One Good Friend.

“Everyone needs friends. At least one good one”.

I remember those words like it was yesterday, uttered by my very first online acquaintance.

I met her in the beginning of the nineties. Internet and online communications were in their infancy, yet I already then developed an avid interest for online communities, as suddenly a whole new world of interactions was opening up to my perception.

She became my real close friend for a couple of years, a confidant that I shared my thoughts with. There was something safe in the fact that I shared my secrets with basically a stranger, thousands of miles away from me, someone I never met, yet a living, breathing soul who could offer words of empathy and comfort.

Being far away from my established friends and my family, having left everything behind on another continent a few years prior, I realized that making real life friends as an adult was a task light years removed from the time when I was a child.

Me and My Best Friend in 1989

As a little girl I made friends easily. I lost them easily too, but in no time new would come along and I never ever recall being a solitary child or having the feeling of being left out. I had an overabundance of friends at all times; some were children I admired, some were those who admired me and then there was at least one good friend. My very best friend that liked me exactly for who I was and shared my innermost secrets and dreams with me. Already then I perceived easily how important this very fact was.

Once my parents immigrated to Sweden, our family went through a mental transition, one that deserves its own exclusive post. To leave ones country - what at that time was assumed as forever - is not something one easily recovers from and the experiences of immigration shaped my early teenager years.
Nevertheless, I still made friends. I found quickly that initially I was drawn to other children, which just like me found themselves as foreigners in another country. We were brought together due to our similar fate and felt unified due to our situation.
As time progressed and my family became successfully integrated in the new society and our new country became our home, as a teenager I slowly made friends with Swedish kids, even though I with amusement must admit that they all had foreign ties, in one way or another.

Me And My Sister In 1994

During this time, my sister became my very best friend. I recall still today our long daily talks. We discussed everything between heaven and earth and I always looked forward to finding her at home when I returned from school, as we would sit in mine or her room for hours, recollecting our day.

I kept my university friends when I started to work and when I moved away from home on my own, I had a well-established network with only a few friends, but still friends I liked and could count on. The phone was never off the hook and I never felt alone – in fact at times I wish I was.

When I left Sweden as a young adult and moved to the other side of the Atlantic, I quickly found myself in a situation that required solitude and discretion and making friends became suddenly impossible.
And then one day it just happened, as I went through life’s ups and downs, traveled the paths less traveled I found that as an adult I became scrutinized by others, at times viewed as threat and interference and felt unwelcome into new established friendship circles. At the best I could make brief and superficial acquaintances.
It dawned on me then that the connections we make as young are golden.

Whether it is the mindset of younger years, the ability to bounce back so easily or whether it is the will and interest to genuinely get to know people - nevertheless, childhood friends are the ones we should try to keep. There is something infinitely comforting to have known - and have been known by - someone for decades, to have followed them through life’s turmoil and to have shared so many unforgettable moments. It is a magic I will sadly never experience.

I still keep in touch with many of my old friends, those that I made during my teenage years. Still, life has brought us in different directions and the closeness we once felt is long gone. Today, after having lived more than a decade in a new country, I cannot state to have made many new friends.
However life has taught me that it is not the quantity but the quality that counts in the end.
Maybe that is the difference between the friendships we strike as young and the one we do as adults.

Me And Elizabeth

Thus I would like to dedicate this post to my one and only true confidant, my very best adult friend Elizabeth who has become my light in the dark – and serendipitously we met through our common love for a nearby lighthouse.
Her concern and genuine care has kept me sane through many recent storms over the past two years. She has shared my deepest secrets and I hers and her beautiful and unblemished mind and candid empathy has made me once again trust in the goodness of people, corroborating my belief that we should pay attention to who destiny brings our way. Each and every encounter has a higher meaning and the people we meet always have a role to play in our lives.

I have today reached the conclusion that we cannot go thorough life alone. As much as we need shelter and food, we also need love and companionship. And at least one good friend.

There are no rules that define a true friend; however often it is the hardship of life that shows us that true friendship can come from the most unusual and unexpected places.

Charm Bracelet.

