Dec 14, 2011
TO SEIZE THE DAY OR TO SENSE THE LOGICAL
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 7, 2011
Candles in the window,
shadows painting the ceiling,
gazing at the fire glow,
feeling that gingerbread feeling.
Precious moments,
special people,
happy faces,
I can see.
Somewhere in my memory,
Christmas joys all around me,
living in my memory,
all of the music,
all of the magic,
all of the family home here with me.
shadows painting the ceiling,
gazing at the fire glow,
feeling that gingerbread feeling.
Precious moments,
special people,
happy faces,
I can see.
Somewhere in my memory,
Christmas joys all around me,
living in my memory,
all of the music,
all of the magic,
all of the family home here with me.
Lyrics; John Williams
Nov 30, 2011
NOT PAUS
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 15, 2011
THIS YEAR'S HALLOWEEN COSTUME GOES TO...
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Nov 11, 2011
FALLING ON BECKASIN
CHAPTER 9
Hello you
The night was still sneaking around the corners of Beckasin road. The troll hunting was over. I stood under the whistling tree and observed the little man disappearing with his wagon down the street. The clock on the old people’s home struck the hour with heavy beats. Kling clung! With narrowed eyes I glanced down the deserted road. The smoke signals were gone. Elfvie must have changed her spot or perhaps she has given up and gone home. I folded the two circus tickets and put them in my other pocket. The clock rang again and the bell’s jingle was caught by the wind.
It was cold, dark and unfriendly lonesome out on Beckasin road. I sensed decision anxiety and my feet felt more or less fixed to the street. The nervous feeling made me loosing my balance. For a moment I wanted to run after the little man with the hat. I could still make out his clattering footsteps. The second after I wanted to go and see what Elfvie and Polo kept house. I hesitated and my will went around in my body. I stumbled one step forward and one step back and then I fell. My feet were fixed and I hit the asphalt with my palms. Slowly, I pushed away from the ground to pick up balance. Once on my feet the decision anxiety hit me again and I had to wave with my arms. Nevertheless, I fell over and sat down on the street.
My hands blistered and I blew away a few pine needles. It moved in my pocket. Gently I lifted the sequin lid and looked down at the little troll. It looked at me puppy-like with its ears drooping. The troll shivered in the corner of my pocket with the silver bean tight in its arms. I took my forefinger and tapped its head. It smiled and showed off a line of uneven teeth. Carefully I closed the lid over his head. My feet and the ground were as magnetic. Slowly, I could pull one feet at the time but I could not lift it. Even if my feet would come off the ground, I would not know where to go. In the middle of the street I laid down. To lie on the ground gives whole new perspective of things. The small brick-houses looked bigger and the boxwood hedges seemed to be taller. Also, the chestnut trees looked different from the eyes of a beetle. Most of all everything seems so quiet.
Broad and widely the tree swung its arms above my head. The brown crispy leafs created figurative shapes like the clouds on a blue sky. I distinguished all possible men and figures. Faces with long chins and pointy noses looked down at me. An Easter bunny and some kind of other animal transcended into a locomotive. The tree moved and I could almost hear it creaking of age. But, al of a sudden I could also hear something else. A sound that was not coming from the tree nor from the wind. Quickly, I sat up. A metallic taste spread in my mouth. I shivered by the wet asphalt and of the hostile surrounding. Stressfully the troll messed around in my pocket. His movements made the sequin jacket rattle and I put my hand on top of the pocket to make it still. I listened quietly and peered into the darkness.
My feet were still stuck in the ground. I heard the sound again and closer this time. I was not alone. Something scraped and shuffled. I pulled my legs harder this time. Please come off, I whispered. That something came closer and like a wet dog the tree shook. What I believed was autumn leafs unexpectedly lifted to the sky like a dark mist. The birds crowd left the tree naked on the pavement. I pulled up my shoulders to my ears. As I felt like that something could come and breathe in my neck any moment. A high whining from my pocket exposed my position and I told myself to run. After a rapid look around the retirement home appeared to be the best hide away. Since, I figured out where to go, my feet were released from the grip of decision agony and I could move them again. They were stiff of cold but still I ran. In front of the retirement home there was a huge area that can be compared to an old schoolyard. Yard games drawn in white chalk shone in the dark. I jumped over pools of water and finally I could put my hand on the big doorknob. The gate was closed. I knocked with both fists against the dumb wood., but no one came to my rescue. The scratching and shuffling had caught up with me. I took a deep breath, turned around and faced what was hunting the little troll and me. The black illusory tall being rose in front me. I stood eye-to-eye with someone who has been following me for a very long time.
