Musings Medley.

It has been more than a month since I last time updated this online diary and it is good to be back. I wanted to return much sooner, but my thinking was preoccupied with the pleasures of life rather than with forming coherent sentences worthwhile writing down.

I am still finding it difficult to do so.
The longing to sit down and submerge myself in self reflective prose is there, but my happy and content reality offers no philosophical contemplations. Embracing this I can always turn my writing into a medley of more creative and descriptive kind, the one that indulges and enjoys - as after all, I want my diary to reflect the true state of my life.

Thus September came and went, as I savored the bliss of sweet reunion with the only man that has ever made me feel complete. Falling into his embrace a few weeks back was the most single exhilarating experience I ever recall. Getting reacquainted with my husband took no time at all - to once again have the privilege and pleasure of each others company is heaven personified for both of us.

Not that we do not have our disagreements and small tiffs.
As two very different individuals with strong convictions we do face conflicts at times, yet our passion for life and for each other and our undying optimism prevents us from arguing for more than minutes at the time. Usually I am the one who flies of her hinges, while my husband is steady and firm as a rock, bringing me back to reality, making me smile and feeling silly, forgetting instantaneously what was it that upset me in the first place.
This is a novel concept for me - in my former relationships, conflicts usually escalated until they were the only constant in my days. It has made me realize that relationship that survive the tides of time and remain loving and harmonious are not the ones that lack conflicts and disagreements, but the ones who posses the skill and talents to overcome them, while turning these into moments of learning and growth.

While I directed my attention to life, reunion, short travels and family, nature continued its yearly cycle unnoticed and fall arrived silently, yet definitely. October is an ornate month and a month of incredible changes and contrasts. It goes from green to fiery red and golden, from sunshine to twilight, from mild to cold, from autumn to the early onset of winter. It always comes across as time span that stands between seasons and it can bring our way the heat of Indian summer at its onset or the first frost and maybe even flurries as it concludes.

I write this bundled up in blankets, in the shine of subtle candle light, while the twilight envelops the world outside. It is bewildering that only a month ago the sun was still hours short of setting and the warm evenings ruled our reality.
As we reach mid-fall, the damp air and the darkness make me long for the warmth and comfort of a crackling fire and in fleeting moments my mind returns to my old white house and its wonderful fireplace.
My life there has by now become my past.

It is amusing to ponder when exactly does something that comes across so real and tangible enter the past tense. Is it after weeks or months, or is it years... Most likely this is decided by the contents of these experiences and the extend with which they affect our reality - and the extend in which we move forward.

Having watched four seasons pass outside our windows, my present is today ruled by a welcomed sense of familiarity and routines, by love and comfort. Yet it is also messy, unpredictable, vibrant and in motion.
My life is at last the adventure I always longed it to be and I enjoy being busy living it.

Empty Rooms...

Last Candle Light

Empty rooms...
That is the last image of the white house imprinted in my memory.
Yet, also smiling faces of my new tenants ready to move in.
A deliciously melancholic mix.

Nevertheless, I have now left my former home behind, in the hands of a new family.
But not before I spend one very last weekend there getting it ready for the new occupants.
I was very appropriately alone, as my man was once again out of town through his work and this final stay was exactly as I envisioned it would be; strenuous, endless work mixed with wonderfully bittersweet recollections.

The house parted with me in style - I got to see a magnificent sunrise and a stunning late fall sunset. I watched a large red moon rise in the north and I enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the beautiful westbound views - all for one last time.
Finally, I lit one last candle in the old lantern, the one that once - those eighth years ago - held the first candle light when I moved in...

I got to say my good byes and now it is time for a new wonderful chapter in my life to start, one that I have been waiting for so long - my whole life it seems.
And I am looking forward to share it with all of you.

Sunrise, 12th Of November

Sunset, 12th Of November

Almost Full Moon, 12th Of November

November Rose.

Those of you who have ever been moving know that it comes across like an endless process. Particularly the ultimate phase, when one is almost done and then again not quiet yet and when long days turn into late nights and all that remains is total exhaustion.

I am in that last phase right now and thus I have not been able to visit any of your lovely places, for which I apologize. I hope to do so as soon as my life returns to a somewhat familiar routine, which will be shortly.

The house is though now almost empty. It's rooms echo my footsteps and the music streaming out of the radio, reminding me of the time when I moved in. Serendipitously this was also in the month of November, thus I feel my time there has come full circle.
As I was collecting the last of my potted plants from my back terrace the other day, just when dusk was settling over the neighborhood ending a foggy, drizzly late autumn day, I had to pause for a moment as a feeling of familiarity overcame me. The place came across so barren and deserted, so empty of life, just like it did those eight years ago.
Then I saw it.
A single November Rose blooming in all its splendor on my old rosebush, this late in the year, when everything else in nature seems lifeless.