My sister invited me recently to join an exclusive club. The charm club at Thomas Sabo. A club I am very honoured to belong to. A gift for my last birthday, she has added four appealing charms to my new charm bracelet and the collection will be only increasing by each year.

The charm bracelet is most likely my first encounter with jewelry. My mother used to wear one on her wrist and I recall how fascinated I was by the multitude of charms adoring the chain, playing with it as she cradled me in her arms, when I was a little girl. My sister, I recently realized, has exactly the same recollection, giving my new bracelet a special meaning as it bridges two generations and redefines the bond between sisters.

The wearing of charms is an ancient tradition and may have begun as a form of amulet to ward off evil spirits or bad luck. During the pre-historic period, jewelry charms would be made from shells, animal-bones and clay and there is evidence from Africa that shells where used for adornments around 75,000 years ago.
Thus wearing mine also connects me symbolically to all the prehistoric sisters of my past.

Christmas Memories, Part II.

(Please click here to read part I)

The Christmas celebrations that I recall most vividly are the ones that were spend in Sweden, whereto my family immigrated when I was thirteen and where I lived until I was twenty five.

Upon our escape to the west, when we found ourselves as political refugees, my family became a very closed knit one and still is today. Thus Christmas, which highlights the value of family and celebrates those who are us near, was always a very joyful and infinitely happy time that I recollect today with absolute fondness.

Never forgetting our central European origins, we kept many of the traditions of our Slavic roots, nevertheless also tried to integrate with the new society and thus allowed ourselves to be assimilated by the Scandinavian Christmas traditions.
Such as the Advent observance, which turned December into a month of celebration, when the house became illuminated by multitude of candles. Particularly the lighting of Calendar Candle and the opening of Christmas Calendars became a wonderful daily ritual as we counted impatiently down to Christmas Eve. The weeks were filled with scents and tastes that are so significant of this special time, such as Glögg, a type of mulled wine, a very traditional Christmas drink in Scandinavia, the ginger biscuits and the saffron buns, baked on Saint Lucia Day.
Among all this,  the perfumes of the traditional Slovak and Czech holidays cuisine kept us close to our origins and reminded us of the culture we once came from, bridging the past and the present in a poetic way...

The warmth of these almost twelve years of traditional celebrations in Sweden was what laid base to those I established as a young adult. My very own Christmas was born in North Carolina, where I lived for almost a decade.
It was here that I for the very first time decorated my home for the Holidays, trimmed the tree and started slowly to combine the traditions that I have carried with me from my past, all the way from childhood. Slowly, Christmas became a holiday that I no longer celebrated with my parents, but with my friends. It was difficult at first, but I realized quickly that all the love and happiness I felt once in the past, when I was a child or a teenager, resonated still within me.

I realized that I was capable of creating my own traditions, the ones that would dictate a new direction of the Holiday celebrations that would become my very own.

Look To The Rainbow...

During our stay in Switzerland, the weather was a mixed blessing of sun and rain. Even though we did wish for more sunshine than we received, the heavy clouds and the rain did surprise us one day with the most incredible rainbow I have ever seen.

While driving home one afternoon with my sister and my niece, suddenly the dark grey heavens were adorned with a double arch made of magnificent colours. The bow was so vivid and strong that it looked as if someone had just painted it over the sky. Spanning a full semi-circle, ending in the waters of the lake, it brought about a deep sense of enchantment, as if we were facing a gateway into the land of magic.

As we stopped and admired the colourful strokes set against the dark canvas, my five years old niece made a wish. I hope you will find the time to watch the video below to find out what she wished for...

"Le Château".

My sister would probably disagree with amusement, but in my opinion; she indeed lives in a real Château.
But let me start at the beginning.

As I have mentioned many times in the past; I am a nervous flier. Actually, I have been a non flier for the past six years. The reasons to my phobia are too illogical and too uninteresting to discuss here, but they are nevertheless very real to me. Over time though, I slowly began entertaining the thought of boarding a plane again and recently decided to try to conquer my fear of flying.

Thus, a few weeks ago I found myself at an airport, a place that used to haunt my dreams. After consuming a few drinks that helped me to loose a bit of that control I so indefinitely crave, I boarded (and survived) two flights that took me to Switzerland to see my sister and her family. I did almost crushed the hand of my companion at starts and landings, but eventually I made it through the flights. And what is even more amazing, I might consider to fly again.