Nov 2, 2011
ALL SAINTS DAY
Oct 28, 2011
DALECALIA
Oct 26, 2011
THE UNKNOWN BRINGS NO DESIRE
But, I forget that I walk into the unknown. We all travel into the unknown- and the unknown brings no desire.
Oct 24, 2011
CHAPTER 8
Trolls
There are various kinds of trolls. Forest trolls, garden trolls, stone trolls, giant trolls, small trolls, lucky trolls and many more. Even though they can appear different on the outside they all have things in common. Trolls put value in alone time. Resting on a tree stump, lie in wait under a bush or napping by the fire. They also appreciate fine dining and impressive festivities. Both large and small trolls can be noisy. Would you ever join a troll festivity prepare yourself for the ear-splitting music and cries of joy. They are special in many ways and can sometimes look as if they are put under a spell by walking like robots or starring hypnotized. Trolls have the ability to fall in love with things- things or creatures. Once there was a mountain troll big as a house that spent his whole life in front of a yellow birds cage. Day in and day out he watched over the little bird and whistled along with its song. The day when the bird fell dead off the stick the mountain troll buried it with all his families saved treasures. Later, the troll died of heartache.
On Beckasin road you can get familiar with your own trolls. The ones you can not always put your finger on and strike the hair of. These trolls can be hiding under your skin, in your mind or holding on to a lost secret. The trolls inside of you have big impact of your life. It is of no matter whether the troll is of good or bad, a light memory or a chaos feeling. You still need to be acquainted with your personal trolls. The tricky thing is that they will hold on to you and you will probably have trouble not holding on to them.
I found it easier to bring out the troll and to put it in front of me, so that you can have a really good look at it. The hard part is to evaluate if you need to get rid of it and then how you can do that in the best way. When I was a child I met a troll in my school. It was not a nice troll and we did not get along that well. He sneaked around in the school hallway and sometimes he waited for me when class was over. I remember finding the troll walking over my painting with boots dipped in paint. At last I tried my best to avoid the troll. It took several years before I finally jumped on a train and escaped from it. Today I think I have managed to get rid of him, but I would not be surprised if he finds me someday.
Trolls are greater than pirates when it comes to treasures and jewels. Mountain trolls gather their treasures in huge stone vaults. It happens that these vaults get so crowded with gold and silver that they create cracks in the earth’s surface. Smaller and outlaw trolls hide its treasures like squirrels in a tree or like an arctic fox under the moss. Trolls are greedy but above all they are clever. The greatest ideas all come from the minds of troll. The entire world’s trolls together posses all the greatest recipes for magic and witchcraft. Even if they are greedy, they have shared some wisdom to others, like goblins and creatures of the forest. Unfortunately, some recipes have been stolen by the darker powers of our world.
Saying farewell to a troll is not an easy task. Especially, since you do not know if the troll will die of sorrow. It can be as heartbreaking as liberating. However, most goodbyes end with a battle. I still hope for my school troll to give up his search, since it otherwise will end with his death.
Oct 19, 2011
HOLD ON
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Oct 18, 2011
TO JUMP ON THE TRAIN
Some people spend their whole lives watching trains go by. Not realizing that they were supposed to jump on- leave their hat on the station and to serenely take a seat. It is sad to know how many people that are still standing on the railway station with their old hat on. They will not be free from their thoughts, or released from their scruples. Neither of them will take the possibility to improve their way of life- to offer their lives the chances that are given to them.
Occasionally, I am afraid to be one of those people.
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Oct 17, 2011
CHAPTER 7
Let it go
The man in the hat lifted his hand higher. Now I stood eye to eye with the little troll. The troll breathed rapidly in the little man’s hand. His body of rocks seemed no longer to be of stone and stiffed by glue. I sneaked up the clothespin and attached it to his shirt. His eyes were large and blinked slowly. He looked a bit like a sad pet with tears in his eyes. The small fists were still holding the ripped sequins. I took up a silver bean and the troll followed it with great interest. He squinted and grimaced. When the bean was within reach he reached out for it with his arms. The bumpy sequins fell like glitter rain to the wet ground. I gave him the bean and the man in the hat lowered his hand. I had a troll hanging in a clothespin cuddling a bean. The man in the hat tap-danced around us while throwing the sequins in the air. His shoes clattered on the street. I took my forefinger and stroke the little troll over his rough hair.
