Hospitality we need.

Hospitality; it's a concept I find more and more people have a rather alien apprehension of. It's no longer the norm to just pop in on someone for a cup of coffee. We can no longer expect people to put things aside and just waste time the high quality kind of way: in good company and friendly chit-chat.

Since I have something to say about it, I thought it would be appropriate to define what hospitality really is, so in order to get it right, I found the proper defenition of hospitality online.

It refers to the relationship process between a guest and a host, and it also refers to the act or practice of being hospitable, that is, the reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers, with liberality and goodwill. 
Hospitality is also known as the act of generously providing care and kindness to whomever is in need.

The Bible say something about it too:

In the New Testament, the Greek word translated “hospitality” literally means “love of strangers.” Hospitality is a virtue that is both commanded and commended throughout Scripture. In the Old Testament, it was specifically commanded by God: “When an alien lives with you in your land, do not mistreat him. The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt” (Leviticus 19:33-34, emphasis added).

I got this thought in my head that I had something to say about hospitality, so I told a friend that I was thinking about writing a blog about that.

"What will you write in your blog about it?"

Well, I hadn't written the text yet, but from the top of my head I told him that I wanted to write about how easy it is to invite and be friendly and welcoming to people you know really well and have close relation to, and how spotless you feel your house must be for others to see.

"Ha!!", he replied, "Let your closest friends see you really live, but those who are outside the circle see you live in a pristine world".

How very facebook. That is the image we like to give on social medias, unless someone stage a cluttered house, carefully arranged in an effectful way, and post a picture of how terrible their house looks.

I don't have to stage clutter. It is the natural state of my house, but then again: I would rather be caught dead than post a picture of it.

Yet, in the midst of unfolded laundry, toys, books and you name it: in my chaotic place you will at times find all kinds of people drinking coffee or tea, and enjoy the fact that someone has a house messy enough to tell a tale about.

And the funny part of it is, they don't seem to care too much, any of them.

Some times, when my boys have had friends over, and the house is extraordinary untidy, I can literally hear them plan how to tell their family and friends about my poor housewife skills, spicing up their story with embellished descriptions on the state of my house.

I would never keep anyone stand on the porch, just because I am afraid of the inevitable talk. Let them have their moment of relief and friendly haughty laugh.

At the end of the day, I am confident my house is clean enough to stay healthy and messy enough to stay happy, and at the bottom, on the surface of the floor, you will find it is spotless and impeccable clean.

My house is very happy based upon the mess.

I remember vaguely when my parents, on Sunday afternoon, announced: "We are going to pay a visit!" Most often we went to relatives, but also friends of my parents.

Back in those days kids didn't have their own agenda, we lived by the rules and the doings of our parents'.

We went for impulsive visits, often after having been on a hike in the morning and had dinner (tea).

Some times we were the ones getting visitors, and there was always a cake or some other homemade treat served with coffee. 

My mother baked the week's bread and cakes every Saturday. I have no idea what happened to the cakes on the Sundays we didn't stay at home.

We kept up this social life, even after having a phone became common: It was important to see, and spend time, with other people.

Today, with all the health-gurus, and the rules of what to eat and when, and even more important: peoples' constant dieting and attempt to cut back on this or that, people don't bake anymore. We tend to buy something sugary instead, and that's fine, but we shouldn't think anyone expects more than your company. A mere cup of coffee, tea or a glass of something cool is quite sufficient... if you want to offer something.

There are countless reasons to why we don't pay visits anymore, not to the same degree we did before, anyway. We are entertained in our own home by digital and electronic gadgets and medias, apparently we don't feel the same need for company anymore.

Another reason is that people are busy. We work, kids need a lift here and there (and some times everywhere), we need to keep our house and garden, and days go by and time just doesn't seem to add up. The recipe to the classic time pressure and stress mess.

In an ideal world, we wouldn't sacrifice spending time with friends and family. In an ideal world we would still plan and agree upon doing things together.

I am sure I would never regret doing that, but there is a good chance I would regret I never did.

I often get the question: "How do you do it? How do you find the energy to invite people into your home?" Truth is I very seldom do, but I always invite people who ring the doorbell in.

I don't have more energy than other people, I have come to terms with my limits, and feel comfortable with the consequences. I have to admit I suffered from a stress attack before I settled for far less than a perfect house.

Just like everybody else, we have special occasions when we want the house to sparkle. And we do fuss about cleaning everything; floors, door knobs, windows... you know: a thorough, total, old fashioned "cleaning the house".

But we don't do it every day just because we fear someone should see the state of our everyday house.

In many ways I have escaped the merry-go-round. I do not deliver instamoments in form of three courses, or perfect displays. (I love candles! They are everywhere in my house, but that's not the same thing.)

I can't live up to the expectations, and my health tells me I can't even try. So I create my own standards. And I am actually a tiny bit, secretly proud, to be breaking the code of "good housewifing".

