A Garden Under The North Star

"A book is a gift you can open again and again." (Garrison Keillor)

2012-01-12T17:06:00.017+02:00

Who can be without books? Not me. And no kindle or some such books, please. They have to be proper, 'old-fashioned' books. I never get tired of them. The only problem is where to put them all... especially now that we have some new ones stacking up.

My mother-in-law has moved to a care-home, and therefore doesn't have the space for them all anymore. What a gift it was for us, to be offered the chance to go through her bookshelves and choose what we wanted! The above are some of the books I picked. My mother-in-law is especially interested in Finnish and Swedish history, memoirs, art, architecture. How true it is, that looking at the books a person has will tell you who they really are.

I was pleasantly surprised to find, among her books, one by Merete Mazzarella, in Swedish called Där man aldrig är ensam or Where you are never alone. A book is always company, sometimes even the best company. Merete Mazzarella is a professor of literature, and my daughter attended her classes at university. She - Mazzarella - has written about some very interesting and often controversial subjects. Her latest book (which I haven't read but hope to) is about falling head-over-heels in love in your senior years, while already married to a husband who is over 80 years old. This happened in her own life.

I can't wait to start reading and browsing these new books. But before that I should finish reading my current book, Nothing to envy, by Barbara Demick. It describes unbelievable facts about ordinary people's lives in North Korea. The title says it all.

Bye-bye Christmas tree

2012-01-08T20:08:00.003+02:00

Taking down the Christmas tree ends with a trail of scattered pine needles.

Epiphany at my sister-in-law's

2012-01-07T16:36:00.094+02:00

My sister-in-law has moved into a new house. She has spent the last few months having it renovated, so we went over to see it in all its newness and finery, and to enjoy the last of the Christmas season. Epiphany is somehow such a pompous word... Twelfth night sounds better, although I always associate it with Shakespeare (not a bad thing). Being in my sister-in-law's home was just like being in Mrs. Santa Claus's house; everywhere you turned your head you saw Christmas decorations or something relating to a finnish-swedish Christmas. Not to mention our twelfth night feast. But now it's time to 'leave thy vain bibble babble' (Shakespeare again) and the festive season.

Happy New Year 2012!

2012-01-01T18:24:00.004+02:00

Happy New Year 2012!

Stormy weather

2011-12-26T11:07:00.001+02:00

A walk along the beach on the stormiest day of the year.

On Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T19:00:00.007+02:00

Preparations for Christmas Eve dinner: the food was the same (such as a smörgåsbord of starters, e.g. different kinds of herring, sillsalla- a salad which is made with chopped carrots, beetroot, pickles - sometimes includes potato - and topped with whipped cream that is died pink with beetroot juice. Salmon, whitefish, roe with smetana. Sausages, salami, a cheese platter...) but the faces around the table were different this year. My sister and her Austrian husband have moved to Australia for a few years. Mr. Blue eyes's 90-year-old mother Inga was too frail to join us, and my sister-in-law Solveig also spent Christmas with other relatives. So it was just our family of 5, grandma and grandpa, and Rina's boyfriend Tommi.

Mr. Blue eyes making sillsalla. Totti made the topping.

After dinner grandpa played the accordion, while the rest of us settled down to listen, open Christmas presents, and thankfully digest our dinner...

Even this is fun

2011-11-21T14:23:00.005+02:00

It may be grey outside, but even changing the sheets is fun... at least if you ask this little shining star.

Just grey

2011-11-19T12:55:00.007+02:00

It's grey outside. Mild and grey. I hear from friends that they have snow far, far east, in Baku, Azerbaijan. And snow far, far west too... in Vermont, USA. Here it's just grey.

For the first time, we had a nice guy here to help us with the garden work. He mowed the grass, trimmed the hedges and flower beds. What he did, he did well, and we were very pleased. But once he forgot to come. And he was too embarassed to contact us after that, said his mother. Well, the garden season is over for this year. New season, new projects... uusi vuosi, uudet kujeet.

These are the very last roses from the garden. It may not look as much, but in all this greyness they are a feast for the eyes, and much appreciated.

So now we turn our sights inward.

The Second Sunday of November

2011-11-14T13:27:00.000+02:00

... marks Father's Day in Finland, Sweden, Norway, Iceland and Estonia. I suppose in many families it's a day of leisure for dads, but over at our place dad definitely wants to cook for the rest of us. He says it's his way if relaxing. Come to think of it, he acts more like Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen. I always tell him he should take it easy, but the man is obstinate. (So loveable. But obstinate). It's also Gran'pa's Day so my parents came over for dinner. We also had our first glögg of the season - it always tastes so good! But it's a funny thing... the minute Father's Day ends, the Christmas season begins and the Christmas catalogues start cluttering up the post.

Frasier

2011-11-06T14:04:00.000+02:00

This is Frasier, our newest and youngest member of the family. He makes us "oldsters" feel younger, too! Show must go on...

(The first 2 photos are taken by the breeder. Frasier has 2 brothers and 6 sisters).

Cooper, thank you

2011-11-04T18:26:00.048+02:00

Cooper, 2.6.1998 - 7.10.2011

As I've already mentioned, Cooper came to us when Casper, our other golden retriever, was a year old. In many ways I feel it's actually easier having 2 dogs than just one. For one thing, they are rarely, if ever, alone. Cooper grew up with always having company, always having the pack nearby... and that's how he liked it.

I still have an old drawing from January 1999. I made it the day we thought Cooper was finally house-trained, and we could lay out the carpets on the floors. That was a big day. And what do you think was the first thing Cooper did? After sniffing the living room carpet, he threw up on it. And it that wasn't enough, he later chewed up the end of our bedroom carpet. Some time later I made a batch of brownies, and silly me left them on the table to cool... Well, those brownies soon disappeared...into the mouth of Cooper!

From the start Cooper adored his older brother, Casper. I think he learned more from Casper than from us. They were always together, and everyone always spoke about Casper AND Cooper. They were a team.

So it was very strange for Cooper when Casper died, and he was suddenly all alone. That happened in 2009. For two more years, Cooper was the only dog in the family. Of course, he got used to the situation. He got a lot more attention, but I always had the feeling he still thought it was strange, still missed his old buddy.

It's the most difficult decision you have to make as a pet owner... Cooper's strength gradually deteriorated. He used to dash up the hill to the front door, but now he had become slower and slower. There were good days and bad days, but the good days became fewer and fewer. You know it's a natural process and part of life, but it's still so difficult to accept. But it was time, time to say goodbye. Thank you, Cooper, for all the years you gave us, for all your antics and the fun, and for your unquestioning acceptance of life. We miss you so much, but it consoles us to think that now you're together with Casper again.

Lago Maggiore - Helsinki

2011-10-28T14:56:00.000+03:00

Northward bound again: Northern Italy, Switzerland, Germany. Then by ship to Finland. On arrival we had to wait a few hours before the cars could drive out of the ship - the ramp was broken, and we had to wait for it to be fixed. So we trooped back to the dining room for some coffee and croissants. La dolce vita!

Savouring la dolce vita

2011-10-28T14:32:00.000+03:00

Lago Maggiore (continued)

Destination Lago Maggiore

2011-10-27T12:39:00.004+03:00

One day at the end of June we sailed across a smooth Baltic Sea to Germany. The captain and crew were German, as were the other passengers. They were all accustomed to life onboard, having just been to St. Petersburg. The steward showed us a home video of a scientific expedition he had accompanied to Antactica that was interesting to see, especially since our sea voyages never venture so far... There was also a group of circus children from St. Petersburg, on their way to perform in Germany. They treated us to a surprise demonstration of their acrobatic skills, which was fun to watch.

After two nights at sea we arrived early in the morning in Travemünde, Germany, and immediately continued driving southward in order to reach Northern Italy by the evening.

Which we did... eventually. In spite of the good directions and the GPS, it took some time to find the right village where our house was situated. The villages are nestled very close together, and so many of the streets are named after Italian composers that we got a little mixed up! We finally had to call our host (who luckily spoke German and English), who then directed us to a major crossing where she hopped onto her vespa, which we - tired but grateful-- then followed to our holiday house.

The bungalow-style house was comfortable, a bedroom for Totti and her friend, a bedroom for Mr. Blue eyes and me, large kitchen, living room... but the patio, lush garden and views of the hills around Lago Maggiore were what we liked best.

The nearby village church bells playing their melody at the same hour every evening, the neighbours calling out to one another in Italian, the chirping birds, the golden evening sunlight casting its glow on everything...no hurry. Just peace.

Changes

2011-10-26T12:15:00.004+03:00

This summer brought lots of changes, both foreseeable, and unforseeable ones. We parents moved downstairs, and our last child at home, 16-year Totti, moved upstairs. This meant small renovation jobs, such as shifting furniture plus all the stuff that has accumulated over all the years. (Writing like this makes me feel ancient!). There were a lot of jobs that had to be seen to outside the house as well, and that kept Mr. Blue eyes busy even during his holiday. Luckily we spent a few weeks traveling by car & ship to Lago Maggiore in Italy (more about that later), so even my Bob-the-Builder husband had some time off from the demands of the house. My spunky mother-in-law turned 90 in August, but sadly her mind and physique suddenly deteriorated so much that she's now permanently in hospital. Along with family and friends, we celebrated her birthday in hospital. She herself thought she was celebrating her 100th birthday! Well, who knows, perhaps we still will...

For me, this summer also meant a shift in our role as parents, as a family. Still, I'd say it was a good summer. The weather was very accomodating. Contrary to what many people believe, summers in southern Finland are bright and sunny, with the days usually not too hot. That's exactly how I like it. The rains came at night, so it was perfect for the garden as well.

From Baku, with love

2011-06-12T01:00:00.004+03:00

Her voice is like clear water

That drips upon a stone

In forests far and silent

Where Quiet plays alone.

Her thoughts are like the lotus

Abloom by sacred streams

Beneath the temple arches

Where Quiet sits and dreams.

Her kisses are the roses

That grow while dusk is deep

In Persian garden closes

Where Quiet falls asleep.

- A Fantasy, by Sara Teasdale

Bring out the champagne

2011-06-04T12:59:00.001+03:00

Being blessed with three daughters means that as they grow up, in addition to the ups and downs that make up our everyday lives, we're fortunate to have the chance to experience so many happy (and emotional, for us parents) occasions. Rina's school graduation was three years ago, in the spring of 2008. Today is Sisi's turn for roses, champagne, good wishes, warm hugs, and a new, dazzlingly white student cap with the gold engraving - class of 2011!

The Easter bunny was here

2011-04-25T14:00:00.000+03:00

This year, instead of chocolate eggs, the Easter bunny decided to bring summer. The weather shot up from +10 degrees Celsius to +20. Someone mentioned that the effects of climate change are best observed in April... At least now it's goodbye to the last patches of snow and hello to the first flowers.

Happiness is...

2011-04-20T14:04:00.004+03:00

A special friend came to visit. In honour of this, we decided to open our BBQ season, and ignored the lonely patch of snow still left lying about. Spotted the year's first butterfly - the common brimstone - on 17.4.11. So there's lots to be happy about.

Roses & romance

2011-04-02T15:52:00.000+03:00

One of the last roses of 2010 still blooming in the garden was Rosa Ingrid Bergman. I snipped it inside sometime when the first snows came. I wish I could put a romantic rose like this on the table for Ingrid & Cary Grant, here in "Notorious". Those old movies...I just love them so much.

Britain's cutest outboard

2011-03-23T13:09:00.000+02:00

It's amazing the places you wind up in with Mr. Blue Eyes. Like a museum for outboards. I don't know a thing about them, and as much as I might try I can't see anything aesthetically interesting in them either -which isn't their primary function, I was told - so I just tagged along and tried not to say 'okay, you've seen this, let's move on' every other minute. Anyway, at least now I've seen 'Britain's cutest outboard' and lots of other ones from around the world... still looking all the same to me :) .

Visiting Daphne

2011-03-21T15:12:00.001+02:00

The famous Daphne today, peacefully retired at the Forum Marinum centre in Turku. I'm sure she still dreams of winds, waves and all the adventures that Göran Schildt (11.3.1917 - 24.3.2009) wrote about in his travel books. I think after this long winter we'll all be more than ready for new adventures and a a change of scenery!

