The indulgence of nothingness

Having had plans every single day these last two weeks, ending the fourteen days with a weekend away from home, with two lovely ladies and their babies, I had an urge this morning, to do just nothing.

All impressions from the bygone weeks; following the growth of my soon four months old baby boy, seeing new people and all the 'should haves', had to sink in a bit, for me to be able to really grasp and appreciate the beauty of the details in life.

The nothing of this morning was like eating an egg. Very defined in its form, nutritious - a protecting shell with something good and simple inside. I've sat on the sofa, holding my son, reflecting about a friend I wish I had seen, thinking about new life and beautiful people. I've gone for a slow run - just because I felt like it. - Feeling the frost biting my thighs and cheeks, looking at my smiling son in the pram and breathing cold fall air, tasting like water from a mountain stream.

In a way I feel a little bit too full with all these impressions, but at the same time, very rich. Today has offered me the indulgence of nothingness. - And I'm fully satisfied.

Rubber boots

Having endured both cloudy and frosty days this fall, I almost screamed with delight when I thought I saw a raindrop this morning. Me, farmers and kids wanting to jump in puddles are probably the only ones loving this kind of weather right now. I'm otherwise not famous for liking rain at all. Rain on my face an in my hair is just not nice, but rain on my feet when I've got my lovely, new wellingtons on, is more than ok.

I debated with my self wether I was to buy a couple of expensive, all ready pimped boots, or a couple of cheaper ones, that I could pimp myself. I landed on the last alternative. In my closet there is now a small container filled with colourful ribbons that I use on my wellingtons (ooo, I love that word for rubber boots), changing them according to my mood, making the rubber boots extra magic.

I love the feeling of my feet slipping into them. It's like eating deliciously seasoned mashed potatoes. The boots are comfortable and roomy and the toes have just enough room to dance a bit. Every time I put the wellingtons on, I think I hear them promising me adventure, and I get the feeling I can endure any encounter with dragons or what ever shady characters fate decides to dump on me.

When I finally went out for a walk today, it had stopped raining, but the road was filled with puddles. I made sure i walked straight into most of them.

Shower, bread and cheese

Yesterday night I was totally exhausted after virtually no sleep the night before (caused by my son, who, as his pyjamas says, is "never to small to rock" - he does that in his sleep), followed by a long day at work and an afternoon of endless housekeeping.

After having boiled bottles, washed baby bodies and cleaned the bathroom and the bedroom floor, I left my son and husband enjoying each others company in the livingroom and escaped into the bathroom.

You know the wonderful taste of a simple buttered slice of bread with Jarlsberg cheese on top when you're really hungry? The shower I took yesterday tasted like that. Warm water sprinkled down my tired body, washing away the heaviest exhaustion, allowing both body and mind to relax. It made the world feel clean, quiet and simple.

Stepping out of the shower and into a towel and a bathroom wrapped in by vanilla scented candles, I felt like the queen - having enjoyed the most delicious gourmet meal, but at the same time realising I was actually full - satisfied by something simple as a slice of bread with cheese.

Slipping into bed that evening - dozy after the hot shower and tired after the rest of the day, was just amazing. I think I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow and dreamt of flying cheese slices, floating in the air over a waterfall of deliciously hot water.

Buying happiness? - yes you can

When the fall air has drained the nature for colours, I very often feel just a little bit drained myself. Even if I generally don't love the snow, I find my self waiting for the first flakes to appear. One of these too dark fall days, it has to come and put som lightness and sparkle into the everyday life.

To make my waiting a bit less desperate I bought myself some happiness the other day. It is probably the only colourful plant that survives the frost nights of the fall - and the colour itself is actually one of my favourites. It sits there on our tiny porch spreading some happiness, every time we go in or out of the house. Reminding me abaout growing things - yes, they do actually exist. This reminder costed me 100,- NOK. It is absolutely worth it - brightening up these too cold and too dark days.

