This is the last in a series of Bert Håge Häverö (Swedish artist 1932-2014) paintings which I will feature during my holiday break this Easter. These delightful photographs were taken from our company calendar which we gave out to customers many years ago. Never having the heart to throw our copy away I came across this recently and wanted to share the beauty he saw of the Swedish landscape and people. Accompanying the paintings will be various quotations /sayings/poems that have inspired me or touched my spirit. Comments have been turned off for this post.
‘When I am feeling dreary, annoyed, and generally unimpressed by life, I imagine what it would be like to come back to this world for just a day after having been dead. I imagine how sentimental I would feel about the very things I once found stupid, hateful, or mundane. Oh, there’s a light switch! I haven’t seen a light switch in so long! I didn’t realize how much I missed light switches! Oh! Oh! And look — the stairs up to our front porch are still completely cracked! Hello cracks! Let me get a good look at you. And there’s my neighbor, standing there, fantastically alive, just the same, still punctuating her sentences with you know what I’m saying? Why did that bother me? It’s so… endearing.’
Amy Krouse Rosenthal (1965-2017)
‘Reading it that evening was like having someone whisper to me, in elongated Germanic sentences, all the youthful affirmations I had been yearning to hear. Loneliness is just space expanding around you. Trust uncertainty. Sadness is life holding you in its hands and changing you. Make solitude your home.’
This is the second of three posts on Bert Håge Häverö (Swedish artist 1932-2014) paintings which I will feature during my holiday break this Easter. These delightful photographs were taken from our company calendar which we gave out to customers many years ago. Never having the heart to throw our copy away I came across this recently and wanted to share the beauty he saw of the Swedish landscape and people. Accompanying the paintings will be various quotations /sayings/poems that have inspired me or touched my spirit. Comments have been turned off for this post.
‘I am lying on a hammock, on the terrace of my room at the Hotel Mirador, the diary open on my knees, the sun shining on the diary, and I have no desire to write. The sun, the leaves, the shade, the warmth, are so alive that they lull the senses, calm the imagination. This is perfection. There is no need to portray, to preserve. It is eternal, it overwhelms you, it is complete.’ Anaïs Nin
‘It is a silver morning like any other. I am at my desk. Then the phone rings, or someone raps at the door. I am deep in the machinery of my wits. Reluctantly I rise, I answer the phone or I open the door. And the thought which I had in hand, or almost in hand, is gone. Creative work needs solitude. It needs concentration, without interruptions. It needs the whole sky to fly in, and no eye watching until it comes to that certainty which it aspires to, but does not necessarily have at once. Privacy, then. A place apart — to pace, to chew pencils, to scribble and erase and scribble again.
But just as often, if not more often, the interruption comes not from another but from the self itself, or some other self within the self, that whistles and pounds upon the door panels and tosses itself, splashing, into the pond of meditation. And what does it have to say? That you must phone the dentist, that you are out of mustard, that your uncle Stanley’s birthday is two weeks hence. You react, of course. Then you return to your work, only to find that the imps of idea have fled back into the mist.’ Mary Oliver
This is the first of three posts on Bert Håge Häverö (Swedish artist 1932-2014) paintings which I will feature during my holiday break this Easter. These delightful photographs were taken from our company calendar which we gave out to customers many years ago. Never having the heart to throw our copy away I came across this recently and wanted to share the beauty he saw of the Swedish landscape and people. Accompanying the paintings will be various quotations /sayings/poems that have inspired me or touched my spirit. Comments have been turned off for this post.
‘The first poet must have suffered much when the cave-dwellers laughed at his mad words. He would have given his bow and arrows and lion skin, everything he possessed, just to have his fellow-men know the delight and the passion which the sunset had created in his soul. And yet, is it not this mystic pain — the pain of not being known — that gives birth to art and artists’ Kahlil Gibran
‘I start all my books on January eighth. Can you imagine January seventh? It’s hell. Every year on January seventh, I prepare my physical space. I clean up everything from my other books. I just leave my dictionaries, and my first editions, and the research materials for the new one. And then on January eighth I walk seventeen steps from the kitchen to the little pool house that is my office. It’s like a journey to another world. It’s winter, it’s raining usually. I go with my umbrella and the dog following me. From those seventeen steps on, I am in another world and I am another person. I go there scared. And excited. And disappointed — because I have a sort of idea that isn’t really an idea. The first two, three, four weeks are wasted. I just show up in front of the computer. Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too. If she doesn’t show up invited, eventually she just shows up.’ Isabel Allende
The plonk of a parcel landing on the hall floor startled me from my writing reverie and with the eagerness of a child I dashed downstairs and fetched the promised package – these wonderful Easter creations knitted by a dear friend. During the winter months she’s been beavering away in the evenings with family and twolively cats around her and finally her collection was complete! What a lovely and kind idea to share these chicks,bunnies and carrots with family and friends! What a beautiful way to spread Easter sunshine to us all!
For two weeks I’ll be enjoying the peace and beauty of our ‘retreat’ in Sweden, away from the busy bustling world, barely connected to its digital being.
