Celebration!

The Things We Do For Love

Did a little Thelma & Louise today, me and my friend Hannah. Except of course the flying off the cliff in the end. Well, Hannah did some flying, which was the reason for this road trip to begin with.

But let's jump back half a year, when it all started.

Not only was Hannah single and wanted that someone special to enter her life, but she had some criteria as well - he should be Scottish! Never mind why, but that was what she wanted. And she also pictured herself living there, country style and everything. So how would she go about achieving that? I suggested she'd set up a profile on a net dating site, something she was a novice to. She was reluctant at first, if not terrified, but I wouldn't listen to that and the very next I'd found her a suitable Scottish site. I'll try to cut the story short here: she set up a profile, found someone she fancied, they started writing to each other, EVERYDAY, and four months later she crossed the North Sea to visit him for a day and a half. I'd love to know what her secret is, 'cause after that he was lost, smitten, totally besotted, and now she's selling her house to move to Scotland. Now, that's a modern love story, isn't it?

Back to today's events then.

Hannah had decided to celebrate the Norwegian National Day, 17th of May, in Edinburgh with her "loverboy", and I was going to take her to the airport this morning. Unfortunately there were union members of Avinor going on strike as from today 8 o'clock, which led to several airports being closed, including ours. Hannah was happily unaware of all this until I called her and broke the news. Think, think, what can we do? Widerøe was very helpful and rebooked her flight to Stavanger instead, which was open, and there was plenty of time to get there by boat. Had it only been any seats left. When we arrived at the dock the place was crowded, and it soon became evident that most people had to turn back. "OK, let's drive" I said, "we'll have to get you on that plane". She's a little fragile right now, and I knew in my heart she'd be devastated if she couldn't go to him.

We started at half past ten, and arrived at Sola airport around three, where I only stayed long enough to see her safely checked in. I headed straight home again, except for a few minutes on the beach. Perhaps you wouldn't suspect that, but actually there's a "world class" beach right outside Stavanger. Too cold most of the year for any serious sunbathing, but the windsurfers love the spot. And on a beautiful day like this, though rather windy, it was magnificent to stretch my legs and walk barefoot in he sand, before I had to place myself behind the wheel again.

Matured And Full Bodied - Or Too Late?

Last autumn I bought a bottle of wine at the airport which I had plans to share with someone. The occasion never came, and this bottle has been sitting there on my kitchen counter for over half a year now. All on his own. In the meantime there have been other bottles and bags passing my kitchen, but this one has been left. Saved for that special moment. But now I wonder: is it too late? Has it gone sour? This is a Señorio de los Llanos Gran Reserva 2000, and it should stand some storage if the conditions are right. Which I'm not so sure they've been.

Anyhow, if it's not consumed very soon it'll definitely be wasted, so my plan is to try it this weekend. Company or not. And if I have to drink all on my own, I'll get wasted...

Funny Feeling

The strangest sensation has settled in me (temporary, I hope); I'm feeling a bit indifferent. I know what I need to do now, and that is writing, but I keep putting it off. "Tomorrow, I'll start tomorrow", I say to myself everyday, even though I should have started yesterday. Can't explain it, but it's as if I don't care?

Of course I care. But it's like I'm a little beside myself, watching someone else doing the things I do. Or don't do. Today though, I've been really busy, washing and cleaning. Somehow I think this was good for my thinking and writing anyway. Nothing like working physically for a change, and it certainly feels good walking around barefoot on steam cleaned floors inhaling the scent of fresh laundry.

Maybe this "numb" feeling just is some kind of protection? 'Cause I can absolutely not allow myself to be sad or miserable at this moment, then I'll get nothing done whatsoever. A few more weeks now, and then I'm done. Well done. Much like a BBQed piece of rump steak from a tough old cow - "gray-brown throughout and slightly charred".

Double Feature

Fantastic weekend, and no work done! Maybe I'll just consider it as a break and a booster before the final rush.

Saturday I met with a friend in town for a glass of wine. The weather was terrific and we managed to get a table outside, which is nothing less than pure luck in this town when the sun shines. After that first glass we had another, and as a belated birthday-gift she treated me with a lunch. Then down to the next spot, where we had cake. And some more wine.

Sensible as we are, being two old ladies and all, we headed home quite early. To her place for, well, even more wine. Too tipsy and tired to get home I borrowed her son's bed. (He wasn't in it of course.) Next day after breakfast I had a nice walk home.

Later on Sunday it was time to get social again, and sat in the car heading west shortly before six. Think I mentioned some pictures being taken of my son, and now I was going to pick them up. I packed my bag with a selection of DVDs and a jar of fetacheese-filled olives. I let him choose which film to watch, and we started with "Bound". It was quite a few years since I first watched it, and I was a little surprised by a few very graphic scenes I couldn't remember. My "companion" pointed out that this was the "full uncut version" with the highest rating; not to be supplied to any person under 18.

(Sorry. Companion? I really don't know what to call him! I could call him friend, since being a friend is an absolute must for any lasting relationship, but on the other hand, I certainly don't go round kissing all my other friends. But he's not my boyfriend either. A special friend maybe? Oh, he's very special, no doubt about that, but there still some "problems"; like if anything happened to one of my "ordinary" friends I'd be informed somehow. But in this case? It really is a grey area. Not that defining it is the most important issue, I'm just saying being human sometimes is quite complicated.

The problem is that we people need to label everything, and in our culture we don't have that much variety in definitions when it comes to relations. But just because we lack the semantics, it doesn't mean all the grey areas don't exist. They do, I know a lot of could bes, has beens, waiting to bes, on&offs and so on, which won't fit into our limited terminology. End of digression and back to the movie.)

There are questions we rarely ask, but I can't help but wonder. Do men look at men the same way women look at women?

You probably couldn't find a straighter girl than me. I don't mind other people being gay or bi, but personally I don't see the point, if you know what I mean? But having said that, I have no problem admitting that I can see when a woman is sexy, and that could be a bit confusing. Are we looking to check out the competition, the ideal to be? Watching a film like "Bound" with two fine looking ladies like Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon makes this very clear to me. I have a feeling men are more confident in who they are. Or at least I don't think they are as confused as we are. Or is it just me?

B Society

Could this be the answer? Read about it in our local newspaper, online, and immediately thought it made sense.

A Princess Of Sorts

I know now what I can do if everything else fail, and I'll probably do it just as well as Princess Märtha.

About a week ago Norwegians learned that their Princess was about to embark on yet another trip in her pied career-coaster. A lot of people think it's a real low in general, when an artist is performing on the ferry to Denmark; it's then considered as the "terminal stage" of his career. So what do we say if a royal is telling fairy tales for kids on the same boat?

To be honest, I don't really care. Kings and queens have never been that important to me, and I'm almost bordering royal blasphemy, but I just thought it would make a nice frame for my blogpost. A sort of pretend interest and awareness in current matters.

All I wanted to say was that I'm anxiously thinking about my future, and what to do when I'm done studying. Maybe I can make a living out of reading bed time stories for a prince? And I won't charge that much either...