That was February, that

2011-03-01T16:45:00.011+02:00

That was February, that. Freezing, and more snow than ever before. One of us flew out of the nest. One of us made a trip to London, and came back saying it was paradise. One of us spent a lot of time shoveling all that snow, quite happily. And one of us felt like a bird, perching, restlessly waiting for more light, and warmth, and colour. It's somewhere out there, they say...

An almost empty nest

2011-02-19T17:39:00.001+02:00

We're doing our best getting used to an - almost - empty nest. Again. Rina moved out just a short while ago, well, actually it was a few years ago, and now it looks like it's Sisi's turn. You hear it a million times, but it really IS amazing how quickly your children grow up! And at times like these, you can't help but think of all the sweet and funny memories of their childhood. Then there's that thing you have to learn all over again. The letting go. But above all, there's the exhilaration and excitement your child radiates, as she bustles around, sorting and packing all her belongings. It's so catching you can't help but smile and feel exhilarated yourself!

Lovers in the snow

2011-02-14T16:06:00.000+02:00

Suddenly I pulled one arm free
from the arms that enclosed me
and stretched it out to touch a star:
yes, she was there, she hadn't changed colour,
the star was as deep as ever with blue points
and mine, only mine -
the star was in her place
we smiled gently at each other
and both turned round
each to our heaven.

The star by Solveig von Schoultz (the grande dame of Finland-Swedish literature)

Lovers in the snow by Dora Holzhandler

Excuses, excuses

2011-02-03T22:26:00.000+02:00

Let me know what spring is like

2011-01-30T14:39:00.127+02:00

The first months of the year are such long ones, when time stands frozen like the sea. But one morning there will be birdsong, and the sun will come out, even if only for a while. You'll notice that even the air will smell different. No matter how long you live it's always such a wonderful thing, that first gentle touch of spring. I hope you feel the same. But now I'll stop before this starts to sound too much like a Frank Sinatra song (which I can't stop going through my head - "Fly me to the moon, ta-ta-ta-daa-ta-daa-ta-daa, let me know what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars---").

Ready for a snow bath?

2011-01-26T12:47:00.000+02:00

Maybe you've heard we tough Finns like to roll around in the snow to cool off after a sauna. We also like to take snow baths. Well, no, just kidding. (The rolling around outside in the snow is true, though). I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw our bathtub full of - not bubble bath - but snow! It turned out that dear Mr. Blue eyes had been cleaning the snow away from the bedroom's roof windows, and instead of pushing it down to the driveway below, from where it would have to be shoveled away, he thought it handy to pile all the snow in the bathtub. I wonder if that's being practical or a neat-freak? Possibly both. Still, it's nice to see the sky through the windows again, so thanks Mr. Blue eyes.

Dreams in January

2011-01-20T17:50:00.001+02:00

While we're still in the kitchen, I suppose the pictures here on the refrigerator door are what I'm dreaming of. I bet I'm not the only one who dreams of spring in this snow-flooded (or snow-flowing if you can use such a term) part of the world!

Still life (not)

2011-01-18T17:23:00.076+02:00

I'd say the kitchen table is the hub of our lives. It's a cosy, informal place, somewhere even friends like to gravitate to when they come over. It's also where the clutter of our daily lives easily piles up - newspapers, mail, books, dishes, a vase of flowers, various little seedlings in their different stages of growth, etc. etc. But right now the only things on the table are a photograph of wintery trees taken by my friend Sirpa, and a pomegranate to remind me of more faraway friends.

Good morning Totti,

2011-01-17T17:05:00.002+02:00

and Happy Birthday to you, dear sweet sixteen! Hope it wasn't too hard to get up in the morning even though it's a Monday, and a school day! Hugs from all of us!

Tahira is five

2011-01-15T16:46:00.001+02:00

My "littlest" goddaughter Tahira just turned 5 years old this January. She has an exciting year behind her: becoming a big sister to baby Emil (born in March 2010), moving from Finland to Azerbaijan for seven months, and getting to know all her relatives there. In the process she has become fluent in both Finnish and Azeri, plus I noticed she even understood English when she was here. She's a real little cosmopolitan, and the world is open for her to explore. Happy, happy birthday, dear Tahira!

Winter's light

2011-01-09T15:34:00.001+02:00

Among the red Amaryllis a lone white one has come up. Amaryllis Athene. A welcome surprise after all the reds of the holiday season. Can angels wings be as beautiful?

Twelfth Night

2011-01-06T23:23:00.004+02:00

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost,

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring,

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

- J.R.R. Tolkien

Christmas still holds a kind of magic. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking? Whatever the reason, taking down the Christmas ornaments was a bit sad. For a while the rooms look almost too white and bare, even for someone who prefers things simple and uncluttered. Oh well, there's a time for everything, and now it's time to let the longer growing days light up the rooms. Welcome 2011!

It's snowing (again) in Helsinki

2010-12-30T23:14:00.000+02:00

We wish you a Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T22:36:00.001+02:00

Christmas elves, Christmas dinner, singing, laughing, presents, but most of all: being together. And it was over so quickly.

Colours of Christmas

2010-12-23T22:14:00.002+02:00

Summer or snow...

2010-12-22T22:02:00.003+02:00

...you've got to take the dog out. Cooper is always happy to go for a walk no matter how cold the weather - not sure about Mr. Blue eyes!

Birthday

2010-12-20T21:50:00.004+02:00

Sisi is the birthday girl today. 19 candles. Happy Birthday!

Someone came knocking

2010-12-10T18:20:00.030+02:00

It looks like it will be a long, long wait until I can sit here on the kitchen steps, my favourite place to enjoy my morning coffee. In the meantime, someone else has been here, as Cooper is discovering...

and more snow

2010-12-08T22:56:00.002+02:00

They say there hasn't been so much snow since 1940. If you don't have a snow shovel, poor you, because they've all been sold out. The snow is causing all kind of havoc, but on days like this you simply don't mind, it's so beautiful.

More winter

2010-12-07T19:00:00.002+02:00

Happy...

2010-12-04T14:08:00.000+02:00

Rina & Jasper in 1991

Rina, our first-born, is 21 years old today! Happy Birthday dear Rina!

and visiting friends in the UK (a bit more recently!)

Father's Day Amaryllis

2010-11-28T19:37:00.001+02:00

Earlier this month we celebrated Father's Day. My parents came over for an informal Father's Day dinner. Dad is 82, mom 78. Mr. Blue eyes took care of all the food - being a dad himself he was naturally one of the 'party boys' and could have just relaxed - but cooking is his way of relaxing and he insisted on it. I certainly have nothing at all against others doing the kitchen work!

My parents

Otherwise it's been a rather gloomy month weatherwise. Even the early snowfall has only helped a little to brighten things up. The sun, on those few days it has appered, seems to creep up a few steps over the trees and houses, only to hastily tumble back below the horizon again. What a challenging month it is. Oh well, only about month to go until the days start getting longer. I suppose we can hang on until then!

My mom brought a beautiful Amaryllis, my favourite Christmas flower. During these long dark days especially, it really cheers you up to have even one flower to gaze at.

It's like having a miniature secret garden. You never know what stories you might find there to while away the darkness.

November thoughts

2010-11-13T19:30:00.001+02:00

Water knows what is far will be near.

Water says choose that which closes distance,

choose touch.

When snow falls, and a green mystery is carried by all that moves,

choose love.

-James Bertolino

like the leaves of Autumn

2010-11-02T12:05:00.000+02:00

The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop away from you
like the leaves of Autumn.

- John Muir

George's allotment, Lisa Graa Jensen

Summer house colours 2

2010-10-24T14:46:00.000+03:00

Summer house colours 1

2010-10-16T19:22:00.000+03:00

Garden therapy

2010-10-10T17:31:00.009+03:00

I knew this would be a different kind of summer. Being on extended sick leave, I knew I wouldn't be able to immerse myself in physical things, as before. I wouldn't have minded so much if this had meant, for example, not being able to do any cleaning around the house. How lovely if one could tell the rest of the family "Sorry, I have to leave all the house-work to you - doctor's orders!" But no, hanging onto the hose of a vacuum cleaner was something I could well do (unfortunately). But what it meant, at least for the time being, was that I couldn't garden. And I couldn't travel anywhere. That was something I very much minded!

Our holiday trips have been the highlight of my year, especially now that the kids are growing up and leaving the nest. What's more, all through the long winter months I practically count the days (and hours!) for the ground to thaw enough to be able to stick a garden spade into it. Things being what they were, I was sure this summer would be a very long and uneventful one.

Surprise surprise - it wasn't. Although I missed (terribly) being able to throw myself into weeding, planting, and pruning in the garden, I switched to doing all these on a smaller scale by making a balcony garden. What I saw in my mind's eye was a colour-filled jungle tht would fill all the senses. It would be garden therapy. I joked that it would be so lush and full of plants that you could easily lose yourself in it should you want to. In reality it didn't quite turn out to be that way. No jungle appeared and no search parties had to be alerted to find anyone. But my little balcony garden was good enough.

There was colour (warm colours with a speck of blues) for the eyes, herbs for aroma, and ivy from the previous summer for the lushness part. Ivy isn't winter-hardy in our climate, so I had tried keeping the stems in a big pot of water on the hall table to keep it going over the winter months, and it seemed to thrive.
Friends would also bring pots of flowers for my little balcony garden when they visited. That was nice. but what was even nicer was that I saw a lot more of my friends and relatives than was usual, now that I was out of action, so to speak. Even the weather cooperated, and showed its sunniest, hottest side.

Summer was truly over in a flash. The plants still sit outside, but it's probably only a matter of a few weeks, maybe just days, before the first night frosts arrive. Now I'm thinking this will surely be a very long and uneventful winter, while secretly hoping that time will surprise me once again!

Julia's story

2010-10-03T16:58:00.000+03:00

A few more words to round up this mini-trilogy. Natalia, being an extremely private person, burned all her letters, photos and mementos, because she didn't like the idea of anybody else poking into her life. Her relatives thought this a great pity, but that was her will. But when her dear friends, sisters Tingelstiina and Tangelstiina (and Natalia's cat Mosse) inherited her house, imagine their surprise to find among her things two albums that were full of pre-1917 postcards.

One of them had clearly belonged to Natalia's mother Julia, and in it were postcards that she had received from friends and family. Many of them depicted Helsinki, or Helsingfors, as it was called in Swedish (Gelsingfors in Russian).

Can I just mention in between that the view above, from the Observatory Hill, is one of my very favourite spots in Helsinki. The church on the front left is also where we were married. Anyway - to get back to Julia's story - it was thrilling to see these old postcards, but it was even more thrilling to open the second album.

This one was more masculine in style than the other one. It was brown, with a picture of a hunter and his dog on the cover. In it were reproductions of Russian paintings from before the revolution, as well as a collection of military figures from different nationalities. The cards were all adressed in Russian to someone in the Sveaborg fortress in Helsinki: Natalia's father, whom she never met. This is the first time we learned his name.

So Natalia didn't burn everything after all, but chose to keep something that had belonged to her mother and father.

Tingelstiina and Tangelsiina gave the albums to Natalia's relative, Eivor, who happens to be my sister-in-law, and she in turn gave them to me. I was delighted, but asked her why me? "Because you have a fondness and interest in Russian culture and language, and can translate what is written in the albums," was her answer. Well, I will treasure them! And so, after all this time - almost a century - Julia has told us her story. A story that remained clothed in silence all her lifetime, as well as that of her daughter, Natalia.

Natalia's story

2010-09-11T16:55:00.000+03:00

But now it's time for Natalia to take centre stage, even though she sadly isn't with us anymore. The following is from a letter I wrote last April:

Albums that used to belong to Natalia's Finnish mother, Julia, and Russian father, Ivan, in the 1910s

22.4.2010

--- Aunt Natalia, a distant relative of Mr. Blue eyes, passed away last week. She was 92-years old and lived her whole life in her childhood home - a big house with a a huge, one could say enchanted, garden. Her Russian name, Natalia, was probably given to her because of her father. a young Russian soldier stationed in autonomous Finland. Her mother, Julia, was Finnish. Natalia was born into a fiercely proud, few months old independent Finland, in February 1918. Some time before that, all Russian regiments were ordered to leave the country, and so Natalia's father had to traverse back across the border to Russia, never to be heard of again. But when his child was born, he somehow managed to deliver a bouquet of roses to Julia. It makes for a romantic story, this couple separated by history.