I look forward to walking the land in the cold mornings, the freshness of the air biting my lungs – a sting I welcome as I inhale the crisp ozone air scented from the surrounding pine forests. The dew on the grass will be bathed in sheer white frost, crackling underfoot and dotted around I’ll spot tracks of nighttime visitors of rabbits, badgers, foxes and deer. This early communion with nature has been sorely missed!
Whilst on holiday I will heedthe words of Thalia Gust’s latest poem, rejuvenating in the beauty of the natural world, bringing my full awareness to the sights and sounds…leaving those ‘Musts’ behind.
The unexpected gift proffered in his hand is a single crocus, weak and weary after the stormy night, found forlorn on the sodden lawn, its stem and spirit broken by the might of the gusty gale.
With a tiny ‘ahh’ she reaches quickly forth and gently takes hold of the stricken flower, searching out a small glass and fills it with water. She places the crocus on the windowsill and waits.
Never a patient person she returns regularly until at last her administrations are rewarded with an admirable show, a spectacle of petals open to view, the blue purple streaks bold yet tender, the yellow stamen a glorious beacon of light, of warmth, a promise of Spring.
‘It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.’ Charles Dickens
The brevity of life is encapsulated in that single crocus as the next day she approaches the windowsill with fluttering expectation and finds the petals serenely closed, folded across each other into a perfect form, the sunshine within hidden, the petals virtually translucent. There is only a glimmering of the purple veins of life visible upon the parchment-like veil of petals.
By the evening the crocus clings limply to the glass surface, a striking green slime flourishing around the sad stem, the petals now shrunken and old, the straggly stem floating listlessly in the water. This particular augur of Spring decaying just as the crocuses outside are timidly reaching out from beyond the dark of the ground, their purple, yellow petals a bright sparkle to the winter still residing in the natural world. Onwards she strolls around the garden eyeing each new development, the buds on the buddleia, the daffodils tall and proud, their yellow trumpets safely ensconced in its tight wrap, the leaves of the tulips promising the red celebration later in Spring. Here, amongst the snowdrops the crocuses display shines strong. Welcome Spring!
From a young age we all strive to form friendships, to feel that special moment of ‘oh yes, you get me’ as kindred spirits meet, cautiously at first then unconsciously a life-long friendship is cemented. To have even one two o’clock in the morning friend, on whom to call without fear of disturbing in moments of need, fear, sadness or even celebration is a blessing indeed.
The subject of friends has been on my mind this week as a dear and very close friend celebrated her birthday. As I bombarded her email with birthday messages, some posted here today, the sentimental and poignant quotations struck a chord with me.
Only our truest friends know us to the core, the inner worries, the films and books that will bring us to tears of laughter. Only lifelong friends from young know the ‘whole’ us, events at school, childhood, teenage years that are so instrumental in forming the person of today. Only with them can you reminisce about the broken hearts of young love, the friendship breakups which cut so deep, the scars still raw.
As we exit what is hopefully the haven of home a cloak descends upon us – for better or worse. We can’t help it! In the midst of desperation, a smile will be plastered across our face as we greet others in the street, at work. In a snatched lunch hour an email full of your true feelings will be sent and soon the ping of reply from a good friend brings soothing comfort and support.
Friendships take many shapes and when young you believe friendship is one solely between peers. The sense of joy is overwhelming when you realise how short-sighted, how juvenile you’ve been and a close friendship strikes up between your parents and your more mature self, as a closer warmth and care for your grandparents develops and later you become aware that the security of friendship is found not only in platonic relationships but also in loving ones. This really does feel like hitting the jackpot!
Like relationships, friendships take work – hard work at times! Like relationships there can be break-ups, big ones that reverberate across a large group of people, as the ground shifts, old friendships crumble, new ones are formed. Unlike most relationships, friendships can be sustained for months, even years, with only remote contact – it is amazing how one can sense the others problems, call just at the right time, how easy it is to slot back into relaxed chat after a three-year hiatus apart and pick up the conversation as if from the day before.
The journey of life, with its highs of happiness and lows of loss and suffering, would be unbearable without the constant presence of friends – the shared expedition easing the load, doubling the joy.
As friendships take new format in the world of interconnectedness a new source of inspiration, support and sharing is created. Its warm glow a ray of sunshine and hope on the many bleak aspects of the internet.
So, to new friends here on WP, I ask you to join in a virtual celebratory toast to friendships everywhere!
Fish! Such safe, innocuous pets, we thought. Low maintenance, low cost, we convinced ourselves. Ha! As If! Those were the days of innocence.
Five years ago, when our son was, well five years younger, the pet discussion had dragged on for months before finally we all agreed on fish. Dogs were out as we travelled abroad a lot, cats were ruled out after my husband mentioned his (still unwitnessed) allergy to the feline creatures. So fish it was.
Five years later my son’s fishes are mostly ours! How wonderfully typical.
Five traumatic years later we still persevere. You’d think we’d know better by now.
The first days and weeks of joy and excitement were ones of bliss. Each feeding time an event in itself, numerous questions of sleeping habits, eating habits and er, mating habits, had me rushing secretly to google in a desperate attempt to provide an intelligent answer to my keen son.
