The Kings of Convenience....Aren't Coming to Stockholm...

After weeks of being giddy about Erlend and Eirik coming to Stockholm, Fate pulled the rug from under me. Yesterday, I found out that the Kings of Convenience concert at Nalen had been cancelled. Hanna and I had been planning on seeing them; we'd booked our tickets and were looking forward to grooving while sipping cocktails and dancing. But alas--it was not to be.

Why? Erlend broke his arm while running in a competition. Let's hope his bones heal quickly and he feels better soon. Hanna and I hope that, once Erlend's arm has healed, he and Eirik will reschedule the concert and we can finally experience KoC live.

So while we wait, we'll listen to our KoC and Whitest Boy Alive cds, wait for more sunny days and wish Erlend a speedy recovery.

We're patient women, we can wait...

The Kings of Convenience are coming...to Stockholm!



Yesterday morning I was checking my mail when I received an email saying one of my fave bands was coming to Stockholm. I was a little groggy so I didn't think much of it until I was out in the fresh air (well, maybe not so fresh since I was walking down Sveavägen) and I saw a guy putting up posters for upcoming concerts at Nalen.

And then I saw it...Kings of Convenience...Nalen 4 May...

The first thing I did was call Tord and babble, "The Kings are coming, the Kings are coming!"
His response: "Okay...cool."
Me: "We have to go!"
His response: "Okay."
Me: "Really? You'll go if I arrange tickets?"
His response: "Sure, why not?"

I love when things come this easily. So now I just need to check my schedule and make sure I don't have to work too early the day after the concert since it's on a Sunday night. I will probably be the oldest person there, but I don't care. Anyway, if you want to check out the Kings, go to their Myspace page, http://www.myspace.com/kingsofconvenience, or their official website, http://www.kingsofconvenience.com/. If you want news about their concert in Stockholm, here's the link, http://www.nalen.se/.

There are rumors of a new album coming out in April but according to the Kings' Myspace page nothing is recorded yet. However, we Kings fans can rejoice that Eirik and Erlend feel really confident about nine of the new songs they've written. So who knows, maybe there will be a new album soon?

Now, on to things not related to the Kings, I have been working on an outline for my new book so I can stay on course. I had several weeks where my brain was barren of ideas so an outline is what I need to see where I want to go. I know how I want the book to end. I just need a map of how to get there so I won't hear "Mmm...you can't get there from here..." in my mind--so reminiscent of the last time I was in Vermont back in the early 90s and we got lost. I think we heard that phrase at least three times until we finally were given proper directions. Speaking of Vermont, the new book, a romance involving a young widow, her ex- from Sweden who turns up on her doorstep and a dilapidated Federalist-style house in a small town in Vermont, is making me long for a trip to New England. Maybe the next time I am Stateside I'll have to fly into Boston and take the train into Brattleboro or White River Junction...hmm...we'll see. I am starting to feel a little homesick but I don't want to spend my entire time in the US hanging around Philadelphia.

And for those of you who share my Sims addiction: news of Sims 3 has been popping up on the Net. It looks promising--but then again, new Sims games always look promising but the end result doesn't always live up to our expectations. And still we play. It looks like we'll have more freedom customizing things in the game as well as have a seamless neighborhood--something I have always wanted. Looks like it will require a lot of our computers so I guess I will have to get a super PC in 2009 (when the game is projected to be released). You can find more info at http://thesims3.ea.com/.

A few weeks ago, Tord and I tried out a new restaurant (well, it was new to us anyway) called La Dame Noire on Scheelegatan 3. The food and service were amazing. You should check out their menu, http://www.ladamenoire.se/. Tord and I were in seventh heaven it was so yummy there. Methinks we'll be going there again next week. :)

Now I think it's time for coffee...I need a bucket of latte to get me going. Going to synch my iPod first since I just downloaded Dreams by Whitest Boy Alive (Erlend's other band) from iTunes and have been dancing around the living room to "Fireworks". [Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/thewhitestboyalive.]

Off I go!

Weirdness...

Yesterday wasn't the best of days. I was PMSing--never a good thing--and felt like a zombie (not enough sleep, my own fault for staying up too late watching a movie on the Silver channel). Anyway, I'd had a morning class in Hammarbyhöjden and was on my way back into town when this wiggy older man sat next to me on the subway. Now, this in itself is by no means weird. Strange old men seem to gravitate to me--much like skanky men often approach me and say the most vile things to me (my friend Dave once told me this was due to my having an invisible tattoo on my forehead that only icky, skanky men could read ha-ha). Usually these strange old men try to tell me their life stories or babble about something they read in the newspaper that they are sure I must know something about. Most of the time, I humor them. Yesterday I was creeped out and wanted nothing to do with the weird guy sitting beside me.