The magnolia by the house was planted by Natalia, and the cork tree in the background she grew from seeds collected on her travels.

I can only guess how difficult it was to bring up an "illegitimate" child in those times, one whose father was Russian, at that. Finns were quite wary of relations with their belligerent eastern neighbour. Eventually Julia married Hjalmar, a Finnish man, who is said to have been a nice and decent sort of chap. The only problem was that Natalia never took to him. In fact, she downright hated him, although no one ever found out why. Perhaps because of all the emotional tension she felt at home, she lost all her hair while still young, and always had to wear a wig after that.

I never knew her well enough to know if she considered her life to be a happy one. I only know that in her 'golden years' she became a passionate traveller (and how can seeing the world not bring you anything but happiness!). In her enchanted garden you can find a cork tree that she grew from seeds brought back from a trip to South Africa, and you can also find a peach tree, as well as many other exotic plants grown from seeds she brought back from her travels. Which also speaks for the fact that she must have been happy, for according to the Chinese (and anna), the one who gardens will be happy. As mentioned before, she always lived alone, preferring to have cats to keep her company, and not people. I understand she was extremely picky about people, and allowed only a few trusted friends into her life.

My sister-in-law, Eivor, told me a lovely story about Natalia. One Sunday last summer, she and her sister Solveig decided to take a walk along the sealine near Natalia's house. And who did they come across, but Natalia, who was busy washing carpets. She was pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with carpets that had just been scrubbed in the sea. Now anyone who has tried this old Finnish custom knows what a tough job it is, not to mention the strength it requires just to heave heavy, soaking wet rugs out of the water. But for this feisty 90something woman it was nothing at all, a nice little chore to be doing on a sunny summer morning.

A part of Natalia's enchanted garden. She favoured English-style 'garden rooms'.

- Come and take stroll round my garden, Natalia suggested. And once they had done that, it was
- Would you girls care for some sherry?
It was not yet noon, but why not? Natalia popped into the house and soon came out carrying a cut crystal carafe with sherry, along with a bowl of crisps. All three ladies squeezed side by side on to a rickety, narrow garden bench, and there they sat in the sunshine, sipping their sherry, with the lush garden weaving its golden spell around them. I wish someone could have captured that moment in time, or maybe a passing artist could have sketched it. But that would have been very unlikely, for we live in very different, more hectic times. Just like everyone said, it's the end of an era, with Natalia gone.

Mosse the cat inherits a house

2010-09-05T16:43:00.000+03:00

This house holds so many stories that's it's difficult to know where to begin telling them. One story goes
back into the years before Finland gained its independence, when a young Finnish woman and a Russian soldier fell in love. Another story is about their daughter Natalia, who had a passion for travelling
around the world in search of exotic seeds to cultivate in her garden. And one is about Natalia's cat, Mosse, who inherits a house. This happened very recently, so I might as well start with Mosse's story.

Except of course all the stories are entwined - one part couldn't have happened without the other -
and so Mosse's story couldn't have happened without Natalia. It was Natalia's house, you see, and she lived in the house her whole life. For 92 years. Natalia was a character! She liked cats and dogs, plants and gardening, travelling and champagne. More than anything she liked privacy. Oh, she had friends, a few, and to them she remained fiercely loyal her whole life, but otherwise she was perfectly content on her own. Although we did notice that if someone happened to have a title, such as a former count, it did have a very favourable impression on her (I believe her "showy" Russian genes are the ones to account for this rather than her"humble" Finnish ones).

Anyway, Natalia lived in her house very happily with Mosse and a second cat that was called Ida.
Until things changed. Ida died and Natalia took it very badly. She had always been strong and independent, but now she became so weak from grieving her dear cat companion, that she finally had to admit she needed to go to the hospital to get better. As things turned out, she didn't get better, but died after a few weeks. Her very dearest friends, two sisters (who I'll call Tingelsiina and Tangelstiina after sisters in a Finnish story book who grew magic flowers made of candy, or anything good children wished for) sat with her all throughout her time in hospital. They also took care of the house for Natalia, and fed Mosse the cat.

Well, all of us who knew Natalia were terribly sad and also very surprised that this strong and spunky old lady was gone so suddenly. What would happen to her house that held so much history, and to her beautiful, huge garden that she loved so much?
"Mosse the cat inherited the house," Tingelstiina and Tangelstiina told us.
Actually it was the sisters who inherited the house and property, but the way they said it says a lot about them. I think Natalia can rest in peace, knowing that Mosse will always have a home. And perhaps Tingelstiina and Tangelstiina will grow magic flowers in her garden.

Mosse the cat, who also values his privacy

Dancing rowan berries

2010-08-25T08:48:00.008+03:00

Autumn dance
Well, we're not at the tipping point anymore. We've toppled well into autumn, at least if the berries on the rowan tree are anything to go by. There is one rowan tree I look at every day, it grows on the street next to our driveway. Now I'm not the kind of person who goes about hugging trees (not quite yet), but I have grown very fond of this particular rowan tree.

Spring dance
So had the neighbourhood boys, who took to swinging from its branches on their way home from school, until some of the branches broke, and the city's environmental department had to come and saw off all the jutting, broken, lower bits. Now it's quiet around the rowan tree again. Now, after all the "excitement", are those rowan berries dancing in glee, or mournfully? It's a bit hard to tell with rowan berries (and not being a tree-hugger and all that) but they're probably boppin' along happily enough and enjoying every moment as it comes.

I took this photo of my "favourite climbing tree" when I was 10
But I can understand those boys. When I was about 10 or 11, I was quite a tomboy, and liked to climb trees. There was one tree in our garden that I climbed a lot, an old apple tree. That tree was special to me. (I even took a photo of it and stuck it into a little photo album that my parents gave me). Sometimes I would take a book up with me to read, sometimes I would just sit there dreaming. I can't remember what I dreamed about, but at that time of life ballet had become everything to me, plus I remember having a crush on a solo dancer (whose last name in English would be 'wolf'), so I'm sure my dreams involved something along the lines of dancing Juliet's part opposite his Romeo. At some point "Mr. Wolf" moved away to join Bejart's ballet company, and the crush of a young girl also faded. But the dance goes on, and I hope, that like that little girl, we'll always have dreams. And favourite climbing trees.

Nijinsky, L'oiseau d'or 1912

Strawberry summer

2010-08-12T23:09:00.003+03:00

Aran
This has been a strawberry summer. And there's nothing nicer than sharing it with friends young, old, or in-between...but always young at heart, nevertheless!

Henriikka and Johannes
This has also been a new potato summer, a peaches summer, a sangria summer...the bounties of summer go on and on. And on.

These are actually nectarines and not peaches, as you can see. I didn't get to photograph any peaches. We gobbled them up so quickly. Did they have peaches in paradise? In addition to those famous or infamous apples? A juicy apple is good, but for me, nothing beats a luscious, drippy peach. It's paradise.

mother-in-law Inga in her garden
This has also been the summer we celebrated mother-in-law Inga's 89th birthday in her own garden. We sat at long tables decked with snow-white tablecloths, and flowers, and cakes and other savouries. It was warm and sunny, but a mischievous wind kept sweeping around, tugging at the talecloth's hems, making them dance. The bees, joining in the dance, were delighted to discover the table's sweet offerings, and only left the party when a few raindrops fell from a passing rain cloud. That's when the rest of us more or less hastily moved the party indoors.

This is the first summer in ages that we haven't traveled anywhere. Because we couldn't travel, the trip kindly came to us. At least that's how it felt with the kind of weather we've had this summer. It's as if Tuscany, Nice, or even exotic Istanbul came to sit on our terrace. I've loved receiving the postcards from travelling friends too, from Germany, Italy, USA, Poland, France... Letters are a long-lost art, postcards are also becoming a rare thing, and so they are greatly appreciated and carefully read over in this household!

Our 15-year old says she is tired of the hot weather and looks forward to crisp and clear autumn days. There is still plenty of summer left, only now we've reached that crucial tipping point when summer has become like a love that has suddenly lost its lustre. We may fondly remember summer, but gladly (after the heatwave with great relief) turn to a new, fresher season. How fickle we are! But never so fickle as to forget what gave our strawberry summer such a sweet taste.

Keo

2010-08-01T14:01:00.001+03:00

Welcome to the world, baby Keo, born June 10th, christened July 31st! Very impressed by the combination of tie & bare feet, the perfect - and stylish - outfit for a summer christening, we thought.

A new mom,

a new dad,

a new great-grandmother,

and a new godmother (actually holding a baby for the very first time. Well, almost the first time, she had practiced the night before).

A little cousin.

Dream a little dream

2010-07-23T19:01:00.004+03:00

Stars shining up above you
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singin' in the sycamore trees
Dream a little dream of me

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

Yes, dream a little dream of me

- Dream a little dream of me, 1931, lyrics by Gus Kahn

Photo of my grandparents, Aili and Aaro, at their engagement party

The old fir tree's story

2010-07-17T11:44:00.000+03:00

When this little guy - Mr. Blue eyes - was born, his father Eddi and mother Inga planted a small fir tree in their front garden. The tree grew strong and tall. As it grew it saw how things around it changed. Other trees were cut down and meadows full of wild flowers disappeared. In their place new houses were built. Families moved into the new houses, and soon there were children happily playing and running around everywhere.

Time flew by, as it does, and now the fir tree was forty years old. It was so big that it almost filled up the whole front garden and hid the house from the road. All the children in the neighbourhood had grown up and moved away. Mr. Blue eyes had also moved away. But when Inga and Eddi no longer lived in the house, he moved back to his childhood home with his own family.

Now I'm afraid that at this point the story takes a rather sad turn, like a Hans Christian Andersen story...

Times had changed, you see, and the old house had to have some changes made to it. That was all fine and well, but a garage also had to be built. This meant that the old, big fir tree had to be taken down to make room for it. Mr. Blue eyes and his family were very sad about this. It was such a beautiful tree, and it carried so much history with it. Then the tree-chopper came and did his job.

It didn't take long for him to have the old fir tree sawed away and neatly stacked into logs. Suddenly the house was bathed in sunshine. This was good, but otherwise everything looked very strange. The old fir tree was gone. It had served well!

Peppe's Confirmation Day

2010-07-04T23:44:00.001+03:00

Peppe, our Godson, had his Confirmation day today in the Cathedral of Porvoo. This church was built in the 15th century, but has some older parts dating from the 13th century. The church featured often in the news after it was destroyed by fire in 2006. The fire destroyed the whole outer roof, causing it to collapse but luckily the interior remained undamaged. The culprit was an 18-year old man who was later imprisoned. The Cathedral has been open to the public again since 2008. I've never been inside the church before, so it was nice to have the chance to see it.

But it was nicest of all to watch our cheerful Godson throughout the celebrations. It's the custom in this country for youngsters belonging to the Evangelical Lutheran faith to celebrate their Confirmation when they're 15. Before his big day, Peppe had taken part in a Confirmation summer camp where young people are guided through the basics of Lutheranism, and where they can discuss different aspects of their faith as well as other philosophical questions they might like to bring up.

The above may sound very solemn, but there's also plenty of time for games, sports, singing, sauna and swimming, and plain old fun. Peppe's mother told me Peppe said they didn't get much sleep - it seems a lot of his time was spent making sure no one pinched his candy and soft drinks while he was asleep. I remember from my own summer camp that we used to get up to all kinds of pranks at night - getting enough sleep is last on your list at that age!

The newly-confirmed youngsters receive flowers, gifts and money from friends and relatives. Peppe is saving up for a motorbike, and he seemed very happy to receive some inviting-looking envelopes.

After church we gathered in their idyllic garden to sip champagne or home-made lemonade (specialty of the host) along with delicious all home-baked treats (specialty of the hostess). We had such a good time we didn't want to leave! This is a very special family and we wish them all blessings!

Earthly joys

2010-07-02T15:25:00.002+03:00

A lazy, lazy day. Hot and humid. A day made for reading on the terrace. Only a busy bee buzzing round and round in its sea of blue flowers. I sip my juice, then continue reading as I wait for you. From somewhere the phrase "We have all the time in the world" comes to mind. On days such as this you believe it.