In a society, where the image and the deceitful lies prevails the community, it is easy to forget that friendship and fellowship are about letting people into our lives and homes. Vi need to be together, talk with one another, laugh together, play, share and listen to one another.

Our time is becoming a time for hundreds of contacts and likes. We have fewer friends and close relationships than before. We are afraid to let our masks fall; to show who we really are has become somewhat of a hazard. 

Our kids think they are with friends when they sit alone in their rooms, gaming with their friends who sit alone in their rooms.

While we waste time on social medias in order to post funny quotas, like strangers' dinnerplans and ignoring the rules of safety online, our single socks and dirty dishes pile up. We tell about the scandalous kitchen floor, but don't take time to sweep up the crumbs. We settle for telling about how good we feel about having done it.

We tell the world about our wannabe selves, forgetting that when we are sure about who we really are, it doesn't matter if things are a bit thrown out of gear.

Instead we keep up appearance diving into different sizes screens.

In Norway vast amount of money is spent every year on redecorating and nick-nacks. But many of us never show anyone our displays, other than to create instamoments and facebook likes.

I find it sad. Our most widespread disease is lonelyness. We miss the parts of the conversations which we replace with emoticons.

We are made to have companionship, to be affected by others face to face. Being together makes us alive and present.

I think our entire society will be a better place if we dare to step back, to leave our mobile phones, tablets and computers alone and pay eachother a visit.

I hope dropping by will be in fashion again. I hope we have not lost the art of real fellowship. I hope we get brave enough to pay eachother visits again. I hope we can get past the wall we build between us and those we perceive as different. I hope we become generous enough to invite those who cross our path for our own sake. Otherwise, we will turn into a people in need.

Dandelion writing

OK, so I make another attempt. I have started so many texts and given up I am curious if I'll complete this one, and not delete it.

I started writing about RUSS. A long tradition here in Norway, which have now outplayed its role. It used to be senior highschool students who dressed up in red, blue or black suits, drew characters and wrote slogans on them. They had nicknames complimenting their personality and did pranks to get knots in their hats.

The colours on their suits displayed what kind of school they attended, and completed, and they have cars in same colour as their suit, and "businesscards" which they hand out to kids.

These days it has turned into a very expencive, several months long, ongoing party for everybody about the age of 18 (and a little older), who would like to act out and pretend to be above law, order and proper behaviour.

That didn't go very well writing about.

I started writing about the time when our den smelled so bad it was impossible to stay in the room. We tore down the exterior wall, and hundreds of dead mice, decading, tumbled out when we removed the cladding. They had been trapped when the wall was previously fixed.
But then I thought about my friend who wrote about That Smell, and there is no way I can top that.

I took another facebook-test today, what my birthday says about my personality. And it stated: "You are incredible likeable. You are blessed with an amazingly magnetic personality. Other people actually feel pressured and uncomfortable when you are around. You give good advise and are definitely someone who others trust easily".

I somehow found it very contradicting and not very nice, and it wasn't at all fun to write about. Maybe I should stop taking these tests... which I love. They don't really paint a pretty picture of me.

(One even came up with the characteristic: "You are a very demanding woman!")

Maybe I am just tired, maybe what I really need is a muse. I need inspiration... and a vacation.

On the positive side of it all: I have not yet fallen into the compulsive habit of watching funny cat videos on youtube. Then I would have been a tiny bit worried about my sanity.

However, on that note, my friend told me that "my, like his, craziness is not damaging to others. It's more quirky and endearing, and it sets us apart from the general crowd... Sometimes it's lonely, but it's also like being away from just normalness. It would be too common like... when you stop being pleasantly surprised by your own thoughts. I like my thoughts at times; random thoughts that, later, I find amusing and interesting. Sometimes they tumble around in my head. At the end of the day I think we are people who can keep our heads open".

I like to think I have that craziness in me.

Oh, I just remembered: I was journalist and editor of our high school graduation newspaper! Should probably be on my CV, don't you think? Hardly any school's RUSS make those newspapers anymore, but we did. We wrote about the school, what had happened during the past year... a lot of good things, but more bad things and funny pranks, and we presented all the RUSS, which is what we call high school graduates here. and then we sold it to benefit a charity cause. Our was the national cancer assosiation.... long before that was really known, let alone popular.

I probably should add that to my CV.

Maybe I should go out in the garden and weed out dandelions. That should inspire me, I think. You know; the way all great authors are inspired by the grand splendour and wonders of nature, I settle for gloving, fragrant, radiant, vulnerable, hopeful, slender, lively, applicable, legendary dandelions.

On second thought... I'll leave them be.

Wholly Qunide.

As humans, we have many roles, and each of the roles we perform have different expectations associated with them, which can be confusing enough to anybody. I am not seen as a mother when I'm in the classroom, and my kids can't even imagine what I'm like as a teacher.
Juggling between wearing the various hats of daughter, sister, grandchild, spouse, girlfriend, best friend, career woman, colleague, employee, mentor, mother, motivator, team player, role model, cook, cleaning worker, repairman, purchasing manager, personal shopper, Queen of the house (yeah, I allow myself to call me that, living with a husband, three sons and a male dog) and all the other roles I encounter in my everyday life, it all boils down to one thing: I am a woman.