My younger sister met and married a French-Swiss gentleman and today they reside in his hometown by Lake Geneva, or Lac Léman, as it is correctly called. The family, including three children, live in a tranquil Château, which used to house a line of family of a distant relative to my brother in law. My sister and her husband consider it only a big house, but to me it looks like a Château indeed, complete with towers, attic and maybe even a haunted cellar.

It is in any case a beautiful mansion, set in a park like garden with stunning views of the French Alps, surrounded by wine yards and meadows. Our room was situated on the top floor with breathtaking outlook across the lake over the mountains and the famous town of Évian, whose lights flickered reflecting in the water in the evenings. Every morning as I woke up to the sound of water fountain and cow bells (belonging to cows that would graze on the nearby meadows), I had to pinch myself to make sure I was indeed still not dreaming.

My sister, without a doubt, lives in one of the most beautiful parts of Europe. I enjoyed every second being in her company and that of her family. When we all sat at the dinner table I felt happiness to the extend I can not describe in words, as I was surrounded by people that mean so much to me. All in a beautiful setting, with a sensation of peace and security.

There is nothing stronger than a family bond. I have never appreciated my entire family more than I do now, when I get to see them once a year at the best. Still, not even the distance - geographical or in time - can erase the bond of blood, that is so very palpable when we are apart. And even more when we are together.

Flashback Friday: "The NeverEnding Story".

Today I dedicate my Flashback Friday compilation to my sister for her birthday. Thus I am taking you way back to the mid eighties, when wild hair ruled the fashion and pleasant melodies the ether.

I decided to revisit the main theme song from a famous cinematographic masterpiece of a fairytale. Entitled "The NeverEnding Story", the main track with the same name is performed by Limahl. It received constant airplay in 1984, topping the charts all over Europe. Even today those pristine harmonies take me way back to my late teens, when my sister was my greatest confidant and my best friend. When everything was still new and fresh, magical and fairy-tale like and we were ready to conquer the world.

Happy Birthday to my little sister and Happy Friday to all of you.

Random Thoughts.

Apparently I have been missed. Someone noticed (and reminded me) that I neglected to write a post yesterday (thank you F!) Well, it is nice to know that I have not managed to bore - at least not some of you - to death just yet, with my very educational posts and my crazy ramblings.

The lack of posting on my part has been due to many things, but the main one being overwhelmed at work and trying to pay attention to my professional life a bit more than I have been lately. Furthermore, I seem to be lacking inspiration. I usually pre-schedule all my posts and even though I have plenty of posts written, they seem all to feel not right. A similar sensation, which at least women will recognize, to the feel of ones favorite clothes, which seems to fit perfectly one day, only to feel completely off the next.

Anyway, therefore I decided to try to do that which many bloggers do so eloquently. Present to you some random thoughts I have been having lately.

I have been thinking about my childhood. Particularly about those small achievements or milestones that it always seemed to be filled with. Such as loosing the first milk tooth, learning how to read and write, how to swim, how to bicycle. It is not very often in our adulthood that so much knowledge is acquired in such a short time. I also recall with a smile how I used to grow out of my clothes. Today it seems almost surreal. Do you remember not being able to fit your shirts and sweaters and trousers from one year to another? These days I can wear everything I wore a decade ago, with exception of some garments that will not fit around the waist and thighs, to my dismay.

I have also been thinking about my sister, who I miss dearly, as she lives with her family thousands of miles south of me. I can not remember the time when she was born, as I was barely 3 years old. But I have many fond memories from the time just few months later after her arrival. I recall with amusement lying in my crib, just behind hers, pulling at her jump suit leg and making her laugh, over and over. She was no more than six months old. I also remember how I wished for her to finally speak! I used to ask my mother constantly, inquiring when she will start talking back to me. I guess, already bossy at that time, I needed to communicate my orders to her and experienced great aggravation in not being able to do so. I also taught her the almost first word. It was a word naming an animal. A small, cute, wild animal. Other children will usually learn to say cat or dog initially. But not my sister. We had a book with different animal pictures in it and amusingly, the first name she learned and repeated proudly was Weasel. And believe me, it is even more difficult to pronounce in Slovak.