Under a Manchurian fir

2010-06-30T20:50:00.006+03:00

During the Midsummer holidays we took off to visit Mustila Arboretum, which is situated about an hour's drive east of Helsinki. There were some idyllic summer houses tucked up along the way - cosy places to relax, like the balcony, above, perched high up like a bird's nest.

Mustila Arboretum was established in 1902 by Counselor of State Axel Fredrik Tigerstedt, and is said to represent woodland gardening at its best. In 1926 his son, Carl Gustaf, who was to become a well known dendrologist, continued the work of his father. He also planted ornamentals, including the first Rhododendrons. Now there's a whole Rhododendron Valley which is at its best in the middle of June when hundreds of species are in full bloom.

You can admire the Azalea Slope, walk in the Oak Forest, through a Hazelnut Grove... I found the area called 'The Terrace' quite interesting because it was built by Russian prisoners of war in the 1940s. I probably should have been concentrating more on the trees, and yes, they were imposing - tall Macedonian pines, exotic Thuja koraiensis, Pinus Sibirica, North American Douglas firs - just to name a few. I'm quite ignorant when it comes to identifying trees, especially exotic ones. And it's not easy to photograph huge trees either! So best just to enjoy the walk in the forest and to let it embrace your senses - taking in the lush greenery and majesty of the trees, and the invigorating freshness of the air.

Carl Gustaf Tigerstedt died in 1957. His sons Axel and Peter, in turn, continued with the upkeeping of the arboretum.

Rhododendron P.M.A Tigerstedt (or 'Peter Tigerstedt') is named after son Peter, professor emeritus of the Department of Plant and Forest Tree Breeding at the University of Helsinki. The rhododendron (the photo is from a plant catalogue) may grow up to over 2m. tall, and is the most cold-hardy of its species, tolerating up to -40 degrees Celsius. Luckily we very rarely, if ever, have such cold winters where we live, but being inspired by its history I may start looking for this elegant plant for our garden, which until now has been without any kind of rhododendron.

Happy Midsummer...

2010-06-25T14:19:00.002+03:00

...or HYVÄÄ JUHANNUSTA in Finnish! The whole country is off on holiday today. I wonder, how would you say 'Hyvää Juhannusta' in Azeri, even though it's not celebrated there? Midsummer is 'yayin ortasi', I believe, so would it be 'Yayin ortasi tebrik edirem', or could you say 'Xoshbextlik yayin ortasi'? Any Azeris out there who could help with this?

Hi from the terrace!

2010-06-23T20:15:00.002+03:00

It's summer! Life has moved outdoors, which means that the terrace season has also begun. We've popped some annuals and some intoxicatingly scented herbs into the balcony boxes - now it only remains for them to spread out and grow to their heart's delight. I expect them to form a JUNGLE at the end of summer - and while I know that may not be the most realistic thing to hope for, not with our short-short northern summers, you never know...

We've had both hot and chilly days, bluest of blue skies or cloud formations that gallop past with the winds (I always tend to see clouds that resemble elephants, don't know why). I've been trying to pinpoint the exact day (or night) when the nightingales stop singing. I'll have to check tonight, but I think they may already have left. (I don't know if they just stop singing, or is it that they leave for other parts of the world? Did we learn this in biology all those years ago?).

Well, in the garden the tulips and alliums have reached their finale but the alpines are flowering con spirito,

like the Saxifraga umbrosa,

the Phlox subulata,

and the Cerastium tomentosum 'Snow in Summer'.

A relaxed terrace lifestyle (at least on this terrace) also includes a lot of delicious reading. I've been trying to limit the amount of books I read at the same time to just two (three at most): so-called professional reading or more 'serious' books during the day (such as Azadeh Moavini's book on living in Tehran which I just finished), and pure enjoyment for the bedside table, to be read at night (such as McCall Smith's Corduroy Mansions which I also just finished). I don't really believe books can be labeled as above, especially if you love books and reading. Anyway, having just finished my "strictly two books", I can choose the next two...one of which will be the allium covered "The Ivington Diaries" by Monty Don. I can't wait.

Dogs

2010-06-17T22:46:00.001+03:00

They never talk about themselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up an appearance of being interested in the conversation.

-Jerome K. Jerome

A detail from Tomi's graduation

2010-06-12T21:41:00.001+03:00

The godfather's tie clip

The soul of a gardener

2010-06-11T22:55:00.002+03:00

The Gardener, by Sarah Stewart, illustrations by David SmallHow do you become a gardener? I'm not a gardener, but even so, anything to do with gardening catches my heart. Gardening is something that slowly but steadily crept into my life. It all started with a few humble plants. When I was a student - with a very limited budget - I bought a plant or two to brighten up my bare rooms. The very first one, I think, was an umbrella plant (Schefflera), soon to be joined by some Tradescentia plants, then a parlour palm (Chamaedorea elegans) and a crown of thorns (Euphorbia milii). Come to think of it, I remember the names of the plants I had then better than the names of some of my boyfriends:). Anyway, from then on I was hooked on gardening, although it was still all on a very small scale.

That's the great thing about gardening, it's something you can indulge in anywhere, everywhere. It makes no difference if your garden is a few cans on a kitchen window sill, a balcony container garden, allotment plot, or if you happen to have inherited one of those incredible British manor gardens. The joy the garden brings to the gardener remains the same in each case. Gardens are democratic, you could say.

You could also say that gardens are forgiving no matter how many silly mistakes, in your gardening enthusiasm, you might make. It may become costly but you can always start over. Right now I'm having trouble growing a Persian Yellow rose. I moved it (once again) to another flower bed last autumn, so we'll see if it finally stops sulking, and produces more than a few feeble blooms. And after surviving every winter since 2003, this winter seems to have played havoc on our New Dawn climbers. It looks like we'll have to replace most of them.

When Mr. Blue eyes and I were newlyweds, I had "discovered" herbs, which I tried growing from seed. We were about to go on holiday for a few weeks, and had a friend come round to water the plants. This friend, although a nice enough person otherwise, wasn't a kindred garden enthusiast. Far from it. (He was more of a party-party enthusiast). I was sure he wouldn't give my tender seedlings the care they needed, no matter how much I tried to emphasise the point. So in the end I took a few of the little pots - not all of them - with me, so at least some would be safe.

It was maybe(?) a trifle inconvenient to tote these little charges on a trip through Europe, but that's how it is when you want to be a gardener. They travelled happily enough, first across the Baltic Sea where they basked in the never-ending northern summer light on our cabin's window sill, then, through Germany, Switzerland, Austria... It was as thrilling to see the tender green shoots appearing as it was to drive along the winding Grossglockner Hochalpenstrasse in Austria, surrounded by all that mountainous glory. In the evenings they gave the little B&B rooms we stayed at a nice personal touch. A little greenery is always welcome. And how amazingly fast they grew! Well, it just goes to show who has a green thumb, I thought. And so they kept on growing, until they billowed out of their tiny pot-nests, stretching out, now looking sort of lanky, even weedy.

"But my dear, don't you know those are weeds," said my aunt Annikki, when she came to visit us after we had come home. (So much for a green thumb). Neither had the seedlings at home thrived. Oh well, better luck next time. (This little story may not constitute a catastrophe, I know, but it's the kind of thing you remember, and laugh about. At least afterwards...).

My amateur photography doesn't do justice to the illustrations in "The Gardener" by Sarah Stewart and David Small - my apologies! But I did want to mention that among all the garden books I have read, among the useful advice, fascinating biographies, and stories of creating gardens in possible and impossible places, this children's book is by far my very favourite gardening book. A book that has inspired me the most, that I turn to time and time again. And what is the book about? It's about the soul of a gardener.

'Liebe' through the kitchen window

2010-06-04T17:48:00.000+03:00

Es ist Unsinn
sagt die Vernunft
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

Es ist Unglück
sagt die Berechnung
Es ist nichts als Schmerz
sagt die Angst
Es ist aussichtslos
sagt die Einsicht
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

Es ist lächerlich
sagt der Stolz
Es ist leichtsinnig
sagt die Vorsicht
Es is unmöglich
sagt die Erfahrung
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

- Erich Fried

Drifting

2010-05-31T10:14:00.002+03:00

It's as if I've entered a different dimension, or fallen down a hole like Alice in Wonderland, or I've been whisked off somewhere on the high seas with no land in sight. Sometimes I wish I'd wake up in the morning to find it was just a dream. But instead I wake up to another day of staying at home, being on sick leave and recuperating, while for the rest of the world it's business as usual.

I hate to be so negative, but honestly, Monday mornings seem the loneliest time of the week! Everyone else is starting their work week, or going to school, being active in their own way. I'm at home, and it's so strangely still. Just Cooper the dog's soft click click of his paws as he comes over to put his head on my knee. The rustle and bustle of the guinea pig in his cage. The loud ticking of the clock on the dining room wall. The birds in the garden chirping their heads off. How to be as exuberant?

Me, I have all this TIME on my hands - so much time I don't know what to do with it, yet. I bet many people would see all this extra time as a gift, but it doesn't feel like it, not when it's not voluntary. In today's world, especially in our northern European culture we are taught to always be doing, not being. We have problems with just being. The other day I found myself making a list of all the things I could do (trying hard to avoid thinking of all I couldn't do!), so as to get some routine into my weeks. (And to act as some kind of signposts for the future, I suppose) . Things like photography, writing, piles of books to read, learning to play all of Chopin's waltzes (there's also a new biography published about him by Adam Zamoyski that I can't wait to read). Learning to cook some special dishes in the proper manner (instead of of my usual haphazard method of throwing in ingredients willy-nilly by taste). Continuing learning a new language (Azeri, Turkish? - or how about learning the Georgian alphabet, that would come in handy if/when I get the chance to travel there). Gardening, although on a smaller scale. All things I would love to do, only...what?

Only if I'm not exactly lost, I'm definitely drifting. No sense of direction right now. For the first time I won't even add a photo because right now a "photoless" space captures the mood better.

Happy Birthday Mr. Blue Eyes

2010-05-30T15:38:00.001+03:00

May is a cheerful month with lots of reasons to celebrate, one of them being Mr. Blue Eyes's birthday.

The birthday boy baked his own cake, Totti made the frosting, and the rest of us willingly helped with consuming the cake...

A room with a view

2010-05-22T14:38:00.013+03:00

From my room at hospital. I had time to do a lot of writing under this lovely orchid that Orkide and Jafar brought when they visited.When Kirsti came to visit all the way from Estonia, she brought along a pink orchid. "So the first one wouldn't be lonely," she said.
This is an impossibly long post, but it's not me, it's my fingers' fault... I can't stop them from running across the keyboard in glee, after being stuck (my fingers and the rest of me, of course) in hospital for so long! The photos here are all from hospital too. In March I suddenly succumbed to a severe spinal infection which affected my legs as well. For someone who has ballet shoes as a symbol of who she is, this was a major crisis, as it would be for anyone. At my worst point I even thought that I'd gladly press an 'exit life' button, if such a button existed. I'm not proud of this, but that's honestly how I felt at the time. At first the doctors couldn't say for sure just what the cause was - there could be 1600 reasons for this condition, I was told. One thing they suspected was borreliosis, but this was later ruled out. Millions of antibiotics were pumped into me, and I had other treatments as well, such as plasma transfusions.

A cheery gerbera from my father.
After almost 3 weeks at Helsinki University Central Hospital, I was transferred to a smaller hospital for physiotherapy and rehabilitation. I had my own room, peace and quiet, which is important to me. Visiting hours weren't regulated, so family and friends could come and visit whenever they liked, which was nice. Here I came on the last day of March. That same day, my father brought me this cheerful red gerbera, and it continued to bloom until the day I could finally go home, which was a few days ago, 19.5. to be exact. My sister-in-law brought a yellow gerbera, and every time a nurse came in, he/she would comment that it was just like the sun shining brightly in the room.

A sunny gerbera from my sister-in-law to brighten up the view to a bleak hospital car par.
All in all I spent two and a half months in hospital. It was deep midwinter when I went in. Easter came and went without my hardly noticing it, and then came the first of May, which is a big holiday in Finland. That's the first time I ventured out into the 'real world', to celebrate the day with a group of friends in Porvoo. My legs still being very weak, I was anxious and nervous about how I would cope, but things couldn't have gone better. Our hosts had kindly kept their driveway clear, so we could park the car right at the front door. This might seem like a little thing, but it's not when you can't walk properly.

