I enjoy marching bands. I like how you hear the music from a distance and turn a corner and there they are. And you just have to dance, whether you're two years old or just a little bit more.
I like to watch Wilhelm practice football in the rain. I like to be cold and wet and talk to the dads and grab my kids and run all the way home laughing at how soaked we are.
I like being alone. Not for any longer stretches, no. But I like the solitude of the livingroom when the kids are sleeping upstairs and Jesper's at the game and it's just me and the fireplace and the work I'm supposed to do, but don't. And won't.
I'm fond of my body. I'm not loving the wrinkles or the tired softness or my 17 centimeter scar. But I love the strength. The power. The miracle of having a body that works.
I like talking to strangers. People on the train and that sweet girl at the supermarket and business suits in the elevator and all of you right here.
I love being older.
Leo would love me too.
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1 comment:
Anna, I can't find your e-mail here and blogger won't let me reply to you, so here goes.
You are so kind to me and I just can barely get it together to answer my own kids, let alone comments, so I am sorry for that.
But I smile deep down everytime I see your name in the comments box.
Photos: I think your flower pictures last post are stunning, and maybe that's what you meant about a good picture, but I am entralled at the one today, of red overalls and the joy that can singularly come from a two year old face.
And your thoughts on being old: right there with you. I have evolved into skin I'm happy in for the first time in forty two years.
And I'm not Swedish, but I cut my hair short.
Sorry about the long silence and the long comment. Give me your e-mail next time!
best wishes, and thanks, always.
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