So whatever people say about it not lasting. Sure, is won't last for ever, but yes - I think you can buy happiness.
My kind of fall colour happiness tastes like violet lollipop, eaten in cold weather. The taste spreading in the air with my breath, coming out like magic fall fog

The Smart Bird

It's not me I'm talking about - although I have no problem with being called smart bird. I'm referring to the Parus Major, or more commonly (and amusingly) called the Great Tit. A tiny little bird. One of the few birds that doesn't migrate to warmer areas when winter comes to Norway (that being a smart thing to do, can be discussed). This particular Great Tit was taking a trip on the Denmark-Norway ferry.

On my way home from Denmark, in the middle of the sea, I suddenly heard this little whistling noise. I should have brought my former colleague, Rune on this trip (he's really good at photographing birds) 'cause that bird flew away every time i reached for my camera. Rune would have dressed up in som fitting camouflage clothes and waited, hidden somewhere out on deck, until that bird decided to participate in the photo session.

Was it living there or was it just really smart? - hitchhiking to Norway to avoid getting tired in its tiny little wings. - Realising that his body wasn't made for greater journeys, but feeling very much like a world traveller, at heart.
There where a lot of people wandering around on the sun deck, and nobody took notice of this little creature, flying around on the rear deck of the boat. It felt like I was the only one noticing this amazing thing happening.

Choosing to take the boat back to Norway instead of the plane (to avoid a headache when it comes to carrying a baby and all the baby equipment), actually made me feel a bit like the smart bird. A world traveller at heart, but with too much luggage to travel fast in the air.

So a toast to the smart bird, who neither is great nor looks like a tit.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Tit

Lightness of new

New has a certain 'featheriness' attached to it. This weekend I got to visit a (to me) new town and observe new life, brought to the world by my brother, who now has a new title. So far I haven't had the opportunity to put anything bad on these, to my world, new elements. Århus is a beautiful town, with nice people, lovely cafés and beautiful architecture, my brother is the perfect, considerate father, and my nephew is the most beautiful, innocent little boy.

I thought about this a little. This is maybe why I like to travel so much. You very seldom get to see the heavier sides of new places when you stay there for only a short time. A little featheriness in your life once in a while is nice - to smooth out the sharp edges of your otherwise so realistic, and from time to time, heavy world.

I don't mean to paint my everyday life black. It isn't. The sharp edges in life is actually a source of enjoyment. Pretty hadn't existed without ugly. The contrast is what makes me able to "measure up" the reality. Sharp stuff are the elements in my world that has had a reaction to some of its counterparts in the world, and therefor "gained some weight" in my head. These things are clearer and more available than the feathery elements of the world. The bumps and edges are parts of what makes the sharper elements so heartbreaking beautiful.

Today I'm celebrating lightness though. It tastes like freshly made lemonade on a summers day. Is just as refreshing, sweet and light - with just a bit of sour.

The lightness of a baby smile before falling asleep in a soft hotel bed

Coffee on water

This day started in total darkness. Me trying to change diapers on my son, and not waking him up while doing that (that didn't work out) was followed by a tired, very cold, but luckily, short walk from a borrowed bed to the car.

Waking up at 0430 in the morning is not a joke. On our way to the ferry over to Denmark we almost crashed into a moose. That was the only moment during the one and a half hour drive I was totally awake (luckily, I was not the one driving).

After a short sniff of the salty sea air, the ferry has now taken care of one of my souls biggest needs - coffee. I don't need it to feel awake, I need it to feel comforted. I can always count on those black beans when it comes to taking care of me. Coffee on a round table with a view of an endless sea is no exception, it's actually one of the best kinds of coffee.

Coffee, breakfast, endless water and a trip filled with beautiful people and new places. Can you beat that? Coffee on water really IS the best.

Important impulses

Some impulses are more important than other. For instance, when my first nephew ever, was born last night and my impulse told me to go all the way to Denmark to see him, I ruled it as an important impulse, and did just that - went on a trip to Denmark to see him - the trip it self being a huge bonus.

Now, I'm in a car with my travel loving, always impulsive father and my three months old son. Feeling those tingling expectations of all the worlds untravelled trips, untasted, local specialities, unravelled secrets and unseen faces. I'm trying to make my son fall asleep in his car seat, but he seems to have inherited my need to observe the changing scene outside, and is taking in the view with red tired eyes.