And so we're suddenly far into May, and it's tulip time in the garden. I came home just in time to see them burst into colour. It's fun to see what comes up - I always tend to forget just what I planted in the autumn.

My room with a view.
But no garden views at the hospital. My window looked down on a car park for hospital personnel that was behind the hospital. It doesn't look very busy in the photo, but it was, the hustle and bustle reminded me of those Richard Scarry 'busy busy world' type of books. At 6 or 7 am the construction men arrived to start their drilling. They were building a new hospital wing. Then the delivery vans and lorries would rumble in. The new shift of hospital staff would arrive and file in while another shift would file out. This may not sound very exhilarating, but if you've ever been in hospital, you'll know there's not that much to do, so even just sitting at the window watching the world go by is interesting enough!

Salty crackers and bananas - that's what I liked to ask Mr.Blue eyes to bring. Friends brought all kinds of lovely treats, chocolates, strawberries, sun-ripened tomatoes, even baklava! A few times I ordered pizza in - hospital food is, well, uninspiring...
Bits and pieces from letters written in hospital:

16.4.2010
---Sometimes when you're feeling down and you're thinking how did I wind up in this dismal situation, and you have to force yourself at dinner time to swallow a few morsels of bland hospital food, well, suddenly the person spooning in his food opposite you lifts his head, smiles, and tells you "You always have such a sunny disposition". This when you were feeling anything but sunny, as if you were lost and suffocating in the thick clouds of those erupting Icelandic volcanoes. But then you notice the clouds have vanished and you really do feel sunny...what a difference a few words can make.---

Sirpa, my friend from university, brought genuine Turkish baklava! (I adore baklava).

22.4.2010
---It's raining. From my window I'm looking down on a long line of umbrellas moving towards the hospital car park. Somber umbrellas, most of them, black, and black, and black...and dark blue. I wish there was even one bright spot among them. Through the glass walls of the car park building I can see people emerge from under their umbrellas and hurry up the stairs to the different levels to collect their cars. It's like a Jacques Tati film. Then, there's the last act: a long row of cars comes spilling out of the garage doors, until all is quiet again, and I'm left with only the rain to watch.---

Airplanes swooped over the hospital building before landing. I liked watching them, imagining where they were flying from. For several days it was strangely quiet when ash from Iceland's volcanoes filled the skies. No planes. One night it smelled strongly of smoke - the smell kept getting stronger, soon the nurses were running all over the place, checking for the cause. Fire? Icelandic ash? Nothing so dramatic, but a small fire in a dustbin outside the hospital.

2.5.2010
---When you're in hospital, at least one of the nicer aspects is that people who visit you bring you things. Friends naturally want to cheer you up, to help you snap out of that dull-eyed, grey and pallid bride-of-Frankenstein look (that goes so well with the vaguely green pyjamas they give you). Of course no one admits this is actually what you look like. The unwritten rule is to tell you how well you are bucking up, and how fresh you look. (And of course you believe every word!). Anyway, if you're curious as to what special treats I've received while I've been here, the answer - besides flowers, which I really love - is books, which I really love too! If there's one thing I know to be true, it's that you can never ever have too many books to read. Especially if your name happens to be 'anna'.

---So as you can see, I have everything to keep me happy - books, plants, delicious tidbits to nibble on. I don't think the nurses are as happy though. Lately, when they come in, after they've first stumbled through a labyrinth of books, they've started hinting that it may soon be better for me (and for them) to shift myself and my books homewards, maybe as soon as next week or the week after. But I can't sit here writing anymore, the books are calling...---

A begonia that came home with me and the two orchids.

11.5.2010
---"Your nose is dripping!" (Actually in Finnish it was "Sulla valuu räkää nenästä!" which is a tad more vulgar than the English version). That was today's memorable dinner conversation, or what one patient, Kai by name, said to the man opposite him. On some days the dining hall is full of chatter, on other days we eat our food in total, pious silence, like monks in a monastery. This was a typical I-have-taken-an-eternal-vow-of-silence kind of day. And of course it's on days such as this that these gems of conversation are offered for everyone to hear. Funny how the words, once they were out, seemed to hover in the air around us, even though we all pretended not to have noticed anything. We also pretended not to notice how the nose-challenged gentleman mopped up his nose as quickly and discreetly as possible with his table napkin. I can't tell you his name because he never speak to anyone, and tends to find the wall more interesting than the people next to him. But perhaps I'm being unkind - after all, this is a hospital and not a luxury liner. You're allowed to be gloomy and unsociable when you're in hospital. Though I can imagine our foreign friends might think we Finns are like that pretty much all the time...but before I get sidetracked - the rest of the mealtime continued in uneasy silence. Uneasy because now all we could think of was the drippy nose. Bon appetit!---

---Oh what a wonderful morning, oh what a wonderful day, oh what a wonderful feeling, everything's going my way... It was barely 7 in the morning, and I was humming this familiar tune and wondering why I felt so happy, happy for no reason. As if I didn't have the right to be happy. As if it was wrong to be happy when you're in hospital and you've been told it will be several months before you can be active as before. I don't know where the happiness came from, all I can tell you is that the sun was shining gloriously, and that I had a steaming, aromatic cup of coffee in my hands from which I was sipping. I switched on the radio: Tell me, how do you rate the sun? - the words of the song they were playing. How do you rate the sun? How do you rate happiness? You don't, you're just grateful when they fleetingly touch you.

What Spring is worth

2010-05-15T14:40:00.001+03:00

Erato, Muse of Poetry. Edward John Poynter, 1870
A slip of paper, bearing these words, fell from between the pages of a book. I don't know whose beautiful words they are, all I can say is they went right to my heart. I haven't been able to find out their author - but hope he/she won't mind my putting them down here:

I need wide spaces in my heart
Where faith and I can go apart
and grow serene
Life gets so choked by busy living
Kindness so lost in fussy giving
That love slips by unseen

I want to make a quiet place
Where those I love can see God's face
Can stretch their hearts across the earth
Can understand what Spring is worth
Can count the stars
Watch violets grow
And learn what birds and children know

It's been some time since I last wrote. Things happen, things that catch you unawares. Surprises can be good ones, or not so good, or is it just a question of attitude? Well, whatever kind of package they come in, I suppose they teach us something. In this case I'm still not quite sure what exactly, and why the lessons sometimes have to be such tough ones! Why do we have to hurt so much, to feel lost and despondent. This too shall pass... I've tried to keep these words in mind.

Love letters sent by snow

2010-02-10T17:12:00.001+02:00

Every day, priests minutely examine the Law
And endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
How to read the love letters sent by the wind
and rain, the snow and moon.

- Ikkyu

If snowflakes were love letters, there would be enough in the garden right now to send to everybody in the world! I'm not kidding. The other day I thought I'd stroll up the garden path (read: battle knee-deep through the snowdrifts) to the old playhouse at the top of the garden, just to see what this winter wonderland of a world looks like from up there. Care to join me?

This part is easy - past the little rose garden where the path has been cleared.

Then we come to the garden steps - somewhere under there (and photographed from an upstairs window).

You first, or me?

Well done - you made it! All in one piece? So here it is, the old playhouse. Now, I have to tell you something. You may notice that the sky in this photo is a clear blue, while in all the other photos it's overcast. There's an explanation: when I was here (under those overcast skies) I drew a big heart on the playhouse roof, and then slipped, slid and skidded my way down the snowy hill as quick as I could, back to that upstairs window to take a photo. It was supposed to be for a valentine's day card, kind of. But I wasn't quick enough - in this part of the world we really have to learn to carpe diem, believe me! What light there was had already faded, and it was simply too dark to take any more photos. I did take a photo the next day, but it had snowed all through the night, and so, no more heart, as you can see. So all I can do is send you the thought, if not the heart.

Come to think of it, I can send you something even better - the promise of SPRING that lies under the snow.
Love, anna

Winter fun: 1910s & 2010

2010-02-04T21:49:00.002+02:00

Great-aunt Aura and student friends - fashionable in a very zhivagoesque way, don't you think? It was taken pre-1917 (the year Finland gained its independence). This and the following black&white photos are all from Aura's photo album. Her photo album is turning out to be a real treasure trove for me. I never knew my great aunt - my grandfather Aaro's sister - she died very young. Actually I never met my grandfather Aaro either (he died young as well). Maybe that's why I turn to the photos to look for stories about them.

February 1912, a winter outing to Drumsö
(in Helsinki, photos above and below).

A class skiing trip, 1914
(no mention of where this is)

And so back to 2010... Although even some Europeans seem to believe we have perpetually icy winter conditions in Finland the year round, that's not quite the case... In southern Finland winters have become very "tame", meaning drizzly wet. We're lucky if we have a white Christmas. This has been an exceptionally cold and snowy winter. Even the seas have frozen, and people have been able to dig out their skates.

One more from Aura's album:

Cousin, 1911

Would those skates feel very different from modern ones, I wonder?

About Cooper & curry. Oh yes, and poodles.

2010-02-02T21:01:00.002+02:00

"Sir, this is a unique dog. He does not live by tooth or fang. He respects the right of cats to be cats although he doesn't admire them. He turns his steps rather than disturb an earnest caterpillar. His greatest fear is that someone will point out a rabbit and suggest that he chase it. This is a dog of peace and tranquility."
- John Steinbeck

The words suit Cooper too. This is a favourite photo of him (with a curry plant) from summer. With his buddy Casper gone, Cooper took to following me around the house more than usual. I would be fiddling around with the plants, watering them etc. and there he would be, close at my heels, sticking his nose in the plants as if trying to figure out just why I was so interested in them (something to eat?). He found the curry plant especially intriguing - and could have eaten it too, except "coopers" are picky about foreign foods. The curry plant thrived throughout the summer in a sunny, sheltered spot on the terrace but didn't make it through winter indoors. I dream of having a winter garden some day in the future. After all, I owe it to the curry plant, and all the other exotic plants I've tried growing. In spite of my failure rate with exotics, I'll probably just keep trying again, and again, and again... "It's the journey, not the destination" - isn't that what the wise ones keep telling us? And it's just about time to start the journey: spring is out there somewhere, although it might be hard to believe it amidst these mountains of snow that have appeared over the last few weeks.

And with spring I hope another journey starts, one including a new puppy. So Cooper won't have to be an only dog, a role he isn't used to. So far the puppy is just a glint in our eyes, nothing definite. The glint in my eyes looks a lot like a poodle, like Pietje, the dog we had in my childhood. But Mr. Blue-eyes somehow doesn't see himself as a 'walking the poodle -kind of man', not even after I assured him that someone as manly as Steinbeck adored his poodle, and even wrote a wonderful book about him. No, the glint in his eyes is golden, as in golden retriever. Which is actually fine with me. I love goldens too, who wouldn't? So let the glints be golden!

I have to tell you, though, that I have a strong feeling that a poodle will be part of our "pack", some day, in the future. (I'm just not sure whether it will be before or after the winter garden). What's more, I'm sure Mr. Blue-eyes - manly man that he is - will love our poodle just as much as Mr. Steinbeck loved his poodle, Charley. But let these remain dreams, for now.

Postcards from Berlin 3

2010-01-30T09:01:00.003+02:00

This last postcard comes from a "grausam" place, for life is never only a cabaret. Certainly not for the people who were summoned/taken, for whatever reason, to the Stasi (State Security) headquarters. It's now the Stasi Museum, a place I would recommend for anyone the least bit interested in political history, or bits of everyday life in the GDR.

You can walk around the long corridors of the many floors of the main building, see the original offices, exhibits, soak up the atmosphere. A part of the information is in English, or you can borrow a guide/booklet in English from the ticket counter.

