I bookended 2022 with the spicy cough, having had covid in January and December, with the December version being the most vicious. It has been a slow recovery, and the bad news for you is that I am now way well enough to type.
I’m not coughing, my throat is pretty ok; I have had a migrane for two days, intense joint pain, I’m shaking so much I cannot walk, I’m so tired I cannot move. This feels EXACTLY like the time I had a kidney infection and my kidneys stopped working the way God intended. Laying in hospital, this is EXACTLY how it felt. OMG. What if I’m patient zero for another strain of covid, Stockholmicron, where the virus attacks your kidneys and not your lungs.
the covid crisis had hit the household when there were no clean towels, no clean bedsheets, not a box of tissues or Vicks Vapour Drop to be found. No rehydration tablets, no Dettol, but I did find that our medicine cabinet was full of wildly out-of-date meds, if we were so inclined to test our immunity that little bit further. If only we'd had two years to prepare.
I think nothing says ‘injecting some life into my blog’ like writing content that should have been published weeks ago. Why yes, January is the perfect time to write about Christmas. Today is a public...Read more
I passive aggressively wrote to the librarian sharing my surprise at the choice of book, then promptly handed all book club book responsibilities over to the Swede.
“Well, I’m 7-and-a-half and I still haven’t had my 6th birthday party,” was the leitmotiv of Marigold, especially after being asked to empty the dishwasher. There were daily reminders; Tristan chord tensions were palpable.
hether you live in a house or flat, in a rural or urban environment, this beautiful book shows how to harness the natural world around us and feel more grounded and rooted in our surroundings.
Arriving home on a Tuesday morning in a taxi at dawn, after a night of public vomiting, feeling woozy, clutching an unmarked brown paper bag containing five small blue pills could at once, seem like a night out well spent. Or, on the other hand, signal the return home, after another night in a crowded emergency ward in the midst of a global pandemic, hooked up to a drip after an unexplained anaphylactic episode, that again, took my breath away.
Think forests, swimming in lakes*, berry picking, tumbling with cousins, social distancing from grandparents, remote working and breaking bread around the table.
However, midsummer 2020 was very low key; mona corona. There were no mass gatherings, traditional dress, or dancing around a 20-foot penis - oh those were the days. The frog dance leaped a year, the organised fun set aside, and for something completely different, the sun was shining.
Could have be worse mind you, she could have has asked to learn a string instrument, so I guess I should count my blessings. Jesus, beginner violin sounds like a cat slowing dying and could be the real inspiration behind social distancing.
It only took a brush with emergency services during a global pandemic to help me remember my WordPress password. And well, now, writing sparks so much joy, you’re...Read more
It seems like more of an old lady's injury with the jury out as to why, when falling down a hill trying to save a dozen eggs before Easter, both my leg bones shattered on impact.
For 30 days, I am going to eat <20 grams of net carbs, which basically means you give up bread, pasta and biscuits, and go around annoying people with endless energy and nutritional advice.
TSH can't stand up and I can't really walk so Easter 2018 will be a much toned-down version of usual events. The kids will not even notice as long as "The Rooster" shows up sometime over the next few days.
And it's pretty safe to say that for the last three nights the kids have had supermarket meatballs and macaroni for dinner, with nigh on not a vegetable to be seen. I know you are meant to 'eat the rainbow' but our rainbow has a slight 'sepia' tone to it, with only white and brown to be seen.
I still feel like I play a rather 'supportive' role to the other members who actually possess value-adding real life and language skills. However, I do put on a great spread when meetings are held at our house, which may be the reason for my re-election.
We had such a fun time exploring all the boutique shops, which all had superior gifting wares. We got into the south coast mood and I felt the strong need to get into a soft linen pant.
The best news was that my biological age was estimated to be 37, so when TSH told me I was looking five years younger, he was as usual, absolutely SPOT ON.
I felt like I was in the Barossa Valley, whipping up quince jelly, quince paste and rosemary and quince jam. Turns out, all you have to do is add a hell of a lot of sugar to them and boil the crap out of them.
By December, Sweden has very few hours of daylight so some clever bugger came up with the idea of celebrating the four Sundays before Christmas, by lighting candles and drinking mulled wine. Golf clap.
My contributions of 'ghost bananas' and mini 'pumpkins' we not the most popular choice. I blame 1) merchandise positioning - he'd placed them right near the big pot of candy and 2) his complete failure to sell them in.
