Perspectives

My friends were beyond themselves because I picked them up at the airport, took them through Ikea and other shops and on to their new home in this country.

I just felt honoured that of all their friends, I was the one who got to do all this!

My friends tell me I'm brave, courageous even, for quitting my job and "roughing it" as a freelance translator.

I just feel a coward for not being able to stay in a 9-4 job...

My family tells me how great it is I signed up for this exam, and how well I will do!

I just feel apprehensive about the whole thing, and a little bit ashamed too, for leading people on to thinking I will actually stand a chance.

My friends and family tell me how great I look after losing so much weight!

I just glance in the mirror and can't picture that posing in a bikini in a few weeks time...

My common sense tells me that blogging, facebooking, groupie-ing (read: Rufus!) are for kids.

I'm too busy blogging (ok, maybe not lately...), facebooking and groupie-ing to notice.
But my friends and family seem to agree that life's ok! And knowing that in a few weeks time THIS will be home - even if only for 3 weeks - who am I to disagree?

Lately, I've

- taken to thinking in English. All the time. Which is fine, I'm a trained translator, I can translate it into Norwegian before I speak, so my kids understand me. But it's still sort of ... odd. And I daydream in English. Dream too. I even reason with myself in English. Surely it's not because of this person? - resigned my job. My dream job, remember? It sort of still is. And isn't, because I had to give up my home office. And there's more admin and marketing related stuff to do, less translation. Come summer, I'll be sat at my home office all day long, waiting for something to do. And humming to myself in English, probably...

- started listening to Renoe Alexander, a pastime I can recommend!

- found that I'm not really obsessed at all! I've wasted hundreds of spent a few hours on the RWMB lately, and realised that since I don't travel to four countries in one week to see Rufus I'm not that much of a fan. Really...

- decided to go for an exam that really is way out of my league, but - here's to trying :)

- watched Liverpool march on towards Champions league glory! (I swear, I almost had a heart attack during the last match - with hubby as my witness!)

- missed you guys! I keep thinking of blog posts (thinking in blog posts, even!) but to actually post...

Do I disappoint me?

I still feel alright about me. But I also feel trapped in a song from Chess...

I finally got the tattoo I've been wanting* - yay! And Liverpool celebrates it too by marching on in Champions League... (Yes, DevilMood, so did your beloved Porto!)
I've lost 13 out of the 14 kilos I said I wanted to lose - yay! And I plan to continue...

I'm also still with the man of my dreams (who not only tolerates my crush on Rufus, but finds it rather amusing so helps me keeping it up...) and we've got the lovely bunch of kids we wanted.

I'm still at that job I always wanted - yay!

And we've even booked our summer holidays in Crete next summer, where this will be our view for 3 weeks (except that I'll be under the sea most of the time...):

So why are these the lines now almost continually running through my head, like a muttering;

Now I'm where I wanna be
and who I wanna be
and doing what I always said I would and
yet I feel I haven't won at all!

Could it be I somehow feel I had the makings for even more? What could possibly be more?

I still haven't figured this one out, may take some time...

* go to no. 36 ...

What's on my mind...

I've got a fan!

That's so sweet of you! But the house? Personally, I think it's a little over the top...

Norway really isn't that bad either... II

On the way down to the sea are some of my favourite houses. I wouldn't mind any of these... And then the building with the best view of all - a carport!

Just imagine

Just before Easter, hubby and I went out to a concert. (Yes! With no kids!) You can't really see much in this video, but his voice stands out, and you might even recognize the song? No, I'm not pulling your leg trying to sell you some local hero, it's a world star, promise :)

As I was watching the band (good show, by the way, I love his music), I thought - just imagine what it would be like to do this for a living. To be able to do what you like most of all, with your friends, and have people pay for it and even applaud!

And then I thought, I wouldn't really want to be on a stage, though... And I wouldn't want 8-10,000 people watching me work, no matter how friendly they were.

So finally, it got down to this. I'm in this cozy, friendly, sunny, music-filled room, with lots of computers, and my bloglings sitting around fiddling with their own computers. Noone is applauding, but we're showing eachother fun stuff that we find, or brilliant stuff that we're writing, and there's a lot of oohing and aaahing. And this is our dayjob.

