Redirection

The strangest thing just happened today. I had a call from Sweden on my mobile, and he sounded a little worried: "I can't call your home number. Got a message saying you have a new number. I've tried several times - same message." I sensed he was thinking I'd got tired of him calling, so I reassured him and promised to find out what had happened. We hung up, and then I called my own number. I was much surprised to know that not only had I changed my number, but my new number was the one to Tine. How odd is that? Even the people at Tele2 found it hard to believe; and they couldn't find any suitable box to tick of on their screens for this type of error. Well, that's their problem, and I look forward to an explanation. (Maybe this was coming, me writing a bachelor assignment on the subject of hackers... some strange and divine prank)

I called my friend back and we had a good laugh about it, and I also made it clear that we were still on speaking terms.

By the way - does this mean I now am the proud owner of "Norway's largest producer, distributor and exporter of dairy products"?

A Long Way From Home...

...whatever that is. But yes, if you by home mean the place you're born, then I'm a long way away from it. Then again, looking on a map makes it evident that it's not that far, not like I was living on the other side of the world, or something. But to be able to go home to mom for a cup of coffee and a hug whenever i feel the urge for it; well, yes, that's definitely too far away.

During these 22 years since I moved away, we've been seeing each other quite regularly anyway. We went there once or twice a year, and my mom visited us just as often. We've always had the space for guests, so that wasn't any problem, but things change. The way I've been living for the past years doesn't make it easy to accommodate people for a long time, and besides, the incredibly cheap train ticket has made it possible for me to go "home" more often instead.

Yesterday though, I woke up and really wished my mom could be with us. We're going through some rough patches here, and just to have her around would be so comforting. (Both as a mom and a grandmother.) The wish was so strong I almost grabbed the phone and called to ask her. I didn't though.

But sincere and intense wishes from the bottom of your heart actually can come true, 'cause guess who's coming next week...

Travelin' (Back In Time)

So. I'm on vacation. Spending a few days at mum's, trying not to think too much about the businesses which I eventually have to give proper attention to. Doing very little but relax and enjoy myself; this is done by seeing my family, eating & drinking, going to the movies and some shopping. (I found some real nice shoes yesterday, and it's good to see I haven't forgotten completely how to waste money on my appearence...)

I arrived in Sweden late Wednesday night, after a long days travel. From Bergen to Oslo I had company, as my dear friend Kari was going east to see her "boyfriend" there. Never has a trainride passed quicker, and although I rather enjoy riding the train in solitude, sharing that trip with a friend was very invigorating. Then I had a few hours to kill at the station, and I allowed myself a meal at the Chinese restaurant. A very simple place, but the food is nice, and the people too.

First day in Sweden I did almost nothing, just sitting down having breakfast with someone was a treat. A lazy, wonderful day it was, just what I needed! In the afternoon I went to see my father, and spent the night there. One of my brothers came over too and I beat them in our favorite card game "Chicago", a game played in three phases, where points are given according to poker ranking and then extra 5 points at the end of the game playing tricks. We played several rounds, and the reason I won all toghether was because I got that straight flush I "ordered". I've got a powerful mind, so be aware... he, he.

Yesterday was all spent in the City of Gothenburg. Lunch with my brothers, followed by some shopping, and then we reunited for coffe, movie and a couple of beers at "Bishop's Arms".

But let's go back to the previous night at my dad's. When the clock struck midnight I thought it would be wise to hit the pillow, but my curiousity got the better of me and I started to rumble through some cases in the living room. You see, only a couple of weeks ago my father had emptied the cellar due to some long awaited renovation, and a lot of that stuff was now sitting right in front of me, tempting me with all its secret content. Obviously I couldn't go to bed, you see that, right? There was on ald box marked with my grandma's name, rather superfluously to me, since it was securely tied together with some old nylon stockings. Her trademark, so to speak.