Now, the thing is being a woman in Norway today is a term which is rather open for discussion and interpretation. We are allowed to choose our own path in life and lifestyle, but it has not always been so.

In Norwegian the word for woman is "kvinne", and this is what the encyclopedia says about "kvinne": 

The word "kvinne" is derived from "kone" (= wife) who was the common word for woman in old Norwegian. The word is found in the English queen. "Kone" has today somewhat changed meaning into "married woman" or "old woman." Another word for "kvinne", "kjærring" (=old woman, but is not a very positive term), is derived from the old Norwegian "karl" today "guy". From German we have the words "frue" (=mistress) and "jungfrau" > "jomfru n." (=virgin) (which originally meant "young lady"), while French has given the Norwegian madam (actually from Spanish meaning "my wife") and Mamsell (a folk form of Mademoiselle, ie "Miss "). Madam has the same origin as lady, namely the Latin domination, ie "mistress." 

"Woman" is used in Norwegian usually about adult female subjects in general, but the word can also denote a person of the female a man has sexual relations with, a wife or mistress, for example in expressions such as "she is his woman." "Woman" can also be used if a person with traditionally female characteristics, such as talk of ways like "she is completely through a woman" or "to be Quinde with big Q". (http://no.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kvinne)

Hah, that turned out to be a totally pathetic attempt to translate a wikipedia article about a Norwegian word into English, but you got the essence, I suppose.

Chart of the young woman's "two roads"

from the early 1900s:

The woman who flirts and liver dissipated,

are shunned as 40-year-old,

while the conscientious and caring

becomes a chaste grandmother when she turns 60.

To call me a Quinde (assembles "Queen" a lot, don't you think?) with capital Q would be to exaggerate a tiny bit; In the traditional sense I'm probably not as pink as many others. Although I do have a pink helmet at work, real VIP style, pink headphones and a pink pencil case, but that is a strategic thing more than preference of colour, because men, regardless of age, are not so eager to make things which are pink disappear.

Sometimes I think of what it must be like to live a long life. Imagine having lived for 80 years, for example.

Think about how the world, country, city, town, countryside, homes has changed during that time!
Moral, clothing, utilities ... a trifle thing as to pay the bills has become something completely different than it was when they were young.

Those who are old today had to comply with a rapid development which only escalates and spins out of controle  into eternity, at all levels and areas.

I am so impressed with elderly people who manage on their own.

It is not just that I'm a woman, but I'm a woman born and raised in the western world in modern times.

And the thing is: I resist to be merely a woman: I want it all! And I'm totally aware that can be perceived as if I'm basically selfish. And I might just be that, although I personally think I stretch myself in all directions to meet all the needs everybody I surround myself with have.

While I'm running around like a headless chicken to get everything I as a mother should have time and energy to do, a murmuring thought in the back of my mind reminds me about all that I really want, wish for and like to achieve.

I have a marriage, children, a kind of career, and often perform like a true artist, but I would rather prefere to travel and experience adventure. I want a well kept kitchen garden, a shabby chic home, deep, meaningful friendships and I would like to speak at least 6 languages fluently (and I do not mean random phrases I impress my surroundings with after two glasses of wine).

I have a longing to go to a museum for an entire day, all by myself, without my mobile phone, without anyone pulling and tugging my sleeve or shouting my name.
I want to go out and not eat at McDonald's. And then I want time in the bathroom completely alone without anybody rattling the door handle.

I want wine and song, and still be a good girl. I'd love to be able to express my feelings in an eloquent way ... but most of all I have a desire to be and do better, although that is a constant exhausting project which involves nerves. Self-realization is exhausting. Mostly because of that "feeling" ... I'm not getting anywhere.

Women are often known to exaggerate and over react because of meaningless details, and we claim the right to change our minds, whatever bad timing.

Yes, we would like to have everything, and yet ...

As I sit here in my comfortable bubble, which often is about to burst from an overload of impressions, expressions and pressure constantly threatening circadian rhythm, I find that my capacity for empathy is constantly challenged.
Increasingly, we get news about what women's lives are like elsewhere. Places where women represent such a big threat that they must be suppressed and humiliated. These giants of brave everyday heroes; because they are not men, they get punished.

"You were raped? Well, then you shall receive 90 lashes." "You are a minor, lovely girl on the threshold of curious youth?  I just as well steal you, your identity and your life and sell you off, just because."

Reality hits me in the head like a sledgehammer, my lack of own time, and my hunger for time and self realization somehow doesn't taste as good anymore. I am so blessed to have my life, regardless of my petty discontent.

In Norway we have a Women's Group called "Ottar".  For some reason these suffragettes don't have a good reputation. For some reason they are tried ridiculed and explained away. They do the unpoplular thing; to point at what's not right. This week they call for a boicot of the movie "Fifty Shades of Grey". (The link is to a related story in Time.)