The world is hurrying in the opposite direction outside the car window, and the colour drained fall scene seems a bit more colourful than usual. The taste of a trip like this is the tastes of all the worlds spices - the Tea Menthe of Morocco, the Indian Korma and the Italian pasta Bolognese. I just can't get enough of it. Tasting and observing is life, and I really love it. So, Thank God for those important impulses!

Auntie Sarah and her Care Soup

Seriously!? I'm not even the one giving birth this time, but the butterflies in my stomach are killing me. How much longer? And what are they going to call him? My brother had the name Julius Caesar Titus Xavier Silas jr, planned, but I'm pretty sure his girlfriend didn't favour that alternative.
To take my mind off this big occasion happening in Denmark today (or tomorrow) I made some half healthy, very tasty (which should make it entirely healthy) dinner. Perfect for a cold fall afternoon. The Care Soup actually made the butterflies fly a little slower for a while.

Here is the recipe (enough for 2-3 hungry souls) - let the food take care of you tonight!

Slice four big, peeled potatoes and four carrots and boil them soft with some vegetable stock, a small onion, salt and pepper. Mash together with some cream and put a couple of sliced, already boiled chicken sausages in the creamy soup. Serve with a couple of garlic buttered whole grain buns.

Enjoy!

The salvation of a foggy morning

I plowed myself, through the fog, to work this morning. It's not more than a couple of hundred meters from the parking lot to the office, but it felt like a mile made entirely up of heavy. The entire morning was just filled with a drowsiness that could be compared only with flu-infested, moist cotton.

I brewed a cup of herbal tea (coffee was just too heavy !), checked my inbox and wrote a couple of mails. The otherwise beautiful and fantastically light Apple keyboard had keys made out of stone this day.

As I picked up the barely touched teacup and wandered upstairs to a meeting, the day just couldn't get any heavier. I sat down in my coworkers beautifully lit office and put the teacup down on what begun to save my day - a beautiful, newly printed table (yes, we make designs and print them on for instance tables). It smelled amazing, looked fabulous and felt like a newly prepped downhill slope.

Now, I didn't actually taste it, but I can't help feeling the taste and consistence of crisp-bread with cream cheese in my mouth when thinking about the tabletop. And crisp-bread with cream cheese was just what this day needed to come a bit closer to balance.

So there you are - the taste of a newly printed tabletop on a very foggy day.

Laziness

I'm going to tell you about laziness, and I can say this already - it tastes like buttered popcorn.

It's not like I want to glorify it - neither popcorn or laziness. If I sit down too much, I actually get depressed (I'm sure too much popcorn also makes you depressed), but on the other hand, if I don't sit down once in a while, I get obsessed, and obsession leads to craziness, and that, Im sure, leads to depression - at least in my world. So balance, or this moment of laziness, is strictly necessary for my own saneness.

I'm bundling up in the sofa, picking a nice movie from our apple TV, listening to my husband popping those delicious popcorns in the kitchen. The dishes keeps sitting on the kitchen counter, wishing for shinier days, and I'm sure a thousand dust dots are playing hide and seek, just waiting in excitement for the vacuum cleaner to show up. But they'll be there, hiding, tomorrow as well.

The thought of all the cleaning, washing and fixing is drowned in the faint sound of the sizzling, boiling butter. This evening has been reserved by mr Laziness and I - and the taste of popcorn.

Magic of basil

I've had it before. Mixed it all together after a trip to Italy, where they serve this in the corner gelato shops. It's actually kind of magic, and I had forgotten all about it.

I brought the ingredients to a couple of friends of ours yesterday. Their newborn and our slightly older son had had the show (by screaming) half the evening. Tasting a spoonful of this made me forget the noise level for a moment - leaving just the surprising blend of simple tastes and an aftermath of smooth freshness. Magic.

So here you are, the recipe to a magic moment.

You need:
1 food processor
1 hand full of fresh basil leaves (fresh mint leaves works fine as well)
1 bucket of vanilla ice cream

And of course someone to eat this delicious mixup with.

Pleasure post

Today I got mail. A real letter. Not a bill or direct mail from a company trying to sell gardening tools (when winter is just around the corner!) or subscriptions on nutrition pills. No, a real letter from a real person I actually know.

