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.

Stockholm i mitt ❤️

 

We started the week in the southern sun, let's end it in the northern shimmer. Ha en trevlig helg, sötnos älsklingar, var ni än är.

Bate forte o tambor 🥲

 

 

That, sweetie darlings, is Pelourinho, Cidade Alta, Salvador, Brazil. How long does it take to get down to Cidade Baixa? Thirty seconds by elevator. Oh yes. Look it up! This world is full of wonders, isn't it? 🥰

Obrigado à vida que me tem dado tanto

 

Oh, sweetie darlings, I got the most wonderful gift for my birthday courtesy of my Dad. He had finally, after years of careful consideration (you know how these things go), digitized all the ciné films and slides he’d filmed and taken in Brazil and during our pit stops between South America and Europe (we did some exploring on the way). Filming and photographing are hobbies of his, so what I now have, oh dearest denizens, it's a treasure trove, a time machine, a magic carpet ride. I’ve been going through them all week, forcing my family to take part (“Mom, I don’t know these people!” “But you must remember that street, it’s hardly changed!”), and it has been so moving and rousing I’m sure I’ve been a bit…tiresome. Am I getting old, is it these times we live in, the forced separation? Don’t know, don’t care, I’m just so happy and grateful that these moments have been stored and that so many memories have been restored, and I know I can’t go back but I can look back, step back in time, just for a visit, and feel my parents smiling in my soul.

#TBT

#DancingDays #BoogieNights #D&B #Dub #House #Techno #Triphop
 
#Apollo440 #Massive Attack #PaulOakenfold#TheChemicalBrothers #TheOrb #TheProdigy
 
First off, I would like to apologize to my hair for the cruel and unusual punishment that was the early 90’s. I hope my face will be as forgiving, I used to do quite a number on the eyes and lips, black mascara overload and ruby stick on repeat. But those were the days of excess on many fronts, the dancefloor in particular, with endless hours of running on rhythm. Okay, some cider and the occasional beer and all manner of whiskey. But no drugs.
 
Not that they weren’t plentiful in the rave scene, but I kind of liked the idea of being the old school oddball keeping to the devil I knew, tipple. And, honestly, I didn’t relish the idea of losing control or waking up in a strange bed with strange people without underwear or memory of what exactly happened and whether I’d consented. (Getting a call from a panicky friend sealed that deal.) I was also a closet bluestocking who knew enough of what that shit was and feared what it might do, as in permanent damage. I felt like my brain deserved better than a total meltdown every Friday and/or Saturday. Yes, I know what alcohol is and does. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere and that was mine.
 
I’m fond of the girl I was back then. She looks like she’s about to step out and have fun, which she did, but to every thing there is a season. I’ve been kinder to my mane and skin since, and I don’t miss the dancing days. I do miss some people from that era, people who dived in with both feet but never found the Exit. They drowned in the Bristol sound, took a pill too many, went for the wrong kind of ecstasy. Too much of a good thing, and all that acid jazz.

Kiss me hard before you go

When in Scandinavia, do as the Venetians do: say goodbye to the summer and sailing season with a festival of water, fire and light. Why? Why not? We are all Europeans, some southern, some northern, all bound by a common history and traditions that know no borders. So that's what we did last weekend, the last summer weekend. Ate, drank and made merry.

Teetering on the northern edge of the globe as we are up here, the sun now veers away day by day as summer surrenders to fall. The mornings keep getting cooler and the nights darker, but the days still offer some warmth and light, and this child of the tropics is soaking up all she can get before it's irreversibly over. We sweltered May through July and many are relieved the heat has moved on, but I'd like one last sizzling smooch before we part.

Kiss me like you'll miss me, because I sure as hell will miss you, dearest loveliest summertime.

Oh, James!

So who's your favorite? James Bond, that is? Mine is Timothy Dalton. Oh yes. 

Timothy, you tugged at my heart-strings in a way that none of those cads ever did or could. I'm not falling for Sean's bedroom eyes or Roger's wit. George I barely even registered and Pierce didn't stand a chance. I could never accept him because he replaced you, Timothy. And they said you were one-dimensional. Please. You were subtle in the way classically trained actors usually are, but they never got it, did they, that you were the perfect Bond, Ian's Bond. Dark and tortured and edgy.

