lördag 16 mars 2013
St Patrick - a saint to remember fondly
Tomorrow the whole world (apart from Sweden...) will be green to celebrate St Patrick - who was a saint, and not a beer manufacturer.
So how come this day has been about drinking beer? I have no idea but manufacturers of course want to sell. Hijacking an event in order to promote their product is of course normal marketing procedure. And beer makes people loose up and enjoy the day, to some extent.
So is there a way to celebrate St Patrick sober? Of course there is. Looking around, meeting friends, having a day off, dressing upp, painting your face, waving a flag, looking at people who have gone the extra mile in order to amuse you with their antics or skills... the party is there whether you drink or not.
But what is it all about?
A country honouring a saint that set them free?
Or a country celebrating their special history?
In that case - why has the celebration spread all over the world?
On Friday Ireland will meet Sweden (soccer...) - and no matter the outcome of the play there will be celebrations. The Irish are renown to always celebrate, just being here is enought. Winning? Celebrate! Loosing? Celebrate!
That is a nice way of living and good for the team spirit - the crowd won't spit at you for loosing. But will it make you go the extra mile?
The Irish are good authors (Nobel Prize-wise) but you do not see them winning the other prizes.
This became a bit muddled and fuzzy... but I do like St Patrick's Day. And a part of my heart will be green on Friday, even if Sweden really need to win.
lördag 19 november 2011
There is a time for blogging
Rule: Blogging does not take any time. It is something you do while waiting for something else.
Exception: When you have abstained from blogging from quite a while.
What happened? One day I was quite regular with my blogging. The next day - two years had gone without any input from my side!
Time is a strange thing. The leaps seem not to be related to a feeling of time, but rather to actual dates. It felt like yesterday but I can see that I haven't been updating you on my life for two years!
Well. My studies at last came to a halt - much to my own surprise. I now hold a bachelor degree in humanities as well as a master in translation (and a Swedish master in humanities).
But the biggest difference was, not surprisingly, that I started to work. It took a while to get into a new culture although a lot reminded me about working in Ireland. Funny enough I am again the only Swede working as a translator, although I work in Sweden now. I have help from three more Swedes but some days I am on my own with all my funny foreign friends (alliteration complex - they are not funny as such, more friendly maybe??).
I would also guess that some Facebook-relaterd incidents got me a bit weary of blogging. In Sweden several employees have been given the sack due to comments made in blogs or Facebook regarding their boss or their work place. That doesn't help when you are new at work.
But I am alive and kicking and even if I do not write about work (better safe than sorry) - my life is more than just work so there will be plenty to read about in the future.
I am re-claiming time ;)
Exception: When you have abstained from blogging from quite a while.
What happened? One day I was quite regular with my blogging. The next day - two years had gone without any input from my side!
Time is a strange thing. The leaps seem not to be related to a feeling of time, but rather to actual dates. It felt like yesterday but I can see that I haven't been updating you on my life for two years!
Well. My studies at last came to a halt - much to my own surprise. I now hold a bachelor degree in humanities as well as a master in translation (and a Swedish master in humanities).
But the biggest difference was, not surprisingly, that I started to work. It took a while to get into a new culture although a lot reminded me about working in Ireland. Funny enough I am again the only Swede working as a translator, although I work in Sweden now. I have help from three more Swedes but some days I am on my own with all my funny foreign friends (alliteration complex - they are not funny as such, more friendly maybe??).
I would also guess that some Facebook-relaterd incidents got me a bit weary of blogging. In Sweden several employees have been given the sack due to comments made in blogs or Facebook regarding their boss or their work place. That doesn't help when you are new at work.
But I am alive and kicking and even if I do not write about work (better safe than sorry) - my life is more than just work so there will be plenty to read about in the future.
I am re-claiming time ;)
lördag 8 augusti 2009
A swim to remember
Rules: Some memories you remember even if they are not significant at all
Exception: When you decide to make them significant they will be remembered because of that.
