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:-)


My Valentine

come to me
come and see 
who I am
the real me 

I am not the abuse
I am not what he did 
I am not just simply my trauma

I'm the courage that escaped 
I'm the cleverness that survived 
I'm the power that protected my tiny spark of flame 

oh my Valentine
you do get me right 
you give hope that I can love again 

you do fan my spark
into firecrackers bright
you see me 
with your eyes open wide 

you see beyond and you sense
and you know me so well
a new love
but we've always just known one another 

oh my Valentine 
you read all my signs 
I am yours 
and you know it is so

with respect, joy and laughs
we are like half and half
and together we're one of a kind 

I love you
you love me   
there is hope
I now see   
and believe

Be my Valentine

I celebrate Valentine’s day with my fellow blogger friends. Read more at Write Tribe’s language of love


Your children

What a blessing, to have a child
a mini you - just as wild
or so you think when you watch them grow
and your own mum says: see, I told you so

- first when you are a mum you will understand
they belong to themselves, just for you to lend

to love, support, encourage forever,
their side to leave? Oh darling. Never

no matter what, because they are,
and always will be your shining stars
your light and love, an eternal bond
with them you know you are always Home


For my darling children with love. And for my parents too.  


Your children By Khalil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you, they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite.
And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hands be for happiness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
So He loves the bow that is stable.


They will manage. You will too.
Joy and love. Whole life through.