Pax et bonum

Christmas (said Mary Ellen Chase) is not a date; it is a state of mind. We could get into an argument over what sort of mental state we are talking about here, but my blog, my choice, so I submit to you that the golden rule, the drive to do good, to lend a helping hand, to be of service is what it’s all about. In a perfect world that’s what it would always be about, but we’re not quite there yet.

Anxiety and stress is what (too) many are feeling right now, and not just because the holiday season is here and there are a quarter to infinite things to do before you can put your feet up for five seconds only to realize that nope, there's something you almost forgot, and off you go again, and again, and again. I remember my mother reminiscing about her own mother and what an endless list of chores Christmas was for her. My maternal grandmother, now there was a hardworking woman. Too hardworking for her own good. Fingers-to-the-bone type, like so many of her generation.

What my mother learned was that the sheer amount of work that went into the holiday season was a senseless exercise in housekeeping. It was, however, the measure of her mettle as wife, mother, homemaker. Woman. My mother did not grow up to be that woman, and she did not raise me to be that woman. My grandmother did end up teaching me what she knew and had been taught, but I get to choose what to incorporate into my own life and home, motherhood, womanhood. I am immensely grateful to both women. I had a window to consecutive but very different generations.

I’m am neither the workhorse my grandmother was nor the rebel my mother was. I am me with my own traditions, new and old, and my own way of doing things. And that’s how it ought to be and that’s how I hope it is for you now that the holiday season is here. Do what you deem necessary, not what you believe is expected. (And no one expects more from us than we do, I know, but seriously, does everything have to be pristine and perfect? No.)

I’m about to put down my tools and go spend Christmas with family. If, for whatever reason, we never meet here again, you know life, full of surprises that one, some happy and some downright tragic, live with love, sweetie darlings. Love of life, love of others, love of yourself. So many crises weigh upon us, big ones, global ones, and I know it sometimes feels like our personal sorrows and problems pale in comparison. But it is your life we’re talking about here, your unique I-shall-pass-this-way-but-once life, so your wellbeing matters, very much. And you won’t be of much help to the world and everyone in it, if that’s what you’re worried about, if you don’t look after yourself first.

So, all I want for Christmas is for you to work on some new year’s resolutions that turn into the rest of your life resolutions that revolve around you taking good care of yourself. Start with that and everything else will fall into place. Or at the very least not bother and burden you like they used to (and that is a huge help, trust me). And if indeed we never meet here again, may I haunt you? I promise to be a friendly ghost; a reassuring hand on the shoulder, a gentle whisper to calm your frayed nerves.

I think that’s all for now. Be well, dearest denizens. Be good, have fun, be kind. I do love you so don’t go giving me a reason not to, okay? Okay. Happy holidays and shine on.

O Natal tá chegando! 🎄

Temperature: 2/35.5 degrees with more snow on the way.

Eating: Greek chicken gyros. Yes, we do still eat meat on occasion at Casa Dita. I ruined the boys by taking them to a churrascaria. On every trip to Brazil. My infinite bad. Which I’ve been trying to rectify. But what did they ask for just the other night? Poulet au vinaigre aka Lyonnaise garlic vinegar chicken. It’s a process.

Drinking: a wrappucino. What’s a wrappucino? I have no idea, but I bet if I had one, I’d have extraterrestrial wrap-it-all-up energy oozing out of every orifice. Which sounds like sci-fi gone horribly wrong. Maybe just a cafezinho then. (Yes. Afternoon coffee. Again. It's a process.)

Listening: Kissing and a-hugging, dancing and a-loving, wearing next to nothing, burning hot as an oven… That would be the B-52s, folks, proud purveyors of love and unity through music and pop culture since 1977. What Christmas with my sister’s family will look like. On a scale of one to are-we-there-yet, how excited am I? Stoked, sweetie darlings.

Watching: I have never been less excited about the World Cup. As if the tournament in Russia wasn’t bad enough. Much ado about nothing or genuine reasons to boycott? No one does pissed-off-and-for-all-the-right-reasons-ones-I-will-explain-in-an-educated-yet-entertaining-fashion-if-you-can-focus-for-more-than-a-TikTok late night better than John Oliver.

Reading: Everything the Light Touches by Janice Pariat, and Corruptible: Who Gets Power and How It Changes Us by Brian Klaas. Highly recommended by yours truly, madly, deeply.

Writing: up a storm so that everything gets wrapped up before the holidays. Hmm, so that’s why I concocted that stimulant of a wrappucino...

Thinking: ...not that I’m in need of a stimulant, the smiles, giggles and shenanigans of my nieces...ai meu Deus, that's motivation enough.

Feeling: There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart. (From the poem A Grateful Heart by Celia Thaxter.)

P.S. I will stop by before Christmas. 🤝

God rest thee mellow gentleman

Temperature: a sunny 14/57 degrees on Saturday. Which is alarmingly warm for November but nothing out of the new ordinary. A bit colder now, but it has never been this warm this late in the year.

Eating: Veggie cabbage rolls. The stench! The taste!!

Drinking: afternoon coffee. Which I’ve kind of given up. But today calls for afternoon coffee and lots of it.

Listening: to an audiobook, even though I don’t usually do audiobooks. But when you admire someone’s work enough you go the extra mile. Is it any good? Stupendous. You clever, clever thing. Person, I mean.

Watching: If you ever find yourself in the vicinity of either the movie My Sailor, My Love or the World Wide Dance triple bill (Akram Khan, Fei Bo, and Justin Peck; unless that was a one-off, come to think of it) go see them, go!

Reading: Leafing through Nigella Christmas. Oh come on, you know me. Or ought to, sweetie darlings.

