Moody March.

Our Fire

We are mid March and the subzero temperatures are back. The brief taste of spring at this month's onset disappeared as fast as it arrived - lady Winter is not ready to quit just yet.
As we all know, the first vernal month is capricious and moody. It can switch between seasons at its own fancy, testing our patience and tolerance. In my native language, there is a rhyme that describes this third month something like this; March, lets get back to the fire.

And that is indeed my favorite spot currently. In fact that is where I am sitting right now, typing away.

Our house came with a wood-burning stove. Even though it can by no means match the beauty of my old fireplace in the white house on the hill, it does what it is suppose to do - it creates a cozy, warm spot in our living room. Equipped with a glass door, it enables me to watch the fire. I love everything about it - the scent, the sound and the hypnotic dance of the flames that so easily make my mind travel in time and space.
This feature is one of the reasons why I fell for our house at first sight.

Beam Of Morning Sun

There is yet another illumination defining my perception currently; the increasing daylight.
The light - whether it is the lack or abundance of it - is my infinite fascination with the European North. I love the incredible shifts that the seasons here provide. The winter and the summer differ about eleven hours when it comes to light - and we are only in southern Scandinavia.
Our home does not have any spectacular views of either sunrises or sunsets, still the bay windows of the north facing kitchen can offer alluring morning views. Recently, during a winter dawn, the young sun emitted a beam of light, shooting straight up across the purple sky like a solar laser, creating an unforgettable moment.

View Into Our Living-room

The house is starting to look like a home. It is amusing to watch my belongings emerge from all the boxes, being mixed with my husbands possessions. I have not seen my things for the past year and a half and it is infinitely exciting to realize that our items fit together so very well and that we both have similar taste in interior design.

Sometimes I have to smile when I think about how one single decision, the one that I took against all odds and the one that made my family and friends question my sanity - took me here. Today no one any longer doubt my abilities to choose, even if it took me a while to get my choices right.

My phone chimes as a text message arrives from my stepdaughter. She is out with her friends and I am sitting here, in the warmth of the flickering fire, waiting for her to come home safely.
She is my responsibility today, as are the boys, while their father is once again away through work, an occurrence I am slowly getting accustomed to.
Her text is full of affectionate words that touch me almost to tears...

I experience a momentary flashback to when I was a teenager and my own mom was waiting for me and my sister, to come home from a dance, or a party.
My husband's daughter is as carefree as I was then and I am as worried sick, as my mother was.

Text From My Stepdaughter

It is not easy to be a step mom and half of the time I have no idea what I am doing. I move constantly in an uncharted territory, being thrown into a substitute parenthood of three teenagers, who two years ago did not even know I existed. I find it difficult at times to relate to my role - I am not their mother, nor will I ever be, yet I participate more than just a friend in their life.
Furthermore I missed out on their early years, I never seen them as babies or children and just jumped into a life in progress - I do not know the first thing about raising kids, least of all teenagers.
In the end of the day though all I can do is to trust that my love and good intentions are enough... The touching words in my stepdaughters message are at least a good indication that I am on the right track.

A log falls over in the fire and Sammy shifts in the chair opposite me.
All of the Sammy (aka Batcat) fans will be happy to learn that my feline companion is doing superb. He survived the move without any problems. The initial shock of the relocation lasted only a couple of hours and already on the first day, Sammy happily roamed the house, searching for his new favorite spot.
On sunny days he can be exclusively found napping inside one of our southbound windows. Watching him sleep this way is extremely soothing, as no one can relax and enjoy life as the felines can.
One day I hope he will let me in on his secret.

Our "Sammy boy"

Baby Birch.

Those of you who have been reading my writing for a while know that I am a nature lover. Most of all, I love trees - birch trees in particularly. There is something almost elf like in their shape and the texture of their alabaster bark.

I have had a special relationship with birch trees in Denmark, it seems.
The westerly panoramas of my white house on the hill were lined by a row of them. Additionally, there was a stunning tree that adorned my easterly view. I was so fascinated by it, that I documented its changes over a course of four seasons. Those images are all that remains as a testimony to its existence, as it was cut down by my neighbors shortly before I moved, much to my great shock and disbelief.
When I moved up north, there was an old birch growing in the front yard of our old, rental home. I loved to watch it shift throughout the year from my favorite spot in the kitchen.

