communicating and confirm relationships

It has happened that I, during a conversation, fall into thoughts about what it is we really speak about. It's a lot like:
- Do we speak? I mean; really speak to one another?
- Yes, of course! What is it you want to say?
- I know we hear eachother talking, but do we really listen? Do we answer to the questions we are afraid to address? Or do we dismiss them as insignificant, because it is more comfortable?

In all the relationships we keep, and claim we nurture, there has to be trust that the other one will never intetionally hurt us, or expose our weak moments.
It's a lot like marriage; both partners have that need for security: the undisputable guarantee of time set aside, acceptance, of love…especially from one another.

Psychological abuse is just that: exposure of our weak moments... whether it's feelings we thought we once had, or traits, and then taking advantage of them to break the other person into dysfunctional dependency. It's just plain cruel.

We need to know we have worth as individuals; that our lives as a man or  as a woman count for something, that there is a purpose for our existence, that we are significant and a pillar for our relationship. Not just our role or function, but that we count and are important to eachother.
And to have that, you need to listen. You need to take an interest in your partner or friend.

I have heard men and women explain the failure in fidelity by saying: "It didn't mean anything!"
I don't think people who say that fathom the second betrayal they commit the instant those words are uttered. By admitting to breaking the trust, for something they discard that easily; as not important, is really harsh.
(Unless the agreement of an open relationship is settled, of course). Fidelity is the core in a couple's synergy. Which means you break out by doing something insignificant, when it is obvious to everybody you should have known that to the other person it means everything. You just didn't listen and understand.

I have heard people say that it wasn't the cheating itself, in the physical sense, which was the worst. What really bothered them, to the extent of breakdown, was the thought of the pillowtalk. The risk they have been exposed. 
You know... the conversation that happens after, or before, being intimate. It's infinitely better than normal conversation because there's touching involved. There is presence.
And what lies in the nature of pillowtalk is the life-support system of the strong and unshakable relationship we desire to a partner.

But how do we affirm true connection to one another?
I would say the sure confirmation is when you bother talking to eachother. By listening. By caring enough to communicate.
After all we communicate in so many different ways. Sometimes with a look and other times with a touch. Yet in our relationships, there need to be words. We need to hear each other’s voice, what the other is thinking, feeling, dealing with, dreaming of.

True connection also include disagreement and arguing, not fighting, but to feel safe when you speak up and state your mind. To feel it is ok to have different opinions.

I told a friend that I tell the people I love I love them. He just looked at me with a blank gaze, then shook his head and said "the people I love know, without me saying". I'm not convinced we do.

The way we communicate with one another can make a difference. Relationships differ; Some are strong, some weak, some have  joy and others have pain, some are blessed with good health and wholeness, some bear nothing than destruction.
The thing is: communication can ease hurt, and enforce happiness.

It is all in the art of communication, and it literally permeates every aspect of a relationship.
Maybe one of us loves to talk, while the other is quieter. However, because healthy communication is critical to our relationship, we need to do whatever it takes to learn to communicate in an effective way. Nothing else shows more clearly that we truly care for and value our loved one above ourselves. It doesn't cost a lot to say hello and smile. It is easy to just stroke an arm or a back as you pass by. Easy to do and important signs you care and know the other person is there.

We need to learn to listen to one another: to allow and encourage honesty, openness, vulnerability. To exchange thoughts, ideas, hopes, dreams, fears, and failures with one another in such a way that we break even and share life without fear of rejection and judgment. Then you can truly claim you have a true and healthy relationship.

A season fit for failure

Every season has its story.

My story this time of year is end of term, end of schoolyear, exams and lovely weather. 

It never fails: when it is time for exams, the weather is at its best. This is the season for lovely, hot weather and sunshine from blue, blue sky. Not a cloud in sight, and barely any breeze.

Exam really means sweat and tears around here. In buckets!

It is time to sum up everything done, everything left out, everything missed and everything we never got time to get done.

This is the season for the feeling of shortcomings. There are no good hairdays.

For my part, it's not only true for work, even though I may feel it more, as I am a teacher, but I have kids in school as well. And to be a parent these days means you need to be forever young, otherwise you have lost on behalf of your kid.

My 15-year old has finished junior high school, and now is on the threshold of making the choice which to a large extent will decide which occupation he will have for the rest of his life. 

Well, it's not really carved in stone, but very few take the extra burden it is to start anew to get the education they discovered they actually really wanted.