It came across as a beautiful sign of hope and a sweet fragrant gift which the house bestows upon me as I say my farewells. A miracle of nature confirming the fact that everything in life is truly connected.

(I managed to take these two snapshots with my old Nikon Coolpix, which I had with me, just before it run out of battery.)

"U-haul".

Once again that time has come. I am now moving all my possessions, being in the process of packing all I own into boxes and hauling my belongings into storage, in close proximity of my new residence. I do this not alone however, but with the help of a pair of very strong and capable hands, belonging to a man that stole my heart and who has brought my way incredible happiness.
And who has given me a new home.

The white house on the hill is about to become definitely abandoned by me, as a new family is moving in - if only as tenants. New life is going to be housed within its walls, as the rooms will resonate with laughter of children and feelings of love. This notion calms my mind and lifts my spirits, infusing me with a content that thrills me on so many levels.

The past week has therefore seen me hard at work, as I (we) packed and sorted out and mostly disposed of all that junk that I have collected over the years.
It was incredibly liberating.

I have moved numerous times in my life. As a child, I was uprooted on many occasions by my parents, who possessed (and still do) the heart of gypsies and an adventurous mind. This must be qualities that I inherited as well - I have likewise traveled the world and have laid down my hat in many countries (and even two continents). Thus one can say I am at this point quiet proficient at relocating. Still, it does not get any easier and the stir of emotions is very much the same.

There is something very sentimental about ending something, no matter how much we long to see it end. It is a very odd sensation, when our dreams do come true. It feels highly exhilarating, yet concomitantly there is that feel of anticlimax, as if there is suddenly a void left behind in our perception, until we establish new desires and dream new dreams.

Thus currently I experience mixed emotions of excitement and happiness, yet as well a slight sting of melancholy and maybe a certain gentle sadness, as I part with my former home.
My white house on the hill has seen me through an important part of my life, one that has been filled with unforgettable moments and an immense personal growth, bringing me here where I am today. It has given me shelter and provided me with a safe haven, during my perpetual quest for happiness. It has seen me age almost a decade, through such intense years that defined me in a very profound way.

I embrace this recent change, because it feels good and so very right, something that is confirmed to me undoubtedly by each new day. I do not know what the future will bring, nor am I willing to contemplate that, as I relish in that uncertainty.
All I have is my past, which fills me with no regrets and my present which fills me with excitement. It instigates in me a thrill about what is yet to come, as I embark on a journey of a new fulfilling personal era.

White House Revisited.

My man has a profession that requires him to routinely spend days, occasionally weeks and once in a while even months (sigh) away from home.
And away from me.

Currently he is away for ten days, the longest time we have been apart since we met and although I dislike this separation with all my being, I decided to stop obsessing about things I can not change and turn them into something positive instead. These departures of his will inevitably become part of my life, as they are a part of his. It is an occurrence that I will have to get used to and accept, because he has chosen this profession, one that he does with dedication and great skill and one that defines who he is.
A courageous man whom I love with all my heart and soul.

Determined to use my time alone the best I could, I opted for a day, an evening and a night on my own again, back at the white house.
My old home these days stands so abandoned and neglected, still for sale, but due to the frozen real estate market light years removed from the possibility of selling - thus it is in a desperate need of love and attention.

Working outside in the warm autumnal weather, bringing my terraces back to their former glory, felt as a vital therapy. Later in the evening, I enjoyed the warmth of the fire, that one single thing that I miss deeply in my new home. Inhaling the scent of burning wood and incense, while watching the fall sun set in my westbound views brought on moments of soothing tranquility and deep relaxation.

Yet, the experience very quickly lost its allure and as soon as darkness enveloped the world, I felt a strong urge to drive back home - as certainly my white house no longer felt as such for me.
Instead, it has become now a residence away from home, a tranquil retreat, one that can bring me seclusion if I ever yearn for it. It can offer a time for me only, a solitude that is unforced and chosen, one that is only temporary - long enough to be enjoyed, but short enough not to feel too impeding.

When I left the house the next morning, it was with a sense of satisfaction, not sadness. Even though I enjoyed this momentary solitude, I knew without a doubt that my life was no longer there and I had no desire whatsoever to retaliate to my old existence again. I would never want to wish it back - it has become my past and my entire being longed passionately to return to my loving present.