Why? Well, first of all, he had this freaky Charles Manson crazy stare. Then he started talking to himself and kept hitting my leg. I got up and moved to another seat. He turned and stared at me from Gullmarsplan all the way to Gamla Stan. By the time we'd arrived at T-Centralen, I was completely wigged out by this old guy.

As I got off the subway at T-Centralen, I noticed the old guy had disembarked through another door. He was on the platform before me and he pointed at me and started chanting, "Neger...neger...neger!" (The Swedish variant of "N*gger...n*gger...n*gger!"). I ignored him, then he apparently found some more black people to follow because I heard him chanting it again and when I looked over my shoulder he was walking behind a younger African woman. She turned around and slapped him with her handbag before she continued towards the steps to the other levels of the station.

Then I started thinking about being called "neger" and how nowadays I just ignore it whereas if someone had called me a nigger in the States or when I was younger it would have set off a huge explosion of whoop-ass. Am I becoming Swedified and sticking my head in the sand? Is it because I am getting older and am learning to let things slide? Have I learned to simply ignore crazy people? Was this all one of those "Candid Camera"-style moments that will eventually pop up on some TV program for the entertainment of the bored couch potatoes of Stockholm?

I don't know the answer, but I can say it didn't make me feel riled up in any way. Maybe these last few months of yoga and Ki-balans and finding this "tranquility within me" (which always sounded like mumbo jumbo before) is actually making me feel calmer. Who knows?

The Hedgehogs Think It's Spring But I Beg to Differ

The hedgehogs here in Sweden have ended their hibernation. Since the daytime temperatures have been higher than normal (9 C instead of -5C), they think it's spring. Tulip shoots have sprung up in my apartment building's garden. Even some of the plants on my balcony are looking a wee bit greener. I, however, find it hard to believe it's spring when I still feel just as sleepy as I did when winter first began and I am cold all the time.

The past week has been hectic. A lot of work and not enough time to do the things I'd like to do. I haven't even had a chance to go to my Ki-Balans/Yoga passes. Well, tomorrow looks to be a slow day so I think I'll go to the lunchtime Ki-Balans session. Then I'll have lunch at Como and go home and get some writing done.

But I really do wish it were spring--then I'd know that summer is just around the corner. I don't even know why I bother longing for summer when fairly often Swedish summer is extraordinarily disappointing and marked with rain, rain and more rain. I guess I am tired of wearing heavy winter clothing. It would be nice to be able to go for a walk without having to wind a scarf around my neck. I long for a day or two when I can wear sandals.

So here I am, looking at another gray day in Stockholm and longing for sunshine and heat. Maybe it's time to plan a trip to Italy.

John Mayer said his girlfrind's body was a wonderland...my brain is not a wonderland...it is sandpaper...

This has just not been a good writing week for me, which is driving me crazy. On Monday, I wrote a list of scenes I need to write or revise. I figured this was the best way to make some progress. I actually started two of the scenes--and I told myself, "Piece of cake! You'll have them whipped into shape by Thursday!"

I forgot I had deluge of translations I'd agreed to work on this week. They began streaming in late Monday afternoon. The first batch was six three-page documents, which didn't take so long to finish. Tuesday was more of the same--seven rolled in, one of which was a ten-page transcript. I finished the short texts on Tuesday evening after I had dinner with my Novel Underground chicas. The transcript was a bit trickier--I had to proofread/revise it a few times and managed to send it off yesterday morning. Then I went to Kista to teach...came home, found five more texts in my mailbox, worked on them yesterday afternoon; then three more arrived just before 18:00. Gack! Finished those this afternoon.

So then I decided I would write but my brain felt like sandpaper...still does! Have I written anything? Not reallty. Just three paragraphs...

Must get better. My brain must become a wonderland...must become a wonderland....

I need more yoga.

Yoga and the art of telling someone to shut up

For the last two months I have been taking two exercise classes at Friskis och Svettis, which I guess you could say is the Swedish equivalent of the YMCA/YWCA. The classes, Ki-Balans and Ki-Yoga, concentrate on improving balance, flexibility and giving you a sense of well-being--I know it sounds New Age-y and very unKim-like but I hurt my hip a few months ago and my naprapat (or manual medicine/sports injury specialist) advised me to start training again now that my injury had finally healed. She recommended these classes to me, stressing they'd keep my hip, thigh and lower back from becoming too stiff and they'd help improve my core.