Walking around our new property the other day, I was overjoyed when I found a very young, baby birch next to the greenhouse. It has the most beautiful, paper thin, ivory bark I have ever seen and in the shine of the late winter sun it stood out almost illuminated against the azure blue sky. The slim branches carry already buds, which will turn into catkins in about a month, announcing the arrival of spring.

This time around this birch belongs to us. Its fate is in our hands and it is safe. I find it very exhilarating to know that once again I can watch - and document - the seasonal changes of a stunning tree, completely undisturbed, hopefully for years to come.

Sneak Previews.

Views during my current drive

We are about to enter the first spring month, yet I have absolutely no idea what happened to February. It came and went.
As it slowly concludes this week, the sense of spring hangs unmistakably in the air.
Winter is far from done, still I love those covert sneak previews of what is yet to come.

The first thing I noticed as I set out on my long daily commute this past Monday, after almost fourteen days break - was the increase in light.
Our day has gained over three hours since the winter-solstice, a fact that can clearly be perceived during my drive. It's onset is by now undertaken no longer under the veil of darkens, but with views of breathtaking sunsets, which slowly grow into rainbow coloured skies, turning only to dusk as I arrive at my destination. Additionally, this past week the evening twilight was dispersed by an alluring full moon rise and the silver disc accompanied me all the way home, illuminating the road with its platinum shine.

Detail from our Garden

I love this time of the year, when a certain awakening is about to commence and a hidden joy rises in nature.
This spring once again, a novel environment awaits to make my acquaintance. The garden of our new home is currently tranquil and it comes across as an undiscovered treasure. Having had to leave it almost immediately after our move, it took me almost two weeks before I actually stepped out onto the lawn and took a walk around our house.

As I did so, momentarily I recollected my father, many years back, as he walked out barefoot onto the small yard of my parents first house, in midwinter, just to feel the ground beneath his feet. I recall he was overwhelmed by the feeling of ownership.
I felt the same giddy feeling and additionally I felt as I was about to walk into a secret, locked room, only it was on the outside. Walking about, I rediscovered my old pots left on the side of the house by the movers, surveyed the empty greenhouse, the shed and the multitude of bushes, shrubs and trees I yet have to name. Coming full circle into our garage, where my husband was sorting through the many boxes still waiting to be unpacked, I had to share with him my first impressions after surveying our property. He smiled and put his arm around my shoulders, looking at me with those hypnotic grey-blue eyes that always seem to disarm me. "This will be good..." he said as he kissed me and I felt happiness envelop me like a warm blanket.

The Garage

I love him endlessly and forever.
I love him despite the fact that the last three weeks saw us arguing more then during the whole time we have known each other. Being pushed to our limits, first with an endless move followed by a vacation that was anything but relaxing, we met each others dark sides, those that crawl out of the woodwork when going gets tough. It truly put our affection for each other to the test, but overall I think we passed with flying colours. Being able to laugh and joke about our disputes after they have passed and realizing that the best place to fall asleep is still in each other arms, we know we are exactly where we are suppose to be.

Giving you a sneak preview of my new home, I can conclude that it often reminds me of my old white house on the hill. It lacks the stunning views, yet I find myself smiling constantly as I come across something that brings back memories of my past residence. Even the kitchen sink is identical.
Just as much as I loved my white house, I am in love with our new house and I will only grow to love it more with time.
I love that it feels like our home. I love the way we spend our days trying to decorate the space slowly and respectfully, combining our belongings, making them fit together. Surprisingly, they do fit very well.
I love the vaulted ceilings, large windows and open rooms, which are nevertheless designed to create cozy and intimate spots, such as around the wood burning stove, gathering a family together. I relish in the luxurious inventory, the large walk in closet, the combined pantry - wine cellar, the modern materials and the privilege of two large bathrooms, having no longer a need to rise an hour earlier to enjoy a morning bath.

Old pot in the greenhouse

I have waited a long time, much longer than most people do, to experience certain golden, defying moments in life. Instead, they all happened quickly, leaving me a bit bewildered at times.
In a very short time span I found the love of my life and relocated, very soon thereafter I became a wife and a step mom, a landlord, a property owner and furthermore, I am about to change employment.

