Memories from the bottom of a pocket

The pants were made of cotton and had a dark green colour. Willow used to love those pants, but somewhere along the line they no longer fitted her. Or rather, she no longer fitted them. The pants had just been lying in the back of the closet for several years. Therefore she thought she would give them away, as the pants were still in excellent condition. When she took them out of the closet, she felt something in the right pocket. As she discovered two curled banknotes from a far-away country, memories came back one after another. She could all of a sudden hear the sound of a hungry gecko, smell the fragrance of a red hibiscus, taste the salty water on a white, sandy beach, feel the touch of a playful monkey and see the smiling faces of tanned children dressed in all the colours of the rainbow.

Walking down the old path

Being "home" is weird. I took a trip down my old path, - the one I used to walk every day to primary school. Things sure have changed. Houses had been painted with a different colour and the big, beautiful tree housing bird families for decades had been cut down. Parts of the road had been asphalted, the highway moved to go straight through a field of barley. The old school had been leveled with the ground and all that was left was the shed for bikes. The new school had grown a lot, and the facade looked nothing like it used to do. The fishermen were however fishing as they always have been. It's a good thing that some things stay the same.

Ten minutes to eight

Ten minutes to eight. Excitement is rising. The blood starts running a bit faster through the veins. Concentration is no longer an obtainable state. Five minutes to eight. Why is the time passing so slowly? Will it never be eight? Three minutes to eight. Will he be calling? Fingers are thumping nervously on the table. Two minutes to eight. Getting up from the chair, feeling restless. One minute to eight. It's about time he'll call now, checking all the clocks in the room. Eight. No sound. Time stands still. Nothing moves. Nothing happens. One minute past eight. He might still be calling. Try not to panic! Three minutes past eight. Where is he? What has happened? Is he sick or has he gotten himself into problems? Five minutes past eight. Maybe he won't call then. Disappointment is rising, the body feels heavy. Ten minutes past eight. The phone rings. Nobody moves for a second. Three seconds more pass before the brain successfully communicates with the rest of the body and the legs start moving. Walking, running. Picking up the reciever. "Hello?"

Spending the weekend outside

When I was a teenager, I used to think walking in nature was all about getting it over and done with and then go home. I saw it as something exhausting I had to go through, and my main motivation was reaching the place of destination to get a bar of chocolate as a reward. Luckily things change and people as well.

This weekend I have been on two trips, one short one in the forest, and one large one in the mountains. There's something special about walking for hours nearly without meeting other people. It's wonderfully good shutting out everything having to do with noise, pollution and stress. No TV, no fighting neighbors, no phone calls. Just calm, peace, quiet and physical activity that feels good. It's amazing how much thinking one can get done being outside walking. It's equally amazing witnessing the landscape change as one walks. Forests, narrow paths, rivers and waterfalls, tiny purple flowers, wet moors, openings, crooked trees at the timberline, the occasional bird of prey, big rocks, small rocks, and at the top, an incredible view of snow-covered mountains in every direction.

At the end of the day the body feels tired, but the notion of having spent the day wisely is still very much present.

DDK5, AACR2 and NORMARC

Dewey Decimal Classification 5 (Norwegian edition), Anglo-American Cataloguing Rules 2 (Norwegian version) and NORMARC (format for exchanging machine readable bibliographic data ) have become my daily helpers in a world where specialized and professional books need to be classified and catalogued in the bibliographic database Mikromarc.

Sounding all boring? As a matter of fact, I find it highly interesting and, even better, an excellent way of practicing my acquired professional skills as a librarian. My job is both challenging and rewarding, and getting all this positive feedback on my work, I'm walking around as if I were a big, bright, shining sun. (And this in spite of having been totally out of luck in the wine-lottery!) Now, how much better could a job get?

With this, I'm encouraging my readers (assuming I still have any left...?) to tell me about their jobs.

Lots of hugs at work

I had my first day at my summer job today. It was wonderful. Some of my old co-workers were thrilled to see me; they gave me hugs and asked how I have been this past year. People were smiling and made me feel real welcome, just as they have done in the past. My work is interesting, as I love everything having to do with libraries. Nothing beats working hard and then being rewarded with coffee-breaks together with these guys. It's truly good to be back.

An empty room

I guess that was it then. The semester is over; my “home” has been stripped down and packed into boxes. The room is empty, very clean and all of a sudden it seems so bright. As if the sun could actually have access. I hope we can fit everything into the car. I hope my plant will survive the trip, as I have managed to keep it alive for more than half a year. And that’s a personal best! Some things I will miss here, others I won’t. My thoughts go to all the wonderful people I have met this year. I was not expecting meeting so many, nor the impact they would have on my life. Nevertheless, I’m looking to the future with great enthusiasm, as next year hopefully will be a true adventure.