Inside that box were letters, telegrams and postcards, and real old ones too. I had absolutely no intention of reading them all, not that night and perhaps never, but I browsed a little and picked a few that got my attention. One letter posted to "Mama Bengtsson" from 1939 looked interesting, and knowing my father was 11 at that time I figured it must have been from him and not his 15 year old sister. I was right; there was my father writing home to his parents from where he was for summer vacation at his aunt's. He had just been out fishing with his cousins, and reported sizes and weights of their catches. The letter ended with a plea (his parents were about to join their children later in the summer): "Don't forget my Indian costume!"

Just as I read that, my father, now 79, joined me in the living room. "Listen here!" I said and read it all aloud. In an instant he was back in those days, and told me about that costume which he'd made at school, and for which he'd got the highest mark. I could easily picture him running around the woods playing Indians & Cowboys with Herbert and Ingmar... My father hugged me, he was quite moved. Actually all this was news to him, he'd just got the box when they emptied my grandma's place, and the box had never been opened before. So evidently he'd never seen that telgram sent to him from his aunt, except when he first got it on his third birthday in 1931. Nor had he seen the flowers his mother had picked on Midsummer Day in 1916, 1917 and 1918 and carefully wrapped in paper and stowed away. The rhymed inscriptions on the cards she recieved on her Christmas gift's as a teenager were also total mysteries to him. (And by the way, if you think they were all prim and prudish back then, well - think again. I found some real cute ones, which I might try to translate another time.)

There was correspondence from the time my grandfather sailed with the armoured cruiser "HMS Fylgia"; he'd drawn maps of the South America's and the ports they visited. I think, if I'd have nothing else to do in my entire life, I could fill the time with reading all that stuff. Filling in the gaps with my own imagination, and my father's stories. Hmm, sounds like a project doesn't it?

Angels Are Flying

Imaginary or not, something is in the air, that's for sure. It's course weekend again, and obviously I'm more alert and tuned in. But still the skeptic, still not sure whether to follow through with the next two years to become a licensed therapist. On the other hand, that might not be a bad thing. What I really dread here in life are fanatics, regardless of affiliation. Someone who claims they know the truth (and won't accept other's), either he believes in Allah, angels or aliens, really scares me. And I don't think you can do any job well if that's your approach. Maybe a certain distance is good for me.

This course is much like a journey, but with no itinerary, only a goal. So of course it's frightening, not knowing what the next stop is. But I have also learned (and that's absolutely in line with the philosophy here) that as soon as I stop "fighting" and let go, what should come to me does. For example those difficult decisions regarding my studies suddenly became clearer, and that whole phone thing turned out to be (and now I can hear my friends at the course: "We told you so!") maybe just right. What you radiate will reflect, and I feel that's true. And spreading a little love couldn't harm anyone, now well, could it?

Ooops, have to run. See you later!

(Maybe Not So) Strange Things

My crappy old car won't let me drive that fast, but as I was going downhill I wasn't sure I'd stayed within the speed limit when I saw the officer stopping the car in front of me. Most days I wouldn't mind getting pulled over by a handsome man in uniform, but if all they want is my money - well, I think I'll pass. But the policeman just smiled and waved me aside. So it's going to be one of those days, I thought.

One of those days that seem to be filled with funny incidents and even stranger coincidences, and it began before my "meeting" with the road patrol. Actually, I think it started to move already last night when I went down to the laundry room to pick up the linen for my son's bed from the dryer.

We have a system that should work, had people only used their heads once in a while. You put your laundry in the washing machine and place the hamper on top, so that the next user can empty the machine into the hamper and then put it away. And same routine for the tumble dryer. Simple, right? Both these machines are automatic, in that they stop when when they're finished. The problems are worst with the dryers, as the electronic sensors for determing the humidity aren't that reliable. A load of bedlinen usually gets twirled and tangled up, into a big lump. Which obviously is NOT dry in the middle.

This is where people differ. When I open up a dryer to find a bundle like that, I untwirl it and put it back in the dryer. That's nice isn't it? No, not nice, just the right and decent thing to do. But other people (not all of course), see the stop-light and just empty machine regardless. That happened late last night, and I had a funny feeling I knew who it was. And we're 150 families up there, could be anyone... My hunch was confirmed, when I looked at the bag marked with her housenumber!

