Monthly Archives: February 2013

“It wasn’t an attack. We’d been together too many times before, made love together too many times before, for it to be that. It was just that fear had suddenly entered, and made us dangerous strangers.”

~ Cornell Woolrich


I’m suddenly finding myself fighting off long days. Perhaps changes in my routine has something to do with it, a new work challenge, new school and after-school for Sebastian and just a lot of other bits and bulbs that together shift the ground beneath your feet. It’s not an earthquake, but it certainly feels like a push and a shove in the right direction is needed. February is not helping either being probably (aside that it’s Sebastian’s birthday month) the most dreadful month of the year. And this time around, the frostbite is setting in a tad deeper.

With such exhilarating prospects (not!), I can’t help but hanging into the upcoming good bits. I have to. What else keeps one getting up at 6.45 in the morning only to fall asleep around midnight?

1. (Let’s start with low hanging fruit…and this one nearly always work)…’s almost weekend 🙂

2.Victoria’s birthday is up and coming

3. It’s a month away from the first public holiday

4. It’s also a month away from the end of the first quarter (that means spring IS around the corner)

5. And what put a real smile on my face is this….it’s wedding time. First wedding to go is a friend of mine getting married to her German beau. Can’t wait to be there and celebrate!


How romantic can it get?

…is a daunting experience for any boy or girl…whether being 4 or 7 (as in Sweden). Even though everyone is doing their best to make you feel welcome, you just want to go home with your parents. Is that why school got such a bad rep? Were we all so traumatised at that first school day?

Sebastian hung onto the hands of his parents, for fear and loathing of an establishment that had just become synonymous with must, wants, rules, do-as-I-say and for certain don’t-talk-in-class-unless-having-been-spoken-to, and be good above everything else. Of course a 4 year old don’t grasp these concepts at first, and the atmosphere was pretty jovial…yet the rules had already started to creep in…the chair, the hanger, the time-table, not to speak of what to bring to school and what not to. Our boy cried and wouldn’t let go of our hands. Eventually 8.30 am came and he had to be almost restrained by the the teacher for fear of running out of the classroom. My heart melted and I run to the window outside, just to give him a final kiss and goodbye.

Now my boy is in bed. His first verdict being “niet leuk” (not nice). I trust this will change soon. And some years later that will change again. I suppose thinking back of my own years it wasn’t until my teens that I really started to enjoy school. Sure school was fun, but it was the breaks I dreaded the most, holing up in the library for most of the time. Another cause for my bookworm tendencies coming to thing of it. But this is Sebastian’s time. I just hope he will find great fun in the world of knowledge.

old school

Old school….or did much really change?

I am watching the snow falling outside of my window…..not through the window but via the lens of an old mirror hanging on the other side. The snow is becoming almost clearer…contrasting against the darker shades of the corner of the room. I am still in my pajamas, having spent most of the day holed up in the bedroom watching documentaries (what else?). Sebastian is laying next to me, peacefully asleep. These days are very rare but oh how terribly good. I should be doing so much but coming to think about it today is the day I should absolutely do nothing…

There had once been a time when a make-up and hairdresser had been within the reach of a dial. But luxury had dried up. Her creams had even run out and she now resorted to Biotherm’s Homme line that stood readily available. At least it did the job and apart from a few fine lines, deep wrinkles hadn’t set in yet.

She applied her make-up, still a range of A-brand’s laying scattered in a black net-a-porter box. She then curled her hair whilst listening to Ivory Madonna by UB40….memories of another era. Her hair didn’t respond well to the iron, most likely because she was in a hurry. The taxi would be there in 15 minutes. When her hair had set in the desired coiffure, she applied an impossibly red lipstick. It contrasted well to her pale skin and fitted the red dress she had decided to wear.

She then went over to the mahogany chest of drawers which, besides being the safekeeper of stockings, lingerie and silk night-time garments, also held her perfume collection. A quick count…there must be more than 30 bottles. Most were classics from before WWI, with a few modern incarnations such as Magie Noire and a now discontinued Orange Blossom from l’occitane. But the occasion required something more potent. Pure perfume….elixir….Tabac Blond by Caron. A smokey, leathery – with a hint of cream – whiff filled the room as she cracked opened the bottle with an almost inaudible pop.