From the museum flyer:
"Until 1989 the whole building complex was highly secret. Today, the unhindered access is of symbolic significance to a lot of Eastern German citizens and others who encountered the country in one or the other way. ---- The Stasimuseum owes its existence to engaged people, former members of the Berlin Committee of Citizens and other interested people from East and West Berlin. They organised themselves in the summer of 1990 in an association in order to inform about the SED-dictatorship and one of its most important instruments in the historical place, the former Ministry of State Security. Their aim is to encourage the critical examination of the system and the history of East Germany as well as the actual threats to freedom and democracy.----Since the opening of the museum, the exhibition is constantly worked over. In one part, operative technology, such as hidden cameras, microphones and weapons are shown. These unique object-witnesses demonstrate the omnipresent spying on the Eastern German population."

The office of Erich Mielke, the last Minister for State Security...

...and Mielke's private area "equipped to his own desires".

School children honouring Richard Sorge.

Sorge is an old friend of mine (just kidding...I've only seen his monument in Baku). Sorge was a spy for the Soviet Union during World War II. He was born in Baku, Azerbaijan, to a German father (who worked for the Caucasian Oil Company) and Russian mother. (I'm a Caucasia-enthusiast, so anything to do with that part of the world always catches my eye. So hope you don't mind if I go into this Sorge-affair just a bit deeper). The Sorge family later moved to Berlin where Sorge grew up. He graduated from the University of Hamburg with a Ph.D. in political science. Having joined the German communist party he was fired from his job, so made the decision to move to Moscow where he eventually became a member of the Soviet military intelligence. He was sent abroad, where he worked under cover of being a journalist.

John Le Carré is quoted as saying about Sorge: The spy to end spies! He was a comedian in the sense of Graham Greene, and artist in the sense of Thomas Mann, while Carl Bernstein has this to say: Somehow, amidst the Bonds and Smiley's People, we have ignored the greatest of 20th century spy stories - that of Stalin's Sorge, whose exploits helped change history.

Sorge was arrested in Tokyo in 1941 on suspicion of espionage. He was hanged in 1944.

A handy spy device for gardeners?

Jokes aside, visiting the museum was a very sobering experience. I don't think I will ever again regard the actions of the Stasi (silly button-hole cameras, fake rocks with built-in-cameras notwithstanding) as some kind of joke.

Postcards from Berlin 2

2010-01-28T23:29:00.004+02:00

I had no idea when I first read about this garden by the Berlin wall that I'd have the chance to see it "live" so soon. How Turkish-born Osman Kalin wound up building an allotment garden right under the Berlin Wall in West-Berlin's Kreuzberg (and what's more, on a spot that actually turned out to be on East-German land) makes a compelling story.

If you compare the above photo (taken from the Finnish newspaper Helsingin Sanomat) to the photo below, you'll see where the wall was. That low reddish apartment house at the back of the garden is now grey, as seen in the photo below. The wall ran along what is now a street.

The garden, of course, was covered in snow when we saw it, making the cottage (trés shabby romantic) take center stage. An older Turkish woman was just leaving the premises when we arrived. I thought she might be the wife of Osman Bey, and almost greeted her. But being a typical (shy?) Finn, I didn't want to bother her, so just sort of vaguely half-smiled in her direction when she passed. (So she wouldn't think me impolite). After all, they must encounter a tireless stream of tourists, gaping at the garden. Later on I noticed that the signs here only mentioned a Mustafa Akyol, and not the Osman family. The newspaper article mentioned Mustafa and Elmas Akyol as being neighbours who helped out. So was it actually Elmas, the wife of Mustafa we saw? I can't help wondering what has happened to Osman, the original owner, and his family?

Whoever owns the garden now or takes care of it may not be the essential point to this story, after all. The garden is still there, and it's being cared for. It was created in memory of someone's love for the homeland they had to leave behind, in memory of the people they had bidden a fond farewell to. It helped them to get by in their new circumstances. The garden reminded them of their roots, and of who they were. Or so I believe.

Oh yes, and if you click on this photo to enlarge, you can see the tree growing straight through the cottage wall...

Postcards from Berlin 1

2010-01-24T10:53:00.003+02:00

I like old-fashioned things, things like the putting-pen-to-paper way of writing. And I especially like writing postcards when I'm traveling. But I guess I can be a too conscientious writer - I try to fit as much as I can onto a postcard, and I write different things to different people. This takes time, and time can be limited on trips. So I sincerely apologise to those nearest and dearest who didn't get a postcard as usual. But these are some of the things I really would have liked to tell you:

As I've mentioned some time, my parents spent a few years in 'Berlin, Hauptstadt der DDR' way back in the 70s. I stayed in Finland to continue school, but visited my family during school holidays. Anyway, one of the first things Mr. Blue-eyes and I did on this trip to Berlin was to see if we could still find the house where my parents used to live. It was (at the time) a brand-new house in the peaceful, parklike Pankow area of Berlin. We found it - peeking through the dense plantations in the garden. Believe me, it's a strange feeling going back to your past...all sorts of random, funny, silly memories rush back to you. Like the time my little sister and I dressed our poodle, Pietje, into my old ballet tutu, and Pietje dashed straight out into the garden in his tutu, and then stopped to elegantly lift his leg and pee. I remember how a man passing by in the street just stood and stared in disbelief at the Fellini-type, bizarre scene he had just glimpsed. On a drab, East-German street, where everything is Ordnung. 'Crazy aliens', he must have thought. Even more crazy, I still have that same tutu. The kids used it in their dress-up games when they were little (don't worry, it had been thoroughly washed!).

My parents posing on the terrace of the house in East-Berlin, around 1976.

Our poodle Pietje on the same terrace - without a tutu this time.

I can understand some things might make you feel 'Ostalgie', but probably not this East-German massive building complex on Karl-Liebknecht-strasse (photo from the back of the building). This is where my parents lived before the house in Pankow was built. (I suppose it was too risky for the East-German government to have foreigners living in such close contact with other East-Germans, so they eventually moved the foreigners apart). Our apartment was on the top floor, with a wonderful view to the parades and crowds filling the square (with the Funkturm, as it was then called) below. That was the only nice thing about living there. The lifts were always out of order, and there were only a few places in this monstrous complex that had steps leading to the upper floors. It meant you had to first walk for "miles and miles" along stuffy, smelly corridors to find some steps that led a few floors up, then stopped. You optimistically searched on in the labyrinth, and eventually found other steps to lead you up - but only a part of the way again. And so on. My poor 80-year-old grandmother spent a Christmas with us here. I say poor, because having weak, swollen ankles, it felt that most of her Christmas was spent inching her way through the neverending maze upwards to the apartment. Luckily she was one of those blessed people, who "always look on the bright side of life". I can still picture her - how she would pause to catch her breath, then roar with laughter until she had to stop to catch her breath again - my mom and dad, on both sides, doing their best to steady her on the stairs.

The Berliner Dom on the Museuminsel. The little dots that you may or may not be able to make out are, actually, tots. School children. There seemed to be a lot of class excursions to the many sights at the Museuminsel district going on. Sometimes we would unobtrusively loiter by for a while, to catch a few "free" snippets of information that the teachers were telling their classes. Very well-behaved and interested the children all were.

As keen hobby gardeners, both Mr. Blue-eyes & I, we couldn't help noticing the pruning jobs that the city gardeners were already busy with, even in freezing January.

Signs, in case you forget to beware of snow.

A Trabi at the DDR-Museum. Again, it was full of school kids, studiously filling in question-forms about life in the DDR their teachers had given them. It's a nice place for kids, you are encouraged to touch and sample the exhibits, not just look. I bought my postcards from the museum shop, which also has books, DVDs and all kinds of DDR-related stuff.

And yes, it's amazing how the tourist traps have sprung up even here, but this shop right next to the museum was quite nice. It sells all kinds of colourfully painted children's toys and ornaments made of wood. My little Finnish-Azeri goddaughter Tahira has a birthday in January, and it was easy to find her a special birthday present here.

To Berlin

2010-01-20T21:55:00.004+02:00

Earlier this month Mr.Blue eyes and I spent a week in snowy Berlin.

We hopped onto a passenger ship that departed from Vuosaari Harbour in Helsinki in the afternoon, arriving in Travemünde, Germany the next evening. We like to travel off-season when possible. I think you get better service and better accomodation (off-season rates) then. Sure enough, the atmosphere on board was very relaxing, with most of the holiday crowds back at school and work. The staff have more time to chat to inquisitive travelers (like yours truly). I always find it interesting to learn what it's like "behind the scenes", in this case working on a passenger ship. This particular ship takes 500 passengers, and I wondered if they kept the same amount of staff, such as cooks, no matter how many passengers are on board. It seems they do, but our Estonian waitress couldn't answer how many cooks it took to prepare meals for 500 passengers. Perhaps she didn't understand my question, or thought I was simply being too nosy! The announcements on the ship are made in Finnish, Swedish, English and German. But why not in Russian as well, since it seems that nowadays Russians often make up the majority of the passengers? Younger Russians speak English, but the older generation hasn't benefited from learning other languages. I really think adding Russian would improve the standard of service and make it even more attractive.

The new Vuosaari Harbour in Helsinki was opened in November 2008.

And if you're interested in the technical details of this ro-ro passenger vessel, its tonnage is 45.923 GRT, length 218.8 m., speed 25 knots or 46 km/h. Its ice class is 1A Super, a good thing since, like in many parts of the world, this has been a colder winter than we've experienced in a long time! But our ship crunched on merrily through the thick ice that had formed in the Baltic Sea. I've never loved winter much, but knowing that they might soon become "extinguished" even here in the North, makes me recognise and value the icy beauty of a winter season.

Totti, 15

2010-01-17T23:23:00.002+02:00

The above photo is by Totti, our youngest, who is celebrating her 15th birthday today. May all your birthday wishes come true dear Totti! (Might one of them include a new puppy?).

New Year advice

2009-12-31T15:12:00.001+02:00

"If you have trouble opening a champagne bottle, here's a tip: hit it with a ship. I've seen people do this, and it works."
- Paul F. Taylor, British comedian

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A canine Niles

2009-12-30T19:17:00.002+02:00

If Cooper were human he'd be Niles (from Frasier. Or Niles would be Cooper if he were a dog). That probably tells you enough about his character. He's lovable, sweet, and wouldn't survive a second as a war dog in Afghanistan. Or in a dog park.

This was Cooper's (and our) first Christmas without Casper, our older golden retriever who died this summer. Cooper came to us after Casper, and so he's never been an only dog. Thinking he might feel lonely, and as a treat, I thought I'd take him to a dog park where he could have fun playing with other dogs. I should tell you that Cooper isn't used to fenced areas. There's plenty of nature where we live, so we haven't been regular users of special dog parks. Which is probably why Cooper-Niles sort of freaked out when he realised he was expected to mingle happily with a bunch of dogs of all sorts. He was appalled by their manners: so forthright, and without even being introduced properly. Cooper started to complain, and it soon got louder. He would have climbed over the fence if possible, but he had left his alpine climbing shoes along with his other climbing gear at home.

I managed to snap a few photos before the other dogs ran over to meet the newcomer. Then it became much too hectic - and noisy! Eventually we had to leave because Cooper's conduct became a bit too embarassing. Not his fault, of course - he's just a bit Niles.

Comings and goings

2009-12-28T22:20:00.002+02:00

Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and St. Stephen's Day are usually a continuous blur of comings and goings. That little "blob" on the steps is a teddy that got left behind. As did I. My sister, visiting from Austria with her husband, has a tradition of taking the kids out to dinner, and Mr. Blue eyes was at a family thing at his sister's house. I stayed home alone to try to get rid of a cold that had suddenly developed, and spent my time sneezing my head off. (No ladylike, polite little a'tishoo-sneezes either, but real avalanche-creating roars). It was a pity to miss the ongoing festivities, but Cooper and I didn't do too badly. In spite of the avalanches, he curled up comfortably beside me while I concentrated on the Cuban National Ballet performing on tv. And after that started reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society which my sister-in-law Solveig gave me for Christmas. (A previous Christmas I had given her 84 Charing Cross Road, a sympathetic, touching book written in letter-form, and now she reciprocated with another "book of letters" that has become widely popular. "Vaihdamme kirjeitä kirjeenvaihtokirjoilla", or "we correspond with correspondence books" Solveig wrote in her greeting card. I only hope I find a suitable one to continue with our correspondence).

The next day I was back in action again.