But what does this (rather lengthy and tedious) anecdote have to do with coincidences? Well, this morning I was still thinking about it when I sat in my car. I haven't seen her for weeks now, and I wondered if that might be good excuse for knocking on her door? Complaining about my son's wet bedlinen? Just as I turned around the corner she came the other way towards me...

When I then got to the university I bumped into a lady I know from last spring and a course we attended together. Shouldn't say know exactly, 'cause then I hardly spoke a word with any of the people in the class, since we spent so much time in practise. But now we started to talk, and quickly found out that a coffee and a chat wuld be a good idea. We swapped phone numbers, and I'm sure we'll have some very interesting conversations here on campus.

While we chatted outside there came a man walking by, who immediately got my attention. It's so strange, but I know him without knowing him, if you know what I mean? I think we went to the same class a couple of years ago, but I have never spoken a single word with him; I don't know his name or anything. But everytime we meet he greets me like he knows me, and I can't help but wonder if he confuses me with someone else, or what? But still, it's like seeing an old friend in a strange way. And I don't see him that often, maybe it has happened 6-7 times. It really doesn't matter, but it's just a reminder that you're not totally alone and that someone recognizes you.

These small incidents might seem very trivial and insignificant to you, but I can't wait for the next funny episode...

PS. Wonder about the picture? It's what you get for Googling "handsome+man+uniform"... Talking about handsome men in uniforms, it reminds me of another encounter I had with the long arm of the law. The time when almost I paid my ticket with a smile. A sunny day in June (ten years ago) I was pulled over by this patrol for speeding. There they were, wearing uniforms and sunglasses, casually striding their motorbikes. You get the picture. As I said, it was almost worth the fine...

In Space No One Can Hear You Scream

In 1979 I was 13, and not the least bit interested in horror movies. But I was interested in a boy, and when he suggested we'd go see Alien I "happily" followed along. I didn't see much of the movie though; after that first jump in the chair when the "egg" cracked and that crablike creature threw itself at Kane's face, I pretty much buried my head in my boyfriends sweater. Tried a few glimpses now and then, but when that slimy eel-creature chewed his way through Kane's stomach from within, I don't think I saw one bit more. Have a very vague memory of the actual full grown alien, black and shiny, with its hideous extending mouth, but that's it. From back then though. As you might understand I have watched the movie more closely later. I still can't say I like horror movies, but I can appreciate the art behind a film like Alien.

Ridley Scott is a very thorough director and producer, and maybe that's why movies like Blade runner, Thelma & Louise and Gladiator, besides Alien, have so many fans. And in this thoroughness he obviously employs highly qualified professionals at all levels, such as the Swiss artist H. R. Giger for creating the monster.

But how can this almost 30 year old Hollywood movie have anything to do with my temporary trainee position at the Institute of Marine Research where I am now? A lot actually. Browsing through last month's news articles I came across this one. The very source of inspiration for that terrifying Xenomorph. Maybe not so scary though, only 30 mm long...

Frisky People In Springtime

April has indeed proved itself to be a month full of surprises and strange events, and I thought I'd share a few of them with you.

I have been ill for a few weeks now. A nasty cold has set up camp in my body, which is rather unusual for me, and this time it has been even worse since it developed into a serious sinus infection which I'm now munching penicillin for. Boring but necessary details, as I wanted you to understand how much I welcomed my sense of taste back and how much I looked forward to meet a certain someone for lunch yesterday. Being able to breath normally again and all that.

Anyway, we met in town a little too early to go to the restaurant - they open at 1 o'clock - so we decided to enjoy the sun and each others company in the park for a while. We found a empty bench and sat down. The air was warm, and for a moment I forgot all the problems and worries that waited for me at home. Time flew as quickly as the giddy birds in the sky, but twenty minutes later or so we started to get hungry so we headed for the restaurant, where we had a most wonderful lunch talking about this and that.



Pic "stolen" from Vinod.

After lunch we went to another place and had a cup of coffee, still all smiles.