I went as the dead car crash victim in the Great Gatsby/or a Dickens novel. I have to say, looking dead took no effort at all. Over the last few months I have truly perfected the haggard look and basically, just roll out of bed every morning looking like this.
So over the coming weeks, TSH did the hard labour of cutting back the overgrown mess and I became the operations manager. This project was the start of our dream to build a kitchen garden and to attempt sustainable living. My 'all spirit/no skills' approach to gardening was born.
So how's not working going? Turns out not as good as I thought. Last week I thought I would have been happily soloing parenting along, job seeking, fermenting vegetables or learning to play the mandolin.
Although I have plans of becoming a biodynamic gardener with a primary focus on vegetables and sustainability, let's just say that I am not quite there yet. I'm still sitting at home, drinking tea and listening to Madrigals.
Today, I finished up at 9.30am and by 10am I was at a specialist appointment with Miss 5. I ate ice-cream for lunch and had a cup of tea. This sparked immense joy.
I'm now a job seeker in a country where I can only apply for 5% of the jobs on offer. Jobs in English. Sure, I can speak Swedish, but it's a version of Swedish that is not recognised by the EU, nor by the greater Swedish population.
We had a nude weigh-in on Sunday night - which sounds like it should have been way more fun than it was - because we know it may come down to just grams.
It's for those interested in sharing tips and inspiration from all those who have a real green thumb, and are interested in organic growing and sustainable living. I've been allowed to join the group despite only successfully growing sage.
It's also a celebration of fertility and that's why around noon on Friday we will be dancing around a phallic pole, doing a traditional frog dance with a crown of flowers on our heads. WHAT IS NOT TO LOVE ABOUT THAT?
We've never owned a property, only apartments, so we have no experience WHAT SO EVER in any of these important issues and me in particular, have never shown any interest in anything other in home ownership, other than candles and organic linen in the shade of Marigold.
The final nail in the 'let's move to Sweden' coffin was when we found out that - despite not being residents there/me having any form of income in that country/TSH not even having started his job/us living in Australia - we could indeed get a bank loan and purchase property there. This had long been our dream, to find a family home.
I bookended 2022 with the spicy cough, having had covid in January and December, with the December version being the most vicious. It has been a slow recovery, and the bad news for you is that I am now way well enough to type.
I’m not coughing, my throat is pretty ok; I have had a migrane for two days, intense joint pain, I’m shaking so much I cannot walk, I’m so tired I cannot move. This feels EXACTLY like the time I had a kidney infection and my kidneys stopped working the way God intended. Laying in hospital, this is EXACTLY how it felt. OMG. What if I’m patient zero for another strain of covid, Stockholmicron, where the virus attacks your kidneys and not your lungs.
the covid crisis had hit the household when there were no clean towels, no clean bedsheets, not a box of tissues or Vicks Vapour Drop to be found. No rehydration tablets, no Dettol, but I did find that our medicine cabinet was full of wildly out-of-date meds, if we were so inclined to test our immunity that little bit further. If only we'd had two years to prepare.
With the weighty chunk of a bible for Book Club book #1, I was eager to get my hands on the next book as early as possible, to ensure success. With two failed attempts in-person at the library – the book hadn’t come in – I emailed the librarian, who promised to send me an email when the book arrived.
We waited and waited, and life went on. Thoughts of Book Club book #2 sank to the bottom of everything else swimming in my brain. Then the email arrived.
The shock, the horror. It said Book Club was in two days, and would be an in-person event at the library including cake. She’d forgotten to email me when the book arrived; we were screwed.
I told Elsa what had happened, and that we would jump on the Book Club bandwagon for book #3 and skip this one. Then I got The Reaction. She burst into tears, completely devastated that she would miss the next session.
“Did I just say we would skip book #2? Of course, we would never do that!”.
How could I forget to follow up on the book? I pinned that Best Parenting Award badge straight to my jacket, and power walked to the library to claim the book. In the next two days, we powered through the first few chapters, speed reading and skipping the boring bits. We didn’t finish it, but we did make a good attempt.
The Book Club met, and she could keep up with the discussion. The librarian told her to cover her ears when they were discussing the ending. The cake was a hit; smiles returned.
And wasn’t I just totally on top of book #3; got it in my hot little hands the minute it landed at the library. We were off and running with a strong start, plenty of time to read the book before the next session. We were going to nail book #3.