The little man returned to his wagon. He bent over slightly as if he was searching for something in the bottom of the wagons body. “Oh, there it is”, he said. He pulled out a shimmering tuxedo. The jacket fitted him perfectly even though his tummy was like a balloon. He turned around so that I only could see his back and the pointy shoulders of is glitter jacket. One hand flew up in the air and he lifted his forefinger. Like a ballet dancer he turned with his finger on the top of his tall hat. Round and round, faster and faster! The little man turned into a red and blue twisting blur. Then, he popped up with his arms in the air. The hat had become bigger and was decorated with stars and sparkles. He opened his mouth and with a powerful voice he shouted “tickets for the circus”!
How much do you want for two tickets, I replied? The little man leaned forward over his wagon. At first he was quiet. He looked at me and then he gazed at the troll that was still hanging in the air from my clothespin. I felt despair. “You can not have the troll”, I said. “Let go of the troll”, the little man responded. “You are holding on to that troll like the troll is holding on to his bean”, he continued. My thoughts went around in my head. I could not speak. I did not know what to do. When I looked at the troll, I just could not let it go and I did not know why. It felt better to keep it, but at the same time I did not want it. I was a bit afraid of it. In haste I put down the troll in my jacket pocket. The little man shook his head at me and pointed with two fingers. “I want two silver beans for two tickets”, he said. Then he continued, “and speed up because time is running out”. “We all have a train to catch, he muttered.
Oct 10, 2011
GO WITH THE WIND
Oct 7, 2011
THINKING HAT
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Oct 6, 2011
CHAPTER 6
The darkness of the night sneaked in over Beckasin road and along with the awakening streetlights came the shadows. Shadows rose from the boxwood hedges and the shades from the trees looked like they wanted to grab us in their arms. As we slowly walked down the road our silhouettes created ghostly characters in the pavement. The wind shook the treetops above our heads and jagged the edges of the shadows. The bell on Polo’s collar echoed pleasantly in the dark and one by one we tripped along.
The air was cold and I shivered in my sequin jacket. One hand I kept warm in my jeans pocket while the other hand had a firm grip of the velvet bag with the beans. Luckily I was wearing sneakers and Elfvie had kept her slippers on, so we could make our way almost silently. As we moved down Beckasin road we passed the small brick houses. I took the opportunity and peeked in through the lighted windows. The night gave me a clear view right into the homes of Elfvies neighbours. In almost all the houses stood already an elderly and met my eye through the glass, as if they had foreseen that we would walk past. Some stood with empty eyes starring out in the night. Others stood alert and watched with their hands as spyglasses. I hurried on and kept close to Elfvie and Polo. I tried not to look, but in the corner of my eye I saw the old ones still looking after us as we passed them. Close behind me floated one black and one white person still battling.
As we came closer to the park the evening air closed in upon us. It smelled of wet leaves and forest moss. We met not a single person or being on our way. The wind made the swings squeak over the playground. The biggest trees creaked like the pirate ship at sea. We stopped under a streetlight. Elfvies west sparkled. She released Polo from the leash and the dog took off over the park. “Hide and seek!” she cried after him. Her voice sounded for once weak and fragile. She turned around and smiled at me. The evening mist made her glasses almost impossible to see through and the humid from her breath flew into the air like white clouds. Elfvie took a seat in the shade of an oak and sprinkled the silver beans in a circle around it. She suggested that I look for the troll at the retirement home. Maybe someone from there had swiped it home with them. So, I started to stroll back the same way as we came.
I turned a few times to see Elfvies breath rise behind the oak as smoke signals. The further away from the park I got, the more it felt like I was no longer alone. All the houses had put out their lights. Not even a bedside lamp could give me some comfort. It seemed like the road was empty, but there was tiny sounds all around that made me wary. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my legs calm. No running, I repeated in my head. You are too old to run, I told myself. This reminded me of when I was little. I always threw myself up the stairs from the basement when leaving the laundry room. Neither my little sister nor I wanted to be the one who had to put out all the lamps on the ground floor of the house. You had to start with the lamps in the living room farthest from the staircase to the upper floor. Then you raced through the rooms as if the darkness was chasing you. If you were lucky then someone had let the lamp in the hallway upstairs stay lit. The two persons behind me had calmed down and the white one was right now shaking its finger at the black one.
