold it too, thinking that would save me a few bob. I did find a shop alright, but I was shocked when I did the maths! 2 bottles of shampoo + postage from UK would cost me 290 sek, and the same two bottles bought from a web shop based about 20 mins drive from the house, would with postage be 525 sek! Someone is in this to make a buck I tell ya!

Well I might just not bother and shave em all off. I know I´ve said that before, but even though I like em and have had them for 6 odd years they´re mostly in the way and take alot of maintenence. We´ll see

Its all in the post

You can´t beat the feeling of a big juicy packet coming in the post with your name on it. Although I do have a hunch that not all people get the same goose-bumpy, night-before-christmas-when ur-5 years-old feeling in front of a pile of books that are all mine, I persevere in my opinion that it is up there with sliced bread.

So look what I´ve got!

They took their bloody time though. I ordered these two at the same time, and Amazon had my book arriving on my doorstep within two days, and thats from the UK. Adlibris however took their time (about a week) before they spilled the beans and let me know they didn´t actually have the books in stock (not one single one of 6!) and they were delayed who knows where. But after a fair portion of tomfoolery they at least upgraded the freight to the quickest possible, and well, the sum total of my highly taxed VISA card is now lying on the floor in front of me.

For a while I´ve been wanting to read something about Mesopotamia, since my stingy university felt that European (i.e. 90% British) archaeology was all they were inclined to share over the course of my attendance. I haven´t the faintest idea of which scholars to turn to in this geographical location, I just simply chose a recent publication that seemed to be the recommended starting point for Near Eastern studies in many universities.

So roll on:

M. Van De Mieroop, (2007). A history of the Ancient Near East

A bit of a politics fix with :
M. Anderson, (1999) Do no Harm: How aid can support peace-or war

J. Darby and R. Mac Ginty (eds.), (2008) Contemporary Peacemaking: Conflict, Peace Processes and Post-War Reconstruction

Another attempt to read something in Spanish:

M.L. Alonso Las pelirrojas traen mala suerte

And then some chillin pages:

Garth Cartwright Princes Amongst Men, Journeys with gypsy musicians
Donna Tartt The Secret History

Audrey Niffenegger The Time Traveler´s Wife

Now all thats missing is that hammock...

From a long line of thieves

Yesterday I felt decent enough to dare a short venture to the local ever increasing shopping mayhem, you know one of those urban areas that just keep on expanding in to every possible little square meter that still vaguely recembles nature (or at least still has the colour of it, artificial or not). And when they have run out there are always more floors that can be added on to anything, because the market forces can not even for a second think, that us consumers would want anything but more spending, spending, spending... (yes why not another H&M when the closest one is a whole 5 minutes drive away)

Anyway, mum and I went for coffee in a quite nice café/garden centre. You sit on the outdoor furniture that is for sale (and already rusty, to give your home a bit of an antique this-prefab-wooden-villa-has-been-inherited-for -generations feel) among expensive lemon and apricot trees. I spot an Aloe vera plant and mention I´d quite like to have some growing in the house, maybe to try to eat instead of the stuff I drink every morning. And guess what she does! She locates all the Aloes on the patio where we sit and notes those who have small shoots growing in the pots. She bides her time, muttering about the few other guests, get me to shuffle over and then pulls up a fist-sized shoot which she then with the air of a routined thief, whisks down in to my handbag!

There I am, mortified, and ushering her to leave before the staff clearing our table will notice the dirt that has spilled out on the big plant and the floor around it. But she just browses slowly around, uttering little cooing noises while holding wrought iron snails for greenhouse decoration, and scanning for more promising sprouts. All while parading a pair of soiled hands screaming of our imminent exposure. Eventually we leave, with the only consequences being the internal pollution of my violated handbag.

My mum keeps doing this, and although she admits to that it probably is termed vandalism, and she in all other circumstances is so law-abiding that she wouldn´t even overtake a tractor if it meant that she would have to excced the speed limit for 30 seconds, no garden is safe when she´s around.

But there´s more. I´ve mentioned hereditary characteristics before, and my mum only operates on the small scale of sprouting theft in comparison with my gran. She left a holiday in Malta with roughly half her checked-in luggage in botanical loot, and is now in the final planning of a new expanded green house for her taxed Kew gardens bud collection. The Sheriff of Nottingham is meek next to her!

I suppose no harm is really done to the "motherplants" and the habitual holiday practice of my two related ladies really make their gardens look accordingly, so I leave them at it. Just hoping I´ll be able to curb my fingers if I ever get a garden...

The house from the road


My little herb garden

So busy them little buggers, wouldn´t stop to pose

Said shoot in the foreground...

More to miss

So once again I´m missing a major literary event that I´m sure would have made my little gray tingle. The Waltic is going on as I write and spanns over topics such as intercultural dialouge, world literacy, digitalization and oral histories. It hurts...
So as a slight comfort I´ve decided to treat myself to a membership in Ordfront, been a long time since I felt I could spend money on subscriptions. And at the moment you get two books in the welcome pack with the magazine, books which I was planning on buying anyway. They are Chockdoktrinen by Naomi Klein and När tusen eldar slickar himlen by Ola Wong, both seem to be very "in" right now.

Currently reading: "On the Road" Jack Keouac, responses en masse to follow.