How about that, anyone? (Update: You're spot on, Just sayin', it's good old Bob Dylan!)

My crush

I see him almost all mornings when I go into town (i.e. twice a week). As soon as he sees me at the bus stop he gives me his biggest smile and starts talking as if we were old friends. Frankly, I've only known him for a week or two, but he's got the most beautiful, big, brown eyes you can imagine. And dimples...

I've started looking for him on my way to the bus, sometimes I catch him a few metres before the stop - a few more seconds to be with him! I don't understand all he's saying, but I do my best to fill in aahs and uhmms and suchlike...

I even turn off my ipod for him, what d'you make out of that?!

When the bus ride is over and we're about to embark (the boat, i.e. disembark the bus, possibly...), he gives me another gorgeous smile and waves goodbye. I hope one day we'll sit together on the boat as well...

But no, off he goes. Every time. Or off he sits, rather, his mum pushing his pram. Oh, I didn't mention it? He's about 2...

Current favourite daydream

I'm in San Francisco. (I'm going there, right? So far, so good.) I'm out walking the streets. (Do Americans walk anywhere? Ever??)
I'm probably in the Castro (my niece lives only a few blocks away), and my nieces and sister are in some shop or other (actually, that could be true..). I'm not only walking the pavement, I'm listening to my iPod (now, I've heard the Castro is friendly, but really, I don't think I'd be carrying it along on a shopping trip, there could be straight robbers about...)
(Straight iPod-robbers in cunning disguise)
Anyway, the dream substance hasn't even started. Because as I'm walking there, outside the shop(s), listening to music... ... I spot Rufus Wainwright & his beau across the street (well, it could happen, right? Right???). And I can't help myself, but cry out "Rufus Wainwright!" (yeah, right, as if any Norwegian would shout out anything, ever, without unbelievable amounts of alcohol aboard. Did I mention that I don't drink? Yeah, I think I did...). Oh, I forgot to say, there's no traffic. Anywhere. Makes it all the more realistic, doesn't it :)

And the dream continues...

Rufus' Jörn looks up. Heard me, obviously. They stop. And I go over to them. As if that would ever happen (did I mention I'm of a fairly Norwegian disposition when it comes to outspokenness & outgoingness? Hm. Think I did)... They ask me what I'm listening to. I answer "Rufus Wainwright" - obviously. But it would be true. I can't stop listening to him. So I tell them just that. In German. (I haven't had German for years but I think I could cough up just that sentence. Really. Especially since practicing throughout this repeated daydream!) Jörn smiles. We talk a bit more in German. Rufus can't quite follow, but there's a convivial atmosphere...
(Rufus out walking. I told you he would be, didn't I!?!!)
- When my sister & nieces are done shopping, Rufus & beau have moved on. But we've exchanged phone numbers (sic!) and e-mail addresses, of course. Which I expect them to totally tear up as soon as I'm out of sight (figuratively - people don't often tear up their mobile phone contacts...) (incidentally - I was wondering why they opposite of "literally" isn't "illiterally"? Would make things a lot more fun. Anyway, I digress).

But they don't. I'm back in Norway, I receive a phone call from my new best friends. Rufus is giving a concert. In Berlin. (I believe they actually live there, so it might happen, right???) And they wonder would I like to come? Oh, and while I'm at it, would I like to invite some of my bloglings? (Apparently, we must have touched upon the subject of blogging during our hearty talk back then.) I list a few that would love to go - just a shame they're in the US, Canada, Greece, Portugal... No problem, Rufus pays for them all to come over. And we have a whole, lovely blogRufusrallyconcertweekend on our hands.

- Care to join?

(Now you may wonder - wherein lies the improbability? Oh, there's just the one, tiny snag. The fact that things never go according to plan... *sigh*)

All the time in the world

Now, I sometimes feel I could do with some extra time. Don't we all? And I think I've found a way of gaining at least one hour a day. One hour per working day.