Although... my oldest son is unsure of his choice and is playing with the thought of continuing school and get a higher education. He has an education, and is very good at it too, but he struggles to face doing it for the rest of his life.

I can only ensure him he will get my entire support, whatever his decision will be. 

Apart from all of these lifechanges my kids are facing, which takes a lot of time and conversation, every activity they participate in has some kind of summer celebration, marking end of season.

Barbeques, games, hikes, sleep overs... and at work it is the same. All the teams and departments I am a member of, as well as the entire staff combined, invite me to pubs for a beer or a glass of wine, barbeques, boat trips... lovely, adult unwinding. I never get to go to any of them.

Through out the year I used to rush home from work to get dinner finished in time for whatever was on today's schedule. 

This time of year I rush home to avoid those last minute's tempting invites, put on my running shoes and play with kids, engaging in water fights, throwing darts at ballons and treasure hunts. 

And then the obligatory barbeque, which involves hotdogs, buns, ketchup, mustard (for those a bit daring) and crisp fried onion. 

Kids are not very adventurous when it comes to barbeques, or maybe they are just not patient enough to wait for that perfect, marinated steak with baked potatoe.

Anyway, by the time the schoolyear is over, the end of season gatherings are as well.

My 9-year old's soccer team announced a game between the boys and the mothers.

I had every intention to participate, but... my body ached, my head was spinning, my feet felt like soar concrete... I didn't have a crumble of energy in me, and all I could think about was the neglected mountain of laundry at home. 

So the mums played a heroic match with me on the sideline. And they won. Mums 5- Sons 4.

My son asked me why I didn't play.

I didn't know how or what to answer him, and that's when I lost.

Only for a brief second, though; He was generous enough to give me a second chance, and his reply was swift and obviously prepared: 

"That's ok, you'll be on the team when season starts, and the mums play against the dads".

Oh, joy.

By Amy Dickinson May 8, 2014

Ask Amy Do go to her site and see some of the reactions to this Letter and reply.

Older Ladies by Donnalou Stevens

Have to love this one:

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.

My Valentine

It's just been that time of year, when people of all ages in the USA focus on hearts, cards and flowers. Valentine's Day, February 14.

Here, Valentins day is really no big deal.... actually only shops try to make us mark the day in a kind of special way... and they do a good job at it, but we don't have the tradition, the mentality or the confident awareness of what it should be like to be really a marking of a romantic evening.

Looking at my American friends, and Americans in general's postings on social medias, I have to wonder if all the pouting from unsatisfied girlfriends and the chase for good enough love tokans is worth it?

The pictures posted on facebook and instagram makes me really wonder if spending time together is such a rare occasion that it is crusial to pose, and take the picture of a happy couple... and then make the meal last forever by posting the picture of the plate served... before you start eating. I can only imagine the scenery and the conversation as the upheaven takes place.

I probably should admit that secretly I feel a tiny bit envious on these couples making an effort to revive romance in their relationship. It is special to dress up and set off an entire evening to the mission of making the other significant partner feel special.

Hours, days, weeks, months, years pass by so quickly, and in the midst of everyday most of us are really not good at saying something extra nice to the one we love. We don't create that special setting to show off what's in our hearts. We don't spend time planning how to please the other one the most.

But: we live, eat, talk, laugh, frown, fall asleep on the couch, watch TV, do the laundry, and all the "nothings" that make up our days.

We forget to talk, to communicate, with one another. I know it's easy to think "He knows me by now, he should know this without me saying", but when we stop talking, and telling, it is easy to think we stop caring. We get caught in a cycle of discontent, and nothing grows as solid and durable as that.

Some times the nicest thing we do to eachother all day is hold in that instant harsh comment so totally uncalled for, and yet so tempting to make.

All marriages, any relationship, actually, have their ups and down. It's easy to say "Never give up", but sometimes all you really want is to get away. Maybe not for good, but for a while. Just to get some space to breath and be yourself. But the words "I'm leaving" holds room for interpretations we never intended.

The things he or she did, which you once thought cute, just turn annoying because we tried to change our partner into more like us. We want things done the way we do them.

