Mirage

Deb said in a comment here the other day that "it all works out in the end!", and presume she's right, it still rises a few questions. (For returning readers it's kind of obvious I keep coming back to the same model - to follow any statement by questions, but please let me know if this is starting to be too repetetive and boring.)

• How far away is the end really?
• And which end are we talking about here? (Not the end, I hope. I'd actually like it to work out in good time before I draw my last breath, having time to enjoy it.)
• Why does this end always seem like a mirage? As soon as I think I'm getting there, it disappears or moves further away.

In my answer I also pointed out that I'm still the same old cynic, but I know that isn't how I actually feel. That is my writing persona. Even though I've mentioned before, the possibility that I might give a misleading portay of myself, it has now dawned on me how true that is. But not from what I write, more from how I write, I think. I've got a very honest opinion from my oldest friend (hope she won't mind me sharing this), which might explain:

When I first started to write this blog, she read it more or less as frequently as I posted. In the beginning she enjoyed it, and gave me compliments on how "well written" it was. But she also expressed a certain uneasyness; she couldn't really fathom that it was me writing it! It was like she stumbled upon the words of a total stranger, if it hadn't been for references to actual events we'd shared there was nothing telling it was me behind those words. Now she hardly ever visits this place, 'cause when doing so the real person she's known for 18 years seem more like an illusion.

All this made me thinking - what about people who get to know me trough my writing first? Not that I should be a disappointment, but I'm sure I appear very differently. (If they ever get to meet me, apparently my words can lure some people to think I'm too advanced for them. Now that one really is a joke...) And again - which is the true me then? Of course the living, breathing, loving part is the true one, but my writing is a necessity as well. I might just have to find another outlet for that steam. Somewhere I could disregard the lines in between, 'cause sometimes words are just that. Words.

Free Lunch

About three years ago I wrote a story about a poor bloke who found out for himself that "there's no such thing a free lunch". But hopefully there is, 'cause yesterday me and my father was treated to one at this fabulous place called Pannrummet (The Boiler Room). Situated in an old factory building, and carefully restored, they serve lunch every working day as well as offering the premises for hire for private functions. They also got Gothenburgh's only pub brewery which they're rightfully quite proud of. Since I'm on it I'd like to tell what we had, just to tempt you:

Steamed halibut served on a bed of carefully panfried carrots and onions, topped with spinage cooked in a white sauce, and new potatoes on the side. Sounds delicious, right? It was a very nice meal indeed, and I really can't see how this one could backfire...

9 m/s

The wind has settled, and the sun's coming out again. A nice day for strawberrys and icecream.

Strong Winds

When I arrived at my mother's early yesterday morning I realized I've been up for a whole 24-hours, if not counting a quick nap on the ferry while the cleaners were vacuuming right under my feet. On my way I was also caught up in traffic jams caused by accidents, both on the Norwegian side as well as the Swedish. Apart from that the actual driving went smooth, well, as smooth as a long drive in a Nissan Micra can go. And I'll tell you this for sure; this was the first and only time I ever do that. That stupid car is quite alright for shorter trips, but in the long run it's very exhausting. And oh my god, how slow that car is, making any attempts at overtaking other cars a very risky business. So in order to avoid that tiring trip again, I'll have to stay here in Sweden. But you'll never know, I might do that anyway. Funny how crossing the border can turn foes to friends.

After catching up on the sleep, I made myself look somewhat presentable and headed off to the coast. (My mother lives a few miles inland.) Went to the marina and checked out the boats, and Josephine was every bit as beautiful in real life as in the pictures. The wind was so strong yesterday, that the boats catching it sideways tilted, even with sails down at the jetty. Josephine though, had the wind coming from the rear, and lay fairly still.

A nice meal at an italian restaurant later made the first day of the holidays rather a good one. Carpaccio for anti pasta, and parmesan ravioli with sun dried ham for main course, and just that one glass of house imported red wine to go along with it. I wasn't driving so I guess I could've had more, but why overdo it? Dessert was taken elsewhere, sweet an rich.

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"?