Again, I told myself to get a grip and I stopped on the pavement. The velvet bag had become damped in my hand. I opened the little knot and took out a few beans. They were so smooth and polished. I continued to walk towards the retirement home and through the branches I could catch a glimpse of its high carillon and towers. I dropped a bean after the other with a few meters apart to attract the lost troll. The wind snatched hold of the big tree above my head and chestnuts started to fall like rain. I ran aside and brushed off the shoulders of my glitter jacket. Suddenly, I was dazzled. Colourful and bright lamps were turned on and a little man started to wind funny music from his wagon. On a large sign above the wagon, it was written with squiggly letters “tickets and popcorn”.
The little man was wearing a magician hat taller than himself. His gigantic pants were pulled up over his great tummy and his shoes were way to big. I stumbled to the wagon and smiled suspiciously to the little man. He stopped winding the music, but it still continued to play. Humming he started to fold a paper bowl. His nose was very red and his brushy eyebrows made it hard to see his eyes. A stiff shirt collar pressed up his cheeks and made his face look a bit amusing. Even though his fingers were chubby they were quick and nimble. In a few seconds he had made a perfect bowl with laced edges. Still humming, the little man filled the bowl with warm popcorn and handed it to me. He smiled with satisfaction. I took the popcorn bowl and tasted. They were delicious. The little man cleared his throat loudly and for long time. He coughed a little as well and waved at my face. Eventually he got some words out of his mouth. “Should you not let your friend have a taste as well?” he said. My friend, I asked? The man walked around the wagon and tapped me on my back. He puffed and groaned and for a second I thought he would rip the jacket. Then he came around again and lifted his big hand to my face. Slowly he opened his fingers. In the middle of his palm sat a small troll with sequins in his fists.
Oct 5, 2011
WHO SHOULD I CHEER FOR?
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A THING FOR POLO
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Oct 4, 2011
CHAPTER 5
Put on your glitter suit, for we are off troll hunting
In the hallway past the bathroom just before the bedroom you find a door to a closet. Normal people would have used it to stow their cleaning things, but on Beckasin road you use it for more uncommon gear and objects. While Elfvie stood with her head down a chest I was trying out sequin jackets. Trolls love glitter. Everything that sparkles, shines, shimmer or twinkles get them out of bounds. They twist their plump hands, bite their lips and grimace until they cannot fight back their craving and then throws themselves over what has attracted their eye.
I found a jacket that fitted me well. It was a bit tight over my shoulders but I liked it. I stood before the mirror and studied myself from head to toe. I spun and looked at my reflection. The jacket was certainly shimmering. I approached the glass and stared at my face. With my fingers I pulled up my eyes, pressed my nose and dragged the corners of my mouth to create the most horrible faces. I could not stop. One grimace after another confirmed my ugliness. My face started to turn red when suddenly Elfvies mirror image appeared behind me. “What are you up to”, she asked in a harsh voice? Nothing I said, but it was too late. Elfvies ice blue eyes narrowed, the nose wrinkled and her chin went from cuddly round to pointy. Her face twisted and soon she looked like one of the devil statues of St Petri Church. I stood there with my mouth wide open, but the jangle from my jacket revealed my fear. Elfvies face went into a sad clown before her face restored to normal. The room went calm and she smiled behind her glasses. My throat hurt and I swallowed the tears. “Go and wash your face”, she said.
Elfvies bathroom reminds you of the hallway. The ceramic tiles are green as moss and goes all over the floor and the walls. Along the wall to the right stands a huge bathtub. The tub is in some way tiled into the wall and has no feet. On the floor you will slip on a furry bath mat that also has the colour green. Across from the tub you find an ancient basin and above it a cabinet with a rusty mirror. The cabinet is almost empty except from a toothbrush and a few patches. On a shelf above the tub are diverse decorative items and bath treats. Dolls with big crocheted skirts are also standing on the shelf. Lift their skirts and you will see that they are hiding something as ordinary as toilet rolls.
I turned on the tap and splashed my face with cold water and then rested my head in the guest towel. It’s sweet scent of lavender made me sleepy. I felt a sad anger that was directed at myself. As if two persons, one white and one black, fought against each other but in the same body. I did not know whom I ought to cheer on. Should I cheer on the black person that is punching the white person or would I be better off by encouraging the white person lying down trying to get back on it’s feet? A damped knocking on the door woke me up from my lavender coma. If not the bathroom door had been padded with jungle fabric the knocking would have scared me to hiccup. I unlocked the door and sneaked out into the hall.