I, for one, struggle with this. I think I give him the slack he needs to bother do what he sees needs to be done. And (this is something I am rather proud of) I don't follow him around and straighten up the things I feel should have been done differently. If he dresses the kids, I don't make him change their jumper because I feel another one would be more appropriate or fitting. I don't fold the towels again; the right way. I let him clean the floor without pointing out the spots he misses out...
Most of the time. But I struggle. Especially since I am alone with the kids two or three weeks at a time. And then he comes home from work, and reign the house on his own during daytime and messes up all the routines and order I have created during his absence.

To stand corrected no matter how hard you try can be really discouraging. We, especially women I am sad to say, tend to forget that. And when he does nothing we complain about that too. Oh, that was such a bad thing of me to write, but I see many couples struggle with issues like that. In all fairness: we do too.

So, we don't go out on Valentine's Day, if he ever brought me flowers on any day of the week (or weekend) I would get suspicious wondering what he had been up to. Even though I love chocolate I would feel fat if he bought me any... unless it's a special occasion there is no winning.

The little things we do: the stroke on his back as he passes by, the "hi, how was your day?", the dinner on the table, soup or any other in-a-pot-dish reheated, straight from the freezer in the store, the eager to do the laundry, even though it always makes me feel like I have gained weight because they shrunk two sizes...

When we stop and think and realize the little things we do to show we care it means so much more to our relationship than a planned day out to show our friends how much we invest in our life together... (the long sentence only illustrating the length of my marriage...ehm)

BUT, that being said: it would have been nice to have one night out a year, in the name of old fashioned courting... you know... just because.

Uncomfortable in this fast world.

On occasions I get invites to birthday parties, and other celebrations, where I expect there will be dancing, a couple of drinks, good food and a bunch of new people to meet and talk to.
It's something most would really enjoy and look forward to, I think.

I suspect most would even think I'm privileged to be so lucky I have friends who want to share their special events in my company.
But, and this may come as a surprise to many, I don't always feel like surrounding myself with people. I don't take a lot of room, you see. I am not one of those who enter a room and attract everybody's attention, some even demand that kind of commotion when they enter a room. I don't claim to be heard. I listen a lot more than I speak.
Being a good listener takes a lot of energy. It drains my energy to be attentive, and I know it will be more of an exhausting evening rather than a winding down and enjoy to the fullest.

I am one of those who really need to withdraw and absorbe the impacts I have been exposed to. I need to rewind and repeat and make my mind up about what was really said and done.
It doesn't mean I'm slow in any way. It means that I am in the habit of seeing things from different angles. I enjoy to put myself in other people's position; to mentally walk in their shoes.
Right then and there I make swift decisions, and from my stand they are, remarkably enough, the right ones most of the time.

We live in a fast world, an extrovert world, where those who speak fast and loud are paid attention to, where those who are amusing, witty and lively are those who get the network set. They promote themselves as entertaining and worth spending time and effort on.
Be heard and I tell you how skilled, capable and good looking you are.

I don't know what it's like in other cultures, but I know that western culture to a large extent values the outgoing ones a lot more than those who tend to keep more to themselves. I don't feel underestimated, mind you, I am just aware of the mainstream evaluation of people.
The extrovert versus the introvert.

I often see how fast people I regard as extrovert and outgoing become dependent on the positive feedback they get used to, and how devastating they feel the fall if they don't get the standing they expected.

I've always been the quiet type. But I also am quite confident in myself. I know who I am and what I stand for. I write a lot better than I talk (you can only imagine how bad I am at talking, then), but I always get my opinion across either way.

I know I have more than just a few strange characteristics like being quirky, eccentric, unenergetic, somewhat asocial (I love people, don't misunderstand me, I am just not very good with them in crowds), and I know many people perceive me as arrogant. luckily, my confidence has allowed me to look upon them as facets of my personality.

Actually it is rather nice to have such a rich inner life, and I know I am totally selfish when thinking like that. I give myself room to nourish my inner life; I read, write and listen; I think a lot. And I find I improve my skills to do so.
I listen to my own sounds, and thrive best when I can decide what sound I surround myself with. In a world so packed with noise, I don't really see that as a drawback. Especially young people shout when they believe they speak. I have noticed that in cartoons on TV the characters do too. I, on the other hand, love listening to music, honest conversations and silence alike.

I have a neighbor who love indie pop. During spring and summer he opens his doors and windows and turns the volume up. It really, really gets on my nerves. I tolerate it, but I admit it chases me indoors at times.

In spite of my own preferences I see the importance of living in the real world, and sometimes that means to neglect my own needs.

