Plants

I've just been doing the rounds, watering the plants around the house, and I suddenly remembered something from three years ago, when we were busy packing up to move here from London.
In the midst of all the stress, the packing frenzy, the bulk and logistics of it all, cancelling our accounts and bills, saying good bye to our friends, doing everything we loved doing in London "one last time", we gave away our alcohol and herb since we couldn't bring it. Someone then asked about my plants. Who were going to get them? Could she, possibly?

I was devastated. What did she mean? I couldn't bring my plants?? Everything else I could understand, and be OK with, but not my potted plants.
No, indeed, it was true. After extensive Google research I had to give in to the fact that I couldn't ship any growing, breathing forms across the Atlantic. Suddenly I was just ready to knock the whole thing on it's head and simply stay in London. It seemed to be a sign telling us not to go ahead with the stupid move.

My plants weren't anything spectacular, far from it. And I don't have green fingers. They were just some greens I had picked on several trips to IKEA throughout the years. Because of the light, they happened to thrive in our living room. But at that moment, my plants got to signify everything I was reluctant to leave. Although I was so excited about the move, the daunting task of packing up the last ten years of my life was so stressful, I needed something very concrete to channel the fact that I was slightly caving in and ready to go for easy option number two: just stay where I was. I approached the shipping of plants-research like a mad scientist and I threw my: oh-life-is-so-unfair tantrum like a three-year old. All the while I was wasting time that could have been spent doing other things, like, oh, I don't know, something useful!

We have some plants in our new place in SF. They don't thrive as much, the light aren't as good and the fog can't help but making our rooms freezing cold at times, but plants they are nonetheless. And they need water, which is what I am supposed to be doing right now.

two places, different times

Picture this:
Early on a chilly foggy Monday morning in Emeryville in Trader Joe's. A young, Monday morning-tired-looking but pretty check-out girl strikes up conversation as soon as the basket hits the belt.
"How's your day, where are you from, did you find everything OK, your accent is great. My friend lives in Sweden. She's a model, I've known her since high-school. She wants me to come visit, isn't Facebook great. Do you want help out to the car with that?"
Her enthusiasm, sweetness and friendly optimism instantly rubs off and I end up leaving the place feeling happy and generally in a sunny mood.

Somewhere in Sweden, a few months earlier a sunny Thursday afternoon.
An independent clothes-store where no one seems to be around despite the loud chattering from the staff-room at the back, about some party, and some boyfriend.
For what seems like hours, I walk around, browsing the shelves, looking for a pair of jeans that will fit me.
When I finally call for attention, one of them crawls out, still chewing some left over lunch.
- Uh-huh.
- Could you help me find these jeans in a size-?
- Are there none on the table?
- No. I don't know. I don't think so.
- Well, then we don't have any.
- Are there any similar brands I could try?
- I don't know. Have you looked over there? (Pointing towards random table with pile of random jeans).
- No. I guess not.
- Huh. I don't know, you have to find a pair you like and then you have to try out for size.

Meanwhile, her colleague still tells her story in the staff-room as a back drop soundtrack to my miserable attempt to find a pair of jeans, and I could go on, but you get the picture?

I'm not one for forced service in shops, but a smile never goes amiss and I am a sucker for compliments when it comes to my accent.
You get the picture.

It's a few years old, but I still love it

Nihon Whiskey Lounge, Mission

Nihon Whiskey Lounge is one of those great Saturday night evening hang outs where you go with a big group of friends and you are guaranteed a great night. The izakaya menu and huge variety of cocktails lends itself to a good party atmosphere. I am not a whiskey drinker but that doesn't matter, my champagne cocktail with mint and green tea did the trick and the sake was beautiful. As we were a party of nine, we had the opportunity to try almost everything on the menu, including the dynamite and I can honestly, hands up say: there are no disappointing choices. Still, my personal favorites have to be the avocado tuna tartare, shitake and the buffalo wings.