Thinking: Imagine if we’d taken the Kyoto Protocol seriously in 1997. Imagine if we’d taken Putin seriously in 2008.

Feeling: for my husband and his late mother’s side of the family; his uncle has died of pancreatic cancer.

Life imitating art imitating life

The fifth of November, sweetie darlings. Bonfire Night. You know what that means, right? Time to visit the man from room number V.

And to all a good fright

'Twas the night before Samhain, when all thro' the house,
Every creature was stirring, is that a dead mouse?

Happy Halloween to all!

Everything everywhere all at once

Sure feels like that sometimes; as if you need two heads, another few hands, and some doppelganger stand-ins to send out into the world to handle everything on your plate. I do hope you're not overwhelmed but enjoying the hustle and bustle of it all. And when it's time to relax, may I suggest some Pedro Ximénez to go with a bit of dark Swiss chocolate; it's one of those perfect pairings that make the world disappear into blackish-brown scrumptiousness. Okay. Keep calm and shine on. 🌟

Bring me the horizon

End of September, sweetie darlings, how is the mood in your parts? We're all atwitter with indignation and determination here in the Thule. Some thoughts floating around:

Dear Russians, whatever your President has told you and tells you today, tomorrow, in the future, these are not breakaway regions let alone republics who decided their own fate, these are illegally and forcibly captured parts of Ukraine.

With all undue respect: WTF WTF WTF? We have to suffer because you were traumatized by the collapse of the Soviet Union? What the ever-loving fuck?! You should have that looked at by a trained professional instead of terrorizing the world with your fascist fantasy, you soulless genocidal megalomaniac humanoid. Want to send a message? Write an email. Jesus.

The good news, people? He is in his seventies and even if he doesn't find polonium in his tea or get the full experience of a defenestration he seems so fond of, he won’t live forever. The bad news? The new czar may well be just like the old czar. Like Agent Orange used to say, who knows, folks? Things have moved fast and unexpectedly in Russian history; they might again.

Fun fact, people: Finns have a verb, ryssiä, derived from the noun ryssä, a derogatory term for a Russian. To ryssiä means quite simply to fuck up, derived from the stereotypical notion that Russians simply can't do anything right. Whatever their grand design, just wait for it, it won't go to plan. Don't shoot the messenger! Look at a map and study some history and understand that Finns have had to fend off eastern advances and outright aggression since at least the year 1123.

Yes, everyone's a Kremlinologist now. Because of that long border. Does it worry Finns? Not as much as the notion that it might be moved or removed. So Finland has decided to join NATO and as the highly efficient and organized democracy it is has been taking steps to ensure that national, local and personal safety and resilience is second to none in all situations and contingencies. As they have been doing for decades.

But did you ever think you'd be freshening up on your shooting skills? Just because and why not? Use it or lose it. Could you do it, need be? I'm a mother. What do you think? But what do you think will happen to those young and not so young Russian men sent out to war? How long before they realize how disposable they are, how expendable? And combat changes a person. What sort of men will return home, when and if they ever do? The able-bodied workforce of a nation. That's how invested that man is in developing his country. He can't offer a future so he looks to the past. That's how interested he is in how his own people fare.

What he is openly partial to is Igor Rasteriaev's verse and notion that Russia has no borders, only the horizon. Finns know something about Russian overreach, and their neighboring Estonians know even better what Ukrainians mean when they talk about repression, relocation, deportation, genocide, Russia's determination to wipe out Ukrainians as a people, a culture, a language, an identity.

At the same time, now more than ever, we should take care and ensure that knowledge of and a connection to Russian language and culture isn't severed. You cannot understand what you cannot immerse yourself in. Putin may control domestic narrative but he cannot be allowed to own both language and culture. That's what he thinks and claims he is, a custodian, and you can partake if you play by his rules, do as he says. Well, that's a sure way to ryssiä national and international relations, so feel free to override him and sideline him and ignore him and keep connections alive. Enjoying, say, Russian literature or composers does not equal rooting for Putin unless you believe they belong to him. Which they don't.

Of course you can dig into history and fabricate a fantasy, or rewrite history and pass it off as fact; that’s how delusions work. You can criminalize thoughts and words and actions; that’s how dictators work. You can fool everyone for some time and some for all time but not everyone indefinitely; that’s the charlatan’s dilemma.

Quietly yours

How are you, sweetie darlings? Hanging in there? Why have I not written in a while? Oh I have written to you, many times. Angry, frustrated dispatches from the Anthropocene. I caught myself typing in all caps the other day and I don’t think I’ve ever used all caps on this blog, too many exclamation marks on occasion, but all caps? That’s what stopped me from publishing a single word. Venting. That’s what I was doing. And I won’t dump it on you, yet again, dearest denizens. There’s a better way, a more active, practical way to channel all that livid upset; writing is my way of organizing it all. Fury can be a flame, pain a catalyst, in a positive, constructive way. What you do with that sort of energy, now that’s the question, ain’t it?