She then opened a new set of stockings, chose a set of lingeries that went with her undergarment of a certain molding kind. She needed it to get into the dress, let alone zip it up. But she managed….a deep, deep breath in and one strong tug in a northern direction. She was in – confined – and could hardly exhale…well not enough to empty her lungs of their by now toxic content.

She slipped on a pair of black Mary Jane’s and held onto the railing as not to trip. The taxi was already waiting outside. Before she stepped inside, she inhaled the crisp February air. It would snow tonight…


She walks into his apartment. It is sparsely furnished. She reflects on the word for a moment…like she often does when a word suddenly makes sense. She decides it must derive from the word Spartan, and with that finds a strange comfort in the layout. As opposed to the opulence she is used to…or perhaps more accurately – prefers. Life hasn’t been too kind….but then again the recession had taken its toll on most of the population. Even in the most affluent areas, houses were standing for sale – more often than not without ever acquiring a buyer. The owners would cut their budgets, save pennies when only a few years before they would have indulged in Champagne and caviar. Life wasn’t conducted any longer in the fast lane. Cars were traded down, paintings and jewellery exchanged hands for fast cash, luxury shops saw more mid season sales to shift stock. She had taken notice. She was very perceptive, saw the world through a set of lenses few people took part of.

All she could do was to hang onto spring. Literally. Not only recession had taken the world hostage, but so had winter. Cold winds from the Russian steps drew in over the country and coloured the pavements white with frost. She prayed for warmer times, for the basking sun in her face, for a gentle hand brushing by her cheek. Perhaps it was a matter of weeks, a month at most.

He is walking on bare feet, self-assured in all manners of speaking, into his kitchen. “You want some coffee?” he offers. She accepts gratuitously. She is hungry. Starving in fact. The last weeks was more work than play. She feels exhausted and although she just wants to lay down on a grey divan occupying the centre space of the open living, she feels this will be too soon. As he could almost read her thoughts, he starts frying up some eggs with ham and cheese. Five minutes later a plate is presented in front of her. She devours the toast with scramble. Never tasted so good. He keeps a certain distance…she keeps hers.


She spends a good two hours in his company. There are no advances. She wonders why, even catching her reflection in the window for a second longer to check if her looks hasn’t faded. They have not she assures herself. At 1.30 pm sharp he ousts her out – with the vague explanation that he has business to attend to. He leaves it at that. Again the enigma, the riddle that is lingering between the two of them. She walks down the stairs, but abide a moment when she reaches the outer door. She hears a muffled sound, and then a door shutting. Was it his?



“Each unto himself has his own world that he looks out upon, and though someone else were to stand on the very selfsame inch of ground your feet were placed upon, guided by chalk marks, he would not see the same things you did.”

~ Cornell Woolrich, Night has a Thousand Eyes

It’s a new dawn, certainly it is. A blood coloured sun filters through the clouds, tainting them with a hue of orange. Stark naked trees, but I hear the birds singing. They call for spring, detecting it infinitely earlier than us humans. I join them in their cries. Please let February come to a swift end and March come and go in fastforward. Let April bring bring temperatures that makes any winter clothing redundant. Then May and June. Weather Gods….bring me Spring and ultimately a soaring Summer.

your humble servant

Long day, more than a few cars, a helicopter, a speedboat, drawing kit, books and a globe doubling as a lamp (my favourite!). The birthday boy is very happy, tucked in and sound asleep in his bed. Mummy is tired but equally merry. Now it’s time for a documentary in bed. Any suggestions? x

Home-made birthday cake by Victoria! It was delicious honey!!

Opening up presents 🙂

In my humble opinion the best present of them all – thank you MJ! So lovely


Brooke Shields, who starts taking on more and more the forms of Rachel Weisz (both stunning ladies in their own rights I should add), is on the cover of Haute Living this month. Like the Hollywood starlet that she is, she certainly proves that women over 40 still have the goods 🙂