I smiled with amusement as I locked the door, glancing back at my former home, pondering that one single fact - despite being currently as poor as a church mouse, I feel as the richest woman in the world.

Twenty One Grams.

There is a theory, somewhat controversial and often discredited, which proposes that when a human being passes on, the body weights exactly twenty one grams less then when alive. Thus it has been suggested that this is the weight of a soul.

I wonder, if one could weigh my white house on the hill today, whether it woudl be weighing less than when I lived there. As these days it certainly feels as if the "soul has left the building".

Selling a home is a strange process. No matter the reason, whether one wants to do it or is forced to, there is a certain feel of termination of life in this conduct.
I believe a home is created.
It is built out of love and affection and supported by people, by their laughter and tears and foremost by their presence. Once this is removed from a building, it becomes an empty framework, a lifeless construction, a foreign place.

I take very little pleasure in visiting the house these days.
I do it nevertheless - out of necessity - on regular bases and will continue to do so until it is sold. The selling however is not going all that well I am afraid, considering the financial crises that has spread once again through the world like an infectious disease.

Thus the house, that one place that once brought me joy, safety and comfort has now become a burden. A lifeless shell, a forced commitment, a financial affliction. It comes across like shackles around my ankles, keeping me imprisoned in the past, preventing me from moving on into my future.
It is today a far cry from the place I once knew and loved, so endlessly removed from my perception, demanding my care and draining my energy.

I never ever believed that I would feel these kind of emotions. They are a mixture of sadness, deep melancholy and a bittersweet recollection of another life all together. One that is only removed a few months in time, but decades in my perception.
It is a very odd realization and a truly shocking surprise.

Thus I linger there only for a moment.
Almost immediately upon entering I am enveloped by a feeling of being in a foreign place. My things are still there - I recognize all the furniture and the decor - but it does not feel at all cosy or familiar. Even the scent is different. I catch myself being in a hurry as I water the plants, open the windows, sort through the surface mail. Dust of the shelves, sweep the floor.
I simply can not wait to be on my way again.

In short moments though, when I gaze at the framed photographs of familiar faces and sit down for an instant, gazing out of my westbound windows at a stunning landscape and open sky - a wave of memories comes sweeping back.
But they do not stay with me, it seems they only pass me by, reminding me to remain thankful and most of all respectful.

They caution me to never ever forget the beautiful moments I once spend between these walls, together with all the people that helped me made it a home.

One day I will leave it forever.
It will become a shelter for someone new, keeping them happy and safe.
One day new life will move into the white house on a hill and bring back its soul.

Enchanted Evening Sky.

I have stated numerous times in the past how much I love the month of June. I love this month due so many reasons.
I relish in its youth - as it is the first month of the summer.
I relish in its bloom - as it is the month when all my fragrant shrubs and bushes bloom.
And most of all - I relish in its light - as it it is the month of white nights and the summer solstice.

I am summer child and as such I am vivacious and full of life and passion. I also hold a certain sensitivity to natural wonders and thus I will forever stand mesmerized when watching the evening heavens in the sixth month of the year, the annual midpoint.

This year, the longest day of the solstice offered spectacular skies, which came across as endlessly enchanting, almost divine or biblical, full of dramatic thunderheads with shooting sun-ray beams, painting my westerly view in cool azure blue mixed with platinum white and anthracite grey, adding a hint of warm orange.

Trying to eternalize the evening skies with my camera, I was overwhelmed by a plethora of sentimental emotions. Prevailingly a certain soft sadness, bordering on gentle melancholy, as I became aware of one unmistakable fact - once again the threshold of light has been crossed...

Fragrant Neglect.

These days I spend somewhat limited time in my white house on the hill. Instead, almost every weekend I am adding miles to my little Toyota engine, as my faithful car takes me up north to a place that is increasingly becoming my new home.

Thus my terrace and garden are suffering from a certain mild neglect. The patio tiles are surrounded by weed and I have not planted any seasonal flowers since early this spring.

My potted plants are luckily all evergreens and they seem to be nevertheless thriving quiet well and have grown beyond belief. The garden is now displaying the bloom of all my fragrant bushes and shrubs, such as jasmine, caprifolium and a variety of roses.
Despite the lack of my attention, the growth proceeds undisturbed in an uncanny way.

The other morning, as I stepped outside with a cup of coffee, I had to linger there for a while, inhaling the perfumed morning air, saturated by dew and scents of June bloom.
A faint, slightly undetermined feeling encompassed my entire being, a mixture of sweet melancholy and subtle sentimental longing with a hint of excitement. My mind became aware of an approaching finale of a certain personal era, while my consciousness captured mental shots of a moment in time - one that might never ever repeat itself again....

