On that morning flight to Philly...

On Tuesday morning I am going to Philadelphia. People keep saying how nice it is that I am going on vacation or how lucky I am that I can just pop on a flight over to the US to escape the rather dismal summer weather we've been having in Sweden. When I tell them I am not going there on vacation--that I am going to see my family (which doesn't, in my eyes, count as vacation) and see how my dad is doing following his surgery, those very same people behave as though I am being ungrateful--to them, going to Philadelphia when it is 92C (and probably way too humid) is holiday. But going home to the States never feels like a vacation/holiday. I wish it did, but it never does.

As much as I love my hometown, going there usually reminds me of how long I've been away. I don't instantly recognize places and people any longer. Most of my old friends have moved away (just as I did) or we simply lost touch. Of course, this is what happens when you get older. Especially if you chose to move away. I knew even when I was younger I couldn't spend the rest of my life in Philadelphia. It had nothing to do with hating the city--though I was sure it was due to that when I was a teenager--and everything to do with realizing that if I stayed there I would never really know what I was capable of doing. I felt smothered by what other people expected of me, and I couldn't seem to get enough leeway to have a life that felt like my own.

Now when I go home (yup, I still call it home even though my home is in Stockholm), I have to fight to keep from sliding into the old patterns. I have to remind myself that I don't have to do things just because it is expected of me, I don't have to justify why I made choices that other people either don't understand or don't like.

But even if there are certain elements that aren't always nice about being back in Philly (ridiculous arguments with my sister, missing Tord when I am there, just to name a few), once I've been there a few days I start remembering all of the things I like about Philadelphia: cheese steaks, walking around University of Pennsylvania's campus, the Reading Terminal, sitting on the front porch and reading the newspaper, walking into Center City from West Philly, etc). And I think about people I miss when I am in Stockholm, like my mom and my great-aunt and my nieces and my brother and even (sometimes) my sister.

Being there never makes me feel like I want to move back to Philadelphia.

It's just nice knowing I can go there a few times a year.

What's Up With All the Visible Butt Cracks?


I don't normally think of myself as being prudish. Nudity doesn't bother me--I've taken enough life drawing classes and been to enough clothing-optional beaches in Greece not be disturbed by wobbly bits on display.

But lately I have seen more than enough butt cracks emerging from the tops of jeans, shorts etc. So I have to ask the question: Who decided this was acceptable?

Tonight Tord and I were having dinner at Primo Ciao Ciao on Odengatan when a young woman sitting diagonally across from us bent forward to sample her date's food. What did she treat us to? Her posterial divide on display.

Yesterday, I was in Kronobergspark with Sara. Another set of posterial divides on display--one of which was nearly the entire posterior on display her jeans were so low-slung.

Maybe it's a sign of age that this is getting on my nerves. I mean, I still don't understand why fashions from the 70s and 80s are making comebacks when it seemed that it was universally decided that these were fashion mistakes never to be repeated again.

But if I have to decide between jeans so low-slung that I'd need a Brazilian wax just to go out in them and those hideous high-waisted jeans that make me look like my mom still dresses me, then I choose those fugly high-waisted jeans.

You see, I just don't think that certain body parts should be on display in certain situations. Regardless of whether I am sitting in an outdoor bar or cafe, I think men should wear shirts. I do not want to be presented with their hairy/scrawny/pot-bellied/sweaty etc torsos when I am eating or enjoying a glass of wine. Just as I would prefer not to have anyone's (male or female) butt crack in my line of vision when I am having dinner. Surely there must be an entry in Emily Post's book of etiquette on proper occasions to display the posterial divide (and I am fairly certain she'd advise against displaying it and its companions--the cups-running-over blouse and the skirt-that-leaves-nothing-to-the-imagination--in restaurants and classrooms and probably even museums).

But Stockholmers are intent on wearing low-waisted jeans and showing off their butts, especially since it is summer (even if it is damp and cold and not very summer-like today). And I have at least eight more weeks of being subjected to butt cracks and thongs on display.

Good thing I have plenty of good books to read...

Wish I were back in Umbria...

Well, it's nearly a month now since we returned from Italy, and I sooooo wish we were still there. The trip was amazing--and not in a "we-did-so-many-exciting-things" way. I think it was more the mood that was amazing. It's been a long time since Tord and I felt so relaxed and so happy to simply "be". Coming home to Stockholm was very difficult. Stockholm feels so drab and cold in comparison. This could, of course, be due to it raining nearly every single day since we returned home.

Let me tell you why it was so wonderful to be in Italy...

After a hectic and sticky day in Rome, we boarded a train bound for Spoleto and arrived in a beautiful Umbrian hill town that just felt magical. From the balcony of our hotel room, we had a spectacular view of the verdant hillside and were lulled by the heady scent of bird cherry everyday. We drank far too much red wine, ate too much parmesan cheese and sausage spiced with truffles, climbed the steep and narrow streets of the city and stumbled on so many gorgeous sights.... I could have easily spent another two or three days there.

But we had another place to visit...Assisi. And Assisi was lovely, even with so many tourists milling around and all the hubbub with the Pope's imminent arrival, Assisi was a city that charmed the pants off us. We trudged up the steep Pilgrim's Way (sweating, swearing, and dying of thirst) only to be dazzled by the sight of the Basilica of San Francesco. Like Spoleto, Assisi was full of narrow lanes and surprising vistas. The food was delicious...our hotel room at the bottom of the hill--modern, comfortable and overlooking a piazza that seemed to host a block party every night.

And then there was Perugia...yet another hill town, this one with a population of around 160,000. It took us a while to find our hotel and the air was thick and syrupy. Our hotel, just outside the old city walls and positioned with an outstanding view of Assisi in the distance, gave us a well-deserved respite with its rooftop pool and terrace. We overdosed on Umbrian art, sampled local cuisine and took la passegiata every evening.

And everyday I dreamed of how it must be to rent a house in Italy and spend an entire summer there. One day I hope I can do that. I am so tired of wet and uninspiring Swedish summers, especially when I've already had to suffer through a long, dark and even less inspiring Swedish winter.

By the way, the picture above is mine. It's a view of Perugia from our hotel's rooftop terrace. I wish I were there now...

I love Umbria...