I thought I should find what good qualities people miss out on, when not appreciating the gentler personalities in our midst. So, here it is:

1. They create good atmosphere and whim in their environment.
2. They are good baromenters for when the atmosphere is not good enough.
3. They have a positive impact on the physical and psychological environment.
4. They have an advanced sense of coworkers' temper, strengths and weaknesses.
5. They have outstanding ability to concentrate and focus.
6. They possess an inherent high degree of disciplinarity.
7. They inherent strong values and hold strong ethical and moral standards.
8. They work through ideas and add more nuances and impacts.

Great stuff, unfortunately I can't claim to have these effects on my immediate environment. I am not really sensitive nor gentle, I'm not introvert either (actually I am, but I like to just say I'm shy to the limit of arrogance). At the end of the day I think I just challenge people's patience by being strange... BUT, I've been told I am a good friend.

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.

New Year's Eve together.

Celebrating an event or occasion alone with the kids isn't really the most festive thing to do, neither for me nor the kids. We have different expectations to what makes a great party, so it was with profound relief and gratitude we agreed to come and celebrate the evening with my best friend and her family. 

Last year we  celebrated in my house. She was alone, with children well to note, I was alone with the children, and we invited a single friend who had nothing more exciting to do. 
There is only one thing more sorry than to celebrate something and you are the only adult, and that is to be utterly alone. (I've tried both, so I know a little about that.)

Children have so much to do, and they will happily do things on their own, so you are left to have soulful conversations with yourself. One can always knit, but how fun is that, on New Year's Eve, when you know the entire world is out there welcoming the new year having a blast?

Anyway, a year ago we were three ladies and three children, and we had a real nice evening. A lot of good food, snacks and good-natured fireworks. 

This year (or, strictly speaking, last year, but you know what I mean) we were invited home to her family.
That is ... until she called me and told that she had lent her house to her son, who had invited so many guests with babies, that they were tight on room  when the babies should sleep.
BUT we were welcome to spend the evening in his apartment.

Well, it's not exactly the same as being in a familiar and accustomed place, so I said that we could be at my place.
Since she had invited us, and then given away "the premises" to someone else, she insisted on cooking. She is so generous that it sometimes becomes a strain, but it is always well intended ... and it's really heart-warming to be taken care of like that. Annoying because I can make do on my own, but at the same time nice.

She arrived bringing turkey, sprouts, ready peeled potatoes ... a pot with some carrots (the rest lay in her driveway, but she had a pack of carrots for me to peel), a delightful mashed rutabaga and sauce.
A single friend was bringing a Waldorf salad (someone other than the previously mentioned ... but she also came; they both had nothing better to do).

I went to the store to buy milk, and met a woman I know who said they had no plans, so I invited them as well. The more, the merrier. She insisted on bringing something. She couldn't come without bringing something to the table... so we agreed she could bring a cake.

Just before dinner on New Year's Eve, I learned that a neighbor family would be celebrating alone, so I sent a text message and asked them over after dinner. They could certainly come to dinner, but I knew they had already cooked a tasty meal.

The guests arrived and waited for us to serve dinner. While waiting, my friend's husband found every adult a unique mug and offered the adults coffee. I tried to tell him where the good cups were, but he didn't listen. Our diverse collection of mugs with photos, commercials, soccer teams, names and chips were handed out and appreciated. That's when I tell myself "I'm just normal, we all have those mugs, the difference is just they probably hide them when having people over. Oh, why didn't I hide them? Why didn't I find the good cups and set them on the counter before they arrived? Men!" 
My frustration didn't last long. It's not the night for being hung up on petty details.

For dinner we were a healthy bunch of 16 people. Lovely!  Then came more guests, and it was time for the children's first round of fireworks. We never buy big packs with large rockets, but there is a lot of the smaller kind which makes noise and sparks and that kids like.

The dog behaved fine, with only a few, frustrated yelps, but he got so much attention that he completely forgot about all the bangs, howls and milling outside.

And there was coffee ... the kids came, grabbed a treat and quickly disappeared into the basement to play games... and the TV was off, that alone was absolutely lovely.
In Norway, when we invite someone over for coffee, or we "have coffee" during a party, there is always cake, cookies, ice-cream and/or sweets. It's like a meal holding everything you shouldn't eat. Ever so yummy!

We had barely swallowed away the first sip of coffee before a father burst out "Hey! Look at the clock, only 5 minutes to midnight! We must get out! Get the kids!"