Flashback Friday; Christmas Edition: "Last Christmas".

The next four installation of my Flashback Friday will be in the spirit of the season. To me the Holidays start with the last weekend of November, meaning that tomorrow is a very special day in my white house on the hill. But more on that later.

Meanwhile, I hope you all will bear with me, as I present to you my four favorite Christmas compilations during the weeks leading up to Christmas.
I know some of you are already (or will be soon) fed up with all the Christmas music that is played relentlessly on the radio. I however admit being one of the few who relish in exactly that fact. I simply love this holiday and anything connected to it, including the music.

This first piece I recall very fondly as a major hit. Made by Wham!, it was released in 1984, when I was a teenager. Me and my sister sat glued to the television set as soon as the top ten hit shows were broadcast that winter, just to get a glimpse of the video. I loved foremost the harmonies, while my little sister loved the images. The story must have appealed to her romantic sense, as perhaps she too longed to live through some of the sentiments depicted within; spending time in company of good friends in the mountains. And, as sometimes life has it, my sister very much indeed made her dreams come true; in a few years after that she met and married a handsome Swiss man (and a talented skier), who took her away to live at the foothills of the beautiful Alps, in one of the most stunning parts of Europe. She did get to live out the story depicted in the favorite video of her past. With one exception; it did not include a broken heart.

So, without further ado, here is Last Christmas, which I dedicate to my sister, together with all the memories of wonderful childhood Christmases we once shared...

Easter Thursday And A Birthday.

Today is Easter Thursday, also called Holy Thursday.

Coincidentally, today is also my little sisters birthday.

My sister used to be my best friend, my confidant and my true partner in crime. As children, we behaved the way sisters do. We played a lot and we fought a lot, usually over truly insignificant things, which however seemed so very important to us at the time.

Growing older, a fervent bond developed between us, as a result of our family's emigration to the west. We became best buddies, sharing secrets and confiding in each other with our troubles, relying on and finding strength in one another, when the rest of the world seemed alien and hostile. I recall as if it was yesterday, when upon our return from school each day, we would be sitting in the kitchen or in one of our rooms, having a snack, talking the afternoons away. Funny, I never realized then how precious those few hours would once become and how I would miss them.

But time waits for no one and one day, I left my sister behind when I moved thousands of miles across the ocean, to another continent. After that, our lives took us in different directions and as adults we were never to live in the same country again.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to the wide eyed, cute, sensitive little girl that I so instinctively tried to protect at all times. Whose hand I automatically reached for (and did so until our late teens to her aggravation) as soon as we were crossing a road. The one who used to come to me for help with her homework, who used to look up to me and who used to ask me for advice. She is no longer there. Instead I see an independent, strong, capable woman, loving wife and a devoted mother.

Today is a very significant birthday for her, as it is the last one in a given decade. It is indeed strange to part with that one number, almost a familiar friend, that has been around for 10 years. For a brief - and not so brief - moment, it can evoke feelings of bittersweet melancholy over getting older.

But then we drink some cheap Champagne, shed a tear and smile a smile, while we say good bye to the decade that treated us well. And then finally we conclude the one and only truth; that age is after all only a number.

Therefore my little sister, I promise you, it is a piece of cake. Enjoy your last "you know what" something and believe me when I say;
'The best is yet to come'.
Congratulations!

Dancing Queen.

I love to dance.
Whether I am good at it is another matter.
I only know, that when the right music starts to play, I am the first one out on the dance floor.
I do not have to be persuaded or told twice.
I need no partner.
I do not care who is watching.
I will dance alone or in a room full of people, all I need is a music that captivates me. A melody with a rhythm or a beat, that makes me want to move.

I am not the only one in my family. My sister shares this passion, with one crucial exception; she actually makes it look good. We inherited our love for dance from our parents, both skillful dancers. Still, to this day, I own one of the numerous beautiful, custom made gowns that my mother has had made for the many balls, she and my father would attend as a young couple. It is a silver-blue evening dress, in a timeless cut and I hope one day to be able to wear it to an event it was designed for.