I while ago I read a book with a sweet story glued together entirely of letters (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society). I finished it on a trip to my brother who lives in Stockholm, and I left it there, in his apartment. He picked it up, read it and (having grown up with e-mail in addition to be quite an eccentric art student) he got a bit obsessed with the thought of real, old time letters. So he writes to me on his typewriter (that he also uses in one of his art projects). Do you remember the worth of a letter like that?

Laying in the car seat between bills and magazines the letter was literally glowing like gold. I was driving home from town, but as I saw the letter sticking out from the mail my husband had put in the car before leaving home this morning, I pulled over and sat down to read. The warm fall sun made the newly cleaned leather car-seats smell a little extra leathery. The smell blended with a scent of dust and wax, as I opened the seal (!) my brother had closed the envelope with. I felt like I was holding and inhaling a treasure. I read his thoughts, smiled and wondered a bit, and really, fully enjoyed those minutes at an almost empty parking lot. The moment tasted like a dark and leathery wine - a whiff from the past with a present delight hitting the taste buds. I'll write him back, and I suspect I'll be enjoying it just as much as I enjoyed reading his letter.

Surprise moment

You can plan all you want, but often that moment of super taste comes like a surprise.

Fridays are the days I always allow my self moments of luxury. Today I'm looking forward to dinner with family members, a walk in the sun, delicious coffee with a tiny piece of chocolate on the side (I'm actually enjoying that right now, while writing this).This morning, though, served me a surprise moment of great taste.

My husbands alarm clock woke me up at seven. He decided to snooze for half an hour, but I was suddenly very awake. As the first rays of morning sun reached the window pane, I sneaked out of our bedroom, leaving my husband and our three months old son, sleeping, more or less peacefully.

Barefoot on cold floors, I brewed some dark roast coffee and lit all the candles I could find in the kitchen and living room area. The lavishness of that moment of silence, together with the smell of coffee, the warmth of candle lights and my bare feet finding cozy loafers, I think will be enough silent happiness for the rest of the day. The moment tasted like dark roasted, round coffee with some cold, rich, slightly vanilla flavored whipped cream on top.

Santa - almost

I saw him. And no, it was not Santa, but close enough.
After my morning smoothie, I decided to go for a jog, with Atlas (my son) sleeping in the pram. I entered the crisp fall-morning air, thinking I should have brought some gloves, and that this little jogging-trip, in the rising sun, would make a great blog-post. That, my friend, I will save for later, 'cause a couple of houses down from our place, he was, standing on the top of the chimney - the sun rising on the horizon behind him, making a perfect black silhouette out of him and the chimney he was standing on.

I've never seen one of them - at least not at work.
The chimney sweep is almost a mythical creature - appearing in a couple of Scandinavian children songs, but rarely seen (you only get those notes in your mail about him coming, once a year, and that you should leave the ladder out for him). But here he was. Looking like a cut out silhouette, standing on the top of the chimney, lit up by golden morning light.
As I came closer, he released that ball-brush from his belt and lowered it in to the chimney. It was amazing to look at - the air he was breathing, coming out like silhouette smoke, wrapping up the entire scene with the man at work and the lighting - too good to be true. - And it all, tasting like something sweet from my childhood. - Like cold "knäck" (Swedish caramel candy, very often tasting a little bit too burned, but still, oh so sweet).

I was sad about not bringing a camera, cause I'm pretty sure I'll never see anything like that again. Now, in retro perspective, I'm thinking not having that camera was part of the magic - knowing that this moment will only exist like this in my mind. And yes - it tastes wonderfully sweet, with a hint of bitter. But again, that is kind of a perfect combination of tastes, isn't it?

caliculus gustatorius

Caliculus gustatorius, or taste bud. Thats what I'm aiming for through this blog. Becoming one - taste bud that is. Tasting a little of life - ensuring my self at least one of those crisp, fresh and delicious moments every day. I'll share it with you - and my older self, to remind you and my self about what life can taste like.

I'm starting it all off with a deep red cup of tea and an almond-filled piece of butter soft, really dark chocolate, while enjoying these words and feeling the warmth of my night tired son, sitting on my lap. - a toast to life, and to tasting it all.