Others use their skills and talent to do the same thing, only using more of their sense of humor... Like Ellen Degeneres in TheEllenShow.

It is so easy to forget, in the middle of our giggles, that these women (and men, let's not forget there are those who really speak up for women's rights), those who use their resources and talents to improve women's lives and reputation in the best way they know how, standing on the barricades and act as brave social activists, have through their social commitment given me the opportunity to be me.

A cat-a-call.

A woman walks down the street, wearing what she considers to be ordinary clothes. It's a fine day, apparently lovely weather. She comes across as rather determined as she walks along; she doesn't stroll, she doesn't smile, she doesn't give any indication she is open for conversation.
Nevertheless she gets "catcalls".

I have learned that the "proper" dictionary some times give the general understanding of an expression, even slang, so when the Oxford Dictionaries tells me that a "Catcall" is:

"A loud whistle or a comment of a sexual nature made by a man to a passing woman:
women were the objects of catcalls when they walked by the men’s barracks.
This is mostly a stereotype, but some men shout catcalls at women on the street, especially when the men are in groups".

And the Urban Dictionary says a "Catcall" is:

"When a guy gives the wert whirl whistle or yells at a babydoll for the purpose of getting attention and in hopes of a future hookup. This is usually done out of the window of a car. Typically a Pontiac Firebird, or Camaro.
99.9% a hookup never arises and it's just the thrill that keeps these going".

I understand that it's indeed about the ancient chase of a flirty interlude, which may or may not lead to something (hopefully) memorable. Or so men, in particular, want to believe.

Of course I have talked to men, and women, about this ten-hour-documentary. Most online have some opinion about it; some more than others.
The men most often admit that some of the things they wouldnt say, but there is nothing said which seem bad to them.

I can relate to why they say that, but I also get what women say, which kind of boils down to the fact that women in many situations feel they are being objects, rather than having self value. We have struggled for quite a few years to get credit for what we know and what we can do.

When I point this out, men just give me a strartled look and go "Can't they be both?".

We all want to be appreciated for who we are, we desperately want the inner beauty phrase to be true, and when approached we want it to be genuine, you know?

I would think it would be nice to know that you have a certain beauty that men like. Yes, it is a shallow thig to say, but let's be honest: most women spend a lot of time and money to look their best, and we wish more men did the same.
Whether we go through the agony of beautifying ourselves for the sake of men or other women is disputable, but it is something we do to enhance our self esteem.  Most of what we do to ourself to feel and look great really doesn't show at all. (And when we feel it's not enough, we go to the extremes... but that's a totally different issue.)

It is a fine line, but when passers by just yell a random line at you, it feels like you are just there for their amusement, or letting steam off...

I don't like strangers to call me sexy. First of all I know it is a lie, so I get embarassed that others hear it and see my shortcoming. When called sexy in public, everybody size me up and I can literally hear their conclusion click in their heads. And it's never good.
And if I am wrong about men's intention, it doesn't matter, because it feels like they want me to feel something about myself, which isn't true... and i get cautious; almost waiting for them to throw that last line. which will be a joke on me.

On the other hand, if I knew I looked very fine, it would be a different story.... then I would straighten my back and walk that slow catwalk... If I knew how.

She is a very beautiful woman. Not just the face and the curves and the style, but she also has a posture a lot of women probably envy her. There is an aura of self esteem and strength I believe makes her even more attractive.
To be honest I really don't think the comments were all bad intentioned. Of course there is no way I can know that 100%, but I sincerely don't think they were.

What I do think is that the "10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Woman" started out with an agenda: To show that women get harassed and that the frequency of it is a problem. And I do agree that street harassment, when it occures, is a problem. Everybody should feel safe walking down any street, regardless of where.

And about the frequency... It's not like as if it's the same guy making the comments. There is, however, a guy walking next to her for several minutes not saying a word.... is it possible he was going the same way and that the speed was the natural speed for him to keep up? There is a chance. I'm not advocating his intentions, I am just asking if it is possible. He would have said something if he wanted to approach her, right?

There is a fine line between what we call compliments, a pick up line and what we perceive as harassment. I don't think anybody would perceive "Hey, beautiful" as harassment at a bar (... with the possible exception of if you were a mob wife and called Renee).

A friend of mine updated his status on Facebook:

"I really like the honey-flavored Jim Beam bourbon, but it's somewhat awkward buying it at the liquor store. Whenever the clerk asks me what I want and I say, "Jim Beam Honey," she thinks I'm asking her out."

I commented upon that saying: "Well, next time you should play along and have a coffee"

Little did I know that someone would come and torpedo my good intentions by adding the comment: "If she is a "looker" and receptive, go for it."