(Please click image for a larger view)

Sapphire And Gold.

To me, no other spring flower is more beautiful than the colourful crocus. I have a very special connection to this vernal bloom.

It is without a doubt the first delicate living item that captured my attention, when I was a child. I recall running around on the meadows of Slovakia, when the first green grass was exposed after the snow of winter slowly melted away.  As the brilliance of the first sun rays and the early birdsong defined the nature, the new green carpet was littered with these precious gems, in all colours, in all shapes and all sizes. It was the first wild flower which name I learned and which I knew how to recognize. And interestingly, the name is the same in Slovakian, Swedish, Danish and English.

Thus even today, the first blooming crocuses around my house hold my undivided attention. I almost hold my breath every year, as they start pushing relentlessly through the frozen ground already in January.
Finally, as we cross into spring and their beautiful crowns open when drenched in the first sunshine, I feel like the richest woman on earth, while my patio becomes adorned with sapphire and gold.

Sunset and Moonrise.

The sun and the moon are two celestial objects that will forever entice and captivate me.

As we reach spring and travel through into summer, I am privileged to watch the most amazing sunrises and sunsets from my panorama windows - heavenly displays that have no equal and I simply lack words to adequately describe.
And the moon - that beuatiful disc under which glow I often fall asleep during the Scandinavian white nights - has an almost uncanny hold over me.

This year, the Vernal Equinox combined the sun and the moon in the most beautiful celestial show that I have ever witnessed.

While the first spring day closed towards its end, I stood in awe as a glowing, platinum sun moved across the blood red evening sky, ready to meet the jet black western horizon. It vanished from my view in a course of just five minutes - a magical and enthralling time frame.
Some hours later, just before bedtime, as I was closing my bedroom window, I was greeted by the cool silver shine of an almost Lunar Perigee. Only a day earlier it was officially full, however the moon appeared so very majestic and perfectly round against the dark blue night sky.

I did managed to capture the most stunning Equinox sunset to date - yet I still need a better camera zoom to eternalize the moon, the natural satellite of our Earth, by which my zodiac sign appears to be ruled.

Nevertheless, both events will remain imprinted in my perception forever.

 

Room With A View.

My bedroom faces east and thus I can enjoy being awaken by subtle sunshine during the summer months, when the midnight sun rules our reality and the dawn occurs late at night.

Most of the views I share with you here are however taken from my large living-room panorama window, which faces west and from which I watch the most stunning sunsets. Occasionally I have shown sunrises, still these captures are rare.

It is also towards the east that another rare view can be enjoyed on clear late autumn and winter day. The view of the ocean.

Only visible when the birch trees lining the view are bare, it is nevertheless a sight that I find incredibly enticing. With my new camera I have been able to immortalize it in a new way, capturing the many faces of the bay lying beneath the hill. As much as the sea can be calm and azure blue one day, its mood can also be dark and menacing, turning to the colour of steel the very next, as seen on the images below, taken a couple of weeks ago, twenty four hours apart.

Flame Fascination.

March is most likely the last month I get the pleasure to enjoy the flickering warmth of the fire on regular bases.
Soon, as the spring sun will grow stronger and when the winds settle down, my terrace will once again become my favorite spot to relax, retiring my fireplace for the season.

Fire has always held my fascination. Perhaps it is the connection I feel with the ancient man, when fire truly meant life. It offered so much to our predecessors in terms of safety, warmth and companionship.
The scientist in me is also endlessly intrigued by the consistency of the amber coloured flames, which resemble nothing else one can recognize. An airy magma, a fleeting, burning shape, that alters and changes within a microsecond, to disappear and reappear rapidly, a hypnotic show, that causes us to get lost in in time and space.

Everyone who has ever tried to photograph a fire knows it is not an easy task. To capture the dancing flames, as they jump back and forth is a true undertaking. But if one is persistent, once in a while the camera lens immortalizes an enchanting moment.
Brushstrokes of light, science and natural art combined in one.

Final Fury.

Our brief encounter with spring has ended and we are once again under a pristine white cover.
Nature refuses to awaken just yet, thus hitting the snooze button it drifts back to sleep, while the arctic wind howls in my chimney and drives the snow into banks against the house.

Winters final fury is unleashed.
The Ice Lady shows off her power one last time, reinforcing the fact that her rule, although culminating, has not concluded just yet. She fights until her last breath, with ammunition of ice and snow, throwing us once more into deep freeze...