Each year, in the period stretching from February to April, ballroom dancing events were held almost every weekend in grand old hotels, when I was a child in the former Czechoslovakia. Both my parents loved to attend these, together with the circle of their friends. I recall how excited my mother was when she finally got her finished dress delivered and she was getting ready for an evening out. She always looked beautiful.

Of course my sister and I never got to experience ballroom dancing, but we became true 'dancing queens' at any discothèque we would attend when we were younger. To us it was not important who asked us to dance or whether we would be dancing alone. We usually just moved to the dance floor as soon as we arrived and left it at closing time. We were joined by various dancing partners during the course of the evening, but they all would leave us quiet rapidly, when they realized we had no intention of doing anything else but dancing.

Gone are those days and I cannot recall last time that I danced in public. But put the right music on and I will be taken back in time and place, becoming the queen of a dance floor. If not in skill, at least in passion.

Below is a rare clip of ABBA's gigantic hit "Dancing Queen", as it was performed for the first time ever publicly, in honour of the King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden, the night before he was to marry Silvia Sommerlath in June 1976. You can briefly see the young royal couple in the end of the clip.

Happy Monday everyone.
And don’t forget to dance.

"Seize The Day."

When I was growing up in Sweden, as a young teenager, both I and my sister were devoted Dick Turpin fans. I have no idea if anyone else remembers this hero, who appeared in a British television drama series, that was send every Saturday morning (in Sweden) in the early 80's. The handsome Richard O'Sullivan starred as an adventurous "highwayman", who spend his time traveling on horseback, robbing people; well mostly the rich I assume.
It was truly entertaining and to us a very romantic perception of a hero. The opening scene, while the credits were rolling was very captivating and mysterious as well; full of shadows and silhouettes of horseman and horse drawn carriages in the mist and fog of the night. As was the music theme, which was very catchy and unforgettable.

As time went by, I have forgotten all about this amusing show I was so intrigued by those twenty plus years ago.
Until very recently, that is. Out of nowhere, suddenly, a very familiar and very unique piece of music was streaming out of the radio one day. After some time I realized, this was a new, modern version of the old Dick Turpin theme.

It is composed by two young guys, forming the Danish group "The Benefits". They were most likely not even born when Dick Turpin was a TV hit. This song that samples the TV theme is called "Seize the Day". "Carpe diem" has always been one of my favorite phrases; being reminded of it in a song with music from my youth seems in some way quiet appropriate.

Hair.

Human hair holds so much fascination. In many cultures and during different times in history, it has been a symbol of beauty, wealth and power.

I love long hair.

I have had long hair during the most of my life. For a few years as a child, my mother used to cut it, as she herself enjoys short hair and has had short hair as long as I can remember.
Neither me nor my sister have inherited her beautiful type of hair. Thick, rich and luscious. My sister at least got a beautiful, natural chestnut brown color, however I got a color that has no definition, at least in my book.

Both my mother and her sister had gorgeous hair, judging from the few photographs that exist from their childhood. My mothers hair was straight and my aunts beautifully curly. In those times, according to my mother, washing her long hair was a nightmare. She recalls hating that so much, that as soon as she could, she cut it short. And short it has remain until today.

I find long hair attractive in both men and women. To me, nothing is more feminine nor masculine -oddly enough- than a rich mane of long hair. Maybe it has to do with my romantic inclinations. Dreaming of princes and princesses as young girl, the images would not be right unless the hair was long. Any color would do. As a teenager I was fascinated by knights and the real ones had always long hair. So did their leading ladies.

As a rule, when it comes to our bodies, we are often unhappy with what nature has bestowed upon us. I for once always longed for curly hair and often laugh at the stories my mother told me about her sister, my aunt. She hated her curls and longed for straight hair so much, she would sleep in a cap or roll a scarf around her hair in the night, in order to get it straight.
As a teenager I could briefly achieve curls by using curling irons and hair rollers. Oddly enough, when I got older, and particularly when living in the humid southeast of the US, my hair was often curly. Not very, but significantly enough for me to be pleased.