Well, I figured Ki-Yoga/Ki-Balans twice a week was okay. My work schedule is weird but I have enough holes in it to accomodate two days a week at the gym. I really like attending both classes--though I sometimes have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at some of the goofy supposedly philosophical jargon the instructors come up with. Still, they do a great job of establishing a calm, conducive environment and the stretching exercises we do have really helped--no more pain and stiffness first thing in the morning, no more limping, no more having to sit down every few minutes because I was in too much pain to walk.

Yesterday, I arrived too late to join the early afternoon yoga class at F&S on Sveavägen so I decided I'd wait until 18:00, when another yoga class (with a different instructor) would meet at F&S behind NK. I usually don't go to F&S City--I am not sure why...I think it's because I like Annexet on St. Eriksgatan, F&S Karolinska Institute and F&S Sveavägen so much. All three are convenient and the changing rooms are spacious. F&S City just seems too crowded. Anyway, I managed to get the last ticket to the yoga class and was really looking forward to getting started. I'd felt stressed all day and thought an hour of relaxing music and stretching was just what the doctor ordered!

I grabbed a mat and situated myself near the back--I hate being right in the front. Initially, there were only two of us in the back row. About two minutes before class started, two teenagers arrived and plopped down beside me. I should have known from the giggles and beeping cell phones they'd be pains in the tookas. As soon as the lights were dimmed and the instructor turned on the music, the teeny-boppers began stage-whispering and squealing and giggling and making it difficult for me and the woman to my left to hear what the instructor was saying.

Several times, the instructor reminded all of us (though her comments seemed more directed at the teeny-boppers) to be quiet and listen to our breathing and to what our bodies were telling us as we stretched. This made the teeny-boppers squeal even more. I tried to keep my patience but they were really getting on my nerves. I shushed them twice, they stage-whispered even more. Someone else shushed them--their cell phones beeped in response, triggering yet another fit of squeals and giggles.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. The inner grouch in me emerged and hissed at them to shut up--not in polite Swedish, but in thorny, I-am-in-a-foul-mood-now American English. It did the trick. Their squeals ceased, giggles no longer spilled out of them and clouded the room--and everyone else seemed to let out a sigh of relief--or where they simply practicing their breathing and listening to their bodies? Who knows? All I can tell you is that I could finall hear what the instructor was saying and I was no longer distracted and annoyed by these two girls.

By the way, I never did make it to Umeå. I had too much to do and I kind of figured I wouldn't go. I shall wait for the next Kings of Convenience gig. Hopefully, it will be in Stockholm or someplace I am more interested in visiting. Until then, I will listen to my KoC CDs and dance around my apartment. I'll play a little Maria Mena in between and maybe even throw in a bit of Novastar and Neffa.

And I will wait for a little more sunshine because Stockholm is one rainy place this winter.

The Kings of Convenience are coming...

...to Umeå, that is. Erlend and Eirik are not making any forays into Stockholm this time, but I'll keep my fingers crossed. If they do come here during the spring, I will have to use my charms on Tord and see if I can convince him to see them with me.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Kings of Convenience, they are a fantastic Norwegian duo whose music I fell for around two years ago. The first song I ever heard by them was "I'd Rather Dance with You". I was in Vienna at the time, celebrating my birthday and enjoying a change of scenery. I liked the song so much, I went out and bought their "Riot on an Empty Street" CD. Fantastic album! Loved it so much, I bought "Quiet Is the New Loud".

Whenever I start a new writing project, I make a playlist of music to listen to as I write. Songs by the Kings of Convenience have figured prominently in the last two playlists I've stored on my iPod.

Well, I will keep my fingers crossed and hope they come to Stockholm soon. If they don't, well hey, maybe I should just go to Umeå? Nah, who am I kidding? I'm a wee bit too lazy to go to Umeå just for a concert. And yet--just a few days ago, I was considering going all the way to Copenhagen to see Neil Young until I found out that only tickets available cost 350 Euros. I like Neil Young but not that much. Hell, I don't like any band enough to pay that much for a concert.

So as I write this I am listening to my iPod and flipping between Word and Blogger. I am trying to write a new scene for my latest project and listening to Robyn sing "Bum Like You". Maybe I'll skip forward to the next Kings of Convenience song in the playlist... I think the next song on the playlist is something by the Police... yup, "Can't Stand Losing You" but I am not in the mood for it. KoC's "I'd Rather Dance With You" is calling me...

Right, time to get back to work on my novel...

It's January...did you make any resolutions?

