Happy Friday

Matt from Australia

19 and care free.

This is the fourth installment in a series about the men who keep a place in my heart. Read about Oscar from Sweden here, Anders from Denmark here and Jan from Canada here.

Matt took me by surprise.

When a guy likes me I'm usually taken aback. I've always been flirty, but never that cool calculated girl, and I always end up suprised that someone likes me for me.

And when I'm in I'm all in. I'm horrible at hiding my crush.

Let me set the scene.

I'm in my second semester at the University of Newcastle studying Environmental Science. I live in Evatt House. Mostly for Aussies, with a few international students mixed in. I'm known as the Crazy Norwegian, and my hair alternates between purple and red.

I hustle a couple of my house mates into going to this local concert. A day thing with several bands, and we get to know these local Newie boys. I reckon one of them is really cute. It's not Matt.

But Matt turns up in my Biology lecture and approaches me. I see it as a chance of seeing his cute mate again. We end up hanging out a bit.

Then on the 17th of May (Norways national day) there is this thing at the lawn bowls club in Newcastle. I remember Kangaroo is on the menu. I'm still veggie, and I get into a discussion with Matt. It ends up with passionate kissing in The Grands basement club.

I'm hooked. And my surrogate brother Grant has to drive me a few times to Jesmond in his old Datsun.

I meet the sister (terrifying), the parents (pleasant) and we go to an environtmental conference together before I leave the country for good.

Lets just say there are some poems dedicated to Matt as well. And I did go back to see him agan.


Next time: Simon from England

Happy Christmas

In Norway we celebrate Christmas Eve, not Christmas Morning. And all the kids have to pine all day and open their presents after dinner tonight.

When I was a kid, and we celebrated in Australia, we opened on Christmas Morning.  I always thought Santa only lived in Australia, because we put milk and cookies out for him, and that he came with our stockings during the night. My sister actually insisted she saw him one night. I'm pretty sure it was our Auntie Gwen.

Later we'd go to Budgewoi Beach for a picnic and a swim.

This present is for my newest niece, Linnea. She's celebrating her first Christmas. Funny how I have boys, but my siblings only make girls.

Happy Christmas to everyone, and I hope you all are happy and around the people you love.

Love,

A. xxx



.... and I'm doing a series on boyfrends past. If you missed out the latest one is here.

Johnny and Jan

This is the third installment in a series about the men who keep a place in my heart. Read about Oscar from Sweden here, and Anders from Denmark here. (And make sure you read the comments after Oscars post)

Jan from Canada.

I have just graduated from High School. My hair has just been blue, orange, and is now supershort (thanks Mum for trying to cut all the orange out). I am in total bliss from finally being set free from the shackles of I.B. (anyone who has attended that programme knows what I'm talking about). I'm free. If only for a month till I move to Australia.

My cousin Tom is visiting from Montral with his mates Phil and Jan. As per usual we shack them up in our cabin just five minutes from where we live. During the week it's up to my BFF and I to entertain the guests.

And entertain we do. Drinking and playing records into late nights. Laying on the grass and fishing in the fjord during the day. Without realising it I'm drawn to Jan.

And it's all the cute stuff. Holding hands. Laying close. Totally knowing that it can't last. Being all of a year older than me Jan decides we have to break it off before it gets too serious.

Tears.

And after some expert drama on my behalf we spend the rest of the week together in tragic love.

Me? Overly romantic? Noooo.

He leaves the country wearing my jacket and holding a poem I'm written about us.

To this day I can't listen to my Johnny Cash in San Quentin record without thinking about Jan from Canada.


Next time: Matt from Australia

Invoking Memories

I've been going through my photos, pulling out favourites, to see what makes me tick (or rather click).

This photo is all memories and memory making. My own boy, and my best friends girl, running together were we ran together all those summers before.

Clocks

What could be a more appropriate end of year post?

Time keeps moving on, and we're actually entering a new decade. Insane! I feel younger, but wiser, than I did the same time last year.

It's been a rough but also good year for me. It did result in the birth of this blog, and I do not regret that.

Through the course of 2009 I became:
 More secure
 Wiser
 A better photographer
 More care free

In 2010 I will:
 Trust my instincts
 Love even more
 Take chances
 Learn from mistakes

Time changes, evolves and morphs. It moves in leaps and trough treacle. We can't help growing older, but we can do something meaningful while time takes its toll.

As the seconds move.