A lot like Daniel is, actually. But a blonde James Bond...? Couldn't wrap my head around that for the longest time, not with the vision of you, Timothy, burned in my brain as my Bond, Ian's Bond, the Bond, but I have to admit he's doing a pretty good job. He'll never have your innate warmth and sweetness coupled with all that raw intensity, he's too hard somehow, but I'm trying to give credit where credit is due. I'd put my life in his hands as I would have yours. Those other James'...I was not so sure about. 

So cheers, Timothy! Nobody does it better, and that's all there is to it.

Blue Monday

Bummer way to start the week but c'est la vie, my Ellora's Cave editor announced she's stepping down. I'm really sorry to see her go, we were just getting started and she was the perfect coolheaded counterpart to my, well, hmm, idiosyncrasies. All I could say was thank you and be well when all I wanted was to grovel and plead please don't go.

I sent out a story some three weeks ago and I guess I'll have to send it out and start the process all over again once I get word whom to send it to next. Here's hoping she's half as nice as my ex. 

I'll try to keep the bread and circuses going until I know more. On Wednesday, I'm visiting with Delilah Devlin and talking about... No, wait. Come by and find out and take part in a game I want to play, and everyone's eligible to enter, I promise, as long as you come as you are. Can't say more, won't, shutting up now lest I do.

I feel better already. Thanks for listening. Hope to see you over at Delilah's then. Don't forget! Wednesday!! Jot it down!!!

An education

We celebrated my maternal grandfather's 90th birthday over the weekend. He's unwell after a lifetime of splendid health and thus unwilling to go without a fight, and some XO cognac once a day. I'm happy I still have him, my last surviving grandparent, a live link way back into the 20th century.

Yesterday would have been my maternal grandmother's 90th. She has been gone for over a decade now, but she's still very much present in their home, my home of many childhood summers. My second set of parents. Born a day apart, married at nineteen on the eve of WWII, years given to the protection of fatherland and mother tongue, laborious reconstruction and four children later, they stayed together until her death.

He taught me how to tie my shoelaces, use an axe, start a wood fire and drive most any motor vehicle. She taught me how to run a household in general and how to cook without books in particular, and she read to me then taught me how to read. The gender division was glaring but I got to take part in everything, to benefit from both roles at play, to play freely with both.

They were eager to teach and I was expected to listen close and learn. I got to try out things my parents might not have approved of (had they known of my adventures and tutoring...) for the fear I might be too young, that I might get hurt. Did I ever. Nothing serious, of course. But when the lesson is to get up, dust yourself off and try again, and again, until you get it right, you have to forget about pretty and let yourself get gritty. They let me, time and time again, and for that I'm eternally grateful.

Wait. I wasn't going to talk about them, only tell you what I've been up to, sweetie daaarlings, because I know you could hardly eat or sleep or think straight not knowing where I'd gone, right? Tsk. Right. Anyway, no time left to talk about what I had in mind. I have a date with my WIP, and there is no such thing as fashionably late in Scandinavia, just plain rude. Since the title of this post isn't that off the mark, I think I'll leave both as is. Enjoy the rest of your week, wherever you are.

Surfacing

We switched master bedrooms, moved from one end of the house to the other. Cleaning up closets I found a novelty box filled with things that hadn't seen the light of day since moving in.

Some souvenirs you ought to keep, baby even. Mementos that take you back with one look or touch, olfactory or auditory triggers to experiences and feelings you were sure cannot be duplicated but there they are, for a moment within your grasp.

I found my set of jacks. They got buried and forgotten because the kids were too young for them the last time the set was out and about. The wee ones are the perfect age now and, best of all, they had never heard of or seen such a thing. I got the pleasure of teaching them a game that required no electricity or even batteries, of sneaking stories from my childhood into the game, and the pleasure of being launched back into those moments.

Some things you should let go, but it's sometimes hard to tell the healthy reminders from the hurtful ones, the shadows that won't let go from the ones you're dragging along yourself. I found such an item with those jacks, a reminder of traits long since tamed, of a woman I never wanted to be again.

This time the item looked like what it had been all along: a self-inflicted punishment. I had left her behind but I had kept a keepsake and of course somewhere deep down there's a layer that is all her, all hers. But I didn't need a token, I had internalized the lesson.

I put the jacks away for another day. I put the item away for good.