But as we both had various businesses to attend to afterwards, we had to finish off this lunch break, and I followed him to the car. We were not going the same direction, but he would let me off at my bus stop. His car was parked on the bottom floor and we took the stairs down. And this is what we saw as we approached the car:


He asked me:
What do we do now? Report it to the police? (Is it a felony to begin with?) Pick up our phones (with Video function) and post it to YouTube when we get home?

Damn if I knew. Did this really happen? In a parking house in Bergen at lunchtime?

And I thought I was adventurous, kissing like a teenager in the park...

New Dancefloor

People care to write on the net about the most peculiar events. Like this one.

Hiam Sports & Social Club is "situated in the small village of Prickwillow some 4 miles from the city of Ely in Cambridgeshire, and has one of the best dance floors in East Anglia and holds regular Ballroom and Sequence Dances, Country Music Nights and Rock'n'Roll Nights." That's not strange, and their website seems to be quite well organized and not bad at all. I'm sure it's quite useful for their members and other who's interested in what's going on there. But they have recently installed a new dancefloor, and they documented the whole process!

Maybe not so strange after all, just look what I care to write about...

Nothing To Do?

Maybe you'll get some ideas from this slideshow.

Collecting Contents

When it rains it pours, they say, and I couldn't agree more. It seems like I'm in the midst of a stream of odd events again. Or maybe I'm just more alert, I don't now. Let's see, where should I start? Yesterday evening? Well, that I can maybe talk about later.

But we can begin with my daughter's PC which she bought from Dell last May. It worked fine, until about a month ago. She suddenly couldn't access the computer anymore, all she got was the desktop, but no icons or tool-bar or anything. Her brother tried to start in safe-mode, but it didn't work. Then she had another friend over this weekend, but he came to the same conclusion, only now with the dreaded blue screen telling that the hard disk couldn't be found. Yesterday I helped her to get in contact with the support at Dell, and they arranged to call her up this morning. The plan was to guide her through a recovery of the system.

She called me at ten, and told me about what had happened. The Dell guy had instructed her, she'd followed, but same result. Blue screen, no hard disk. Next step was to open up the machine and see if maybe the hard disk for some strange reason was loose. It could happen. Surprise! There was no hard disk. And I mean, actually, it wasn't there. Think about that for a while. Any explanations? Two possibilities, as I see it. Either someone's stolen it (but why didn't they take her digital camera or other valuables?), or - she's a sleepwalker!

I have two daughters, and the other is living with me, and this morning we went to the doctor. She's got some terrible eczema, especially on her hands and arms, but also some around her eyes. The doctor did his exam and also asked her some vital questions. All but one were expected, and as he looked at her clothing he said: "Is this the way you usually dress?"

"Uh-huh" was all she said.

"You see," the doctor continued "if you're allergic you might also react to the dying pigment in your clothes, and black clothes have the most." So by doctor's orders I might not have to see my youngest dress up like Marilyn Manson anymore. Wonderful!

More strange things? A friend of mine who I haven't seen for a very long time suddenly walked right into me only hours after I thought of her. We have this kind of spooky connection, and even if we don't see each other for months, we know how we feel about each other. Good friends are like that, no need for pretending.

All I need now, and I have a feeling I might just get it, is a really good angling to my paper about "ICT & Learning". If I get out of this fog with a big smile, I think I've collected enough odd things to fill up a whole book...

The Green Monster

This one's only because I promised you, Toril. And besides, I seem to have lost my inspiration today, so why not write about this dream I had? Lately I have been dreaming a lot, and very strange things too, but I think this one excels.

In the dream I moved back and forth into two different parts, seemingly without connection. Right now, and especially since I'm not attempting any interpretation of the dream, I'll only tell you about the freaky part.