Okey... does that mean I would be worth asking out only if I were beautiful?
This, this right here.... the words you just read right now is the core of the problem:

We listen to people talk, but we only hear what we want to hear. We deliberately fail to misunderstand eachother correctly. We all have a lot to say, but we don't all know how to express it politically correct.
Maybe all men should start wearing a hat, and when expressing admiration, they should smile a little smile and greet the woman by touching the rim of his hat while keeping eye contact.

When people for some reason happen to say things out loud, and we feel it is the wrong timing, and they caught us in the wrong mood, we turn hostile.
Same phrase, different time and different place can make us smile and feel good about ourselves. But how to know?

Are the callings coming her way of sexual nature? I am not quite convinced. You could say she looks a bit sad, as she's walking along; maybe there is a chance some just wanted to cheer her up?Are the comments made out of genuine interest and good will? There is no way I can know that.

Best thing for you to do, if you want to avoid me snapping at you, is as following: when you think about wanting me to smile, you just whistle to yourself.

What I think it's like to be a teacher.

Not me wearing it on the picture, but yes;
this is my brown leather jacket.

I guess my personality is not the prototype which first comes to mind when people think about "the teacher". I wear my black leather jacket almost every day, unless it's too cold: On cold days I wear my brown... and always heals. I am in the progress of getting my driver's lisence for heavy motorbike, and some of my jeans have holes in them.

I am so distracted that I understand how i some times cause confusion, but I admit my "out-of-the-ordinaries" and mistakes; I am not afraid to say "I'm sorry". In addition I am not good at being strict or angry. I laugh too much, sing off key and am lazy.
I know the list of my shortcomings must be a lot longer, but these were the ones which came to mind as I sit here writing.

However: as a teacher the story is a completely different one. In my private life I may be one step behind; as a teacher I know I am one step ahead. I have to be. Otherwise you do not last long in the classroom. Or, I guess you can, but I always thought that if you wake up in the morning and dread the day ahead of you, every morning, you really need to make some changes.
I used to master an academic language, but when I teach I start the school-year by avoiding 4-syllable words, and even though I once learned them, most of my professional language is out the window.

While writing this, my mind started disputing the ongoing thoughts I have about me staying in the classroom. I completed an MBA almost three years ago. I should have made a greater effort to put my education and qualifications to use. The thing is, though; it is so hard to build my confidence in what I can actually do. Or rather: How to get across to companies and boards that I may not have a title to support my experience in leadership, but I execute advanced leadership fairly ok every day, regardless my title not really implyin I do.

Funny thing, though; I have former students who settle down, get a family and buy homes in my neighborhood. With no exception they always get surprised finding out I am not a teacher 24/7. They comment upon how different I am in private.

As teachers we have a robot-side of our personalities. The rules, the demands and the restrictions we impose on our students may some times come across as unfair or just silly. However, we never have rules with no purpose. There is always a reason to why.
I strongly believe that to introduce restrictions you have no intention of following through do more damage than good. There are plenty of other issues to pay attention to.

In class I am in control, at home I have kids and a dog with lots of energy, and they only behave and follow my instructions when they want to. Now, I have to admit they most often make me very proud by wanting to, I have to give them that. But that might be because I don't tell them to do much.
Another thing is that we all have our talents. If you ignore your talent and make a living doing something you are not good at, that can't be even the slightest fullfilling. Doing that must feel like living in a vast void of losing yourself slowly and steadily.

A lot of the teenagers who come to us have never followed any borders or restrictions. They get away with doing their own thing whenever they want to. Gaming through the night is something we constantly have conversations with parents about. They often look at us with a startled face when we suggest they cut internet at a set hour. It's like as if the thought never crossed their mind, or they find it unthinkable because it will cause turmoil. Of course a 16-year old will have a tantrum if he/she is used to be online at all times, but that is part of being the adult in a family: to protect their kids from themselves and bad choices and arrange circumstances which help them be the best version of themselves. Our job is to prepare them for a good and healthy working life. Staying awake at daytime is always a good start.

I tell them "no, there is no room for negotiation", or I say "yes, let's do that!"
So many just lower their shoulders and relax when they don't have to spend time wondering what I actually said. And to my surprise they feel relieved when choices and decisions are made for them. Some times they have just been caught in bad habits. Habits they don't really want to keep up, but can't find a way out of. Some times I even explain my "no"s.
When weekends become the ones a week event it's supposed to be, most of us are a lot more content than if we just float on an ongoing stream of being "could have done better".

Everything used to be so much better. The kids are getting worse.
I don't think so. Yes, they are opinionated but they are also a product of society and my generation: the parents. I some times feel it unfair to blame it on the young ones.

Today we force adulthood upon children. How we dress them, what activities they participate in, how we put adulthood into their being by calling development of personality and growing up clinical words which strongly resemble adult activities. It's no secret I oppose strongly to the expression "children's sexuality". Why should getting to know your own body as a child have something to do with sex?
To me sexual activity is something which is only allowed between consenting adults. Our body is the only single thing we can choose who we give it to, and we should allow the next generation to have that privelege too.