A long time ago I decided I would stop making resolutions at the start of every year. Why? I never keep them. Or I forget I made them. Or I decide they were stupid resolutions to begin with and find something far more interesting to do instead.

This year I haven't made any resolutions. Instead, I have simply decided to continue with what I started last year. So what did I decide last year? Well, I decided to take up my Italian lessons again--a wise decision, I think, since I really enjoyed studying Italian and Tord and I spend so much time there. I have already looked into lessons and found some that start in two weeks.

Something else I decided last year was to repaint my hall. I was supposed to start painting a week ago but I spent more time running errands than picking up paint. I've got it pencilled in my calendar now--buy paint on Monday--and the hall will be a lovely shade called "oregano"--ooh, still Italian. Do all roads lead to Italy?

Next on my list, finish the first draft of 2007's Nanowrimo novel. That should be done fairly soon. I like the story, even it's a bit schmaltzy. I don't care. As I said in a previous post, I like pop fiction and I like love stories--even the sappiest ones can make me happy. Will this road lead to Italy--well, there is a writers' conference there in September...mayhaps I will have it revised in time for it...?

Other decisions from last year...? Yeah, the driver's license decision. Still haven't got far with that one. Could be that I have developed motion sickness lately. I feel nauseous when I am in a car too long so maybe it's better traveling by foot or public transport. We'll see... :)

What else...? I have started ridding myself of clothes I never wear anymore. No point in keeping them if they've been hanging in my closet for more than two years and I have never worn them. Going to get rid of some shoes I no longer like or wear anymore, plus some old bags I bought many moons ago and have more than served their purpose. Out they go. Ditto goes for anyone and anything that makes me feel negative. Out they go. I don't have time for putting up with that anymore.

Anything else...? Ah yes, start treating myself to massages, manicures and pedicures more often. That should be easy to continue with. I deserve it.

Right--next decision--must stop writing this now because it's soon time to start preparing dinner. And Tord has requested corn-fed chicken roasted in butter, onions, lemon, garlic and a wee bit of olive oil. I made it yesterday. He loved it so much, he wants it again. No problem. It's easy as pie!

Off I go! No resolutions, just continuing with everything from last year.

Are you still looking for presents...?

As of today, I am completely done! With Christmas shopping, that is. I traipsed around Gamla Stan picking up the last of my presents (for other people and a few for myself). I usually never shop in Gamla Stan but that may change. Today was a fantastic shopping experience--great service, unique gifts, cold weather that sent me in search of something warm to drink--I love when shopping is fun!

Since I am now finished with my Christmas shopping, I thought I'd help the rest of you who are still searching for that special gift...or need to escape the stress of shopping, here are a few suggestions:

• Tindra Stockholm on Österlånggatan 41 in Gamla Stan for yummy smelling soaps, gorgeous linens and other wonderful knickknacks.
• Original Global Art on Österlånggatan 22 for unique art from around the world at affordable prices.
• Teahouse Chaikhana on Svartmangatan 23 when you need a little halcyon after a jam-packed day of shopping and stress.
• For the little ones, why not some great kids' books from Bokspindeln on Odengatan 102 in Vasastan?
• For your adult book lovers, check out my friend Margaret's wonderful bookshop, New York Stories, Odengatan 100.
• Once you leave NYS with a huge bag full of books, you can swing by Caffè Como on Odengatan 106 for a grilled ciabatta and a latte.
• Need some toys? Go to Kalika on Österlånggatan 18 in Gamla Stan for handmade toys, doll houses, finger puppets--you name it! This store is magical...
• Need a present for your friend who loves to be spoiled? Go to Kiehl's on Mäster Samuelsgatan 5 for luxurious soaps, creams, facial products--you name it! This place is heaven!
• Need a luxury basket for your foodie friend? Go to Delicatessen Chez Jean-Yves on Upplandsgatan 54 for scrumptious cheese, pâté, biscuits, marmalades, sausages....
• If you need an espresso to keep you going as you walk along Upplandsgatan, pop over to Primafila on Upplandsgatan 16 and, while you're at it, book a barista course for your picky friend who wants to learn how to make the perfect espresso or latte. Andrea will take good care of you!
• While you're on Upplandsgatan, don't forget to stop by Odette's on Upplandsgatan 36 for scented candles, goodies from Designers' Guild, sumptuous bath towels...this is definitely one of my favorite stores in Vasastan.

So those are just a few suggestions to help you if you are completely frazzled and you're ready to have a nervous breakdown. And I promise--no more shopping posts. :)

Christmas is coming, Christmas is coming...