Elfvie took up her head from the depths of the coffin. “I found it”, she said. She stood up looking at me. “Have you taken a nap”, she asked? But, without waiting for an answer she continued with excitement. “It is late and it’s time for hide and seek”. She gave me a quick pat on the head and then opened my hands. From a velvet bag she poured small beans dipped in silver. She laughed raspy with eagerness. The beans can be used as bait if your sequin jacket is not enough of attraction, Elfvie said. She also gave me a clothespin to keep hold of the troll. When the troll puts it hands on the bean the bean is the only thing it cares about. The troll will hang on to that little bean as if it were life itself.
Polo stood by the patio door ready to take a stroll under the streetlights. Elfvie had taken on a sequin vest and hung a small bell on the dog’s collar. “We go together at first”, she whispered. The other trolls on the table reached after us. Our shimmering armour dazzled them. We were ready. In line stood I, Elfvie, Polo, one white -and one black person. Elfvie opened the glass door to the garden and we all stepped out into the night.
Oct 3, 2011
AGAINTS THE CLOCK
Sep 28, 2011
DRAGON HUNTER
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CHAPTER 4
Watch out for the circus…
Already on the street I heard the music. High notes echoed through the brick walls and made the windows rattle. Parade drums, trombones, violins and trumpets with banners played like mad from Elfvie’s house. It actually sounded as if she had an entire circus orchestra in her living room.
I stood outside her house and tried to open her front door with one hand over my ear and the other hand trembling on the door handle. The dramatic music made the walls breath like the belly of a trumpet player and my feet wobbled by the swinging of the stairs. Once inside the house, I had expected to see Elfvie fly through the hallway hugging her broomstick. But the house seemed to be empty.
The music reminded me of something. Hands over ears I went into the living room searching for the vinyl player. The stodgy waltz went sometimes sky-high into a stormy tornado of horns and flutes. It sounded like a clown’s idiotic dance between elephants and sea lions. I could see his clumsy feet tap-dance across the sand with his hands by the red-striped braces. I identified the music as I recognized my fear, my fear of clowns. The music was a troll’s parade.
I sat on the floor leaning against the wall with my arms over my head when the music abruptly stopped. It clicked in the door lock and Polo rushed in. I heard Elfvie’s content giggling in the hallway while changing into slippers. I did not lift my head until I saw the worn slippers in front of me. Elfvie’s sky blue eyes blinked at me behind the round glasses. She had already put on her apron. “I think we have lost a troll”, I said. “Really?” she replied while lending me her warm hand to get me back on my feet.
Indeed, one of the trolls had left its position on the glass table. The other trolls did not look sad. They looked happier than usual even though they’d lost a friend. I go out and look for him later, Elfvie said and closed the porch door to the garden. We sat down in the kitchen and read out loud from the new multi-coloured newspapers that Elfvie had brought with her home. Polo took a seat in Elfvies knee and glared up at me under his curly fringe. If a dog can smile, so he did.
It was nice to sit in Elfvies kitchen reading the tabloids. Her laughter made me feel better. Still reading she said, “It’s not healthy to get that upset you know”. Her fingers twisted Polos fur. I am not upset, I replied. But don’t you feel a bit sad about the troll gone missing? I do not refer to the little troll who went exploring; I am referring to you creating a troll’s parade, Elfvie looked up from her paper. She tore out a page from the magazine and translated the twisted letters. “The Circus comes to town”, Elfvie whispered and a dimple popped up in her face. We must go and see it, she continued and placed the poster on the fridge with two cookie magnets. It will be a great spectacle!
We decided to buy tickets for the Circus the next day and at the same time go troll hunting. I also decided it was time for me to go home and Elfvie let me out by the porch exit. After I left she grabbed the broomstick from the garden shed. It took almost al night to sweep up the glass fragments from the living room floor. Broken glass from sentiments often explodes into their smallest components. The light pink injustices were scattered over the floor and the hypersensitivity had spread over the carpet and in under the couch. As soon Elfvie approached with the brush the broken glass fled to another part of the room. At last she had managed to capture every little piece in a glass jar. She decided to save these passionate glass sentiments in the pantry for later. Before Elfvie went to bed that night she had sat down by her kitchen table and written letters to all her elderly neighbours. With squiggly ink writing she told them to watch out for the circus.