It amazes me sometimes how we see the kind, thoughtful, smart person they just can't seem to see themselves. They have already failed too many times. They hide behind acting out, a terrible language and a face showing they don't care. Thing is, though, they do. But we sometimes forget to show and tell them how to do, how to talk to get their message across and how to act so they can be taken seriously.
Ones a young person decided they don't care, and they actually don't care, you will be challenged.
They've had 16 years of rehearsing stubbornness. It's tough on them because so have we.

As an adult and a teacher I have to tell them "stop". Not because of the sake of stopping them, but to help them take time out and think the options through. You always have a choice. The options might not be what you wished for, but the choice is there.

I am extremely patient as a teacher, even more than I am as a mum.
Thinking about it I don't think they will ever come across more patience in their entire lives. We all are, at least my coworkers on my team. To be this patient is very time consuming, but at the end of the day very rewarding. Some times I am very proud of my coworkers just because of that. Thinking about it I am always proud of them: they do a great job.

And then we have a curriculum to teach.

When someone gets sick, like really, really sick.

When someone gets sick, like really, really sick, they most often get a lot of attention.
The diagnosis is percieved as... well, kind of exotic. Even more so if the diagnosis is hard to figure out and takes time to assess. Exotic might be the wrong word, but it seems like as if people finds it entertaining to get involved in the midst of the drama, the instant or enduring worrying, the insecurity of what will happen next, the finding out how the sickness will play out in everyday life, the news, being the one who knows how current and updated status is.
All of this draws attention to the patient and his/her closest circle.

Then, when they are finally getting used to cope with the phonecalls, the visits and the requests about how things are going, it slows down. fast and inevitable.

When the seriousness catches up with you. The limitations and restrictions becomes an obstacle to leading a normal everyday life.
The stories and explanations becomes the normal tale, and so the novelty is lost and the interest fades.
One by one the friends you have get in touch less frequent; the phonecalls gradually comes to an halt.
They don't stop being friends, they just have other things to attend to as well.

Those who are left are those who are loyal, either because of unconditional love, dependence of some sort, or sense of duty.

It sounds harsh, doesn't it? But as judgemental as it may sound it is normal; the way it should be. We all have a life and a lifestyle which goes on, and noone expects everybody we know to introduce long term state of emergency. It doesn't mean we care less: It means life goes on as usual for everyone except those struck by changes forced upon them.

I don't remember the change itself, but I still feel the riot I felt inside when people stopped me to ask how my parents were doing, as if I was excluded. I still remember stressed out teachers who normally were so impatient, but when one of my parents were in hospital they showed me the kind of compassion you have for a complete stranger who's in a difficult situation.
When my homework wasn't done because there were things which had to be attended to, I never explained or argued, it was hard enough to try to keep up. They must have known though. I could tell by the looks, the indulgence... but never words.

It was not spoken about, not to me anyway, even though I heard from other kids it was speculated upon, talked about and even ironized. You know... "I heard he's in hospital again, it can't be asthma. I heard from a nurse he's got ecchymosis, just like the ones those with AIDS got". That one was from 1986. We never told anyone about the ecchymosis, so we knew it was true a nurse must have told.
Trust is a very powerful word to me. I don't use it much.

There was one truth said, though. It never was asthma, it was 30 years of something else: chronic pneumonia. 9 years ago ones again they told us he would die within days, if not hours. We sent him by plane to a different hospital; three weeks later he was cured. Now he suffers from the effects the years of heavy medication inflicted upon him.
I don't remember my father when he was well, but I know he was a strong man to survive.

The happiest times in his life were the times he was the perfect tutor, father and entertainer. He would tell me how to do something and watch me as I did it, while he told tales and histories from times past. My father could answer any question.

It's hard to be the one who doesn't fit in. It's hard to excuse everything using the same phrase. You can see how empathy fades in the other person's eyes and impatience slowly gaining it's rightful position.

It's not easy to be the one left behind and you see people you counted upon leave, as you turn and walk back into the ward.
It is how it should be, there is nothing wrong with it, because life goes on and waits for noone.
Still...

Yesterday, October 10, was World Mental Health Day. This month, October, focus is on cancer, and breast cancer in particular. This is the month to go pink.

When someone gets sick, like really, really sick they most often get a lot of attention. You don't have to be part of that instant circus to be a very good friend.

a) Remember to invite them and let them know they are thought of. It is great comfort in knowing you are not forgotten.
b) Always greet someone saying "How are YOU?" Then you can ask about others.
c) Offer to help or talk. If you feel unable to, find out where they can turn to get support or help.

If you want a few more professional and thought through tips, you'll find them here.

Good enough is perfect

Every day I see, meet and talk with lovely, young people. Most of them are young men, still uncertain of their ways, not confident enough to straighten their back to the full length, but I see there is a lot of potential.