...but in Stockholm there isn't a drop of snow, nothing to make you feel giddy and bubbly with Christmas spirit. Where the hell is the snow??? Outside, the sky is a dull shade of gray and the lack of sunlight--we've had two full days of rain in a row--is making me feel like a sleepwalker.

Slowly but surely Advent lights are turning up in people's windows and fairy lights strung round balcony railings. But where is the smell of glühwein and roasted potatoes and chestnuts...? Oh wait, I am thinking of Austria where the Christmas spirit is in full swing. What I wouldn't do for a steaming cup of apfelpunsch right now...

So this week I will continue my Christmas movie bonanza--what is the Christmas season without an overdose of corny Christmas movies that make you laugh or smile or even cry a little? Tord and I are both in the mood for Elf, which I bought when I was in the US but has since disappeared or at least gone MIA somewhere in our messy apartment. I saw Elf for the first time two years ago. I was in an awful mood (ill, depressed, probably a little grumpy) and its unadulterated silliness made me laugh so hard that I forgot about my sinus infection. Will Ferrell screaming, "Santa Claus is coming, Santa Claus is coming!" and all of his antics to make James Caan (his on-screen dad) love him kept a smile on my face for hours. It's brilliant--and I don't mean brilliant in a Wim Wenders Wings of Desire or a Cinema Paradiso kind of way. I mean brilliant in a laugh out loud I want to watch it every Christmas kind of way. I guess I will have to search for it at our local video store. Must have Elf, must have Elf!

Over the next few weeks my Christmas dosage of movies will include The Family Stone, The Preacher's Wife, The Bishop's Wife, Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life. I will probably drive Tord insane with all of my Christmas movies, but he's used to it by now.

I even made my own double disc compilation of my favorite Christmas songs...a third volume may soon join it... Ah....Christmas, well...okay, I can survive a little longer without snow....as long as I get to see Elf soon.

Oregano...or sage?

This post will be a quick-one: I am doing Nanowrimo again and I already lost two hours of writing to catch up with Sara and Levi, which is good because I haven't seen them in two weeks. But I am behind--I should have written roughly 30,000 words by now and I am only just closing in on 20,000. I hope I will actually finish on time this year.

The new story? A widow, a man with a tool belt, an old house in Vermont and a shared past...oooh! I will freely admit that I wasted my time writing literary fiction. I love love love pop fiction--love writing it, love reading it, almost love indulging in it as much as I love chocolate and shoes.

Anyway, this week's dilemma--what color should I paint my hallway? Tord and I have picked two shades we both agree on: oregano and sage, i.e. green. Both shades are nearly identical. One has a slightly grey undertone, the other feels a wee bit warmer. I have bought a test can of oregano. Will try it out this weekend. But...a third shade jumped out at me---asparagus. It was much lighter than the oregano and sage, but it could work too.

Ah well. I can't allow myself to be seduced by so many gorgeous colors. I have to focus.

Alright, that's it today. I told you it would be short.

I want to buy a new pair of shoes...

Normally, I don't write about shopping, there are already far too many blogs about shopping and what to wear/what not to wear. This post has nothing to do with dictating what you should buy. This post is all about what I want to buy.

I am in the mood to spoil myself. And when I spoil myself I usually want new shoes. Back in the old days (read: when I lived in Richmond) the bottom of my closet was lined with boxes upon boxes of shoes. Shoes I loved, shoes that went with just about every outfit I owned. New shoes, vintage shoes. Shoes. My favorite pair was a vintage pair of spectator pumps I found at a second-hand shop on Cary Street. They were in pristine condition despite being from the 1940s. I paid $15 for them. When I moved to Sweden, I couldn't afford to ship my collection of shoes. I gave some away to my roommate, took the most practical pairs (that could withstand Swedish weather and donated the rest to the Salvation Army thrift store. Somewhere in Richmond, someone got great pleasure (I hope) out of my pony skin clogs, my strappy sandals, my cute little mules.

So what shoes do I want? Well, when I was in Zürich a few weeks ago, I saw the cutest pair of red pony skin ballerina flats at Gallerie Andy Jllien. I yearned for them. I talked myself out of them and bought a more practical pair of plain black leather ballerina flats instead. Now I wish I'd bought both pair instead of just one. I have been looking for something similar in Stockholm but all I have found are pony skin driving moccasins, which aren't nearly as cute.

Today I thought I would look for a pair of brown leather boots while I was in Södermalm. I figured I may as well look since I was early for my class. I went in and out of several stores, but--alas--no boots tickled my fancy. I ended up going to Åhéns after class and treating myself to some facial products from Origins.

