Service Provided Twentyfourseven Threesixtyfive

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy...

Simon & Garfunkel, Bookends

Cause He's My Lion

The sound of little feet on the landing.
So quiet, so careful, those naked feet on white painted stairs, holding on, barely moving and still.
Still, I can hear every tiny step, every inch he's moving. I can hear it, I can feel it.
And the voice, younger than in daytime, tired, curious, just one more question, just one more thing to think about before falling asleep.
And the hair, that hair, that makes him look like four years old again, a curly lion's mess from tossing and turning the world and his blankets upside down.
Sometimes those steps, that sound of little feet that on other nights make you sigh and say go back to beeeeeeeeed, sometimes those steps sound right through me.
Sometimes the sleepy breath of this eightyearold standing on the steps with just one more question makes me smile a smile that may look tired from outside but is a loud roar of joy on the inside.
Because i know that this is it. This, right now. This is it.
Roar.
Roar.
Roar.

Knitting

My dear friend Ebba called and we talked forever about the big things (crying at the office, epilepsy, vampires) and the not so big (laundry, IKEA, ambitions). Ebba said something brilliant about having dreams, and how they most of the time seem impossible to get around to, even just to get started:

"I like to think of it as knitting" she said (not that she knits). "It's like, you do a little bit today and then you might leave it for a while and then you pick it up again, knit a few rounds, put it down again, and all the while life goes on around you. And then one day you pick it up and, bam! A sweater!"

Bam. A sweater.

Lost For Words

Ok, almost lost for words. But seriously.
CAN YOU IMAGINE.

September Started On August 31st

How do I know this?
The kids are home sick today. It's season première of Sick Day.
And my mother left the comfort of her own bed at 4.40 this morning, to be at the train station before six, to be on our doorstep at eight o'clock. For me and J to go to work and do our thing, while she takes care of our children, nurses coughs and colds, hands out icecream and limits the nintendo playing and the whining, makes an apple tart, kisses dirty cheeks, coaxes down medicine.
My mother, the superhero.
She has also very kindly offered her apartment to a woman in need, which means she will spend tonight on the floor in our study.
On a mattress, but still.
If anyone would like to report me now for neglect and abuse of loved one, I'd like to tell you that it isn't always this bad.
Sometimes we do take care of the sick young'ns ourselves, and sometimes my mother drinks champagne and eats marmalade while I pull my offspring home on a sleigh in a storm.
Not very often, no. But sometimes.
It must have happened at least once.
And now someone is bringing me a latte on a tray and I really must go.
(I'll bring her home something nice for dinner, shall I? And cook it too?)

Who Run The World (Girls)

Ugly-happy about Beyoncé's baby! (Well, this photo is actually me being ugly-happy about something else, but still.) Excellent news. Chills. Yay. Hooray.

Platform 9, Kings Cross Station, London

If you know why this is big, I love you even more than before.
Wilhelm was in awe. "It's right HERE, mom!"

She's My Mother

She loves racing green, William Morris and anything British.
She knows the name of every bird, flower and tree.
She's taught me everything I know about being a mother.
She walks really fast when she's shopping.
She loves my children with a passion.
She'll cry over anything, big or small, happy or sad.
She has freckles everywhere.
She gives good advice but doesn't like to be on the receiving end.
She's the girl my father fell in love with.
She likes things to be just so.
She knew my husband was the one long before I did, but was clever enough to never tell me.
She has a love for books that is true and deep.
She likes a cold whiskey with her hot bath.
She's makes it all happen.
She thinks I'm a lion.
She's my mother.

And today is her birthday. Happy birthday, mamma!

Berlin Three (Is A Magic Number)

There are vacant lots like this one in every street. And buying an apartment is still much, much cheaper here than in Stockholm, Paris, London or Milan. I wonder how long it will last.


I'm not big on monuments. But places like Brandenburger Tor, where history feels like yesterday is different. I had chills walking through the majestic arches, and it wasn't all from the wind.


Some places looked exactly like my image of Berlin. I was there for 48 hours and spent all my time in the old East, so I don't know if this goes for West as well. But this? Textbook.


Hello baby! They named a street after you! This is the first/last street on the East side after/before the wall. After this it was no man's land, war ministry, Brandenburger Tor and then bang! the wall.


Another image of East Berlin that looks like something I've dreamed up. Glücklich Am Park. Like a movie set.


The Holocaust memorial is awful. And I mean that in the best possible sense of the word. It was... real, for lack of a better word. Beautiful, disturbing, awful and amazing.


I tried to imagine these gaps being filled with cement, like they were uptil 1989. A whole world closed. And then on top, little holes where you could climb up stairs and sneak a peak into West. How did we ever think that this was a good idea? A wall. A wall, for God's sake.