Names. Of course the fish were soon all named and if you’re embarking on this venture, be warned. Once named, you’re doomed. After all, this is not just one pet, but dozens.
As the first poor mite pined away, then visibly sickened I watched my son’s emotional rollercoaster helplessly. His fears became mine. That was only the start.
Years of fish-related nightmares followed; tankful of dying fish, escaping fish, fishes with humongous deformed eyes!
I quickly became an expert on diagnosing their diseases – that was the easy part. Treating meant possibly killing the other healthy ones. Catch-22.
When the first poor blighter died we agreed upon a funeral and solemnly it was placed in a matchbox. My husband donned his winter coat and gloves and looked at us expectantly.
My son and I both glanced at the cold grey frozen outdoors then my son asked could he stay in? I nodded, relieved and quickly agreed I would remain in the warm house with him.
My husband turned and headed out for the pre-arranged burial site, picking up a trowel from the shed along the way.
Minutes later, I saw him on his knees, hacking away at the frozen ground. Finally the deed was done and he eased himself up, then stood still for a moment. Stretching his back? Or saying a few words, perhaps?
By then, exhausted from lack of sleep, over-wrought with emotions, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I fancy, I did both.
Fiver years later, our love affair with the fishes has only, perversely, flourished. On Saturday, as our son went to the cinema with friends (oh, how I recall those idyllic care-free days!), my husband and I do what all sensible parent do with a couple of free hours- we headed to the pub!
Once ensconced in a cosy corner we settled down with our drinks and snack and talked; desperately trying NOT to talk only about our son. After all, we must have conversed in our pre-child life. Didn’t we?
At last, I relaxed, easing into the peace and novelty of the day when ‘ping’ a text. Yep, my son asking if I could email a photograph of his passport for proof of age.
I remained strong! (Round of applause, please.) Where before I would have dashed to the car, driven six miles home in a panic to fulfil his request I stopped to think. To be rational.
Picking up the phone, I took a deep breath and called my son. On hearing where we were, he was ever so apologetic. I offered to to talk to the attendant but in the end the boys sorted the problem themselves and I continued to enjoy my drink…well, sort of…only fully calm when I received a text that they were in and the film was about to start.
The day continued with a visit to the Garden Centre. I don’t know what it is about these places but they are quietly reassuring, providing a burst of colour and hope in the middle of winter. A mecca of stunning flowers, a homage to dreams and possibilities. They are so normal.
Normality. For years I fought against its existence; the very word an anathema to me. I wanted excitement, I wanted constant change. Gradually I began to recognise the power and significance of normality and routine. What I feared was what I needed. Those repetitive routine tasks are the basic building blocks of life that form the secure foundation of my life and that of those close to me; however they are intermingled with adventures, of course!
As our normal day continued, our thoughts returned to the depleted fish tank; full of plants, Greek temple ruins, treasure chest but not many fish. With determination we headed to the aquatic centre.
Thirty minutes later we exited carrying a brown paper bag, with 12 guppies swarming at the bottom of the plastic bag within. Once home we slowly introduced the guppies to the tank; our eyes bedazzled by the beautiful array of colours, the luminescent fan tails shimmering away. We stood back and admired our catch; the proud new parents owners!
I just had one thought in my mind.
How did this ordinary day become so extra-ordinary?
Enjoy this star-studded version of ‘Perfect Day ‘ by Lou Reed, who appears throughout wearing cool dark glasses. The song sums up my day perfectly:))
Every year at Christmas there will be one song which becomes my favourite for the season and one I will play non-stop.
One year as young my passion for ‘Pipes of Peace’ by Paul McCartney nearly drove my brother mad. As yet again it spun on my turntable, volume at its loudest, he stormed into my room, lifted the arm from the record and said sweetly, ‘Enough.’ I realised then he might be right.
‘Mary’s Boy Child’ by Boney M was a hit with us both and one to which we would bop around the living room.
Last year, on a Christmas CD of older hits I fell for the warm ‘olde’ tones of ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’.
This year I have returned to my Swedish roots. The song ‘Tänd Ett Ljus’ is sung in acappella and never fails to make my spirits soar it every time I hear it. The sheer clarity of the voices brings tears to my eyes and the words touch my soul. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Do you have a season favourite tune? Is it the same each year or does it change?
Here is a translation of the song:
‘Light a candle, let it burn,
never let hope disappear.
It is dark now but light will come.
Light a candle for all Earth’s children.
I saw a Star fall, it was night and all slept.
I think I wished then you were near.
For a minute it burnt, then disappeared.
Was it only me who saw?
On the radio they sang about peace on Earth,
I wanted to believe these worn words.
Light a candle ……
I got a card from Wyndham, didn’t know where it was.
Fiver years later, our love affair with the fishes has only, perversely, flourished. On Saturday, as our son went to the cinema with friends (oh, how I recall those idyllic care-free days!), my husband and I do what all sensible parent do with a couple of free hours- we headed to the pub!
Annika Perry 