At least I bought a new pair of curling boots last week. It's good to be prepared for the winter. Last year, we had our first snowfall on All Saint's Day. You may remember how I described the chaos on the streets of Stockholm when drivers who hadn't switched to their winter tires slid backwards down Upplandsgatan, buses crashed near Norra Bantorget, I slid my way down the road like the Silver Surfer and--for a change--did not fall. Jack Frost really kicked Stockholm's butt that evening. I don't think the same thing will happen this year on All Saint's Day. It's been pretty mild the last two weeks. Perhaps I shouldn't speak too soon. The weather here can change at the drop of a hat.

But enough about weather. I want a new pair of shoes. I am off all day on Friday. Maybe I will look for a pair then. I have worked hard all week. I have earned a new pair of shoes. And shoes are my guilty pleasure...well, shoes, Sims 2, Days of Our Lives and chick lit novels. And I am not ashamed to admit it.

Speaking of Days of Our Lives, we are three years behind in Sweden. We're at the point of he storyline when the Salem Serial Killer has sent an eerie "message" to Caroline Brady. I know a few more people will die on the soap. I usually refer to Days of Our Lives as "the bad soap" but I love its campiness. I love that Marlena has been possessed by the devil, been kidnapped a gazillion times and been surrogate mother to genetically-engineered twins. It's a nice escape from reality.

Shoes and soaps...a little chocolate would be nice, too.

In every other country, pregnant women are goddesses...

...or so the author of a letter to Svenska Dagbladet's letters to the editor page wrote a few days ago. This woman, whose name I have sadly forgotten, complained bitterly at the injustices she suffers in Swedish society as a pregnant woman and made it sound as though pregnant women in Sweden are somehow mistreated and maligned. I read the letter three times, trying to figure out if this woman was serious or just being ironic. I am still not sure. I sincerely hope she was being ironic, else she surely has a lot to learn about the rest of the world and how good she has it in Sweden.

All I know is that when I read the article I found myself wanting to shake this woman by her shoulders and scream, a la Cher in Moonstruck sans the slap, "Snap out of it!"

Her main complaints seemed to focus on her feeling that people do not treat pregnant women like they are special enough. According to her, no one in Sweden ever offers their subway or bus seat to pregnant women (definitely not true--I have witnessed on countless occasions men and women offering their seats to pregnant women), that people in Sweden only view children as noisy and annoying (some are, but then again, so are loads of adults), that people behave as though pregnant women brought their pregnancies upon themselves and so have no right to complain.... Well, technically, they and their partner decided to have a baby so--in a way--they did bring it upon themselves but why should that stop them from complaining?

But what made me chuckle was her statement that everywhere else in the world pregnant women are treated like goddesses. Hmm... I don't know many other countries as generous as Sweden when it comes to maternity leave + maternity leave benefits, prenatal and postnatal care--there are even special movie showings called "Baby Bio" so mothers on maternity leave can still see a movie and not have to leave their babies with a childminder.

Sweden is not perfect but it is a country that is far from treating its pregnant citizens like dirt. I am suddenly reminded of an article I read in Vanity Fair around five or six years ago. The article dealt with the civil war in Sierra Leone and featured a macabre pictorial of the consequences of this war. One of the pictures was a pregnant woman who'd been raped and mutilated, her body left by the roadside. The caption for the picture informed the reader that the woman's baby had been cut from her body and kicked around like a football by soldiers stoned out of their minds. Here was a pregnant woman whose life should have been valued and cherished--she was carrying the future in her womb. She should have been treated like a goddess instead of having to run for her life, only to lose it at the hands of men so stoned they probably didn't remember killing her later.

So before anyone, pregnant or not, complains about not being treated like a goddess, they can think about that dead woman by the roadside and count themselves lucky they aren't a casualty of war.

Summer moved on...

Well, autumn has definitely arrived in Stockholm. Already the days are shorter and chillier. Evenings of sitting outside and enjoying a glass of wine are fewer and fewer as the autumn chill creeps in.

The tenants' association for the building I live in hosted an autumn garden party at the weekend. I managed an hour of sitting outside before I began to shiver and had to bail. It was just too chilly for me, and I was a wee bit too tired after a day of translating to focus on speaking Swedish without feeling like my mouth and brain weren't always connecting.