Sep 27, 2011
CHAPTER 3
Elfvie – the Gaffer
Strolling around in Elfvie’s house raises many emotions to life. Her life seems in so many ways filled with happiness, but it is the feeling of loneliness that strikes you. Photo frames adorn every wall and garnishes every chest of drawers. Elderly, children, family and friends smiles widely through the glasses of the frames. Take a seat in her chaise longue and take in all the little things in the room before opening one of her many photo albums.
Feel the cracks in the leather couch complaining under your weight. Pull your hands over the longhaired carpet and then stand on the footstool to make out the carpet’s true motive. The lucid garn in ocean blue, plum and white looks like a spur of the moment pattern. But from the birds eye you can explore the careful outline of a girl kissing a dove.
There are too many details for the eye to absorb. You need to walk up to the first figurine in order to detect the other ones standing next to it. They are all deliberately placed. The china dancer on one leg leans gently toward the little glass bird in cobalt. Every statuette stands firmly on a crocheted homemade tablecloth. All this knitting, must have taken a lifetime to complete. Whenever you feel ready you can start with the album to the left in the bookshelf.
Elfvie was born one year after a legendary ocean liner sank on its maiden voyage. On her first birthday a black hand caused the outburst of a world war. What she remembers from this period are knee high socks, black patent sandals and colourful hand-knits. She gets frustrated of the black and white pictures and from that she does not like to read papers whiteout colour. “That time was as lively and bright as my garden”, she says. Furthermore, she thinks that each and every book and picture from this period should be added with some colour to be perceived with justice. “And while they are still on to it they can apply some music and scent to the old paper leaves as well”, she said once.
Elfvie has added real essences to her photo albums. It is very easy to miss and most people fail to take notice of the unthinkable. I try to look at the pictures in the same way as you do with a three-dimensional image. It’s kind of a dull stare. You look at the picture with sleepiness. The difficulty is to remain calm in the eye when the picture starts to come alive. You get a real glimpse of a bygone time. By page two you should also be able to take in the violin’s sweet whining like a leaf in heavy wind.
Elfvie still has the look of an angel on a bookmark. The cute rounded face and the short curly hair has not changed over the years. She has just taken on a brighter almost transparent image. When Elfvie smiles her dimples pop up like firecrackers in her face and the whole world shiver of amusement. It’s totally contagious. Her laugh tickles anyone and anything.
Once, Elfvie´s two great-grandchildren came to visit and as a tradition they got a chocolate bar with a coin properly taped to it. The eldest girl gratefully refused the little penny. “It is just too much” she said”. Since, the girl declined her gift Elfvie took it back and put it again in it’s jar in the pantry. Not even a tearful eye of a great-grandchild may make Elfvie surrender to her stubbornness. Thus, Elfvie is a gaffer. You will see the whole event in a later photo album.
These days, I know how hard it is to be a slave under your own persistence. Even behind the curtain waving to the children’s departure Elfvie did not admit her defeat. When the sad lump in her belly would not go away she chose to bury it in the garden. With shovel and rake, she set out into autumn and under the afternoon sun she buried the big lump of discomfort under the flowerbed.
Sep 26, 2011
SIGNALS
Sep 25, 2011
CHAPTER 2
Polo
Polo is a dog. A miniature poodle black as the raven and soft as the lamb. He sits in Elfvie´s lap constantly watching over her. You will find him fairly cute, but do not stretch out your hand. This is not a pet for everyone. Polo has scared me many times with his force barking. He still makes me nervous and sometimes I believe he can hear what I think. Maybe you will be able to solve the mystery and obscurity of Polo.
I think Elfvie and Polo have aged jointly. Do not hassle and ask his age. You will soon enough be aware of Polo being on every yellowed photograph since Elfvie´s childhood. I am not that keen of this dog. Although, I do not wish to find him standing in the hallway stiff-legged of porcelain. Polo has a wine red collar with a number plate in case of him getting lost. Every day you can hear Elfvie humming in the kitchen while she prepares his food. Cooked meat, breaded duck, rice pudding and slow roasted lamb is served three times a day. Elfvie sits by the kitchen window and watches him as he eats. She chuckle and snigger at his big appetite.
Once, I stood on the pavement of Beckasin road holding Polo in his leash when a car swishes by out of nowhere. I quickly pulled the dog leash not being aware of the wasp resting in my arm fold. Elfvie dabbed with melted butter and sugar. I remember myself crying. I got homesick and my mouth filled up with sharp metallic taste. I ended up at the retirement home where a doctor dragged out the wasps tag while I tried to count the obituaries on the wall.