Apart from all that, and work, I’ve been eating plums aplenty, it was a good crop, and drinking loads of tea as the temperature has plummeted a good 10/50 degrees; the last summer weekend was indeed the last summer weekend, the perfect villaavslutning, as it’s called up here, a festival of fire and water, dark and light; and I’ve been looking at the stunning images coming in from the James Webb Telescope and stargazing with my youngest; and I’m currently reading All the Devils Are Here by Louise Penny and Collapse of an Empire: Lessons for Modern Russia by Yegor Gaidar and yes you too have time to read if you do the math meaning give yourself four weeks and with an average book you only have to read ten to fourteen pages per day, yes, I say only because you have time for ten to fourteen pages per day say before bed or if you snack here and there or cut down on other media starting with the social kind, wink wink hint hint [stop lecturing, jeez]; sorry about that; and I’ve been thinking about my maternal grandparents, 102 years last week, and Brazil, 200 years of independence last Wednesday; and I’m trying to practice gratitude and see beauty and find wonder while building up my sons for the world they’ll inherit; and I’ve picked up a handicraft I used to enjoy and it turns out I still enjoy it immensely, and I’m learning a new craft, which is wonderful and awful at the same time because I’m no good at dabbling, I want to know everything and learn everything, and if I can’t be a semipro at the very least then what’s the point. So, what else should I learn? A modicum of humility and moderation, right? But where’s the challenge or effort in that? 😉

We're all nesting dolls

The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been.
~Madeleine L'Engle

Happy accumulated existence to the one and only you! 🌟

Mellow weekend, sweetie darlings

 ...in a decidedly non-stalkerish, nonchalant way. (Yes, I know, it's a whole subgenre, the obsessive possessive stalker kidnapper.) I just happen to enjoy these hypnotic beats per minute.

Burning down the house

Temperature: 26/79 degrees. And re: coming to cool down up here in Scandinavia: you better hurry. Two-fold Arctic amplification is old news. The Arctic has warmed nearly four times faster than the globe since 1979.

Eating: Just had some ice cream to celebrate my son passing his driving test! (Yes, we've gone electric. Yes. Wind power. I agree, sodium should replace lithium. Fossil fuels should and will become extinct, absolutely.)

Drinking: iced tea.

Listening: I'm more than a little disgusted with the Internet's fascination with this woman-hater Tate. And a whole lot disappointed that misogyny is in such high demand. I hope you're just curious, not taking notes and pointers. Because if you're rejected and dejected after taking your cues from this guy it's because you took your cues from this guy. And even if this is just a look-at-me-master-provocateur provocation, it's still stupid and dangerous, just as dangerous as the all the other demagogues out there spreading bigotry, sowing division and inciting violence. Because someone will always take them at their word and feel empowered to act accordingly.

Watching: the strangest dreams lately. Last night: I was hiking with my husband. We ended up in a forest that got weird fast. I lost track of the trail. I lost him. I lost all sense of direction. And plummeted into a hole in the ground, just big enough for a human to fit in, just small enough that there was no room to move. I kept falling, knowing no one would ever find me. The ground had swallowed me whole.

Reading: Hothouse Earth by Bill McGuire. That may have something to do with the above.

Thinking: What's the worst that can happen if the absolute worst doesn't happen, climatewise? We've kept the world inhabitable for all species.

Feeling: flummoxed some still feel we shouldn't paint a pessimistic picture of the future. Has that worked, pussyfooting? No, it has merely bought the status quoers more time and opportunities to keep things going their way regardless of what that means and does for all of us, their children and grandchildren included. No one is safe. Nowhere is safe. So why not? Why not paint a picture so honest and so horrific that we'll do everything in our power to avoid that fate?

I am Chloe, hear me...snore

It's International Cat Day! Every day, if you ask our little lioness. She is just the sweetest, fiercest thing.

P.S. Chloe asked me to pass on a book recommendation: The White Cat and the Monk by Jo Ellen Bogart, illustrations by Sydney Smith.

I think I remember how this conversation went

 

"Get out of that pen."

"But I'm not in the pen."

"Get out of that pen. Now!"

"But I'm not inside the pen."

Yup, I could be a handful.

Thank you, dearest Mom and Dad, for all the adventures and this dear life. I'll raise a glass to our extended family, and I'll do it with gratitude, longing, and love. 

Happy birthday to me; I owe it all to you.

Under the midnight sun

Temperature: A sunny 25/77 degrees. The hotter than hell temps Europe is experiencing have dissipated on the way, so if you've had enough, come to Scandinavia. Scandinavia. Cool. (This public service announcement is brought to you by the Parker Tourist Board, not affiliated with any town, city or county by the same name; and no planes required, you can reach us by rails and ferries!)

Eating: fresh strawberries.

Drinking: mineral water. Stay hydrated, sweetie darlings.

Listening: to new music by The Cult.

Watching: Persuasion over the weekend. I've heard it's a disaster and a travesty and whatnot, but I want to decide for myself.

Reading: Brev till mannen by Bianca Kronlöf. They should translate this into all the languages.

Writing: Got to write another letter to yet another son who is now of age. My heart hurts, but it's a good hurt.

Thinking: about the passage of time. And the fact I was born left-handed like so many on my father's side of the family. But I was taught out of it. Taught to use my right hand instead. By my mother's side of the family. I have photographic proof, and a confession. Oh yes. Could I learn to be ambidextrous, at least to some degree, after all this time? I'm giving it a try, and let me tell you, it tickles the brain.

Feeling: the threshold of human adaptability, aren't we? Not very comfortable or health promoting, is it? So let's stop subsidizing the fossil fuel industry and let's stop doing business with Putin and his ilk and let's stop voting for those who put wealth before health and please stop believing in the trickle-down theory; that myth has been busted and buried as a hoax that is costing us dearly.

Into the Wilde

Temperature: 22/71.5 degrees and on the rise, just in time for Midsummer. Kind of a big deal up here, midsommar.

Eating: seasonal produce.

Drinking: rhubarb juice.

Listening: to the wind rustling in the trees.

Watching: the solitary leaf-cutter bee who decided to nest on our porch make its way back and forth, back and forth. That is one industrious bee. Good luck, little one.

Reading: Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé and The Match by Harlan Coben.

Writing: birthday invitations. 'Tis the season, sweetie darlings!

Thinking: The dread key to all true knowledge is "why?”
From The Egyptian by Mika Waltari. 

