Meet my new flatmate

So, this new girl moved in, you can spot her right?
upside down in the middle, seems all ready to fight

But no need for that, you are welcome to stay
As long as you like, you are not in my way

Live your life as you wish, in my pink orchid heaven
but please little lady - don't make more kids than seven:-)

I watch you and smile, my new flatmate, I think
almost invisible you are, can hardly spot you in the pink

But I know you are here. Still a life - and so small.
Perhaps I should give you a name I could call?

Any name suggestions, dear reader - for my new flatmate?


The world at my feet

Nothing beats that feeling deep
of joy and pride - can almost weep 
of happiness, that is, please know- 
we made it to the top - somehow
feet are tired, hearts beat fast 
our joy - the memory will always last

'cause what a feeling, to be on top 
after hiking, all non stop
through rain and storm we made it through
we climbed that mountain, me and you 

every time I get up there 
all I can do is sit and stare:
- the world in all its glory: the sea and the sky 
and I can't stop thinking - how lucky am I 

to have a day like that 
what a gift 

This is just where I want to be  
in the arms of that someone next to me

on that top 
and with the world at our feet

how lucky am I

enjoy the day
enjoy the moment
......getting there......

.....being there....

PS: There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.....:-) 


Malaga Moments

Lucky me, who recently got to travel, with a bunch of good colleagues, to the other side of Europe. From the west coast of Norway to the far south end of Spain - 4 hours on the plane. And what a joy: to travel to a place you have never been to before? Oh, yes, I like! Like Malaga, the 6th largest city in Spain, situated in Andalusia on the south coast. And an historic one: funded by the Phoenicians about 770 BC. A kinder-egg of a city, that's what I felt: so much to see, do and experience.

It was the perfect trip. Even though it was a work trip: the busy work schedule did allow a little time to explore. Just enough to make me curious for more. We had some gorgeous afternoon moments, just wandering down those narrow alleyways, next to cathedrals and on historic ground. We had an evening at the old castle, just on the top, overlooking the sunset over the blue sea and the green forest down below. We had an afternoon tapas - a meal that lead out into a long talk about life and love, and what it is all about. With the best people. And that was the best. The people. Just perfect.

These were my favourite Malaga Moments :

The bright blue sky and an architecture - it took my breath away:

The blue sky, blue sea, green hills - and an historic castle:

 Long tapas meals with good talks with the best people:

A new fancy flamenco outfit anyone?

Pablo Picasso, who was born in Malaga (and ladies: so was the actor Antonio Banderas by the way, we saw his house:-))

A myriad of small streets - most only for pedestrians

We came
We saw
We enjoyed
We left

- but what will remain - is: the memories, the good talks, the laughter, the funny moments, the emotional ones, the just-being-together-with-someone-you-enjoy-the-company-with-moments
- making memories together moments

- those moments:-)

Gracias, Malaga:-)


Love is it

To D

My big hit blogpost is In Love
- not a bomb, because we know-

- that love is wanted, love is IT
and lucky me, the spark got lit

by him who came along like that
when least expected, for a chat

and then he stayed. I felt it deep
This was it. He's one to keep

a gentle, kind and loving guy
they do exist, I now know why

'cause after hard times, love came by
embrace it now, don't question why!

With eyes wide open, I see him clear
and he sees me, from far and near

he - who shares my joy and pain
he - who stays -  through sun and rain

he - who loves my happy smile
he - who will walk that extra mile

- for me,
and so would I for him
don't you think - a clear win win?

he -
who like me, has seen a dark night

he -
who like me, just love that bright morning light

on a mountain top or at the edge of the sea

he -
who is the one for me



Life can be concurring mountain tops
or chase new partners all non stop

Life can be greeting the morning light,
or dance in joy as the day turns to night

to chat with a friend for hours to go
to pick a wild flower - or just leave it to grow

Life is a sip of a scented tea
or a hint of a smell - of what used to be

to laugh so hard that the sky turns bright
or to miss her so much, that you cry every night

Life is a cookie, a hot yummie piece
and a hope that the good things will never cease

and oh we know - after rain comes sun
and to feel real life, put your shoes on and run

to a mountain top or the edge of the sea
to feel all alive, to feel not Me but We

Life is yours
love it
live it


Yes, of course it hurts

In dark times. When the loss seems unbearable. So unbearable that you surrender to it. When the black cape of grief is so heavy that it becomes your soft blanket of comfort. When the sense of sadness is so present that you simply adjust, believing it will always be so. And you clinger to your grief, refusing to let go. Because if you do, it is like you let her go. And you don't want that. So you hold on. You hold on. Tight.

Then one day you remember her and you smile through your tears because she-

-loved life-

She loved life like no one else. She loved her family and friends, laughter, dance, theatre, travels and a good read. And you think

Yes, it hurts

it hurts so much that she is not here anymore but

after winter comes spring
after rain comes sun
nothing lasts forever
nor good nor bad
dare to love, trust and believe
dare to be open to anything new
and the most important:
yes it hurts. sometimes it hurts like hell.
it is life
but love it still
I will
like she did



By the Swedish poet Karin Boye. Translated in to English by David McDuff

Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking.
Why else would the springtime falter?
Why would all our ardent longing
bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?
After all, the bud was covered all the winter.
What new thing is it that bursts and wears?
Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking,
hurts for that which grows
and that which bars.

Yes, it is hard when drops are falling.
Trembling with fear, and heavy hanging,
cleaving to the twig, and swelling, sliding -
weight draws them down, though they go on clinging.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the depths attract and call,
yet sit fast and merely tremble -
hard to want to stay
and want to fall.

Then, when things are worst and nothing helps
the tree's buds break as in rejoicing,
then, when no fear holds back any longer,
down in glitter go the twig's drops plunging,
forget that they were frightened by the new,
forget their fear before the flight unfurled -
feel for a second their greatest safety,
rest in that trust
that creates the world.


Hummus on a Golden plate

Today, I time travelled. Back, to the past. I was maybe 5 again. It was Christmas time and we were at my grandparents house in the village. Snow was pouring down. Outside the large window the scenery was all white. I was sitting in front of the open fire place looking at the flames, feeling my cheeks getting all warm and red. Soft Christmas music was playing and I heard the rest of the family talking and laughing as they were all preparing the food and putting up the last decorations. And then it was time to set the Christmas dinner table. Time for crystal glasses and shining silver spoons, forks and knives. I smiled and ran towards the table. Just in time. Just in time to see them being carried carefully out of the corner cupboard. So delicate, so elegant. The golden plates. The gorgeous cream white porcelain plates with a touch of gold around the edges.

The golden plates. I can only remember us eating of them at Christmas time. The rest of the year they lived in that cupboard in the corner. Sometimes during summer vacation I could sneak up, open the cupboard door and just look at them, admire them. And slowly let my fingers stroke them.

Today those golden plates live in the cupboard in my living room. Today I was sitting on the floor, holding them carefully in my hands. And they took me back. To long noisy funny Christmas dinners. To happy times, to celebrations. Always celebrations, festive days.

I got up from the floor. Still with the plates in my hands. I had decided. Today we eat from the golden plates. On a plain normal Tuesday. Call me crazy. Yes, we had hummus, salad and home made bread on my grandmother's precious golden plates. And oh, did it taste delicious!

I do think that my grandparents would have liked that. I lit a candle and I thought of them. And I celebrated: Good memories, Today. This moment. Life.

 PS: The hummus turned out yum by the way - maybe I'll share that recipe:-)