There is something beautiful about youth. The kind of beauty you don't acknowledge, or realize. There is this inherent doubt that it will never be good enough anyway, no matter what. Literature describes it as an amazing flower still a bud. Which is actually a very appropriate description: Regardless of their baggage and background they have not yet reached the full potential of all the facets they hold as a person.
Some say: "I have seen it all. There is nothing you can say or show me I haven't heard or seen before". Usually, they have not yet seen, felt, experienced or heard the finer things in life. They think about life as tough, and the world is a rough place to hang out.

I am grateful I will never be a teenager again. It is a lot of work to be young. Young people are so opiniated; eager to share their headstrong knowledge and logic. They oppose, argue, negotiate... especially negotiate. EVERYTHING is up for negotiation, they think. And most of us adults fall into the trap and actually participate and play along.
Young people stretch the borders. They seek borders to be guided, only to find us, the adults, just as bewildered.
They want to be protected, often, to my surprise, from themselves. They want us, the adults, to carry the responsebility and hold the right answers.

They are conserned and worry about the future, they try to figure out their values and react to unfairness, but most of all they worry about coming too short. Demands are too many and often too much since noone really prepared them for the expectations they would face later in life.

I know I spent a lot of my young years being insecure. When I had the chance to be wild and vast and free, I found myself wondering, almost at a halt, in a crossroad trying to figure out what direction I should choose. My insecurity so overwhelming it battled my courageous attempt to be a person with values I could be proud of.
I felt like an ugly duckling, knowing I would always stay an ugly outsider, and never be a swan.
I have pictures. Pictures from school: Early 80s and they all wear something dark blue and have a really straight haircut... I am wearing a red jacket, totally out of fashion. And I have shaggy hair pointing in all directions. And I am the only one smiling. Back then I felt it hard to stand out; to be the one always different. Today I look at the picture and see: in spite of everything, I had a beautiful smile.

Being young is brutal. You manage, fix, cope and master; friends fail and let you down. Love passes just as easilly as it occured. Parents and society are pushing and pulling in all directions, not allowing time to take a breath and think things over... you are just carried on, not really following the flow, just unable to fight it.

Being youth passes. As do being a young adult. Suddenly, almost like by magic, you look around and realize you are no longer insecure, you are given more space, it is no longer a punishment to take on responsebility for your own actions.
The bud will bloom and turn into a beautiful flower, not always a rose, not even a sunflower or a tulip, but ever so beautiful in its imperfection.
Maybe not a perfect adult, but perfect for someone.

The Beauty of (Old) Age... or whatever he said.

"Old age is no place for sissies."

It is a well known fact that I am not good, at all, at using public transportation. I very seldom take the bus. That only happens like.... ones in a blue moon. My car was otherwise engaged, and I was planning on having a glass of wine, so the other day I took the bus. Quite pleasant, actually, I have to say. All of us passengers sat there with each our own mobile, shuffling away on the screen.

As I was preoccupied giving the impression I was consentrating doing something important, the bus made a stop.
I only sensed it as she sat down next to me. The smell of synthetic strawberry hit me, and I could hear her chewing. Eagerly.

She sat there, next to me, on the bus and smelled like chewing gum, 15-16-years old, perhaps. A sorry attempt on adding years using heavy make up. I am sure bouncers have fallen for it before. Maybe a false ID has backed up her lie.

I smiled at her, but as I took in her appearance I hid my smile so she wouldn't see it change. Smiling to myself I thought about how her youth was given away by her roundish cheeks, nervous hands pulling at the sleeves, the nailpolish lumpy from the too slow and careful brushstrokes. Her entire being was oozing from puberty. No eyeliner in the world can change that. Nor can a miracle bra.

There is a spark in young people, an excitement at the threshold of adulthood, yet holding a contempt for maturity.
The want to do it myself, which has been inherent ever since able to pull oneself up and stand on their own is still strong. They have not yet realized, let alone experienced, we were always there to catch them and comfort when they fell.

I am turning 44 next month. My youth has passed, I have been an adult for the longest of times. And I am well on my way into maturity. I am mature enough to realize I have been overweight for almost half my life. It will not disappear just because I want it to. I just have to want to lose weight bad enough to do something about it.

The young girl next to me knows nothing about the everyday struggles the future holds in store for her. She can still charme her way through life, without being scarred.

You need to have a heart as cold as stone not to be charmed by youth. The problem is: charme is about all there is.
Charme is a breath of freshness, but over time it really isn't very entertaining. It takes a lot of work listening to, and watch. It drains me of my still fragile, earned virtues, which my beginning maturity has granted me.
I would much rather be trapped in an elevator with someone old with personality.

I am ageing. I am losing muscles, subcutaneous fat and firmness. My body is decaying, regardless how well I ignore the fact. I have become more polished and my edges are not as sharp as they used to be. I have now endurance, stamina rather than speed, I have the ability to focus. And so my expressions of emotions are not as outgoing as they perhaps, once upon a time, were.