Let it Snow

Snowed in. Like the rest of Europe. Fun fun fun. And we are used to a little snow at this end of the world, even though it usually doesn't stay around for long.

But this time round it looks like we'll luck out and the snow will stay beond Christmas. For the first time in 13 years at that. Little Man is in heaven. And I'm filled with childhood memories of waking up to snowfilled weekends. Sledging in the dark. Coming in cold, wet and hungry. Going to bed exhausted.

This is shaping up to be a good holiday.

This Brilliant Man

My mother tongue class dinasaur nerd. My high school friend. My help me through living in Newcastle-upon-Tyne guy. My party partner. My provider of mates to snog with. My deep conversational partner. My bi-lingual brother. My provider of budgies to look after (although not in a while). My I-look-like-I-eat-them-for-breakfast-but-I-actually-babysit-all-the-time gothic mate.

My friend forever even though we never see eachother enough and always say we have to meet up but never seem to find the time. (Excuses!)

He has done it again. He answered the most difficult questions I could ever imagine about Star Wars (geek!) and won 24.000 kroners. On saturday he can double it.

The force is strong in you, Jazzy!

Love #2

My second love is Anders from Denmark. There is already a theme developing, and I will stick to it. Believe you me. For those of you that missed my first love, Oscar from Sweden, read about him here.

I was 17. It's early spring, and I've managed to get myself into an environmental conference. A nordic one with representatives from Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Finland. We're staying at Sola Strand Hotel. In my home town, but it is still far enough from home to give me that camp feel. I'm already a stead fast vegetarian, tree hugger, and only weeks away from dying my hair blue.

Late nights with kindred environmental spirits produce great discussions way into the wee hours of the morning. Tall tall (again the similarities) Anders and I walk on the beach. Holding hands. The sun rising. It is (still) one of the most romantic moments of my life.  Because it's all innocent. Coloured by the experiences of teenage love and rejection, I'm far too afraid to make any sort of move. So is he it seems.

As he gets on the bus in the hotel parking lot that same morning both of our eyes well up with the unfulfilled potential of a stronger connection. One of the adults notices. Acknowledging our love.

Only days later I get a letter. A proper love letter. Anders expresses his care for me. My heart fills with pride. Pride that I managed to like someone who liked me back. And he's drawn us. On the beach. Holding hands. The sun coming up in the horizon.

I'm not even sure if I wrote him back But knowing me, the piner, I probably did. A letter full of care and cliches all the way.

Anders from Esbjerg. Tall. Danish viking. Still in my heart.

Housescapes

Home made lamp. I love the way it streaks the ceiling.

Housescapes packed with memories recent and far away. Can you guess my favourite colour?

Yummy jasmine tea from las weekends fika, and Little Mans colouring pencils.But there are also trinkets from Paris and Denmark .

Japanese dolls from Paris and Vancouver. Bento box from Copenhagen.

Sushi pillow from local designer in Vancouver.

A 200 grams tin of inner calmeness for emergency only from Danish Design Center. Bird candle from Rekjavik. 

My Snow in Eyelashes painting. A story of its own.

Little Mans first dictionary, Richard Scarry style. On retro table kindly donated by the inlaws.

Wunderbaum from Lebanon, sushi toy from Vancouver and vase from Grønlykke, Copenhagen.

My First Love

That's me in the yellow. Oscar is on my right in white. Isn't he a Swedish god?

Inspired by Keely, at The Un Mom, I've decided to do a boyfriends greatests hits. (And Big Man, if you're reading, you are number one.)

My first love has to be Oscar, from Sweden.

The from Sweden bit is important, cause this is the kind of summer camp love they made TV-movies out of in the 80's and we now can enjoy on sunday mornings.

It's 1989. I'm 11, and dreaming of that romantic love I've seen in the movies. The ideal men (or should I say boys) in my mind were 'Elliot' from 'ET' , Sean Astin in 'The Goonies', Corey Haim in The Lost Boys' and Atreyu in The Neverending Story. I used to make myself dream about them at night. Writing notes on yellow post its and sticking them to my bed for some dream inspriration.

But then. I'm off to Brazil with CISV (Childrens International Summer Villages). A month in camp with 48 other 11 year olds from 12 different countries. I knew I was in with a chance of finding someone to replace the movie boys currently stalking my dreams.

And there he was. Beautiful Oscar from Sweden. Tall, tanned, and I went for the kill. Fortunately love at that age has got just as much to do with talking someone into a relationship. I talked. We hooked up.