Feeling: Thieves of private property pass their lives in chains; thieves of public property in riches and luxury.  
~Cato the Elder
Mad world.

When your day is through (and so is your temper)

 ...I hope you find something to make you smile on the inside at the very least. In anticipation of the more-is-more magic of Baz Luhrmann, ladies and gentlemen, everyone in between and beyond, I give you the inimitable Sharleen Spiteri. 👑

Have a good weekend, sweetie darlings. Or a tolerable one. 💋

Whenever, wherever

“What happened to your voice?”
“We did some talking. Okay, a lot.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, shaking his head, thinking about the last time she visited with us.

Where have I been? Busy. And in the garden. ‘Tis the season to plant and propagate and move things around and move outdoors. And wish it was a bit warmer. When it’s not a dry spring it’s a rainy one, thank you climate crisis, and there’s no telling what summer will look like, not yet.

And I went to see a friend I’ve known since the 7th grade, the only school year we shared, the only time we lived in the same place at the same time. And yet we’ve managed to stay in touch, through letters and postcards and phone calls at first, the few and far between trips to wherever the other happened to be living at the time, through uni and different jobs and different partners and new babies and new neighborhoods. That’s how deeply we connected at the tender age of thirteen. Kindred spirits, sweetie darlings.

Doesn’t matter how much time has passed, we just pick up where we left off. No awkwardness, no effort. I think I gained five pounds in those 72 quite intense hours, she is an amazing cook, and that last glass of wine ruined my sleep but no regrets, and apologies to the neighbors, there really were just two of us in the living room, not ten people singing and dancing and laughing. And crying. The good, the bad, and the ugly; no taboos.

I’m still pooped but so happy I got to see her again, live, it’s been a while. I hope you have someone like that in your life, dearest denizens, and if you don’t, I hope you find someone like that in time. Like all loving relationships, this will end in tears. Some day the last time we met will be the last time we met. And yet I think what I’ll remember best is her smile and her laugh. Not because her life has been carefree, it really hasn’t, but because despite everything that has happened, she never gave up on herself or others or life. She is loud and proud. She is kind and hearty. She is my true-blue friend, someone I’ll love, admire and respect till death do us part.

Oh life. Dear life. Look after her, dear universe, you hear?

And goodbye May! Everyone ready for June?

Insieme

Temperature: a sunny but windy 15/59 degrees.

Eating: Just how much indignity and degradation are women supposed to stomach in this world?

Drinking: to Finland and Sweden joining NATO. Maybe we should toast Vladimir Putlerini as well, he did give us the shot in the arm by sending the Russian army to shoot, bomb, rape and pillage his neighbors. Everything changed on February 24, and that’s on him.

Listening: to something old, something new, something borrowed and something melancholy and blue…it’s the Eurovision Song Contest! Douze points to those singing in something other than English. No French this year? Dommage, but dix points to Breton being heard (a Celtic language, you know; France 3 Bretagne will provide commentary in Breton in the Grand Final on Saturday, which is awesome; and the Finnish Broadcasting Company YLE will provide Sámi-language commentary, which is brilliant).

Watching: the rise of Gilead, where functioning ovaries and a healthy uterus become property of the state; where if you have said ovaries and uterus, you will not possess bodily autonomy; where you will have the responsibilities of an adult but not the rights of one; where if you get pregnant, you will be forced to give birth; where the state owns your reproductive bits but owes you neither maternal care, paid maternity leave nor childcare; where you can’t get an abortion but neither do you get help and advice avoiding an unwanted pregnancy in the first place; where it’s back to sex for reproduction; where enjoying sex becomes impossible with having to fear an unintended and unwanted pregnancy no matter your contraception; where a child is a gift when planned but a punishment when not, punishment for having had sex for fun and pleasure, in which case you deserve said punishment in the form of a child to always remind you that you are here to breed, bitch, breed. You are a beast of burden. You are a slave. A thing. Property. And they say no one can take away your dignity, your inherent self-worth, but it sure as hell feels like there are people out there doing their level best to do just that. Dehumanize. Debase. Reduce us to an object.

Reading: that if we tolerate this, more will follow. And don’t you dare claim that’s alarmist, hysterical or paranoid talk and behavior because that would be patronizing BS and turns out the hysterical and paranoid alarmists have been right all along in their mistrustful and feverish sounding of alarms. Sharia laws by any other name are still state-sanctioned subjugation.

Writing: back and forth with friends and family, friends and family who all happen to possess ovaries and a uterus, which would categorize them as second-class citizens to be dominated and dictated to. The children growing up in these families will be treated according to what’s under their underwear: found testes, congratulations, you are free, autonomous; oh, ovaries, sorry, you are not. There are rights and then there are women’s rights, and those are negotiable and mutable, because apparently human rights don’t apply to the women and girls of this world. Can you imagine the uproar the proposal of a vasectomy for all boys would cause? That would guarantee a pregnancy- (but not STD-) free sex life, it could be reversed when you were ready and able to start a family, and it would cost a fraction of what now goes into everything having to do with contraception and maternal and child care. No? Too…invasive? You can’t regulate a human body like that? On that we agree, my friend. Mask and vaccine mandates were out of the question. Because self-determination! Bodily autonomy!! Abortion? Breed, bitches, breed.

Thinking: What do you think that does to someone’s self-worth? To how boys and young men view girls and young women? To how girls and young women see themselves? What does that teach? What kind of message does that convey? Is there not enough gender inequality as it is? Is life not difficult, demeaning, dangerous enough for women and girls as it is, on a global level, still? You want to go and add to that, after all the progress made? You want to give ammunition to the likes of Xi and Putin who love to highlight every deficiency in democracy? No, of course they offer no real alternative, but they do use every opportunity to point out that more democracy does not necessarily equal more freedom. So don’t ask for rights and don’t ask for freedom, it will only hurt. Do as you are told. Breed, bitches, breed.