While I have enjoyed this roller-coaster ride, at times I am almost waiting to exhale, exhausted and tired, holding my breath, bracing myself for all that is still ahead.
But I guess that is life and as I learn to roll with the punches, passing the points of no return, there is a certain exhilaration in all this accomplishment.
There is a sense of being alive.

Mountain Splendor.

The past two weeks, even though they have flown by, come across in time span rather like two months.
We have been packing, we have been moving, we have been unpacking for days on ends, discarding and purchasing, putting things in place and decorating - until we were simply too exhausted to even breathe.
Then, just when we thought we were done, another kind of packing was set in place.

Before we even got the chance to enjoy our new home, we set out on a sixteen hour drive south, in order to savor the beauty of the majestic mountain range of central Europe, frolicking in sunshine and snow. Our skiing vacation, planned last summer, did not coincide very well with out move - but I guess the best in life is unplanned.

The beauty of the European Alps is breathless and the time we get to spend gazing at the snow covered mountain peaks, priceless.
And yet, once it is time to say our good byes, we will not feel sadness leaving all this splendor behind. Rather we will with joy look forward to return to our brand new home.

All images taken in the Italian Alps, February 2013.

The Three Things I Own.

Elizabeth and Me, in 2011

The allures of my blogging experience are many, but by far the most rewarding one is the multitude of friends I have made over the years.
Some of them I have never met in person and yet we have shared the good and the bad through the tides of time. I take part in their life as much they take part in mine, making me smile, cry and contemplate.

One of the absolutely profound and substantial connections I have made here have been with a Dutch Lady - a truly empathetic, poetic and gentle soul. An artist at heart, inspiring and passionate, she writes a lovely blog called Landanna.
Just like me, she is a foreigner in Denmark and have been my greatest confidant through the most intense and defining time of my life.
Although we only met once, the aura of that meeting will always illuminate my recollection.

Being busy moving to a new home this week, unable to update my online diary, I have invited Elizabeth to be my guest-blogger, to which she kindly agreed.
I hope you will enjoy her candid and poignant writing as much as I do.

Thank you Elizabeth for being you.

The Three Things I Own 
by Elizabeth at Landanna

A few weeks back my "little sister" asked if I was willing to write a guestpost for her since she was so busy with the move to her new home.
What other reply than yes could I give to my dear friend and partner in non-crime and silliness.

Sletterhage Lighthouse

Let me give you a glimpse of our friendship.
In October 2009, Zuzana and I met through her post about Sletterhage fyr, a lighthouse that has a special place in my heart.
Thus this whirlwind of kindness started to visit my blog - very soon we became friends and started writing each other daily.

Some days just some scribbles.
Other days the mails consist out of smileys, when we act more like teenage girls than back in the days when we were teenage girls. In a number of mails we gave each other a written handkerchief to dry our tears or make each other dance in front of the computer to the latest music of our heart. And then there were these discussions in which she did her best to persuade me to blog about that particular subject.
All of this without ever meeting - yes it took us three years before we finally took that step. Still, I have very fond memories of meeting my "Sweety" and her husband-to-be.

One of our favorite discussions was about The Three Things I Own, a piece I wrote a long time ago, but which somehow stayed with me.

"Leaf In The Wind"

The first one is my soul, the energy that makes me who I am, the energy that communicates with my environment, the energy that gives me the possibility of sharing my love with the world.

The second one, which is also my very own, is my body.
My body, the house of my soul, the storage place of my memories, the workshop of my talents, the only piece of my ownership that is palpable. My body is the first merit I am judged upon by others, since that is the first thing they lay their eyes upon.

The third piece I own is time.
This commodity is one everybody has, but no one knows how much time they have on this planet. Each minute can be our last one and still we feel immortal. How we spend our time is very important, not to reach the highest economical goal but the most fulfillment for ones soul.