Book Club book #3
Here’s a loose translation of the Swedish book…
Prologue, 1796.
It was a grey and damp morning, when Christine, handcuffed, travelled over the meadow towards the harbour. The carriage wheels and horses heels could be heard on the gravel, but nothing else. No wind. No birdsong.
Oooooo, that’s a descriptive way to start a story, I said to Elsa.
Not many were there. Some soldiers, some police, the officials for the protocol; maybe eight, counted Christine.
Mmmm, I wonder what’s going to happen next…
But Christine, doesn’t want her life to end. Not yet. She’s too young.
Hang on…ummm…
The officials read out she’s convicted of killing her baby son. She didn’t. He’s still alive. No one listens to her. Her screams have never been heard.
Ummmmmmmmm…
The executioner takes a step forward with a rope. Christine looks at the executioner right in the eyes, it’s all she can see of him, his face is covered in a black hood. He has light blue eyes without life. She falls to her knees… As the clouds appear and dawn arises, there is nothing left of the woman known as Christine.
CHEERY START TO A BOOK FOR BOOK CLUB AGES 9-12. A young, immigrant, innocent women gets hanged beside the harbour, in graphic detail. SHOULD BE A GOOD BOOK.
Needless to say, we didn’t read much more, and Book Club book #3 was one we gladly skipped.
I think nothing says ‘injecting some life into my blog’ like writing content that should have been published weeks ago. Why yes, January is the perfect time to write about Christmas. Today is a public holiday in Sweden, Epiphany – thirteen days after Christmas, so in fact, I can legally still write about the festive season, getting it in at the very last minute. To push my point further, the Swedes like to drag out Christmas so it doesn’t officially end here until Saint Knut’s Day – twenty days after Christmas – so maybe I am actually ahead.
Delightful (and dark) December
When December 1 appeared, we were Advent-ready. As a Christmas extremer, I am a fan of this lovely tradition that dates back to the 1890s. On top of our usual adventures with advent – Grandma’s beautiful advent calendar + public television’s daily Christmas tv show and radio saga, with matching calendar – this year, we took it up a notch.
Marigold and Elsa made their own calendars at school, turns out they were my favourites, of course. To hear the matching stories associated with each window was pure joy. Grandma also sent us a ‘kindness’ advent calendar with a kindness challenge for every day. Fabulous!
Christmas near the north pole – Santa included!
As the pandemic raged on, we were very grateful to be able to spend Christmas together with our Swedish family. For so many both in Sweden and around the world, this type of family gathering was not possible; we were truly thankful.
On Christmas Eve, the Swedish Christmas Goat made his majestic appearance like clockwork and Christmas celebrations officially started. Santa must have been triple vaccinated, because he showed up on a sleigh!!! A day of eating, gifting, chatting, napping, and taking walks with the puppy. Yes, that’s right. A puppy!
A puppy for Christmas
The Ling puppy lobby won their petition for an earlier-than-expected surprise purchase of a puppy, with a strong four votes out of five. By mid-December, we were able to pick her up, an 11-week-old ‘Pomapoo’ – a mix of Toy Poodle and Pomeranian. Her real mix is part dog, part teddy bear, so it was love at first sight; introducing Yumi Rose, the best Christmas present ever! Having her with us up north was golden magic. She even loves snow.
Thejoy of writing
I have now set a target to write one blog post per week and with this post, I am 100% on track. You’ll have to put up with me a bit longer.
More to come.
Can you ever take too many pictures of a puppy? How was your Christmas? Could you spend time with family or did corona bite you in the bum? Let me know below.
I passive aggressively wrote to the librarian sharing my surprise at the choice of book, then promptly handed all book club book responsibilities over to the Swede.
“Well, I’m 7-and-a-half and I still haven’t had my 6th birthday party,” was the leitmotiv of Marigold, especially after being asked to empty the dishwasher. There were daily reminders; Tristan chord tensions were palpable.
hether you live in a house or flat, in a rural or urban environment, this beautiful book shows how to harness the natural world around us and feel more grounded and rooted in our surroundings.
Arriving home on a Tuesday morning in a taxi at dawn, after a night of public vomiting, feeling woozy, clutching an unmarked brown paper bag containing five small blue pills could at once, seem like a night out well spent. Or, on the other hand, signal the return home, after another night in a crowded emergency ward in the midst of a global pandemic, hooked up to a drip after an unexplained anaphylactic episode, that again, took my breath away.