Feeling: Still furious. Still determined. Still incredulous and heartbroken. Not your bitch, not your toy, you regressive, repressive hypocrites.

Frantic

Hi, sweetie darlings. How are you today? How are you, period, with all that is going on in the world, with all that is going on within us every day? I’m feeling a little unsettled. I’m feeling a little unwell.

FURIOUS

small

Determined

Tyrannized

Incredulous

Heartbroken 

Unsafe

Happy Earth Day 🦋

 

Behave.

Let the mystery be

We have the same conversation every year this time of year. A good, annually evolving conversation about life, the universe, and everything, and it always starts with the same question: Why is the most important feast in Christianity centered around sorrow and suffering; death. Betrayal leads to execution. What is there to celebrate? With all that is going on and has been going on in the world, how are we supposed to feel? All the fear, cowardice, shame and loss, all the drama and violence of what is known as Holy Week… how are we supposed to respond?

Some in this world can't help but lash out, some try to help out. Some clam up and some gobble up whatever lie makes them feel less anxious and insecure. Just like the twelve Apostles, we are only human, doomed to doze or wander off when we should be paying attention, doomed to tire, anger, fear, be wrong and do wrong, doomed to fail every now and then. But even then, Jesus would not judge. Even on Good Friday, the day of his public humiliation and execution, his thoughts were with his mother, and the man crucified next to him.

It seems to me that judge not lest you be judged is not an all-encompassing reproof but a gentle reminder. We will get it wrong, do wrong, say the wrong thing no matter how hard we try. And that’s okay, that’s human. Just keep trying to do better, be better. Face your fallible nature. And face the evil in ourselves and all around us. A fourth man dies in our story, a man who forces us to confront our capacity for avarice, betrayal and cruelty. How is his life or his death any less important? Judas ends up making a choice he quickly regrets and can't atone for or reconcile. He ends up taking his own life. Is he the villain? Is he beyond salvation? Is he Satan? Or is he just one of us?

And what went through Mary’s mind as she watched her son die? Did she see a way forward, a future? There was nothing the women huddled under that cross could do but support and carry one another. How dark and desolate Holy Saturday must have been for those who knew and loved Jesus. He died a violent, agonizing death, and they could not change that, only grieve. Holy Sunday morning was no brighter, Mary Magdalene crying by his now empty tomb. “Why are you crying?” Jesus asks as he appears. He did not start preaching or teaching, he did not tell her to stop. He did not rebuke her or turn away, he simply asked a question, and he listened. Do we have the strength to do the same? To face and listen to those who are lost or who have suffered a loss? To just be there for someone in their hour of need?

And why did Jesus have to suffer like that? And his resurrection, that’s where the story gets tricky and the details fuzzy. How did that happen? You’re not asking me, are you, because the only thing I’m sure of is that I don’t know. It’s where the here and now and the hereafter meet? Theology can’t prove it, other sciences disprove it, so it’s simply a matter of faith? What if you don’t understand? What if there is no explanation? Must there always be a plan, or a prize? What if the Easter story is the parable? We can all see ourselves and others, every human emotion in that story of light and dark and benevolence and evil and hope and senseless suffering. Despite everything, life goes on. In the here and now, maybe even in the hereafter. Is that the underlying message, the moral of the story?

My family tree is a gnarled old thing with roots spanning across Europe, so when it comes to religion, I don’t know what to believe. I mean that quite literally. It’s a Take Your Pick Buffet of denominations. I’ve had to navigate my way, consolidate it all, come to my own conclusions. But you don’t have to subscribe to any religion to find the message meaningful or traditions beautiful, or to appreciate the comfort and community church and faith provide. And you don’t have to believe in a deity or any type of afterlife to want to do the right thing, feel charitable, be empathetic and compassionate, to love and love unconditionally. My maternal grandmother taught me that. The Bay of All Saints taught me that. And life keeps teaching me that.

Happy Easter, chag Pesach samech, or just your basic, average, everyday, ordinary, run-of-the-mill, ho-hum weekend, dearest denizens, whatever you believe, wherever you are.

Para bellum

Temperature: 0/32 degrees. And. It’s. Snowing.

Eating: nuts and raisins.

Drinking: Do you know what is almost as good as Guaraná? Pepsi Max Mango. I need to add those to the emergency supply list. (See below. Yes, I’ll need those in an emergency. It’s either those two or bourbon and cachaça, and how well do you think you’d function all boozed up, hmm? If emergency turns to catastrophe, that’s when you’ll need the booze. I’m not going down without a fight or a breath I can use a flamethrower. Just kidding. Not really, no. You’ll be oh so sorry you even tried. Oh, honey, that is not a threat, that is a promise. What? No! I do still love everyone. Until you give me a reason not to.)

Listening: to Russian officials swiftly deny, deflect, defuse and all-around summarily dismiss any involvement in the Bucha massacre or any other war crimes for that matter. As if they had a script at hand, which they of course always have, with a dozen different explanations and substitute scenarios excluding the truth and their guilt. Obfuscation is the operative word.

Watching: Russian television is like watching a telecast in Bizarro World; up is down and square is round. Sitting down to watch Russian state media re: Ukraine is like stepping into a brainwashing machine where you will be subjected to a steady stream of carefully curated programming and be convinced that the west is evil, degenerate, and plotting Russian demise, shown Russian soldiers helping the downtrodden people of Donbas, presented with proof of Ukraine’s evil schemes, and reminded of why you need Putin. What you won’t be shown is the decimation of Mariupol, the bombing and shooting of Ukrainian civilians, Russian soldiers looting homes and hospitals, or how united and fierce the Ukrainians are in their fight against the invader. No use switching channels; the studio and talking head may change but the story, the soundtrack, the imagery stays the same, day in, year out. It’s a very powerful tool of mind control and manipulation. And it works.