"Changing The Landscape"

Our inability to survive on our own and the need to define ourselves makes us want to belong to a group of people with similar traits. If we don't find such a group, feelings of vulnerability emerge. Does this mean that if you find a group your worries are over? No, groups and their agendas change constantly, adjustments are needed, just to keep on fitting in. Still, each person we meet might be a teacher we are in need of. He or she tells us something, or makes different choices and the way we view this gift defines who we are.
Finding out what we need/want - but most of all what is uniquely ours to give to the world - is the journey through life.

Normally I'm not one that writes lengthy posts, since I'd rather tell my stories by holding my needle. I nevertheless hope you enjoyed yourself while I took you on a sailing trip through our friendship and Landanna.
Next week my little sister will be writing again despite of all the boxes she still undoubtedly needs to unpack.

Good luck Sweety!
All my love your big sis. e.

"Courtship, For The Love Of It"

Natural Scenes

Note: Images throughout this post (except the first two) depict Elizabeth's art and her photography.

Sugar Coated Trees.

Stepping into the second month of the year, our winter weather is once again cooling down. So far it has been alternating between raising and plummeting temperatures.

It started off very mild, the white precipitation of December melting away, as we greeted the New Year with grey skies. Then the wind shifted and Siberian cold dominated our weather patters, bringing with it snowfall, abundant sunshine and bitterly cold arctic air - my preferred conditions by far.

A few days back, the weather changed again, the westerly winds drawing warmer air from the Atlantic, making the skies grow monochrome, the water surf wild and the weather stormy.

However, just a week ago, nature bore an ivory attire, as winter showed off her covert beauty, creating art of snow and ice against an azure blue canvas. These are fairytale views of the last season, when it is at its best - an alabaster landscape full of sugar coated trees.

Our birch stood frost adorned in all its wintery beauty, as if to say farewell in style, knowing that very soon we will forever part our ways...

Endings And Beginnings.

Our Old House

In exactly two weeks, we will leave this house, never to return.
It is an old rental, bearing an imprint of the seventies, when it's cornerstone was laid. It is drafty, with faulty electrical wiring, outdated appliances and in a desperate need of a makeover. It is too small and too impractical.
Still, I can not help but feeling slightly sentimental saying my good byes.

It has been my home for the past eighteen months and my husband spend seven years here, watching his children grow from babies into teenagers. As much as our departure touches me, it must move him in a quite profound way, despite the fact that he at all times viewed it as a temporary place of residence, while he waited for his life to resume after his marriage fell apart.

I often mention in my writing how happy I am and how meeting the love of my life became the onset of my personal golden age.
However I often forget, that just as much as he changed my life around, I also changed his. I brought his way love, affection and a sense of happiness he searched feverishly for. Additionally, I came with immense possibilities, changing his life style, offering him and his kids a better reality.
None of us could have afford the beautiful house we are about to move into before we met - together we have redefined each others reality.

Moving Boxes

Everywhere I look, there are boxes and crates.
It is staggering to realize that so many items can get collected in such a small space, over such a short span of time. My presence here must have doubled the number of our possessions, despite the fact that most of what I own is still in storage. Thus I can not help but feel a sense of dejavu, recalling how many times in my past the conclusion of a move turned into a disposal frenzy, when one just simply wants to throw everything away and finally be done with it.
Still, it will be exciting to once again gaze at all my belongings, using these to decorate and style our home. What a joy it will be not to have to feel like a guest any longer - even though no one ever made me feel as such here.

Once again I look at the old birch tree outside our windows realizing I will never see it green again. I will never again see the bloom of the multitude of plants and flowers I planted last spring and summer - they will instead bring enchantment to the new tenants.
I will miss the garden more than anything - particularly the scented lilac in the corner of the backyard and the ruby coloured hollyhocks, surrounding our terrace, those almost signature flowers of this house.
However I take comfort in the excitement of discovering a new green spot, the natural haven surrounding our new house. It is full of fruit trees, houses several raised planting boxes and even has a small greenhouse.
I know in no uncertain terms that comes summer, this is where I will be seeking comfort and solace during my solitude.

Therefore all that really remains is to say thank you to this latest home, which offered me shelter and made me feel safe. It has earned its righteous place in my very personal collections of the many locations, where I have laid down my hat.
The beauty of every end is that it is followed by a new beginning. Thus once again I move on, feeling endlessly excited about what is yet to come.

My Favorite View - click image to enlarge

Three Elements.