One summer my friend Elizabeth was visiting us in Sweden. One day we went with our daughters to the nearby lake for a swim. She doesn't really swim well (although she teaches other people to swim..) but the lake was calm and the water was just the right temperature. We lay there side by side floating in the water. Some cold streams would from time to time revive us but I can still remember that blissful moment, just lying there and being carried on the water, watching the sky and feeling the water and listening to Elizabeth.
It was just one of the times we went swimming, and one of the few times I went swimming with her that vry warm summer but it is this moment I remember. I also remember thinking - this is something I want to remember.
And so I do.
Exception: When you decide to make them significant they will be remembered because of that.
One summer my friend Elizabeth was visiting us in Sweden. One day we went with our daughters to the nearby lake for a swim. She doesn't really swim well (although she teaches other people to swim..) but the lake was calm and the water was just the right temperature. We lay there side by side floating in the water. Some cold streams would from time to time revive us but I can still remember that blissful moment, just lying there and being carried on the water, watching the sky and feeling the water and listening to Elizabeth.
It was just one of the times we went swimming, and one of the few times I went swimming with her that vry warm summer but it is this moment I remember. I also remember thinking - this is something I want to remember.
And so I do.
lördag 6 juni 2009
How grown-up are you?
Rule: First when your parents die do you truly become a grown-up
Exception: When your parents never did grew up themselves
I was blessed with long-living grannies. My paternal grandfather died before I was born and my maternal grandfather died after a long illness in his 70-ies. But my grannies just kept on living. My paternal grandmother hade her birthdate in the 19th century! When she died at the age of 91 and I went to the funeral it was the first time I met most of my father's relatives. I had met some before, like my aunts and some cousins, but the rest were new to me.
This was so new and overwhelming for me - here was this really large family and half of them loooked so familiar. The same nose especially! But also the same colours. It was incredible, like being adopted and coming to meet your birth-family.
I never stopped to ask myself - why do I not know my father's family?
The asnwer is now obvious, because my father chose not to let me get to know them, and neither did my mother.
And recently my maternal granny died. She had been doing great for so many years but the last two, after an emergency operation, had been hell for her. She was now 93 and starving to death, wanting to die but her heart kept on beating. She had been taking care of my mother until she herself became ill. And now, she who had cared for everyone, stayed at a nursing home for senile people. One old witch there made her life hell by beating her when noone was looking, sneaking into her room as well. My uncles tried to stop this and some people had to leave but my aunt and my mum didn't see clearly and where annoyed at their brothers for interfering.
These hours spent at her deathbed were so precious too me. I sat there and held her hand and when anxiety had her in its grip, I could calm her down and say that she was not alone.
When she died my mother became a child bereaved.
When my paternal grandmother died - my father also became a child bereaved.
They never grew up. So, I had to.
Sometimes I meet people with really caring parents. But more often I meet people in similar circumstances. My challenge is to bea real parent to my children, to allow them to grow up and take on responsibility - to step back when necessary but also to be there when necessary.
Keeping close!
Exception: When your parents never did grew up themselves
I was blessed with long-living grannies. My paternal grandfather died before I was born and my maternal grandfather died after a long illness in his 70-ies. But my grannies just kept on living. My paternal grandmother hade her birthdate in the 19th century! When she died at the age of 91 and I went to the funeral it was the first time I met most of my father's relatives. I had met some before, like my aunts and some cousins, but the rest were new to me.
This was so new and overwhelming for me - here was this really large family and half of them loooked so familiar. The same nose especially! But also the same colours. It was incredible, like being adopted and coming to meet your birth-family.
I never stopped to ask myself - why do I not know my father's family?
The asnwer is now obvious, because my father chose not to let me get to know them, and neither did my mother.