As you may know, Finland is the land where Christmas elves live. We also have elves that perform other duties, like Sauna elves. Every Christmas our Saunatonttu (Sauna Elf) gets up to some kind of mischief. One year he pulled down the Christmas tree while we were sleeping. We think it's maybe because he gets a tad jealous of the attention the Christmas elves get at this time of year. Those goody-goodies, as he secretly thinks. Well, this year it seems our Sauna elf gobbled up almost all of Totti's Christmas chocolates. He left a few lone ones at the bottom of the box. Proof that it wasn't Cooper - he wouldn't have left even one.

It's in your eyes

2009-12-26T00:06:00.002+02:00

No matter what your age, Christmas shines in your eyes, don't you think?

Mr.Blue eyes and "auntie" Rinka

This business of kissing under the mistletoe isn't a typical Finnish custom at all, but grandma and grandpa are all for new traditions

A Christmas Card For You

2009-12-24T01:18:00.004+02:00

Santa over the Senate Square, Helsinki

We don't need a merry Christmas
We don't need a Happy New Year
The only wish on Santa's list
Is that one day there will be
Peace on this earth

(Cliff Richard: Santa's List)

The Eve before Christmas Eve

2009-12-23T21:06:00.008+02:00

This is the first time today I'm sitting down for a few minutes. My 'to do' list doesn't seem to be getting any shorter, no matter how much I rush around. Why is this? Oh well, it's best just to take a happy-go-lucky attitude (and that's all you can do at this point!), and to have faith that somehow things will get done by the time all the relatives start arriving tomorrow. They always do. (It's a miracle). But enough sitting around -

A christmas card from England, also what Cooper has been doing all day.

Sisi, 18

2009-12-20T22:52:00.002+02:00

Sisi is 18 today, legally of age, so it's a big day for her.
The skies put on a dramatic show and we had our first real winter blizzard. But nothing will keep an 18-year old from going out to celebrate!

You can tell she's a cat person - a lot of kitty cards in the post.

And among them a lovely quote from her godparents: "Minun täytyy päästä selville merestä. Laiturit ja tiet ja kalat ja sen semmoiset ovat pikkuväen näpertelyä, niiden jotka eivät välitä asioiden suurista yhteyksistä."
(From Moominpappa at Sea).

My winter garden

2009-12-16T23:30:00.000+02:00

Gardening in winter is easy.

All you need is snow.

A skater from the past

2009-12-15T23:03:00.001+02:00

This is from my great-aunt Aura's photo album: August Cederbaum, 1911, she has written. Skating on the frozen seafront of Helsinki. Almost 100 years old, this photo, but it hasn't faded at all, unlike many of the other photos in the album unfortunately have.

After weeks and weeks and weeks of tiring rain & drizzle, the temperatures have plummeted to -10 degrees Celsius in the daytime. And it has snowed - driving is an adventure until you get used to the icy conditions again. I saw two buses that continued to skid straight on when they were trying to turn at the crossing. It looked a bit scary. But everyone is feeling more perky and happy, the snow brings more light.

Rina, 20

2009-12-04T17:10:00.005+02:00

Rina & Sisi in 1997

Rina is 20 today! (Time has really flown - I don't feel any older than on the day she was born... well, maybe just a few days). Since Rina was little she has been a storyteller and has loved to read. Luckily we still have some of the stories she wrote in her childhood (like the excerpt below, in Finnish, about two little horses in love). These are the ones done the "old-fashioned" way, with pen and paper. The ones written on the computer have sadly been lost over the years.

Now she's a literature student and very happy with her studies. A little advice from Woody Allen (who we both are fans of):
"Just don't take any class where you have to read BEOWULF."

Cruisin' with Leonid Ilyich

2009-12-03T19:01:00.007+02:00

Mr.Blue-eyes is a great fan of
classic cars, and that includes magazines featuring old cars. He dreams of the ancient cars he'd like to own some day - some day being the operative word. With teenagers in the family the outgoing cash flow is very effective as it is! I'm not as car-minded myself, and I tend to favour newer (i.e. more reliable) models. But when I saw this Finnish 'Mobilisti' -magazine with Brezhnev on the cover I was intrigued. Not much was disclosed about the private lives of former Soviet leaders, and human nature being what it is - inquisitive - it's always interesting to find out what kind of hobbies and passions these people had.

You can't judge a book by its cover but I think it's safe enough to judge a man by the books he reads - or by the car he drives. Or in this case cars. The car collection of this communist leader is said to have amounted to 68 at best. He also insisted on driving them himself as fast as he could. (No fear of getting a speeding ticket). Western-made was definitely best for him - when he was presented with two Skoda 110R coupé sports models, the first ones to be manufactured, they were returned before you could say na zdoroviye. When he was still a rising star in the party hierarchy he began his cruising career behind the wheel of a 1938 Buick Limited. Later on, when he had become a protegé of Nikita Krushchev he received a Chevrolet Bel Air 1955 from the head of the state. The car is still around which is pretty amazing, and was last seen in 2007 in Dnepropetrovsk Ukraine.

Brezhnev was a sociable person who enjoyed the good life and frequently used his power to network. In 1968 Italy presented him with a red Maserati Quattroporte as a gift. However, Brezhnev preferred his cars to be dark blue, so the car was later painted blue. After the fall of the Soviet Union the Maserati was transported to Estonia where it was in the use of a security service owned by former KGB men. At the end of the 1980s the car was brought to Finland. The legendary American businessman/philanthropist Armand Hammer gave him a 1969 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. The West-German Chancellor Willy Brandt gave him a 600 Pullman , with 6 doors. Only about 200 of these were manufactured, many of them owned by dictators or statesmen such as Kim Il Sung, Mao Zedong, Fidel Castro, Enver Hoxha and Nicolae Ceausescu. A club of colourful personalities indeed! During the SALT negotiations the Russian Embassy in Washington let the White House know that Leonid Ilyich would really appreciate a new Cadillac Eldorado, and went on to list the preferred equipment. In three days the car was delivered to Brezhnev, just in time for Nixon's visit to Moscow. However, Brezhnev's enthusiasm was curbed when he saw the car Nixon arrived in - a 1969 Lincoln Continental Executive Limousine by Lehmann-Peterson. (Boys and their toys...). Well, that car was soon at the top of the host's wish list - "even a regular Lincoln will do" said Brezhnev. The next year when Brezhnev visited Camp David, Nixon, again with the help of Armand Hammer, presented him with a dark blue Lincoln Continental Hess & Eisenhardt. It became his favourite car. But never too many cars it seems - when the presidents met next, the Soviet head put in a new order for a Chevrolet Monte Carlo.

When not busy driving his American cars or Mercedes, Brezhnev liked to cruise alone near his datcha in the Crimea in a Citroen SM given by the French president Georges Pompidou. But his cruising days were nearing their end. In 1980, while he was driving his Rolls Royce from his datcha in Zavidovo to Moscow, he failed to see a MAZ 502 truck that had turned onto the main road in front of him. Usually the roads were closed off to traffic when Brezhnev and his car colonnade sped past. The leader wasn't injured too badly, but still enough to have to stay out of the public eye for a while. (The TASS news agency reported that the First Secretary had caught a cold). Today you can see the fateful car in the car museum of Riga, where it spends its days in retirement with the Lincoln, and a 1980 Mercedes 280 SEL which was given to Leonid Ilyich by Erich Honecker. It's said that Armand Hammer came to the rescue of his old friend once more, and replaced the crashed car with a Silver Wraith 1979. But the accident had left the aging leader so shaken that from then on he decided to leave the driving to others.

Tones of grey and cyclamen

2009-11-25T19:03:00.000+02:00

A gentle veil of grey has been drawn over the days. The landscape shimmers in muted pastel shades, raindrops are jewels on the bare tree branches. A walk on the beach never fails to lift my spirits, even in this constant drizzle and rain - it's just a question of forcing myself outside, as I keep telling myself!

There are still some leaves (huge amounts, according to Mr. Blue eyes) windblown all over the grass. Every day I plan to rake them up but now I can conveniently blame the soakingly wet weather and get busy with my reading instead. Besides, the ever-shortening days always take you by surprise. Before you know it it's too dark to do anything outside. So in you go - to light some candles or glass lanterns, and to brew a lovely hot drink. Or maybe even to curl up cosily, like Cooper, hibernating below.

In the candlelight, lights and shadows dance around the room while the brilliant hot pink cyclamen flowers on the table are transformed into hovering butterflies, and I can pretend to be Scheherazade.

"Constitutional Point"

2009-11-20T17:55:00.002+02:00

Power corrupts,
whereas sound opposition
builds up our free
democratic tradition.
One thing would make
a democracy flower:
having a strong opposition -
in power.

from Grooks, by Piet Hein

A garden by the Berlin Wall

2009-11-13T19:02:00.003+02:00

I suppose I could describe my childhood as being happy but rootless. My father worked in the Foreign Ministry, which through the eyes of a child meant that just as I had settled down and formed closer friendships, the whole family would be whisked off to a new country with new people, different customs, a different language. When I was 14 my parents were posted to the former German Democratic Republic. There wasn't a suitable school for me, so I stayed in Finland to continue school. My sister was only 7 at the time, still young enough to easily learn a new language, so she was enroled in a local East-German school. Seeing that my parents lean more to the right than to the left politically, I suppose it was pretty broad-minded of them to entrust their child to an East-German school, at least it was an uncommon decision among their western colleagues.

Checkpoint Charlie
In the school holidays I would hop on an Interflug plane bound for 'Berlin, Hauptstadt der DDR', often with my grandmother or a friend. (I still remember the tough, dry chicken they served passengers). It always felt like an adventure to be heading behind the Iron Curtain. (Of course for a teenager there was the added advantage of being able to skip across the border to West Berlin and its temptations).

My sister had no problem fitting in with her school. The only time she felt disappointed was when she - not being a citizen of an East Bloc country - wasn't allowed to join in the activites of the Pioneers (or FDJ - Freie Deutsche Jugend - a kind of East-German version of the Scouts but politically aimed to indoctrinate Marxism-Leninism. In principle membership was voluntary but in practice it was expected). Of course a child doesn't view things from a political angle. My sister only saw what fun her classmates had at their concerts, parties or holiday camps, and felt excluded. I was amazed at how politically motivated everything was, even in the case of young children. School reading books were full of texts urging the students to 'always be thankful to our friends, the Soviet soldiers who sacrifised their lives to free us from fascism'. The pictures showed children (wearing their blue Pioneer scarves) offering flowers to their smiling soldier friends.

Postcard from a FDJ-holiday camp, Finckenfang, in Ost-Erzgebirge

ANYWAY. After this long and rambling intro, maybe I'll get to the point! I'm sure no matter where in the world you are you haven't escaped the bombardment of newspaper articles and tv programs commemorating the dramatic events that led to the fall of the Berlin Wall. Let me mention a few that caught my eye, and my heart... The first is a story about a Turkish man, Osman Kalin, who like many of his fellow Turks left his homeland in Anatolia to find work in Europe so he could support his family. He settled down in West-Germany where he worked in factories and warehouses. His wife and son were able to follow him in 1979. In 1982 Osman, now a pensioner, started to feel he had too much time on his hands. He had been eyeing a certain abandoned patch of ground, and it wasn't long before he had transformed it into a lush allotment garden. But there was a catch - Osman had no idea his patch of land actually belonged to East Germany. When the wall was built, the East Germans cut a few corners, so they could build the wall in a straight line and save expenses. This left a small part of their land behind the wall, on the west side. Well, in due course Osman was confronted by both the West Berlin police and, high on their heels, kalashnikov-bearing East German soldiers. But Osman wouldn't budge. He had more important things to tend to: the garlic needed to be planted, the crops picked...and that's exactly what he did, for as long as his health (and Allah) permitted. When the wall came down, Osman was once again busy expanding his garden and building a cottage. In 2002 Berlin granted his land and his cottage protection. Now tourists flock to see the garden that continued to bloom even when the cold war was knocking down far mightier structures. Guess where I would like to go when in Berlin?

Photo by Metin Yilmaz: Osman's garden in the 80s in Kreuzberg, West Berlin, with neighbours Elmas and Mustafa Akyol helping in the garden.