At Last

Today we stopped for icecream on the way home. The first outdoor icecreams of the season. Spring is officially here! Just this morning it was still Novemberish with dark clouds and heavy skies, but something happened around 2.30 pm and we decided that spring was it. Home to mud and waterguns we went, happily riding our new bikes (Wilhelm) and dreaming about decent coffee (me, but it didn't happen). And I don't know if it was the sun or the ten minute love fest slash lunch I hade with Marylove and Becks, but I've decided that the midlife crisis as of today is officially over. So that's that. Spring here, crisis gone, all is well with the world. Thank you for your love and support. I'm back on track.

Again With The Videos

Today is International Women's Day. If you were born with the right to vote, went to school, married who you wanted and had children by choice, a little celebration is in place. No, make that a big one.

Tack mamma! Tack pappa!

It's Crush On Husband Friday

I like fried chicken,
you know it's true.
But there's no sweeter meat
in the world than you!

Lyrics borrowed from Nina Simone's "Gimme Some", snow courtesy of Swedish permafrost, loving wife model's own.

Unexpected Valentine

The best part of the day was finding myself being surprise-recommended on LinkedIn. Yes, I can hear myself. And I know LinkedIn is a far cry from Wuthering Heights, everything Austen and even poor Jane Eyre. But is was so sweet and kind and such a surprise that it almost had me in tears. What an exceptionally gracious thing to do. To recommend someone and describe them as the bee's knees. If that's not a Valentine, I don't know what is. Thank you so much, young master Björn. That was a great thing to do.

Dear You

I started blogging because I needed a place to put my words.
I write for a living. Some days it's all I do, for hours on end. But I had things to say and words to use and sentences to spell out that noone in the world was willing to pay for (rightly so).
So I started a blog. A place for unwanted words (and dolls who pretend to be bears).
I hoped that a friend or two would stop by for updates on the kids.
I thought that maybe one day I could use these words, some way or other.
I never dreamed of You.
You who come here and read my words and wonder if I'm ok.
You who come here and say that I wrote what you felt and that you're crying now and it's all my fault.
You who come here and never say anything, but are here just the same.
Dear Miranda and Kathleen. Dear RW. Dear All of You.
I come here and see you and I can't believe my luck.
Thank You.

If You Don't Know Me By Now

You will never ever never know me.

But then again, if you do. You will watch this and know that I'm hardly standing upright now. I'm blushing, I'm short of breath, I'm happyhappyhappy. The king is back! Aaron Sorkin, man of my dreams, you brilliant brilliant brilliant person you. I can't wait. I can't wait.

Dear New Museum

Thanks for starting out in such a grandiose fashion and giving us Annie Leibovitz, Lennart Nilsson and Vee Speers all for the price of one. You are magnificent! And once you get that bar on the top floor running, views over the water, excellent food (as promised), there will be no holding me back.

Crowd pleaser? You betcha.

Photo "My brother Philip and my father" by Annie Leibovitz.

Hullo There

Dear British reader, if I have one.

I'm currently reading John Le Carré's "Our game" and the hero (a mr Timothy d'Abell Cramner, no less) keeps saying "Hullo" left and right. I've seen this before and always wondered about that U. Hullo? Is it a public school thing? An upper class accent of sorts? Why not hello? And could you give me an example of what it sounds like? Someone I might know of that says hullo?

Thank you ever so much for your kind cooperation. Please excuse my ignorance.

Sincerely yours,
Anna d'Abell Cramner

I'm In The Corner Watching You Kiss Her

New Robyn video out today.
And I'm off to bed.
Sweet dreams everyone.

Twenty Something

The BFF is swimming with sharks in South Africa. I miss her. So today, with her blessing, I'm sharing an e-mail she wrote me a while ago:

"There was a time when you and I would call in sick and spend the day in our respective apartments (studios!), watching daytime tv, while commenting the shows over the phone. Those days are long since gone. But days like this, average halfboring January days, I wish I could go back. Live at Slipers and Grevgatan again, if only for a couple of hours.

If I call in sick today there's laundry to fold, rugs to clean, sheets to change, kids to pick up, food to cook, homework to supervise. From my old 20-something life, all I really miss are those tv-phone calls."

As love letters go, this is one of the best I've ever had. And I couldn't agree more.

Though I really miss smoking too.

What do you miss?

The Day In Quotes

"I think we should just call them the Hyper Island lads."
My boss regarding the two youngsters I find having coffee, reading Wired magazine and looking about twelve years old in our kitchen at work. No further introductions were made.

"Mom, I was as hungry as a dingo with no meat."
Wilhelm lucked out at snacktime in school.

"The Pint Of No Return"
An aquaintance trying to explain the concept of no going back misses an "o". Even better this way, if you ask me.

"Hey, Tyko, do you want to come cuddle with my mom? She's really soft!"
Wilhelm offering his best friend a part of me.

"Well, yes, you know, I really don't want to miss the Olympics."
My mother-in-law isn't convinced of the young doctor's idea of prescribing her stronger sleeping pills.

"Goodnight and thanks for playing."
And that would be me, signing out.

Picture from work this summer, I just needed some green.