The venue is really cool. Nice, cosy chairs downstairs and a contemporary dining area upstairs. The white stone marbled floor is a nice detail, too. The service was good, maybe not great, but then, we were a bit late turning up and I don't blame them for feeling a bit annoyed having to hold such a big table for us on a Saturday night, but the beautiful feather tattoo on our waitress' arm more than made up for it.

For more information, go to: http://www.dajanigroup.net/

Yelp

I've decided to start writing some reviews on the old blog, maybe it will finally force me to start yelping. A friend of mine yelped for a while but stopped for some reason, and you know who you are: I love your reviews so you should just stop being silly and start yelping again.

My grandmother

So I am back in SF after a turbulent week in Sweden. I had to fly out last minute after getting a phone call from my mother where she told me that my grandmother was in hospital, unconscious with shock trauma, after a bad fall in her apartment where she fell on to her right side of her body, hitting her head, which left her bleeding and vomiting for hours until she simply couldn't stay awake anymore. When they found her, around 30 hours later, she was dehydrated, loosing her pulse and her temperature and there was blood everywhere. Her body was one big swollen, bruise.
We were all preparing to say good bye to her. I got on the flight worried to death that I wouldn't make it in time, but by the time I landed she had miraculously regained consciousness and her body had started to pick up function again.
After a few days it was obvious that someone is watching over her though. Every day she got better and better. By the time I had to go back to SF she even managed to walk around the hospital corridor with a zimmer-frame and she would look at her bruised face in a mirror and just mutter: I'll be damned.

To go from saying goodbye, to discover that she will not only return home, she will also be able, with a little help, to look after herself again, all in one week, is a whirlwind journey, but nothing compared to what she's been going through herself. I am so happy that she is going to survive, and so happy that I was able to be with her and my family.

Life does take unexpected turns, but we'll see you next summer, grandma'!

NRA

Today we had a call from the National Rifle Association. They were reluctant to tell us what it was regarding, just kept asking to talk to my husband.
- But is it about donations? I asked. 'Cos we're not interested.
They hung up immediately.
So very much the wrong house to call.
So very very much the wrong house...

A little goes a long way

Elsa's sister Angel is greatful. The hospital is fantastic and the staff is friendly and helpful. Even when she's feeling frustrated that Elsa's testresults seem to have gone awol and might need another four days before showing up, she doens't want to come across as being negative.
- I feel- well, I don't want to say anything bad, because one shouldn't badmouth the hospital, becuase there is a lot to be happy about and hospitals are good, but I feel a little sad about this, is her own very diplomatic way of putting it.
I admire her patience.

In a former life, Angel worked in fashion and must have been immaculate. Her clothes, bohemian chic, still carry traces of designer departments, although today they are pretty worn and have the odd spot here and there. Her nails are painted red and half-way down her cheeks are well-defined lines between her own, very pale skin and a compact powder, at least three shades darker.

- Everyone is so friendly here, she says. It is such a nice hospital. And people are so friendly and helpful here.
...
- Yes, but there are signs all over the city and they say "welcome to Lund, the friendly city" so that's why, Elsa says from her bed.

I do so hope that they get to be together again, very soon.

A day in the life of-

The lady in the bed next to my grandmother is 87 years old and she's had a stroke. Her name is Elsa and she's blind. Her sister is 89. She visits Elsa every day. Their zimmer-frames are parked next to each other by the bed. Normally, they share an apartement together. Elsa calls her Angel and doesn't want her to stay too long as the hard, wooden chairs are bad for her back.
They are both partially deaf.

- But I have nothing else to do, Elsa! I might as well stay here with you! I don't like you to be alone.
...
- I know. You are kind to me, Angel!
...
- It didn't feel good coming home last night!
...
- Why not?
...
- It felt like there was no point to anything any more!
...
- What do you mean?
...
- It was EMPTY without you!
...
- But I don't talk to you anyway.
...
- I know. I know. But it felt wrong.
...
- I keep myself to myself.
...
- That's how you like it, Elsa.
...
- I don't say anything.
...
- You don't make a fuss. And I hold you very dear.
...
- I know you do, my angel.