Jackets, shoes, protective goggles, sparklers and lighters lying in a huge pile in the hallway, was quickly sorted, put on or put in pockets.
The rest of us adults came rambling along in a more leisurely pace and we managed to get outside in time, shout "Happy New Year!", throw our arms around everybody's neck to steal a lot of good and warm hugs, before we went back inside to finish our coffee. 
The men, and those who needed some extra fresh air, were left to supervise the kids and the fireworks.
They kept going for a long time. A very long time. 

We forgot about the champagne. We forgot about the non alcoholic pink champagne for the kids.

It turned out to be a family-friendly celebration of the new year. High spirits, good humor and good friends.
Some might say that it was hospitable to open the house in this way, but it's really not. The house has room for people, and I am not afraid of anything breaking or a little mess. Besides, guests are usually very good at doing the dishes. I am eternally grateful that I have people around me who did not want me to be alone.
Although I am often alone (I even thrive in my own, quirky company), I don't really mind. I am never lonely, you see. But sometimes it's good to have company.

I try to follow the golden rule: Invite others into your life. Kind of strange, since as a person I am rather private, I really don't reveal too much about myself, but I do enjoy the company of others. It's not certain they accept the invitation, but give them the opportunity to choose.
Having the option makes all the difference.

A lot of fun here, New Year's Eve. 

I really didn't mind picking it all up the next day, in the rain and wind, it was quite ok, actually.

Besides, there were some young guests who did a great job collecting much of it in a pile.

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.

cards on notes... or notes on cards.

Every day I pick up my mail, and every time I get equally distressed. The mailbox is filled with commercial leaflets and bills, and apart from the newspaper, which arrives sometime during the night, that’s what’s in my mail.

I know the newspaper arrives around 3am ‘cause I “sometimes” am still up at the time. I pick it up on my way back in the house after walking my dog in the morning, and I always plan on reading it while drinking that first, food for soul cup of coffee. Being optimistic about it is more than half the fun of it; time flies in the morning and I rarely get time to neither coffee nor newspaper.

Not only does my mail add industrial amount of paper; it is also somewhat depressing. Commercials and bills: It’s like the only attention I get, is from those who want money from me.

It used to be different, though.

“It was customary to send important notices with traditional electric telegraphy, seriously developed by the American Samuel Morse in the 1840s, Mediterra-1800s until the technique was gradually replaced by telex until the 1970s, since fax and today’s various types of electronic messaging services, including email and text messages. The sender usually ordered telegram over the phone or directly in the expedition into a telegraph station and paid a fee that varied with the number of words and the distance to the receiver. The message was sent to the receiving station, was printed and delivered to the addressee by a messenger, and later on, mail or telephone bids. The method was much faster than old-fashioned letter postal services.

The Norwegian Telegrafvæsen opened Norway's first civilian telegraph line in 1855. The first telegram between Europe and the United States was exchanged in 1858. (Wikipedia)

Telegrams. The feeling when a stranger knocked on your door and handed you a friendly envelope. It’s pretty special, I tell you. I have my parents’ congratulation telegrams from their wedding. Adorned with a carefully painted flower and the Norwegian crest it looks like something somebody put some effort into, even though it’s typed on a typewriter  with glass keys.

Seeing them now with the characteristic print which typing machines left, brings the sound, the click, of each pounding to my ear and the smell of old paper imaginary(?) hovering in the room.

Now most of us barely think of anything to write to congratulate someone for any reason. We tend to use our digital platforms, like email, text or Facebook, Twitter… or any other digital, already made, easy to click platform to show we remember their occasion. We, in return, click the like button. I am not saying that social medias are insignificant or without value as a forum, not at all: I send most of my birthday greetings on facebook, adding a birthday song and a “Happy birthday!” carefully picked from youtube.

Or, we order seasonal cards with picture and text printed, and we send it off to family and friends only adding the address on the envelope… unless we send it by mail or text.

Then we are a few who believe in the old fashioned way of doing things.

I make about 70 easy-to-make-papercraft Christmas cards every year. The one time a year I make an effort. I have to admit they look at best questionable, but they are made by yours truly (with help from my kids, of course), and the writing is in my own handprint. I don’t even know what people think of them, apart from they remember they got it.