I have experimented with my hair since me teens. I have had every colour that is possible to achieve using "at home coloring kits"; even green and bright orange. I have been crying and laughing over the results of haircuts and very rarely been pleased by the outcome at the professional hair saloons.

Now my hair just grows, it is wild and free and I hardly ever trim it. And I can never ever imagine having it short. If someone would force me to cut my hair, it would bring me into an absolute panic. Just like in the clip below, taken from the movie musical "Hair", with the films title track. Directed by the Czech director Milos Forman, it is one of my favourite musicals ever.

"I like Chopin".

Music is important to me. It always was and always will be. I love the way my body reacts, making the hair on the back of my neck raise, when I hear a melody that is just right. When either the music is composed in a way that appeals to me, or when the lyrics reflect the state of my mind.

My radio is always on. There is music in my house at all times, except when I sleep.
When I was young, there was no internet and no iTunes. No mp3s. Any music we wanted to own, we had to purchase by buying a full LP. Or a single. Remember the vinyls?
Of course that was not possible, as in no way could I afford that. But then there were the cassette tapes. We could always tape the music we liked from the radio. I remember owning a small radio with a tape recorder, together with my sister. We would constantly fight over it. In the end we developed a schedule, where we would alternate using it every other week - she had it one week and me the other. Particularly weekends were important. The radio stations would be broadcasting charts and top 20, or top 50 pop music countdowns. And we would be ready with our empty tapes to capture our favorite tunes.

Yesterday, after not sleeping much during the night, I experienced a wave of nostalgia and decided to play a bunch of my 20+ year old tapes all over again. It was indeed a bit bittersweet to listen to the ancient, dusty tapes, which were filled with static, songs cut into by the talk of the DJs and sound of utterly poor quality. But exactly these faults made the whole experience magical. Some of the recordings originated from "Radio Luxembourg", a popular European radio station, that unfortunately stopped broadcasting in the early 90's, when the television, internet and the videos took away the allure of the radio. It was a truly melancholic moment for me, sitting there among the old tapes, realizing that a part of my life is forever gone.

Below is a typical Italo-pop tune that used to drive both me and my sister crazy. We loved it and played it over and over. Titled "I like Chopin", performed by Italian Gazebo, it is a typical 80's track (1983).
Watching it, is for me a deliciously lovely walk down my "musical" past.

A Walk Down Memory Lane...

I keep all my photographs in a big cardboard box. One of those storage boxes you can purchase in a store and put it all together, with a lid and everything. Not long time ago, I was moving this box, for some reason or another. The box is by now VERY heavy as it holds the sentiments and reflections of my life which stretch over many decades.
Well, when I moved the box, the bottom fell out. Just like that. I was standing there for a few seconds in disbelieve, but yes, the bottom fell out and hundreds of photographs were spread all over the floor in wonderful heap. This happened on a morning before I was off to work and I was furious, as I had no time to deal with this mess. So the pictures lay there in a heap for days before the weekend came and I sat down to put this mess into order.
And it took many hours to sort them out, as of course, some of the pictures were really old and I could not help but going through them, almost one by one. They brought back years and decades, people and places I have long forgotten. The late afternoon became evening before I was done.
I decided to share one wonderful picture I found. It is of me and my sister, while we were visiting very good friends of the family. I love the way we are seated and the whole composition of this snapshot that was taken without our knowledge some 20 years ago around Christmas.
This little incident made me realize that somehow everything happens for a reason; I was meant to drop the box, as if I did not, I would have not have had this beautiful walk down the memory lane.

Three magic stones.

When I was leaving Europe to live in the States about 16 years ago, my sister gave me three "magic" stones as a parting gift. I carry them with me to this day on every trip and they are always in my handbag as a good luck charm. The three semi precious stones are (left to right); amethyst, citrine and yellow jasper. They were ment for luck and protection. I was not aware then how affected she was by my departure. My little sister used to look up to me, we were very close and she was loosing her best friend and a confidant. This loss for me was not less significant, but was at that time overtaken by the extreme excitement of an adventure ahead of me. Actually, little did I know, that after I left that January, we would never live in the same city - actually not in the same country - ever again.