"I was somewhere. I say somewhere because I can't recall anything about where or when or how. But in this somewhere there was a cactus in a pot, about half a meter tall, light green with two stems, and it had a lot of small sharp spines. It could have been a Saguaro. I looked at the base of the cactus and was suddenly terrified. There was a part of the cactus sticking out and it was shaped like a foot! It didn't just resemble a foot, but it was exactly like a foot. Except it was a part of the cactus, green with spines and everything. I think I then moved into the other part of the dream, and when I "got back" again the cactus had produced an arm too! In this manner the dream continued for a while, back and forth, each time with a new part developed on the cactus. In the end the whole thing detached from the cactus, and I held in my arms a baby! Now the baby looked normal, not like a cactus anymore, but I knew otherwise. It had this creepy Chucky feeling to it. Evil, sinister, only waiting to do something bad. What precisely, I couldn't imagine, I only knew I had to play along not to annoy it. I prattled and babbled, taking good care not to do anything to evoke the devil inside. I put on a diaper and some cloth. Guessed what I dressed him in? A little brown monks robe, with hood and all; had this feeling that it might "tame" the viciousness. Before anything really bad happened the alarm went off, I woke up and was rescued from this beast in disguise."

Interpretation? No thanks, not today.

But take a look at the picture here, I found it when I Googled for images on "cactus". It came up as one of the first hits, and it immediately caught my attention for obvious reasons. I clicked on it, and was almost as spooked as in the dream, when I found out who the painter was. Odilon Redon, whom I basically know very little about, but it is the second time I unknowingly choose one of his works to accompany a blogpost. And these two are very different as well.

If nothing else, I know now that so many significant moments in my life have a deep connection with art. In some way or the other. Or is it that art is connected to everything anyway? In some way or the other?

"My Feet Are Killing Me...

...on this Long And Winding Road, walking home from the party early Sunday morning?" I don't know. I just passed these abandoned shoes by car, Sunday afternoon. I really wasn't sure if my eyes only played tricks on me, so I turned the car around, drove back, parked the car and took a closer look. I immediately pictured a variety of possible scenarios, some more intriguing than others, and one even involving calling the police.

I had my Minolta digital camera with me and immortalized the scene. I then walked back to my car and drove back to reality leaving the shoes behind.

Sofisticated Terrorism

This story took place a few days ago. It was the last day of my holiday, and I thought I’d have a last stroll through the city before I had to return back home. I talked to my brother in the morning and arranged to meet for lunch. He works at one of the major architecture offices, and as I hadn’t been there before I was quite thrilled to see what he’d been up to the last couple of months. So we decided to meet there. It was a ten minute walk there from the train, and just a few yards from station I walked by a man playing the accordion. Not very inspired, but it was nice somehow, because he was standing in a gallery which is always pretty effective with its good acoustics. I walked through the mall, and right outside I encountered another accordionplayer. He was a lot younger and equally livlier, but still, they sounded alike. I even think they played the same song. For some reason I noted the name of the bridge he was standing on, and realized I didn’t know it before, even though I’ve crossed it many, many times. I left the Peace Bridge behind me and turned another corner.

To my astonishment there was yet another man playing the same instrument as before, and now I really started to worry. I had this this unsettling feeling that they were all part of some evil masterplan, synchronized to play the same repertoire, and I made up my mind that if I heard a fourth player I had to alarm someone. I did. Not ring any bells or anything, but I did hear another accordion. Suitably right outside the cathedral. By now I was utterly convinced that this was the terrorists latest scheme. How sofisticated! Simply ship busloads of them into the country (none of the musicians were native), scatter them around the cities armed with their lethal instruments and well rehearsed muzac, and then let them play for all they’re worth! Had I stayed just a little longer I think I had had to kill myself, and I’d probably had taken a few of my poor fellow citizens with me, just to spare them the agony.

I rushed up to my brothers work and told him that the end was near. “Silly sister”, he said and took me to lunch, “the one by the cathedral is actually quite good, you should hear him jamming with that old Galois-smoking, trumpet-playing Frenchman.”

It was evident that all this was purely a result of my sometimes too vivid imagination playing tricks on me, not to mention a desire for interesting plots. These poor musicians were probably just refugees trying to make a living in an unfamiliar country.

And in fact, I do love the accordion, just listen.

A coffee and a smile - who could ask for more?

My mother made this cakeroll the other day, and we were a little worried the strawberries had gone bad. But clearly that wasn't the case...