And yet, I know I should be a lot better at expressing my appreciation by sending a note. Not only because I, myself, feel it’s a highlight of the day to get something handwritten and personal in the mail, but I also feel it hard to express appreciation which very often is taken as awkward, mooshy blah, blah..  I am terrible at accepting help, I am almost just as bad at saying thank you.

A journalist I know told me he sends thank-you notes to those who help with election votes. When I asked why, he told me that:

“Sometimes I may send an email, but I have a box of thank you notes with the paper's logo on it. I send to the election people because we're always on such a tight deadline and the pressure is bad. They help out tremendously.

I may just jot off a quick "Thank you for your help. It made my job a lot easier and less stressful. I appreciate it." and then I put my name, etc.

I figure they get complaints a lot since they are public servants and deal with people a lot. So, a written thank you is something they can see and pass to other workers. Helps morale and it helps me because they will remember that and help me again next time”. (And guess what, when I say "told me" I am referring to a chat on a social media. I never heard his voice!)

Jimmy Fallon is known to write thank-you notes on “The Tonight Show” every week. 

OK, so his routine is a hoot; a joke that nevertheless points up the truth that some of the boring stuff your parents made you do never actually goes out of fashion. We are all familiar with thank you notes, and their purpose, even though it is not an everyday issue in our house or in the family.

I find sending thank you notes so sympathetic, and though it might be something people did back in the old days, it doesn’t mean it is old fashioned or out dated. In a digital world, it is so incredibly important to have the dignity to sit down and write something in your own hand. It adds emotions. You know when people say: it’s not personal; it’s business. What a stupid thing to say, it only proves that we have lost the willingness or ability to take into consideration that people we deal with have feelings, and sometimes it is very personal to them. They might have gone out of their way to benefit you. Then a text just doesn’t cut it. Conveying emotion in digital formats is a lost cause.

Let people understand they have been noticed, they have been seen. There is nothing silly, old fashioned or outdated about it, on the contrary: I strongly believe that people through history has done a lot of smart and kind things. Some made life easier, some made others feel better about themselves, and they knew this is a good circle to be in: what goes around, comes around.

bygones and new beginnings

A couple of days ago someone posted this on his site:

“After 3 agonising years im finally goin to be reunited with my youngest boy after the ex came to her senses. Hes 7 now and im kinda scared but excited beyond belief. I guess after being abused by her husband for so long im not so bad afterall. Im really starting to think karma is a vengeful bitch that likes me for sum reason”.

I couldn’t let that be left undisputed. I really enjoy this guy’s being, mostly because there is something honest and logical in his predictable, yet utter, delightful madness. The kind you only find in creative men not afraid to display emotions, or speak of strong tangible impacts made on them… as long as what they say got a serious overdose of testosterone. I love that. I also see through it, when it’s not sincere.

I never comment on his postings. I think I would stand out in his crowd of 2224 friends, being too quirky, proper and reflected (or not impulsive enough, if you prefere) and different. But I sent a message saying:

“I have to say that at the end of the day, you may have a lot to say about the previous women in your life (well, they will always be in your life, though, because they mothered your children) you chose women who gave you very beautiful offspring”.

And the reply was short, yet told of a degree of appreciation to my opinion said in too many Words.

“Thank you ... wat a nice thing to say”

I decided quite some time ago not to hold grudges, life is too short for me to focus on petty things like that. I try to remember the whys and hows and the becauses. Sometimes you need to be mature enough to settle the score by expressing your willingness to declare matters for bygones be bygones. That’s it and that’s that.

You think it was a nice thing to say? Maybe, I meant it anyhow. The thing is: when everything is said and done, and you decide the last verbal lash has been thrown; every child deserves to know that at some point he/she was wanted, and that in the future there will be love and support, no matter what.

There isn’t much I appreciate more than when partners who split up eventually come to the point when they put dissensions aside and focus on making life easier on their children. I see kids who are torn every day, and it really isn’t pleasant. It is actually very hard.

I’m not only nice, you see. I also believe in spending time together with children, to talk polite when argue… especially when emotions rumble (and that really ticks most people off) and to ignore the flaws of others (I got too many myself to bother knowing them all).

An artist in Norway, Ole Paus, put it like this: “I am so brimful of errors that it's a shame. The Lord will have plenty more on his scribbling pad by the time I pass on. But he is probably more generous than his reputation suggests."

I think a lot of us should be grateful for that. More of us should probably pursue that kind of generosity. We would make life so much easier on ourselves and those we keep in our circle.