His eyes. His wonderful eyes

Dedicated to Tito.

She could look at him for hours at the time without going tired of it. The dark hair that always lay in perfect place. The beautiful colour of his skin that she envied him so much. The small opening between his front teeth when he smiled. Oh, that wonderful smile... Most important to her were however his eyes. His warm, brown eyes lined with long, black eyelashes. That pair of eyes was very special and she could read a lot about him in them. At one time, the sunrays hit his face at a certain angle and she was able see all the golden lines and spots in his eyes. Never had she seen anything more beautiful. He was surprised by her statement and she perhaps even more. She would later draw him a picture of his right eye on a napkin and explain to him how the spots and lines reflected the numerous characteristics of his personality. He did the same thing for her afterwards. And when she took her glasses off, he described her as a Goddess.

(An excerpt from the story "Painting your eyes with the colour of hope" by Willow. )

My literary sanctuary

I’ve found my literary sanctuary on an uninhabited island. I have a small house there, with one room for kitchen, bedroom and study. Of course I have all my books there as well. The house is made of bamboo and palm leaves, so it would not be easy to spot it if you didn’t know it was there. Ones a week, a boat comes out with supplies, but for the rest of the time I’m alone. Well, almost alone. I wake up in the morning, remembering my dreams. Then I get up, have a quick breakfast with tea and go to work. I can spend hours and hours at my desk, thinking up stories, thinking up a better world. My world. Around noon, I usually run out of ideas, so I take a stroll round the island to smell the warm, tropical air, gaze at the green, fertile vegetation and have a chat with the parrot or the ocelot. They always fill me in on the most recent happenings, and who has been quarrelling with whom. There is a lake in the heart of the island, with a waterfall. I love throwing myself into the clear, blue water when the heath gets a bit too much. And after a swim, I’m on my way to the most secret place I know of – the cave behind the waterfall. Crawling into it, I find Tito meditating. We share our thoughts and experience magical moments as we always do. Going back to the house, I’m full of new inspiration and motivation to continue my work.

Throwing words into the air

Willow likes words. She likes to pronounce them, write them, taste them. (And she is somewhat of a foreign language-junkie as well.) Willow likes playing with words. When she has a big sack of them, she gets a great kick out of throwing them up in the air, several handfuls at ones. And when they land on the ground, she enjoys looking at them. Finding out what makes sense, and what does not. Then she arranges them in patterns, in lists, in sentences. It’s mostly a solitary game, but there should not be any reason why other people cannot join.

Anyone needing a ride?

"I do! I do!"

(Willow abandoning her car, bike, rollerskates and skis in an instance of pure cat-obsessionate insanity.)

How Willow discovered her favourite flower

The man was seen from behind wearing a pink shirt and a brown hat. He was carrying a bundle of calla lilies on his right shoulder and another bundle under his left arm. Willow had never seen a calla lily before, and was therefore overwhelmed by the beauty nature has ones more proved itself capable of. Being incurably curious, Willow started to wonder who the man was and where he was going with all those elegant flowers. Maybe he was a poor lily-gardener on his way to the market, hoping to get a good price for his flowers so that his children would not go hungry. Maybe he was going to the colonial church up on the hill, to offer the lilies to Virgin Mary while praying for a better life. Or maybe he was going home to surprise his beloved wife with her favourite flowers on their 10th wedding anniversary. Willow never found out, but the memory of the man in the pink shirt and the brown hat is always with her.

Going on a lionhunt

Going on a lionhunt. Gonna catch a big one! I'm not scared. Look at all these flowers. Nice da-ay! Oh-oh...

A cave. A dark, deep cave....... I can't get over it. I can't get under it. I can't get around it. I guess I have to go into it. Feel yourself along the wall. Oh oh, what's this? Something funny. With a long soft thing on it's end! With two sharp things over there! Two big, gleaming sharp things over here!

A LION!!!

Summer!

Long mornings, reading the books I choose to read, enjoying the warm sun in the park, chewing on a straw, looking up at the clouds to imagine elephants and castles, taking a swim in the sea, eating a big ice-cream, slumbering in a hammock underneath a tree, riding my bike, doing exactly the things I want to do, no time pressure, nothing needing to be done at a certain time, admiring the butterflies and the marigolds, picnicking with friends, family-dinners on the veranda, sunsets at midnight. May it be endless. Happy Summer Vacation, Willow.