You may, or may not know, that Norway has a ban on public smoking. Following Ireland, and with Britain tailing us. I don't know the exact details of their laws, but at least here, you're not allowed to smoke indoors in any public building, like in bars, restaurants, airports, or at work. (Even if everybody working there smokes and noone ever visits...) But smoking itself isn't illegal. Yet...

I don't smoke. So, I don't need to take breaks for smoking during a work day. Hey, wait! That's not fair?!


Smoking a cigarette takes, what, 6-7 minutes? And walking up and down to street level (all these people smoking on pavements outside public buildings may really be a health hazard...), to / from the stairs / lift, getting dressed to go out in, say, 20 below freezing (-4 F), must make that at least 15 minutes altogether.

An average smoker needs a good 4 cigarettes during a work day. This is perfectly legitimate still - and leaves said smokers 1 hour to themselves. Every work day.

Surely this means I'm allowed 1 hour of blogging during an 8 hour work day?

Things never go according to plan

Of course, sometimes things go according to plan. But that's not what I mean. I'll elaborate...

By way of example - my now husband started working the same place as I was years ago, and after three days I started wooing him... No, really! After 8 months he finally "caved". But, while I was wooing, courting, trying to charm him etc. I had numerous ideas of how IT was going to happen. Would he finally "cave" at work? Outside work? At lunch? And how - ask me to marry him straightaway? Sneak a kiss?

So I had detailed daydreams of how this was going to happen. And every time I thought "... and then he'd say this, and look like that and..." I immediately regretted. Because - what are the odds that things will happen exactly as you planned them in your mind? (detailed plan) A little higher even than the odds for having quads, I think... So every detailed daydream meant hubby-to-be had one less option of actually getting together with me, as I saw it, so I did try not to think about it, but I was pathetic at it ;)

Eventually he / we managed without the detailed planning - then after 4 months he proposed and after 4 more months we were married, so we hardly had time to plan the rest!

- There's a reason why I thought of this now. Because on arriving home, Wednesday night, I saw in the papers that Ronnie O'Sullivan was in town! Now, some of you may remember he's my all time hero and the most talented snooker player to ever lift up a cue - and he was right here! Only I wasn't in town anymore, I'd taken the boat home, and I had visitors, and I really couldn't go back... (He was here to play pool, in some tournament or other, he does that sometimes when snooker's off season. But Norway's a totally underdeveloped country when it comes to pool & snooker, so I'd never thought...!)

Anyway. The next morning, on the boat and then walking to work, I couldn't help thinking about him - maybe he had stayed overnight? Maybe in one of the many hotels I pass on my way? Maybe he'd just step out to take a taxi? Maybe I'd get a chance to say hi? (Just before leaving the house, I thought - what if I did meet him? I'd want to take his photograph. So I grabbed the camera. And then thought - if I bring a camera I'm doomed not to meet him. So I put it back, thinking - I could always take a photo with my mobile. Then, seeing the mobile was only half-charged or less, I thought it may not have enough power to take a photo, so maybe ... I almost didn't catch the boat just because of it.)

Then for every plan, for every hotel I passed, for every fictitious conversation I made up - I immediately thought "NO!" - I'd just ruined the chances of just that happening.

I didn't see him, of course. He probably left Wednesday night... Update - I just read in the papers he hadn't been here at all, had to pull out of the tournament due to an ear infection. Phew... If I had bumped into him I'm sure I wouldn't have said anything at all, I'd just have been standing there, mouth agape, and watched him get in that taxi.

At least there was one option I hadn't contemplated...

There are the obvious things

that remind me of Greece -

The sound of Greek music (for example), the taste of Greek food, tales from all those friends who've either just been or are going to Greece this summer

Then there are less obvious things -

The taste of salt water, sweltering heat, the combined smell of sun lotion, dust, oleanders, exhaust and grilled meat

And then there are those with really subtle links -

The sound of a Harley engine, the smell from a septic tank... (I never did tell you about that Greek Adonis (really called Dimitris) who worked on a septic van one summer in Crete...?)

- Well, we're not going to Greece this year. I think everyone else I know have been or are going, which makes it somewhat worse. And here, summer has arrived. It's nice, it's warm, the water is above freezing point... I listen to Greek radio and eat water melons.

But it's not the same, is it...

*sigh*