I usually love autumn in Stockholm, but this year it's a bit depressing. After such a wet summer, it would have been nice with a more gradual shift into autumn. But already at the end of August it was getting to chilly to sit outside. And the rain we suffered through in June and July has hung in there for September. We normally tell our friends that September is the best time to visit Stockholm--usually it's quite sunny and dry, though not as warm as it can be in August. But this year we haven't advised anyone to come here. The damp air we've had lately doesn't feel the least bit welcoming. I've already seen people donning winter coats, thought it's nowhere near cold enough for a parka yet!

But it's soon time to prepare for the winter darkness. I've stocked up on candles, renewed my Friskis och Svettis card, bought new sweaters to keep me warm, got loads of romantic comedies to cheer me up should the winter blues wear me down.

I shouldn't even say the "w" word...but there was a picture in the paper today of men playing golf in Dalarna and there was snow on the ground! Snow! And it's only the 16th of September. Luckily it will be a while before we Stockholmers get any snow. Last year, we had our first snow fall on 1 November. Traffic chaos abounded. Luckily, I had on my curling boots and my duffel coat. I hardly noticed the snow--but I did notice all the accidents on the road. I was glad I was walking then! Didn't have to worry about changing tires or sliding on ice...

Brrrr! Just thinking about ice and snow is making me cold... I'm just going to sit at my desk and channel images of Umbria in the summer sun for a while...

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...

La Dolce Vita

In two weeks Tord and I are going to Italy--again. I am not complaining--I love Italy, I could easily imagine Tord and I selling everything we own, waving goodbye to all our friends and settling down in some hilltown in Italy. I have been dreaming of living there since I was a kid. All things Italian spark my interest--food, design, art, music (well, not so much Eurodisco--ick!), but you name it--I love Italy. I guess you could call me an Italophile--if that is even a word.

So why are we going to Italy? Tord wants to celebrate his birthday someplace where he can savor pasta with white truffle sauce--and that is not something we can do in Stockholm. I think he's also hankering for a change of scenery. We usually take weekend trips during the spring but we haven't gone anywhere since we returned from the US in February. We talked about going to Ireland but never found any airline tickets at a good price, ditto Belgium. For a while, we tossed around the idea of going to France, but that evaporated. Besides, we always have a great time in Italy and last year's train adventure through Umbria and Tuscany was a huge success. This year will be something of a repeat--we're going to Rome and then Umbria, but skipping Tuscany. So far, we have decided we'll visit Spoleto, Norcia and Assisi. I think we are going to Perugia as well.

Next summer, I want to rent a house in Italy and stay there at least two weeks. I have this dream of finding some lovely town with a train station (great for excursions + returning to the airport), a trattoria that serves the best food, and a little house where Tord and I can be lazy and soak up the sun and eat loads of ice cream. If we don't feel like cooking, we can walk (or ride our bikes) to the trattoria or osteria. We can fill our baskets with salsiccia, parmesan cheese, tomatoes, smoked mozzarella, proscuitto....oh boy....now I'm getting hungry...and the sun will kiss our skin and make us feel alive.

Everyone in Sweden says summer is the best time to be in Stockholm and they wonder why we go away for ten days every summer. Well, it's like this--Swedish summer weather is fickle. You never know what you're going to get. One summer can be warm and beautiful and make you think you're in the tropics. The next summer can be damp, cold and rainy and you'll go weeks without ever seeing the sun.

One summer in particular stands out in my mind: it started out swimmingly--May was lovely and warm, then June arrived and with it came clouds that didn't seem to disappear until the end of August. That summer it rained nearly every day. There were very few days when the temperature was above 16C. I was miserable. I didn't wear shorts that entire summer. I was still wearing winter sweaters in July. My sandals went unworn because the ground was far too wet. My hair was in a permanent state of frizziness. I'd never been so depressed before in my entire life. I understood then the old stereotype of suicidal Swedes. That summer I hated Sweden and everything Swedish. And all because there was no sun, just big fat droplets of rain, rain and more rain.

If the weather is good this summer, I will make the most of it. If today is anything to go by, then we're in for a good summer in Stockholm. But who knows what tomorrow will bring... it's rained nearly every day this week and they say there's more rain on the way either Sunday or Monday. I hope they're wrong.

But now I am going to sit on my balcony and soak up some sun. Even though I was born with a perfect tan, I still like to turn into a sun worshipper every now and then.

Changes...


On Saturday, I had lunch with some of my girlfriends and it occurred to me how much we've changed over the years. Sara is in medical school and has a nine-month-old son named Levy who is adorable--even when he has an ear infection. Nadia is now married and pregnant with her first child. Fia is married, has a lovely son named Ville and is pregnant with her second child. I am married and will be celebrating my eighth anniversary soon, no kids and waiting to hear from a literary agent who is reading the first four chapters of my novel. Missing from the group was Maitechu, who is in Saudi Arabia with her husband and two-year-old son until July.