As Lady Winter steps into mid reign, she tightens her icy grip and throws us into deep freeze.
Yet this fourth season is simply enchanting in its raw beauty - the sights appear so fragile yet the conditions are so unyielding.

Setting out on a short walk along the pristine shores of the North Sea, we were greeted by snow-covered alabaster beach, clear baby-blue skies, frozen ochre colored surf and lazy indigo waters. The waves were hitting the coastline so very softly - a rather unusual sight in these parts.
The arctic air streams to us from Siberia in the far northeast, leaving the usually raging westerly beaches atypically docile, sheltered by the sandy dunes.

We savored the assembly of three elements - frigid air, icy cold waters and frozen earth - while the brave seagulls took to flight, completing an unforgettable, natural sight that left us almost breathless...

What's Another Year...

Returning from my extended absence, I find it somewhat difficult to adequately begin the very first post of this year.
I have drafted so many over the course of the Holidays, yet finding no opportunity to polish my writing into an acceptable format due to lack of time, it slowly became outdated and obsolete.
Additionally, I am experiencing an unexpected decline in my language skills. Despite the fact that I can express myself in five languages, English has until now been without a doubt the one I master the best - I can speak it fluently, write it with ease and I can use it to convey all aspects of life - both personal and professional.

I became proficient at speaking English during my years in the US and continued to excel in it while conversing on every day bases with the Irishman.
Today however he is long gone from my life and instead I find myself talking exclusively in Danish with my husband, my extended family and the kids. Slowly I begin lacking words and writing has become cumbersome, as a new vocabulary takes over my thinking.

It is odd, being in this linguistic no man's land, even though I have tried it numerous times before. Yet in my adult years I no longer posses the brilliance and speed of a young mind. Thus eventually, I can never fully master the novel tongue, while the old slowly begins to disappear into a vocabulary abeyance.
Being multilingual is a blessing and a curse.

Still, my love for writing is always there, simmering in the background. I thoroughly enjoy putting down my thoughts into words, documenting my life in the process, even though very little life altering wisdom can be perceived in my reflections these days.
Today I do more living than thinking.

Thus as the two faced God Janus once again seizes the reign over our world, I wonder what is in store for me as I set out onto a novel voyage through another set of pristine twelve months. Looking ahead, there is so much anticipation; a new home, perhaps a new job. The future seems undefined and adventurous.

Yet simultaneously, it comes across as unsettling.

By the time summer reaches its peak, I will once again see the love of my life temporary leaving me. Having tried it before, I know what to expect - many sleepless nights, torment, anguish and longing. Even though our forthcoming separation might be nothing like the last one, I brace myself for the hardship of yet another set of four months without him by my side, while I will try to find the courage deep within to be the woman he needs me to be, allowing him to fully concentrate on what he has been trained to do.
Having lived on my own more than half a life time I have no problems with solitude. In fact, I am very peculiar about the people I associate with and I rather be alone than in crowds.
With this said though, never before have I had such a desire to constantly crave the company of another human being, as I do my husband's. I covet his close proximity, his touch and caress. I miss him intensely even when we are apart for a day.  
"You're different with him. He moves, you move. Like magnets..." - an excerpt from a dialogue in the Twilight Saga series, no other set of words could more adequately describe my own romance.

Looking back, I conclude that so many years in my past have come and gone, melting together into this undefinable span of time, vanishing into oblivion. I like to believe that these were not wasted, but served a purpose in their own right, becoming an intermission in my life, when days progress in slow pace and when my being did strive to renew itself, while in pursuit of my dreams.
I carry a few such years in my suitcase and will without any doubt encounter these in my future.

Yet I also carry the memories of years that defined me, changing the course of my personal history, compelling me to set out onto epic journeys. These did not always end well, yet they were full of adventures and paramount progress. I feel that a lifespan that alternates the period of action with period of leisure and lethargy, is full and complete.

As I so perceptively perceived a couple of years ago, the period of the latest stagnation has passed and I have entered my personal golden age.
When - if - I once get the privilege to look back upon this part of my life, I will always remember it as one of the happiest. It will go down in my recollection as the most intense and vibrant.
I will always view it as the onset of my very own 'Age Of Aquarius'.