Now. We were in no way the only couple in the camp, but thanks to winning the kissing competition a few times, and me sneaking into his bed one night we got established as one of the offical couples at camp. We even got 'married'.

(Here I have to digress. When I retold the story to my girlfriends back in Norway I conveniently left out that the rings were made of tin foil, and that it was a mass wedding. It's about keeping the romantic illusion. I had learnt that even at the ripe age of 11).

After a month in Tween Love Heaven it was time to go back home. Without Oscar. I cried. And cried. And cried a bit more.

The next month I kept on pining for my boy untill the fateful letter arrived. The didn't want to be my 'kille' (boy) anymore. The distance was too far. I was heartbroken, playing the role of the pining girlfriend had been my thing. Now all I had was the memory.

I still have that memory. And a blurry picture of me next to Oscar from Sweden. My first love.

Singing my Life With her Words

My life was sung for me last night.

I started listening to Lisa Ekdahl in 1994. She was 23, I was 17, and her music, her wisom, hit me right in the heart. Since then she's followed me trough my life. She followed me to Australia. She followed me to the UK. And she followed me back home to Norway again.

So hearing her sing for the first time last night was like a journey trough my life. Every song took me back to a moment of heartache, a moment of bliss... most of all they took me back to lying on my bed. Headphones on. Analysing my life. Imagening my future.

Her music is melancholic and optimistic. Her lyrics are full of the life lessons she's had, and she's shared those lessons with me. Listening to her sing is like watching myself in the mirror. Retracing my lines, and thinking about a life already lived, but also about a life not yet lived.

So there, in that dark concert hall. My life was sung. My past described. And she reminded me that life is there. Right in front of my nose. Waiting to be lived. Loved. Learned.

I'm still floating on this pink knowing cloud.

Cars (not the pixar edition)

These are Big Mans old cars, and Little Man likes to play with them. Apparently Mamma likes to play with them too. But differently.

I really love this London-bus. Handy Brother had one when I was little, and it makes me think of hours playing together in our room. Handy Brothers version tooted when you pushed it to the ground, so it sounded like London traffic too. My Mum had to buy new cars for Little Man to keep at her house. There wasn't anything left of Handy Brothers cars because he had screwed them all apart.

The sheriff car reminds me of playing cops and robbers.

Smooth Luck

I love smooth rocks.

I pick them up on every trip to the beach. I reckon we have the best beaches in Europe here on the south west coast of Norway. It is famous with the surfers who have to wear full wetsuits (including hoods) to combat the cold of the North Sea.

I find the beaches are the most beautiful in winter. The colours are amasingly clear. The sun low. The wind brisk. And the warm cheeks when you get out of the wind are totally satisfying.

One of the beaches has a river running out on it full of slippery stone softness. The water sparkling as it makes them even smoother.

I have a whole bowl of stones, shells and other stuff collected on many beaches during many travels.

I pick up a collected rock. It's cool smoothness agains my skin. And I'm back.

Waves and all.

Country Housescapes

Childhood memories. Something in every corner. My parents countryhouse fills me with the sweet melancoly of moments past.

Sorry about the blurryness. No electricity in the cabin, so lighting was a bit poor.

Dad-in-laws Garden

Full of all the flowes you can imagine. Starts with daffs in spring, then tulips, then peonies, then lilies...

And it continues well into september.

I especially love his dahlias. They are colourful, wonderful, and remind me of when we moved into our house. We had vases full og them for our housewarming.

Every time I visit I can pick myself a beautiful bunch of whatever colours I like. I love the feel of the warm soil between my toes.

And come late summer I get fresh potatoes. And basil.

Yum.

Memory Bytes

A whole row of memories on show in my windowsill.

Volcanic rock from Iceland. Amasing trip with girlfriends, glaciers, geysirs and great shopping.

Fish from the Sydney Aquarium. My childhood favourite hangout. Loved the shark-tunnel.

Shells from trips on the beach in Australia. Sand between my toes. Tepid water. The current tagging at my ankles as my feet dig deeper and deeper into the sand. Diving under white waves. Floating over the round ones. Salt in my mouth. Sand in my cossies.

And a sea-coloured enamel bowl from my two and a half years in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The flea market in the old Victorian train station in Tynemouth. The smell of the sea. The anticipation of air and sky building up in my tummy leaving the grey and hostile city.

Memories to touch. Remember. Relive.

Relief.