Polo and Elfvie are so unlike and have such distinct souls. The black raven patrolling the ground of a glassy translucent elderly woman. Not being a dog I would have taken Polo for my bad conscience.
Sep 24, 2011
WATCH OUT WHERE YOU GO
Sep 23, 2011
CHAPTER 1
Pull down the sleeves of your jersey because the wasps on Beckasin road stings…
The Beckasin road is a road between real life and everything else that is not said to be normal. It begins at the corner of a park and ends at the establishment of a retirement home. The houses on Beckasin road are simple and made of red brick. It looks a bit like if children have put them together. Squared gardens, juniper berries and boxwood hedges.
One of the houses has bubbly windows and from the street you can see straight into the kitchen. The front door has a small glass where someone carefully has hung neat little curtains. If you walk around the house you will be astonished. On the other side of this simple construction of a living you step into a lovely garden. A garden that is so well taken care of that even the paths of the ants are raked and swept.
This is Elfvie’s house. Elfvie is a gardener and will soon be very old. She is also a banker and hides her life savings in various pots and jars in the pantry. Sitting in front of the television she makes troll bodies by putting assorted stones together with glue. The trolls get hair from horses and eyes that rolls and sways. With brush and paint she gives them some fine clothing. It happens that trolls disappear. Then Elfvie just sits down and makes another one.
The door handle to Elfvies house is heavy and tough. A crocheted curtain separates the anteroom and the hall. If you’d like you can put your fingers in the handmade loops while waiting for a “welcome”. It smells like old cloth and curly dog. The first time I stood there waiting with my fingers captured in the net I did not know how I was related to this person. A person whose wardrobe is bursting of flowery long-sleeved dresses and whose memories are collected in a wooden frame on the wall.
The hallway is dark. The walls are papered with some fuzzy fabric in forest green. In front of the frame with the memories hang a mirror with two crystal lamps on either side. Beneath the mirror stands a small table and a stool with curvy legs. Do not be frightened when you come out from the bathroom. It is just your own reflection made by the mirror you’ll see. From the hallway you can reach all parts of the house. The kitchen is to the right, the bedroom to the left and the living room with an indoor porch is straight ahead. From the porch you should be able to see every corner of Elfvie´s garden.
First time you enter this room you will not pay notice of the garden outside. Instead you will sweep your eyes over all the flowerpots flocking the windowsill. Old perennials and other wintering plants stand on line for another chance to life. Later on you will learn all their names. I do not mean their plant names, but their first names. We will get back to this room next time a troll disappears. Once you have been let in to number 20 Beckasin road the porch door is the only way out.
NORRLAND
Yesterday I went to Norrland and enjoyed reindeer and horseradish. Today I will give you the first chapter. Follow me to Beckasin road in just a moment...
Sep 22, 2011
GODS HORSE
I met an old friend today on the subway. Frida is a special friend- not least because she is working with God's horses. Frida also live very close to the main character in one of my favorite books "Låt den rätta komma in". One autumn day, we locked the doors on Frida's car "the red menace" and drove into Blackeberg. The neighborhood of Eli.
http://johnajvide.com/bocker/lat-den-ratte-komma-in-3
PROLOGUE
The Beckasin road. A road between real life and everything else that is not said be normal. It begins at the corner of a park and ends at the establishment of a retirement home. It sounds as if life on Beckasin road is like a flower duet from Lakme. As if the dogs are smiling at you while you walk past them. As if the chestnut trees raises their arms over your head. You need to walk the dogs or make trolls of the chestnuts to pay attention to anything else.
I came about to walk Polo and some time later I also took my forefinger and stroke the hair of a troll. I am not sure of Polo being a real poodle nor have I questioned me spending so much time with a gaffer. However, I have had a different taste on my tongue since that first day I met Elfvie and Polo. A taste of metal. I will continue to visit Beckasin road as long as I can find my way there.
Sep 21, 2011
LIKE A CHILD
I am alive. Literally. I never thought I could create a room for my thoughts- that's also open for everyone. Also, I managed to add a picture. Now I need to find a way to get rid of it. Yes, it's my dream catcher.
A THOUGT CATCHER
This happened to be my first blog post. I bought this dream catcher to counteract my nightmares. This blog will serve to capture my thoughts.
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