Chickpeas
But no more. A big pack of chickpeas are soaking on the kitchen counter. Tomorrow, I'll go back to being a health freak. I happen to love chickpeas.
Just Another Monday
It used to be that birthdays were very special days. You woke up from your family's singing - unless your birthday was on a weekend, in which case you had already been awake for hours. You got tons of presents with your name on and got to chose dinner for the whole family that day. In school, your teacher made the whole class sing, and even though your face was lobster-red of embarrassment, it felt pretty good. You felt important. At once, you were a year older, a year wiser, and a year taller. If your birthday was in January, your were also older than most of your friends. And they were all jealous. Of you. Then, at night, your aunts called and asked how it felt to be so big. Your answer was "great." It felt great to be big.
It is not like that anymore.
It used to be that the first day of school after a long break was a very special day. Maybe you had gotten a new backpack; maybe a new set of unsharpened pencils; maybe a brand new pen case with Betty Boop, kitty cats, or ponies. Or maybe you hadn't. Still, the excitement was inevitable. You couldn't wait to be handed the new semester's school books and look through all the cool stuff you would soon learn, knowledge that up till then had been reserved for the older kids. You felt big and wise. Then you got to spend an hour making a pretty sign with your name. You folded a paper sheet three times and made a triangle. The space in the middle became a hiding place for small rocks, snails or lists of the cutest guys in your parallel class.
It's not like that anymore.
It is not much fun having a birthday nowadays. It doesn't feel great to get older anymore. It is not exciting starting school either. No one hands you the books, and no one gives a damn what your name is. Yesterday was my birthday and my first day in school. But moreover, it was just another Monday.
Aging takes the magic out of many things. It makes me wonder why kids are in such in hurry to grow up.
Siblings and Cousins
My brother and his son - Björn and Maxx.
My sister and her daughter - Marie and Thyra.
Thyra showing off in her longhorn (University of Texas) outfit.
Thyra eating her nighttime formula in aunt Åsa´s lap. Yummy!
Grocery Bags
Living in another country means getting used to new things and forming new habits. No one would consider that strange. But when you come back home after having been away for a while and find you have forgotten how things are here, fewer are sympathetic. One thing that is particularly annoying is the issue with grocery bags. In the States, grocery bags are free, and placed at the end of the cashier counter. You also often get help packing your groceries, in which case you end up with many more bags than you need. The packers are for some reason not very environmental. Bottom line: you never have to think about grocery bags.
In Sweden, grocery bags cost and are placed before the cashier counter. This is not necessarily a bad thing, since it makes people use fewer bags. But it requires you to know how many you need. Many bring their own fabric bags and disregard the plastic ones completely. I am all in favor of that.
Now, my problem is that I usually forget to bring my own bags when buying groceries. On top of that, I also forget the plastic bags. I pay, and then go down the counter to pack, only to discover I have nothing to pack in. Here I have two options. Either I try to get the cashier's attention and quickly buy a plastic bag, even if it means getting in the way of the costumer after me; or I pack as much as I can in my purse and carry the rest in my hands. Usually, I do the latter. And as people wonder about the twenty items I balance in my arms, I tell myself it's better to be considered cheap than stupid...
Semla
Today, I've spent most of my time over a cappuccino, discussing life's big questions with Mathias. And I've sinned. For lunch I had a semla, even though it's not fettisdagen. Shame on me.
Cutie
Two Thirty-Five
I got back to Kristianstad on Saturday; mom came with me to help unpack. I have rented out my apartment while I've been gone, and my stuff was packed up in the basement. It took us half day to get it all up, unpack, and put things in order.
It's the strangest thing being back. I feel like I've been zapped back in time. All my things are like they used to, the apartment look just as it did before. My kitchen clock has stopped at two thirty-five, and even though I know it won't be of any use before I get new batteries, of habit I still look at it whenever I wonder what time it is. It makes me think that time actually has stopped. In a way. Where did the year go?
Only one thing speaks of time having passed. The remains of my plants. When I left, they were happy, leafy, and green. Now, they are not. They gave up on my tenants. I am happy they did. They stop me from going insane.
Happiness
Jenny and Maxx
Maxx
It's a Boy
The picture is a little dark, but here he is. My brother and Jenny had a little boy early this morning.
The Three of Us
So many memories, so much emotion. They are my best and dearest friends and I love them to death.
Now they are both pregnant, and I wish I was too. Partly to still have everything in common with them. It hurts not being a part of that, just coming home to visit. It's one of the highest prices of living so far away, to be a irregular visitor in your best friends houses.
Tonight we'll have dinner together. That I love.
Thyra
Today my sister and her family visited. It's been six months since I last saw them, so it was great to catch up. Thyra, my niece, has grown a ton and is now a big girl!
Peek-a-boo. I see you!
My old baby quilt worked great as a playground.
Thyra playing with mommy.
A tiny foot high up in the air.
My hat was a little too big, but turned into a great toy.
Campus Walk
The first in a long line of presidents, George Washington, has a honorable position in front of the main building.
Austin is known for its many musicians and artists. I must say the street art here is better than graffiti.
San Antonio
On the last picture, the photographer ended up in front of the camera.
Smoked Pepper and Buttermilk
The funniest thing is that I have picked up a Swedish eating habit that I have never had before, I have started eating filmjölk. Americans use buttermilk mostly for cooking or baking and would never eat it as Swedes do: instead of milk with cereal. I made M try a spoonful with raisins, apple and cinnamon, but he frowned so bad I thought his face would turn inside out. Perhaps some traditions are too hard to pick up. And perhaps I have Swedish taste buds after all.
Two Thousand and Eight
. . . move back to my apartment in Kristianstad.
. . . almost finish school in Sweden and get my degree.
. . . become a aunt again and again and again. There is a baby boom in my family and circle of friends. First out are Björn and Jenny who are expecting their miracle in two weeks, the same day I arrive home.
. . . spend a lot more time with my family than I was able to last year.
. . . write my theses, hopefully dealing with the ways schools handle gifted students, perhaps comparing Swedish and American schools.
. . . continue traveling between Sweden and the States.
Colorado Springs
From the Top of the World
