Addicted

Su doku is my new addiction. I love this Japanese game of numbers. I get up extra early in the morning to solve the daily su doku in the newspaper. Yesterday was a true disappointment. They had put in a level one su doku, resulting in me having completed it in 5 minutes. All of a sudden I had a lot of spare time in the morning. I barely knew what to do. Today was a whole lot better. The su doku was rated as a level four su doku. I finished it just in time to go to work. I have been addicted to this game ever since May. The day is not complete without solving a su doku. Is there a rehabilitation-centre anywhere for this kind of addiction?

A well of treasures

The key words are "picture books". Working at the local library I have had a fantastic opportunity getting to know picture books. I am truly amazed by everything there is, how much artwork is put into them and how wonderful the stories can be. At times I have lost sense of both time and place, being totally absorbed by the beauty and creativity I have discovered in those books. I loved reading about the man that painted zebra crossing all over town so that the old ladies shouldn't need to walk so far to cross the street. (Unfortunately he got in trouble with the traffic-police for doing so, but his idea was very noble.) Never have I seen anything sadder than a hedgehog only wishing to have a balloon, but due to his quills he would break them every time. The solution to this was found by the most inventive balloon-salesman, sticking corks to the hedgehogs quills. As from then, the hedgehog could happily run around without worrying about breaking his balloon. Another favourite of mine was the book about the gigantic turnip. I didn't even know what a turnip was before I read that one! My boss is absolutely right when she refers to picture books as a well of treasures.

Getting to know you

I'm so eager to get to know you. Learn about your life. Your country. See how you develop and grow up. I want to help you. I want to be there for you, although I cannot be in there in person. You are already in my heart. I think about you a lot. Wondering how you are. What you are doing. What you are thinking... Welcome into my life, little girl. Thank you for letting me be in yours.

Become sponsor of a child at SOS Children's Villages

Bringing back the past

It's a bit weird going through your old things. Some of them you didn't even know were there, while others you remember having kept for a specific reason. Things can trigger a whole series of memories, that up until that point, had been forgotten. In a way, they can bring back the past. Sometimes it's nice. Other times it's not. It's amazing how many things some people seem to collect, store or just keep in case they can come in handy. I guess most of them never will be used again. They will just remain dust-collectors, and so keep on reminding whoever will find them of their past. Until they eventually get thrown or given away.

Seeing it with your own eyes is not the same as watching it on photos or on TV

This weekend, my dad and I went on our annual summer trip to one of the country's famous mountains. My dad had walked there several decades ago, as for me, it was the first time. Taking the boat out to our starting-point with 98 other hikers, I already knew it would be a spectacular trip. Nature sure was at its most beautiful. The sun was shining, the flowers in the lowland were putting colour to an already fascinating landscape. As we kept walking uphill, the track slowly turned from dry mud to stones. The higher up we got, the vegetation got less and eventually there was nothing to be seen but rocks, sand and snow. The mountain had a desert-like look to it. With every step we took, the view got more and more amazing. High mountains covered with snow in every direction. Our mountain had little, but we were doing our best sliding down on the snow still present (while giggling). At one point, the mountain was so steep we had to use both arms and legs to climb up. I rewarded myself with chocolate along the trail, something I think is essential on every trip to the mountains. We walked 17 km before we were done. Having finished our traditional trip, we were both satisfied. Many photos had been taken, but better still, we will keep nice memories of all the natural beauty we have been so privileged to see with our own eyes.

Happiness can come as a message in a bottle

"Happiness" by Linda Frances

Willow had been wandering around for several months awaiting an important message regarding Tito's future. The waiting made her both irritable and nervous, as it's a common fact that patience is not a strong virtue of hers... Tito did his best to calm her down by telling her everything would be all right. All they could do was to wait, as the decisions were entirely up to other persons. Walking down the seashore to one of Willow's favourite places, she saw something green floating in the sea. Driven by an incurable curiosity, she approached the green item. It was a green bottle like the ones her mother used to put homemade blackberry juice in. The bottle had no label, but at a closer look, Willow noticed a piece of paper stuck inside of it. Pulling out the cork, she managed to get the paper out. Unfolding it, she saw that it was a letter. A letter written to her. Reading it three times over, she could no longer hold back a sensation of overwhelming happiness. Tito had finally got the long awaited news, and they were exactly as good as the young couple had hoped for. Having no one to share her joy with, Willow ran up to the lighthouse. There she used the light to send signals of happiness to Tito, so that he would see she had received his message.

Books in, books out...

Today was my first day in my second summer job. It was also my very first experience working in a public library, and if I should describe it in one word, it would have to be busy. Very busy. I had to learn how to handle a new database and remember the location of the different types of books in no time. All I had time for in between taking books in and giving them out was putting a fraction of the incoming ones back on the shelf so that the floor behind the counter would still be visible. I have never seen so many people in a small, public library before. And almost before I had started, the day was over and I could go home. If every day is like this, August will be right around the corner and I'll be in my number one favourite place. And that would be right in Tito's arms, if anyone was in doubt.

Willow's weekend-resolutions

It's 11:25 on a Friday night, and I'm still sitting in front of the PC. My eyes are sore. My brain apparently stopped working a couple of hours ago without me even noticing. I could do with some sleep. I envy the people having a life. Will try do better tomorrow.

Notes to self for the weekend:

Get out in the sun.

Take a long walk in the forest.

Get important paperwork over and done with.

Call up best friend to meet.

Don't turn on the computer.

Don't turn on the computer.

And remember: don't turn on the computer.

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.