Reading: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig and The Languages of Scandinavia: Seven Sisters of the North by Ruth H. Sanders. You don’t have to be a glossophile to enjoy these books, you can just nibble here and there.

Writing: a list of what might be missing from our emergency supply kit. Both the government and emergency services have kindly reminded everyone of the importance of preparedness. This is a sensible nation of sensible people who trust the government and one another, so everyone agrees and acts accordingly.

Thinking: Hate is a verb, a wrongdoing word. Indifference is a verb, the undoing word.

Feeling: lucky we live in a sensible nation of sensible people.

A million dreams 🕊️

Temperature: will depend on the Föhn winds on their way from Norway. Winter, you had your shot. Spring, take the reins.

Drinking: Would that help matters, what do think? A stiff drink to calm that brain on fire? Should we look for more healthy outlets? Oh, after we have that drink, okay. Desperate times, desperate jigger measurements.

Eating: What would go well with Friday? And don’t say frozen pizza.

Watching: I have Encanto waiting for a weekend viewing. Couldn’t catch it on the big screen, but I hope it loses none of its magic on a smaller one.

Listening: to the downpipes trying to deal with all that melting snow.

Reading: Against the Loveless World by Susan Abulhawa.

Thinking: Who the hell can think straight these days? Everyone I’ve talked to this week has complained they’re finding it difficult to concentrate. We agreed we should at least try, and we should also try not to let our outrage morph into fear because that is what autocrats want. Fear leads to paralysis and a paralyzed individual is hardly a threat, but anger, pure anger is fuel for action, sweetie darlings, so let the autocrats fear us instead.

Feeling: some Depeche Mode coming my way…
Metropolis has nothing on this /
You're breathing in fumes, I taste when we kiss /
Take my hand, come back to the land /
Where everything's ours for a few hours…
Off for a walk. What a luxury to step out without having to fear being shot at. Have a good weekend, dearest denizens, or a tolerable one, wherever you are.

A word after a word after a word is power*

It’s day 16 of the Russian invasion of Ukraine and all of Scandinavia is regrouping and reconsidering its stance on a neighbor gone cuckoo. Finland shares a 1,300+ -kilometer (800+ -mile) border with Russia, so naturally they’re perturbed. Sweden likes to think they’re Switzerland but now realizes they need to up their military game chop-chop. Joining NATO is once again on the table and since that is exactly what Voldemort Putin wants off the table and out the window you have to ask: how did you think this would go? And if starting Cold War 2 is all the same to you, again, how do you think this will go? Go ahead and hate us so long as you fear us, is that what you’re saying? Again, how do you think that will go in the long run? Putin doesn’t seem to care about how this will affect Russia and its citizens, so how do you solve a problem like Putin’s Russia?

What do you do when your neighbor starts disturbing the peace and engaging in disorderly conduct? You lay down the law, of course. But what if they don’t care about rules or regulations? What if they’re playing a totally different game on a totally different field or board? You need to defend and protect yourself, of course, and you need to isolate that bully of a landlord in question. How do you do that? You assign blame where blame is due. You separate the landlord from the tenants. When speaking of the invasion of and attack on Ukraine say Putin instead of Russia. Putin (and his cabinet) is the aggressor, not all of Russia since there was no referendum. Russians can’t even call the war a war or the assault an assault, using those words in this context is now a criminal offense. So, Putin’s war, Putin’s attack, Putin’s army, Putin’s doing. Demonizing and ostracizing all of Russia and all Russians, any type of Russophobia directed toward the people and the country at large only serves Putin’s narrative. "Look! It is as I keep saying, it is true, look at how they hate us!"

What Putin is doing in Ukraine and to Ukrainians is evil and monstrous and it has to stop. The sanctions imposed will hurt all of Russia but that is on him, on Putin. And change can only come from within. Putin is finished. Maybe not today or next week, but he is toast. If he manages to hang on to power, if the Iron Curtain falls, every Russian will be trapped in there with him. That would be yet another tragedy in the too long reign of Vladimir the Terrible. We should stand with Ukraine, no doubt or two ways about it. On that other field and board, we should stand with every Russian suffering under the yoke of an ever more brutal regime.

We are not powerless. You are not powerless. When you want to speak up, do as Scandinavians are trying to do and choose your words with care. Do not give Putin ammunition by engaging in Russophobia. Assign blame where blame is due. Countless Russians still root for Putin because they have been on a steady diet of lies and state propaganda for years, and the machinery is hard at work as we speak. You can help combat that too. Swedish Dagens Nyheter, Finnish Helsingin Sanomat and Danish Politiken are now translating news articles “to provide Russians with impartial and trustworthy news and coverage.” Feel free to spread the word. Putin controls state media but has no control over us or Russians living abroad. The longer the war drags on the more questions it will raise at home and the harder it will be for him to keep an airtight lid on what is going on.

It will get worse, so much worse before it gets better, on both boards. Scandinavians will always have Russia as a neighbor, there is no escaping that fact. But as much as Putin would like to rewrite history he will only be remembered not as the strong man he thinks he is but yet another heavy-handed totalitarian who could not rule without being cruel. One day there will be no more Putin, but there will always be our Russian neighbor. Believe me when I say to you that Scandinavians would really, truly, absolutely rather wave than shoot across that border.