Another thing that has stayed with me is the German film 'Das Leben der Anderen' or 'The Lives of Others' (2006). There's something very special about this film about the Stasi and the ways its sinister machinations affected the lives of everyone. The acting is so natural that you begin to feel you know these people, the greyness and drabness of East Berlin in the 80s is immediately recognisable. See the film, if you have the chance! (It won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film in 2007). I won't say more, just that the ending is something that made my spirit, or heart, or whatever it is we believe to be our personal 'truth', soar. Over and over. It also made me think that we don't have to look up to the skies to see angels. There are angels right here among us.

Postcard from Rostock

Snowfall, Sedum, Scotland

2009-11-05T23:40:00.007+02:00

You didn't catch me by surprise this year, winter...

For once the spring bulbs got planted in time before the first snowfall, which came today. Tulips, tulips, and more tulips (there can never be too many), hyacinths and grape hyacinths have been lovingly slipped undercovers to lay, brown and bulbuous, slumbering and brooding, until spring comes calling.

The slushy snow that continues to fall even as I write, has whitewashed the landscape. Slowly and relentlessly it's wiping out any sign of summer.
Tabula rasa, literally.
Was there a summer, once?

The remains of summer are inside, like the clumps of Sedum 'Herbstfreude' plonked into vases around the house. I've never been overly enthusiastic about this plant. It seems rubbery and staid, like an artificial plant almost. Not that I want to hurt its feelings - I once read an article about how it has been scientifically proven that plants do have feelings and also communicate with one another. According to the author of the article, the plants sent off alarm signals to other plants whenever someone approached them scissors-in-hand. Hmmm...if so, it's lucky we can't hear the screams! It was also reported that plants are able to sense when members of the family are on their way home, or if the family pet is approaching, and all the information is passed on to nearby plants as well. Quite a lot going on at home when you think all is peace and quiet! This brings to mind something else: have you heard that eggs (according to a study) are said to react with distress when you pop them into boiling water? ('Stuff and nonsense!' said my mother, and nearly fell off her chair laughing). I don't know whether to believe this - and it's not really an issue - but just in case, I do say "sorry" in my mind when I'm boiling an egg.

Henri Matisse: Girl with Tulips, 1910

I'd better get back to the sedums, before I've completely slipped off the track... They seem to be tough plants, so I'm sure they're not offended by my trifling comments. Just so they needn't be distressed I'll soothe them by saying that they are a joy after the first frosts, when all the other plants in the garden look soggy, tired and faded - like they've had the wildest (although not hottest) night out.

Whatsmore, the proud heather-coloured blooms of the sedum also remind me of Scotland - of those heather-covered hills - and of a promise to spend a Christmas there, which I hope to keep.

Sedum starting to blush in September

See no evil...

2009-10-26T23:49:00.002+02:00

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil... that's how many of my friends in the Caucasus have come to see us Europeans as acting, whenever their countries hoped for some kind of support in troubled times. And they are right. Governments seldom act on a purely humanitarian basis. But sometimes Europe does listen, see, and even speak. Last week the European Parliament awarded the Russian human rights group Memorial the 2009 Sakharov Prize, the prize for freedom of thought. Memorial promotes human rights in Russia as well as in the former Soviet republics. The prize amounts to 50.000 Euros. I looked up some of the previous winners - it turned out to be an impressive bunch: Nelson Mandela, Oswaldo José Payá Sardinas, Aung San Suu Kyi, Hu Jia...

I suppose we 'ordinary folk' have a tendency to place exceptionally courageous people on a pedestal, although they themselves might not feel any need to be held in such a position. Oleg Orlov, who currently heads Memorial, admitted to having mixed feelings on receiving the prize. Although he recognises that Memorial deserves the prize, he stated that the human rights situation in Russia is heading in a completely opposite direction from the one they would like to see. In his opinion the results of their work are far from satisfactory. He also noted that he would like to dedicate the prize to the memory of Natalia Estemirova, the Memorial activist who was abducted and shot dead in Russia's Northern Caucasus in July. "We who are here today receive the prize, but Natasha received the bullet...that makes me sad," he said.
One truly wishes the prize and the recognition may at least lighten the load of all who carry it.

I wonder if it is a specific event, circumstances in general, or simply fate that leads people such as the above mentioned to commit to their chosen paths? Do they ever think of giving up? And how do they cope with the stress, or the fear they must face? Just reading Anna Politkovskaya's books - about Putin and the distressing, shocking things people in Chechnya went through - made me want to put the book out of my sight, without finishing it. It's an unbelievably brutal culture that is revealed. I didn't want to know. Knowledge doesn't always set you free - it becomes something you carry about with you. Always. Once you know, you become a part of it.

Needless to say, I felt like such a coward for thinking of not reading on. All I had to do was read the facts, to face them ... others had no choice but to live them, and to end up by paying with their lives, or by being physically or mentally (or both) scarred forever. I picked up the book, and I did manage to finish it. It's easy to support causes while we're safely in our comfort zones.

The reflecting fountain

2009-10-20T17:41:00.002+03:00

Wendy Whelan and Tyler Angle rehearsing 'The Nightingale and the Rose' for New York City Ballet (2007). Photo by Paul Kolnik.
I've noticed that often when I'm reading a poem by Edith Södergran, I tend to see it as a ballet. The Finnish poet, Edith Södergran (1892-1923) was born in cosmopolitan St. Petersburg to Swedish-speaking parents. There she attended a German school, and her first poems were written in that language. Later she switched to writing in Swedish, her mother tongue. She was one of the first truly modernist Finland-Swedish poets, her poems bearing influences from, for instance, German expressionism and Russian futurism. But we can leave it to the scholars to debate on the nuances, for me personally, it's enough that her poems - rebellious, touching, melancholy or euphoric - simply convey vividly what it is to be a woman. Reading her poetry, it's quite eye-opening to realise that in many respects we encounter the same things as she did - even a century later. I suppose therein lies the power of her poetry, as well as in being so visual.

I'm no choreographer (or scholar, for that matter), but I did take the liberty of adding some seasonal choreography from the garden to the following poem.

The reflecting fountain

Fate declared: white you shall live or red you shall die!
But my heart decided: red I shall live!
Now I live in the land where all is yours,
death never enters this realm.

All day long I sit, my arm resting on the fountain's marble rim.
When I am asked if happiness has been here,
I shake my head and smile:
happiness is far away, where a young woman sits sewing a child's blanket,
happiness is far away, where a man walks in the forest and builds himself a cabin.

Here, red roses grow around fathomless fountains,
here, lovely days reflect their smiling features
and huge flowers lose their most beautiful petals...

-Edith Södergran: The reflecting fountain, translated from the Swedish by Stina Katchadourian

Last sunburst

2009-10-15T20:02:00.002+03:00

September really spoiled us with its lingering warmth! The sudden cold spell in early summer notably diminished the butterfly population, but as the gardening season was winding down, and the colour palette turned to gold, it was nice to see the butterflies back in full force. Even if only just in time for a last waltz.

Is it the profusion of yellow in the autumn garden that gives the sky such a deep, vibrant blue? Or is the knowledge that winter is near that makes us savour each and every nuance more than during summer (that big spender)? In spring the colours are more gentle, as if nature wasn't quite sure whether to step out of winter's shadow. In autumn it flings all apprehensions in the face of the wind, and blazes and shimmers on as long as it can.

Among all these yellow sunbursts, each one doing its best to outshine its neighbour, the phlox calmly goes on flowering even after the first few nightfrosts.

Now September has passed, the blaze in the garden has died down, and even the phlox is giving up. But you can always put on some Belafonte...and remember.

...It's nice to remember,
the fire of September
that made us mellow.
...and follow...

Casper the friendly dog (1997-2009)

2009-10-13T22:04:00.001+03:00

And so this turned out to be Casper's last summer. No matter how many pets there have been before, it never gets easier, this business of accepting loss, letting go, and finally saying goodbye to a dear companion. We had to make the hard decision in July. Writing about it even now brings back waves of sadness and emptiness, but also of happy and funny memories. The love and the gratitude are what remain.

As a puppy, Casper was a lovable little rascal. Coming into a family with a couple of adults plus three children he had no problem accepting the adults as 'top dogs', but as to the little ones and their friends, he would sometimes try to boss them around. But as he matured he calmed down. Perhaps this was also due to the fact that a new puppy, Cooper, had joined the family. Cooper must be the gentlest dog on this earth, and from the start he absolutely worshiped Casper. Although Cooper literally wouldn't hurt a fly, his never-faltering, reckless good spirits would get him into all kinds of scrapes. Soon Casper decided that from now on he would take the role of dignified senior-statesman brother, and leave the gallivanting to Cooper. Casper would tolerantly watch Cooper bounding into all kinds of crazy situations. His expression would tell you 'I, Casper, would never do something so silly!', and you could almost see the halo around his head.

When he wasn't busy keeping an eye on Cooper and the outside world, he liked to watch tv. Nature programs were his favourite, and if a member of the animal kindgom appeared on screen, he would become a keen interactor. He would rush up as close to the tv as he could, giving out little yelps, tail swishing furiously in the air. But how frustrating when he never got any response! Once he even had a romance with a real tv star. 'She' was a guinea fowl who appeared in reruns of that old nostalgic British tv series All Creatures Great and Small! A while ago, in need of some nostalgia myself, I was watching it on DVD when suddenly the guinea fowl episode came up. I had forgotten all about this shattering romantic interlude in Casper's life, but now the memories all came rushing back.

But celebrities can be fickle. Casper's true love was always my younger sister. Even when the years were piling up on him, whenever she came to visit he would instantly become years younger, and dance around her, never letting her out of his sight. 'Remember to give Cooper some extra attention', my sister emailed the kids when Casper had gone to what are called happier hunting grounds. 'He has lost his buddy.' We all have.

Four-legged friends

2009-10-04T11:37:00.004+03:00

Some dog friends (plus a few cats) I have had the privilege of meeting:

Lotta, Vienna, Austria. Lotta came from a dog shelter. The adjective that describes her best is HYPER. Lotta would never give up. If her owner accidentally threw her toy so that it would get stuck in a tree (like Charlie Brown's kite), Lotta would jump and jump and jump...tirelessly...trying to figure out how to get that toy back. .

Wendy, Vienna, Austria. Wendy lived under the same roof as Lotta. She was top dog. Her motto in life? Take it easy.

Elli, Hämeenlinna, Finland. Elli is like her owner, a perky character, who sees the funny side in things.

Mr.Higgins, St. Ives, England. Mr. Higgins and his owner look after their guests at a cosy bed-and-breakfast with fantastic sea views in Cornwall.

Oscar, Porvoo, Finland. When Oscar came to visit, things got pretty lively between him and our Irish Setter, Jasper. I'll spare you the details, but it's the only time we've ever received a postcard from a dog. In it, Oscar apologised for his wild ways (although his host, Jasper, was just as much to blame).

Lolly, Örebro, Sweden. Lolly liked to pose for the camera.

Donna, Isokyrö, Finland (here with my sister). Donna was my grandmother Matilda's dear companion. Every evening at the same time, my grandmother would give Donna a treat of crushed candies(!). Donna always growled if anyone came too near her bowl of goodies.

Most of my four-legged friends are dogs, but here are Siamese cats Julius and Jasmine. Always in sync.

And then there are the dogs that have shared our lives:

Pietje, my parent's dog, whom I grew up with. When I was about 7 years old, my parents took a trip to London. When they came back, they gave me a tiny golden poodle, and said that in summer we would have a new puppy. Poor Pietje must have been very afraid to suddenly find himself stuck in a dog cage and being flown across the lands in a noisy airplane, then to be greeted by completely strange people. Luckily he settled down quickly. My little sister was born that same year, but at the time, Pietje's arrival felt more important to me. Pietje lived for 16 years, and my parents loved him so much that when he died, they couldn't consider ever having another dog. The little golden poodle still sits on my dresser in our bedroom.

Our first dog was an Irish Setter, Jasper. His name came from Daphne du Maurier's 'Rebecca'. Jasper was hyper-active, and above all loved to swim. In winter he would even plunge headlong into the freezing waters of an ice-hole, if we didn't stop him. Sometimes he would run away, but we would always find him by the nearest water.

Jasper lived for 14 years, and after that Casper the golden retriever joined us. After nervy, bouncing Jasper, (who was often in trouble) Casper seemed very easy and calm. So even though by this time there were three babies in our lives, another golden, Cooper, came to live with us too.