And recently my maternal granny died. She had been doing great for so many years but the last two, after an emergency operation, had been hell for her. She was now 93 and starving to death, wanting to die but her heart kept on beating. She had been taking care of my mother until she herself became ill. And now, she who had cared for everyone, stayed at a nursing home for senile people. One old witch there made her life hell by beating her when noone was looking, sneaking into her room as well. My uncles tried to stop this and some people had to leave but my aunt and my mum didn't see clearly and where annoyed at their brothers for interfering.
These hours spent at her deathbed were so precious too me. I sat there and held her hand and when anxiety had her in its grip, I could calm her down and say that she was not alone.
When she died my mother became a child bereaved.
When my paternal grandmother died - my father also became a child bereaved.
They never grew up. So, I had to.
Sometimes I meet people with really caring parents. But more often I meet people in similar circumstances. My challenge is to bea real parent to my children, to allow them to grow up and take on responsibility - to step back when necessary but also to be there when necessary.
Keeping close!
söndag 31 maj 2009
A pity with such a beautiful day!
Rule: A beautiful day makes you forget everything else
Exception: When you dig a bit deeper it actually makes you think about eternity
Ther is such a beautiful poem in Swedish about how the other side does not have anything to boast about, neither a little grey bird singing, nor a birch in white bloom. And yet, during the most beautiful summer day that you can imagine, it can happen that we long to pass over to the other side.
Understand me correctly, I am not suicidal. But I am aware of the other side, extra aware because my father passed that border in April. And today, with the birds singing, the flowers blooming, the trees all green and gently moving, the lake like a mirror - part of my thoughts are there.
Exception: When you dig a bit deeper it actually makes you think about eternity
Ther is such a beautiful poem in Swedish about how the other side does not have anything to boast about, neither a little grey bird singing, nor a birch in white bloom. And yet, during the most beautiful summer day that you can imagine, it can happen that we long to pass over to the other side.
Understand me correctly, I am not suicidal. But I am aware of the other side, extra aware because my father passed that border in April. And today, with the birds singing, the flowers blooming, the trees all green and gently moving, the lake like a mirror - part of my thoughts are there.
måndag 11 maj 2009
Death and how we deal with it
Rule: Death is something we avoid
Exception: In Ireland they knew how to share your sorrows
In Sweden people tend to avoid you when someone in your family dies. Or they first show care but soon they think that you should be over it, start acting normal or so. Definitely not talk about it.
But in Ireland, where everyone went to funerals all the time, where it was part of life, people knew it could take time.
Mourning takes time. And every death is unique.
Exception: In Ireland they knew how to share your sorrows
In Sweden people tend to avoid you when someone in your family dies. Or they first show care but soon they think that you should be over it, start acting normal or so. Definitely not talk about it.
But in Ireland, where everyone went to funerals all the time, where it was part of life, people knew it could take time.
Mourning takes time. And every death is unique.
måndag 6 april 2009
Time is precious
Rule: When you are living, every minute has its own worth
Exception: When you are so busy you forget that you are living here and now
I am often reminded about how fragile life is. A friend dies. A relative dies. I sit and hold my dying granny's little hand. Once I sat and groeved next to the body of my very good friend and a small hair had fallen from her dear head. I took that hair in my hand and held it towards the light and I could hear the words - this is how fragile a man's life is.
So now, when I find that days have passed and I am not sure what happened - I try to take a deep breath and get back to basics. To live. And to see the people around me.
If I feel preassurized by people around me, people who think I should give them more than I have to give, I also put my foot down. My life is also precious. I am accountable for how I spend my days.
Exception: When you are so busy you forget that you are living here and now
I am often reminded about how fragile life is. A friend dies. A relative dies. I sit and hold my dying granny's little hand. Once I sat and groeved next to the body of my very good friend and a small hair had fallen from her dear head. I took that hair in my hand and held it towards the light and I could hear the words - this is how fragile a man's life is.
So now, when I find that days have passed and I am not sure what happened - I try to take a deep breath and get back to basics. To live. And to see the people around me.
If I feel preassurized by people around me, people who think I should give them more than I have to give, I also put my foot down. My life is also precious. I am accountable for how I spend my days.
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