*Margaret Atwood

Dear friend

How are you? I thought I’d send you this note now that I’m away. Do people still do that, send letters and postcards from their travels? It’s a pity if they don’t, I have always loved the writing and receiving of cards and letters, it’s so much more personal than those photos and messages you suspect your friend has sent out indiscriminately, isn’t it?

Where am I? I’m sorry, yes, Omicronia, dear friend! A rather impromptu trip, you know the kind, but here we are, or rather I am, wondering how I got here. Not a secret, really, I know how I got here, no good deed goes unpunished, just one of those unfortunate coincidences. I had to leave the family behind and I’m quite pleased I did, there is not much to do around here. I have read a great deal and that has been wonderful.

They say every visitor experiences it a bit differently and I’m sure that is true. What have I experienced so far? Something akin to that last visit by Lady Influenza: nasal congestion, a sore throat, headaches, and a seesawing fever. The highest peak I’ve climbed: 40.3/104.5 degrees. I’m not ashamed to admit that made me a bit dizzy, but at least my body is putting up a fight, I’ll give her that.

I did have my jabs in order, so I do believe I’ll make a comeback. Like any responsible traveller, I would never leave home without making sure my vaccines were up to date. Of course one hopes one won’t need them, but one can never know, so why risk something so easily avoided? You can’t ring the insurer and ask for fire insurance once the house is on fire any more than you can ask the doctor to administer a Covid jab once you’re hospitalised. “I’m sorry, but it is too late.” That is what they’ll tell you. And then how will you feel? Like a proper pillock, that’s how.

And just like during Lady Influenza’s visit, I’ve had the strangest dreams. One was particularly horrendous and keeps recurring: war. A war was being waged in Europe. But it wasn’t a dream, was it? It is real. It is Cold War 2 but not World War 3, at least not yet. Dear friend, please tell me you agree that this, all of it, is inhumane insanity. Dear friend, if you happen to pop by the Kremlin or the FSB or know someone at Wagner, do tell them that Putin is an affront to humanity. Oh, I’m sure that after Grozny, Georgia, Crimea and Syria they have no illusions, but a reminder won’t hurt anything.

And dear friend, please tell any and all Russians you know the truth about what is going on, if they don’t know already. Dear friend, please tell them that “The West” doesn’t have a problem with Russians but with Putin, his regime and minions, and if Putin keeps insisting that “The West” indeed does then he obviously thinks that Putin equals Russia and doesn’t that just say it all. Tell them we are not threatening anyone with nuclear war, we don’t want another Hiroshima or Nagasaki, not in our home, not in yours, not anywhere on the planet. (I heard Dmitry Kiselyov has boasted how Russia, by which he means Putin, can turn America into radioactive ash. Now that is nothing to boast or joke about. We are a human error, a misunderstanding or misinterpretation away from nuclear war, so not funny.) Tell them we are in awe of anyone who dares to defy a government squeezing the life out of its citizens and civil society. We know it has become difficult and dangerous and that makes state terror even more immoral because governments should serve the people and not the other way around.

Tell them we are not out to wipe out your history, culture, language or traditions, Europeans are steeped in a cornucopia of our own, so we do understand and respect what they mean to a nation and its people. We are not and do not want to be Americans, we want to be Swedish and German and Portuguese and French and Greek and Maltese and so on, we want to live in peace and prosper and work together to solve the problems of today and of the future and we would dearly love to see you help us do it. Dear friend, tell them we feel sorry for the boys sent out to die in battles Putin’s army may win but in a war Putin himself has already lost. Too many banks, businesses, cities and governments turned a blind eye for too long; so long as the money flowed, Putin could act with impunity, and now Ukrainians are paying the price. I do hope this ends now; this type of corruption and hypocrisy has lined the pockets of a chosen few and breadcrumbed the many, and that does not bode well for the planet any more than Putin’s reign benefits the Russian people at large.

Dear friend, I hope you agree that you can be a patriot and a conservative without being a dodgy nationalist; it’s not a competition and it’s certainly not a zero-sum game. I do know a great many devout conservatives who love their children as much as I love mine, and I don’t think they’re pretending either! But values, words and sentiments such as patriotism, spirituality, family, integrity and unity are not the sole property of people and nations who identify as conservatives, they are universal values and aspirations. Claiming to be a defender of these values against the degenerate and queer X (X being whoever your leader claims is the threat), mixing business finances and interests with national finances and interests while being a head of state who expects a cult-like following are not hallmarks of a man serving his country but the trademarks of fascism, and that never ends well for anyone.

Yes, I’m calling Putin a fascist, it’s certainly a more accurate description than calling Zelenskyy a Nazi. A Jewish Nazi, imagine that, dear friend. That's like calling the Pope an atheist. Inconceivable! And someone has to speak up, we all do, for all the Russians who face two choices: silence or prison. There is no mocking or criticising Putin at home but we are not obliged to do his bidding, follow his rules, or listen to his lies. So fire away, a genuinely strong and confident man would take it in his stride. Words would be had, insults traded perhaps, but you would not end up in prison for having and voicing an opinion, eh?

There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours. Thus spoke Jean-Paul Sartre. Dear friend, it is a cruel and crazy and beautiful world. Not perfect, but the only one we have. We seem to be going from problem to problem, from catastrophe to catastrophe, and you will hear claims that these are signs of the end of times. A conglomeration of disease, war, economic and environmental upheavals snowball and keep rolling until there is no stopping the downward spiral and the end of civilization as we know it. This same type of perfect (shit)storm destroyed ancient Rome, Egypt, Chinese dynasties and the kingdoms of Mesoamerica. Nothing, not a single empire, has lasted forever.