And so they go on, all day. Some incredibly beautiful conversations take place between the two sisters. To them small, insignificant, and probably ordinary, to me full of endless hope and promise.

My grandmother is 85.
With her good eye, the eye which is not purple, blue, green and yellow, my grandmother glance over at Elsa.
- Can you imagine, she says. That woman over there, she's 87 years old. Good lord, if I ever lived to see the day. 87 - that's a long way away. I don't want to be 87. That's really, really old. And her sister! She's 89! She's practically dead!
- I am glad you're feeling better, nana, I say and stroke her hand.
It feels very good to share this moment with her.

Life can take a very unexpected turn in a split second and suddenly nothing is like it was before.
I am having to go back to Sweden for a family emergency and won't be blogging for a week or so.

Take care until then,
xxx

Life is not merely to be alive, but to be well, according to my gym

My gym is all about fitness, healthy life-style options, and providing their patrons with an outstanding yet effortless service that enables easy achievements and maintenance of goals.
They regularly update equipment and introduce new and challenging classes. They employ a number of exercise instructors with a deep knowledge within different fields. They are open (almost) 24/7 and have water, fresh towels, and even a variety of magazines at hand by most stations should you have needs outside of just hard core work out.

This month they have also introduced a new scheme in the shape of an email from gym management consisting motivational quotes.
At your own leisure, open, read, and let yourself be motivated to take your work out to next level by these wise words:
"People begin to become successful the minute they decide to be." — Harvey Mackay
or

"Some people dream of success...while others wake up and work hard at it." — Author Unknown

or, for instance

"When it comes to eating right and exercising, there is no 'I'll start tomorrow.' Tomorrow is disease." — V.L. Allineare

I am inspired already.

No. Of course I'm not. Am being ironic. What a load of so and so. I don't need motivational emails from my gym. What I do need, is to know that they will do something about the 12 o'clock spin class which is so over subscribed that you have to be there 30 minutes early to get a bike. That is what my motivation, and lack of sufficient exercise is depending on.

PS: Can't help but wonder if it is an actual instructor who came up with the second quote....? 10 bucks and an energy bar, anyone?

Like rain on you wedding day

Isn't it ironic that you come back from two days in Sonoma, and when you come back to the city the first thing you have to do is to pop to the shop for wine because there isn't a drop to be had in the house.

Burning Man decompress-me

Richard is back from Burning Man. His first night back in his own bedroom he looks around.
- What do you think about hanging up some nice fabrics, here, and here. And here. To make the room look smaller and cosier?
He has been sleeping in a tent in the desert one night too many I think.

Undecided!

My fellow CA blogger Lotta is guest blogging here this week about how leaving University and hitting the real world can often be both confusing and disappointing for women.

It's happened again. Bank of America keeps cold-calling some invisible relative to us, asking for Habati Gregory. I explain that no one with that name lives here.
- There is only a Richard and a Cecilia here.
- Oh, I see. I'll call back at another time, then.

No.... you don't get it....

Boom Boom Rooms Saturday night.

I stand in line to the bathroom in Boom Boom Rooms. A girl is perched up, or rather slouching, on an old amplifier under the mirror.
- I'm so old, man, she says with a deep, husky voice to not anybody in particular.
She can't be more than 22 but she looks a little like Janis Joplin, and is definitely as drunk.
- You can't be older than me, I say when no one else wants to pay attention to her.
She thinks this is hilarious and laughs loud and hard.
- High five, man, she says, and I do.
She tells me about some event she's been to, some band playing, how amazing it was, how cool the dudes where, and there is no off-button for what seems like a really long time.
When I finally reach the toilet door she wants me to high five her again for being old, "but not too old, man, you can't be older than my mother for sure". There is a strong smell of pot in the air.

- Man, I need me some of that, she says and disappears in to the dark venue.

We're counting down the hours to Richards departure to Burning Man. He's companion left with the truck packed with bikes, tents and baby wipes Sunday night and in less than 48 hours, Richard is driving up with a trunk full of fresh food, water, more baby-wipes, combat trousers and cowboy hats.
i think he will have fun.
It will be nice when it's all over.