At some point, we talked about how things have changed, though we didn't really use ourselves as examples. We talked about some of our male friends and how their lives have changed. Fredrik married Ulrika and they are awaiting the birth of their first child (a boy they will probably name Sixten). Chris and Julie had a baby girl named Holly, left Södermalm and moved to Gröndal. (And we thought Chris would never ever leave Södermalm, but Gröndal is still close to Södermalm...) And Brian has sold his apartment and will be moving to the UK at the end of the month to live with his girlfriend.

There was a time when we all used to see each other on an almost daily basis. We'd have brunch on Sundays, coffee on Saturday, drink far too much beer at Lion Bar--at least during the summer--on Fridays. Monday through Thursday anything could happen. We might end up at the cafe in Kulturhuset or the espresso bar on Horsngatan. Or, more often than not, we were at Blåbär on Upplandsgatan consuming salads and cheesecake and copious cups of coffee.

These days, we're all so busy with other things, or maybe we just don't take the time to meet as often as we used to for various reasons. One thing is certain, we're all getting older--some are more adverse to this than others.

I started noticing gray hairs around my 29th birthday. I don't remember if this bothered me very much though it probably did--at least for a few minutes. Tord has had gray hair since we met--though we like to joke that I am the cause of his loss of his blond hair. Neither of us seems bothered by the fact that we are getting older. The only thing I really miss from being younger is the ability to bounce back quickly from just about anything.

Drank too much last night? No problem...you're twenty-one, you eat a huge breakfast and take a shower and--voila!--you're as fresh as a daisy.

Do the same when you are thirty-seven and you still feel like a zombie two days later.

So I don't care that more gray hairs are sprouting out of my scalp. If it ever bothers me, I'll go to Roddy (who usually cuts my hair when I remember to make an appointment) and ask him to color it for me. But I do miss the energy and the enthusiasm for just about anything that I used to have. And I miss the unbridled optimism I had when I was a teenager. There are moments now when I still have it, but usually I find myself looking for cons when I should be concentrating on pros.

But the inner-child in me is alive and well. She makes an appearance when I least expect it. And even if my appearance is not what it used to be, I am happy.

And that's what matters most.

Slowed Down By Acute Bronchitis, Oh Joy!

As I write this, the spring rains have finally arrived in Stockholm. I woke this morning to the sound of rain splattering on my windowpanes and, instead of being annoyed by it, I was actually glad. We need the rain--and not just for the usual reasons like spring flowers growing, etc. We need it to wash away all the dust and grit left over from the winter.

For the last ten days I have been ill. It started off as my usual spring battle with pollen allergies. This commenced just before Easter. I thought I had it under control. The nasal spray my doctor prescribed was working like a charm, I could breathe and my head didn't feel like the size of a pumpkin. No worries for me! Then on Easter Monday, I woke with a fever and my throat was raw. At first, I thought it was another bout of strep throat. But I realized that it didn't feel like glass in my throat this time. It wasn't even my throat that was the biggest problem--it was this weird burning sensation under my breastplate. Then the coughing fits started. And the wheezing...and another fever...and it occurred to me that I could have bronchitis.

I consulted my favorite site for health info--the Mayo Clinic (www.mayoclinic.com) and looked for information on bronchitis. There was a list of thirteen symptoms, and I had all of them. I called my doctor, he told me to come in for an examination and sure enough--I had acute bronchitis, which he thought could be attributed to the copious amounts of pollen dust in the air. Since it was viral and not bacterial, no antibiotics were prescribed. Just rest, plenty of liquids and the strict order to "allow" myself to cough--"That's the only way you'll get rid of it," my doctor said. "Get rid of the phlegm, cough it up."

So after five days of fevers, coughing, feeling like a zombie and hating the world, I am finally able to sleep at night without being awakened by coughing fits. I can actually walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing. I still feel a bit weak, and my brain feels like it's in the wrong gear but they say this should pass by Friday or Saturday. Maybe I will jumpstart it with a bit of sudoku or a crossword puzzle.

One nice thing about being at home ill is getting to lie on the sofa and watch loads of dvds. I found a new favorite film, Something New with Sanaa Lathan and Simon Baker. Also saw Imagine Me and You with Piper Perabo and Matthew Goode.

I bought a book to keep me occupied called Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl. So far, I am spellbound. If you haven't read it yet, go out and buy it.

Time to start writing again...