But. I do hope we have evolved along the way. And yet. I do fear we lean too heavily on gurus and technology and a shiny future innovation that will come and save us from ourselves when the problem is the way we live, the scarcity and inequality that has followed our progress and success as a species. That 19th century vision of progress and success does not serve humanity in 2022. We have to let go of those beliefs and models and come up with something new and we have to do it now and we have to do it together. The Putins and Trumps and Modis and Johnsons and Bolsonaros of the world will try to convince you otherwise. The fossil fuel industry will fight back. That only proves that they don’t care about us or the planet, they are milking it for all it is worth for as long as they’re allowed to. Are we going to go down with them, dear friend?

Oh but my fingers are tiring, and so must your eyes be. I didn’t mean to write such a long and rambling letter, I only wanted to ask how you were doing. I do hope this finds you safe and well, but one never knows for sure, that is why I’m asking. I need to go and put the kettle on now. I know I’ve recovered when I fancy a coffee, a cider, and a shag. Not quite there yet, I’m afraid, but hope springs eternal. Hope springs eternal, dear friend.

Love,

Dita

P.S.  Happy International Women’s Day!

P.P.S. What is this letter Z I see taped and painted here and there and everywhere? Are they all rooting for Zelenskyy? Are they all waiting for Zorro? 🤔😉 Enquiring minds want to know! Inquiring minds? You say potato, I say mango and lime. As I said, not a competition, live and let live.

What we talk about when we talk about war

My maternal grandfather rarely talked about the war. He was sent out soon after he had married my grandmother. They had just turned nineteen. The years many of us spend getting an education and having fun while at it he spent fighting WW2. He came back a decorated hero who never took out those medals and seldom talked about how he’d earned them. On the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II a local historian/documentarist wanted to interview him. Even fifty years was not time and distance enough. He declined. By then I could hear what he couldn’t voice; he had seen and experienced more than most of us could handle without losing our sanity.

Strategy, tactics and targets. Strikes, counterstrikes, combat. Invasion and occupation. Soldiers and civilians. Casualties and collateral damage. Valor, heroes, sacrifice. This is the clinical dialect of the language of violence. Devoid of human emotion and the atrocious cost of war. The euphemisms we use, talking in numbers and abstracts, creates the distance we need. It eases the conscience and helps silence objections. We have no choice. This is the price we have to pay.

That choice has consequences, and the price is brutal. Death, carnage, bodies, graves, amputations, disability, pain, fear, fury, terror, shock, trauma, retribution, grief, displacement, squalor. These words should climb to the top of the lexicon. They should fuel our resistance by highlighting the true meaning of war. These are the words I think of when I think of my grandfather’s experience. These are the words I think of when I think about the very real chance that my sons will one day have to go against the madman in Moscow. No mother wants to contemplate that. Not this one. Not a single one.

Do electric sheep dream of pixel grass?

Temperature: A cloudy -2/28.5 degrees, and what do you know, more snow! That’s actually perfect for this week, we’re taking a couple of days off.

Drinking: Still no Harney in sight. Damn.

Eating: Semla buns, the kind Scandinavians usually have on Shrove Tuesday (no pancakes on Mardi Gras up north, dearest denizens), but since that is still a week away, and because it’s sportlov (winter break) week for our youngest, semlor after a hearty outing it will be. But almond paste or jam with all that cream? That is the eternal dilemma up here. I’m a jam girl, strawberry, please, that paste is too sticky and sweet.

Watching: Fi-nal-ly got to see the new Matrix on the big-screen. (They closed the cinemas for a bit when Omicron hit.) And if you didn’t watch it until the very end, you need to go back and watch it again. Yes, I know it’s on HBO Max. No, it’s not the same. Okay, sure, that’s subjective. (But you're wrong. *cheeky grin*) And how gloomy and menacing does The Batman look, hmm? Paul Dano, Zoë Kravitz, Andy Serkis, yes, please. And then for something completely different: the new Downton Abbey movie, can’t wait! Oh, cinema how I’ve missed you.

Listening: to the bizarre victimization of one Vladimir Putin. Okay, you’re the man with the plan. Yes, you believe you can get away with everything from murder to military occupation. No, that will not make you or Russia great now, in the future, in retrospect, or in any other timeline or reality but the one you have in your head. You are going about it all wrong, as in horrendously off the charts off-course. How did Agent Orange put it? Sad!

Reading: J.G. Ballard’s The Drowned World; impatiently waiting for Emily St. John Mandel’s Sea of Tranquility; and Atwood’s Burning Questions collection! Doesn’t matter if we’ve read them all before, they bear repeating, repeatedly.

Writing: Hey, it’s Twosday, 22.02.2022, a palindrome date!

Thinking: Thoughts are a means of organizing and analyzing reality but they are not reality itself, are they? And yet thoughts have always been used to make up and reorient and distort reality, haven’t they? And our thoughts are up for grabs, aren’t they, bidders competing for our attention, our favor, our rage, our love. But on a scale from ambitious sociopath to homicidal psychopath, how callous is he though? How much does the world have to take to satisfy one man’s obsession? Purely rhetorical question, the world has had to take a great many things to satisfy some man’s ambition. And where are those men? Dead and gone. How are they remembered? Despised by most, deities to a deluded few. All for nothing then. All that misery and destruction so that you could patch up some real or imagined slight and feel all-powerful for two minutes. What a waste of resources, human, financial, material. At a time when we don’t have time for your fixations. You should have taken up meditation instead. Or worked on your Turkish get-up. Taken a walk in a park or forest and stared infinity in the face and admitted that you came into this world the same way as everyone else and one day you will leave just like everyone else and in between you had the luxury of making choices.

Feeling: combative in that sweet and fierce way that makes for a great workout. So now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I have a date with a kettlebell. Perfect the Turkish get-up and rule the world.