But then, age has brought me something I cherish a lot more than all of my lost features put together: complexity. I have more strings to play, more facets to show and shine from. I recognize and embrace more feelings and emotions in both myself and others. I am more forgiving. I know how to take people for what they are without taking it personal. I can be generous, with myself, my time, my resources without expecting anything in return.
There is a depth I find in myself, which I didn't have before, but which now vibrate with intensity through my entire person.
This is what makes maturity and age so much more exciting than youth, but you need to reach the stage yourself before you can really appreciate it.

And since I believe that, it is ever so annoying that this young kiddo, Ashton Kutcher, said it this well:

Word has it being busy is not a requirement.

I love words. I memorize and collect them. Still have to admit I'm not very good at using them, but I keep them, kind of savour their meaning and look for a perfect opportunity to really let the word carry the importance of my statement. I never really have that moment. Just like Meg Ryan in the movie "You Got Mail" from 1998, I come up with beautiful and eloquent replies which could have made even Shakespeare weep with admiration. Not untill both the moment and the person has long left, though. Doesn't do me much good then.

Being this balmy and corky has, of course, a lot of downsides to it. I read and hear use of language which make me burst into unintentional giggles, totally inappropriate, of course, and yet unintentional puns created by poor knowledge of language is very funny. Most likely this is a personality flaw created over time and related to occupational hazard.
I am the one likely to put up additional signs to emphasize what is wrong in a statement (This is
also how I often correct papers my students hand in... seems like as if they then get it, rather than me talking about lack of prepositions.)

Unfortunate sentences and use of the wrong word is one thing, we all still get what is meant, even though most people say expresso, instead of espresso.

Words changes meaning too. I still like to think that being gay is to be merry and cheerful. However, sometime back it turned into a sexual preference... and therefor also, I am sorry to say, an invective. There are numerous examples like that. Not only do I risk making a total laugh out of myself as soon as I open my mouth, it is also very confusing.
I have no idea why totally good and solid words with long linguistic traditions should suddenly be something totally different. I don't even understand how that can happen? How do you "plant" and reprogram a word in an entire same-language-speakers' community... let alone world? How is it done?

What whizard performed the consulting? and who acted as communications advisor?
Very cleverly done! I don't like what you did, but it was a master plan executed to perfection.

There is maybe one other thing I dislike even more about today's common use of language: I don't like how some words are being used to make yourself look better and your conduct more presentable.

An example on that is the word "busy". It is such a worn out word, and it's lost its meaning. I mean; I some times claim I'm in a stress mess, but I don't regard that to be the same thing as being busy. Not anymore. Not after I discovered how some people abuse the term.

To be busy has become an excuse which allows you to get away from anything:
I can't talk, I am busy.
I can't do that now, I'm busy.
I don't have time, I'm busy.
I'm sorry, I can't come, I'm busy.
And you know what? We respect being busy so much, that any further explanation is neither asked about, nor offered.

Some people are so busy it makes my head spin. It must be so hard to recognize  one's own thoughts when all the doings and appointments clash into a cacophony of busyness. There is a LOT of activity, but in all honesty there really isn't all that much action. Or...?

It makes me feel stressed out, and some times I struggle and feel guilty because of the way I feel and think about other people. You know, those unwelcome comments which whisper to you inside your head: "Why does she say on the phone she is busy? We are drinking coffee, for crying out loud!" And then it strikes me: she is busy because she spends her time on me.  At the end of the day there is a chance she does hurry, it's just that she doesn't rush.

To make days add up it's almost a demand to be on top and keep an overview of what happens to, and around, each and every family member. And then comes the feeling of being overworked and overwhelmed by the demands at work and at home.
You may be able to work a few 60-hour weeks, but eventually you will be so burnt out that you lose the ability to be creative and innovative. Without that you have no joy or pleasure left in what you are doing.

Holding on by my fingernails through every day, trying to work crazy hours, not only being good at what I do, but strife for great and amazing. Then at home I try to be supermom baking homebaked cakes and cupcakes and cookies, staying up untill 2am to get bakeries done and planning tomorrow and grading papers.

And yet; even though I work as if though my hair is on fire I feel like nothing gets done, ever. The feeling of being unproductive and inadequate is always present.
I have bought into the culture of busy.

We hustle and buffle and create a lot of drama and draw attention to everything we have to do.
And yes, we all claim to be busy with conviction, but do we really do it all?

Yes, I do struggle making days and things add up. But in all honesty: When I listen to what I'm saying and see what I actually do; things are not quite as it seems.

I am not remotely as busy as people think.
Half of it all just doesn't get done. If noone is crying, noone or nothing smells bad, and we are both full and warm enough, I am at peace with the state of things.

It's about time I stop bragging about how busy I am.
The busyness we claim to be a victim of isn't really being busy, most times it is an expression to illustrate the list of options we choose from.
Is it fair to say that we suffer more from having to prioritize, than actually do a whole lot on limited time?

I choose not to be busy. It doesn't mean I don't have a lot to do all the time: for example kids to drop off, bring, help, listen to... but I, as an adult, can choose not to define that as being busy: I can define it as being present.


Yeaah.... I fell for this one. And yes, I spent at least 40 seconds.