So when I got the call in May that Cassandra’s kidney disease had raised its head, after three years of slumber and medicine diet, I took my chances and went over for a day. Little did I know then that I was saying goodbye to Ramses, too.
I picked him up and made an off-hand comment that he felt very light. It was not unusual: he’s had IBD for the past several years and appetite and weight had constantly fluctuated – although he had immediately calmed down and put on one and a half kilos more after my friend took him in. That is a lot for a cat that weighed only three kilos and a bit when he arrived, stressed to the max.
My friend weighed him later, and got worried. A month later I got another phone call: Ramses had diabetes, and it was advancing fast. The only option was insulin shots for the rest of his short life (he was nearly fifteen), plus losing Cassandra anyway, which would be so sad for his highly cuddly character. The decision was not mine to make but I think my friend and her children, all heartbroken, made the right one: one day in July both cats fell asleep together, side by side in the same travel box.
I was twenty-four when I got Cassandra. Twenty-five when Ramses joined us. They have been with me for nearly my entire adult life: all the ups and downs. And there have been many. It was so difficult to give them up – it felt like giving up an arm or a leg. I am surprised by how difficult it was to hear that they were gone. Writing this now, nearly a month later, still brings tears into my eyes.
But above it all, I am filled to the brim with gratitude towards my friend and her children, who gave both kitties a loving, peaceful, nearly travel-free retirement home. Cassandra slept with my friend, and Ramses with her daughter – who used to say that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. I just wish they had more time together. Don’t we all, always wish for more time?
(Copenhagen, Denmark; July 2020)
During the coronavirus lockdown I had some urgent private matters to attend to in Sweden. And somehow I ended up having a fabulous lunch with a fabulous friend, in Skanör of all places. You know, the curly southernmost tip of Sweden – the one with the famous seals. 
It was windy and not too warm – it was only May, after all. But the restaurant had a shielded terrace, and gas heaters and blankets. There were huge pots of fresh blue mussels, and crisp white wine. And lots of good girl-talk. It felt good to break out of the daily hunkering-down in my apartment: the home-office, the daily runs and walks in the parks to keep my sanity. Yes, it felt good to simply sit down and share a meal with a friend. Face-to-face meetings are a rare luxury this year.
(Skanör, Sweden; May 2020)
Probably a once-in-a-lifetime: 48 hours of departures on one screen, at Copenhagen airport in May. The direct international connections seem very random: Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Doha, Tallinn, Oslo, Stockholm, and Sofia.
(Copenhagen, Denmark; May 2020)
A still life with my landlady’s lamp, a meditation pouf, and a new book case from Ikea. Save for a few pieces lent by my landlady, this case, a new couch, and my Double Bubble lamp, I am living out of a suitcase and a few boxes. Here’s to hoping I will finally get my belongings out of storage in Finland and over to Denmark, after two years of gathering dust.
Surprise: there is a Helsinkigade in Copenhagen! It is in Nordhavn, the urban swanky neighborhood built on a landfill island and housing among other the regional UN/WHO headquarters.
Shopping in 2020 means longer lines to any shop on Saturday mornings than to a night club on Saturday night (and night clubs are all closed anyway). It means disinfecting one’s hands several times a day, and wiping off the smartphone screen when arriving at home. Washing hands before putting food away, and washing hands once done.
(Copenhagen, Denmark; May 2020)
Another month, another move. The third one this year, and by this time it was only May – and the magnolias were barely in bloom.
When I feel rootless, I can only root in myself. And try to list at least three things that have inspired me, each day. Like magnolias. Discovering I can remedy the badly worn wooden plank floor of my new apartment. And spring sunshine, every day.
(Copenhagen, Denmark; May 2020)
”Pay attention to when it falls off,” the retreat lead told me last fall when she gave me this yarn bracelet. It would serve as a reminder of getting used to living with uncertainty – a topic I gave much attention during that weekend and afterward.
Africa, Bali, Bali & Malaysia, Singapore & Bali, Spain. Wish I had written travel journals also from the Brazilian Amazon, Kenya, Nepal, and Crete. And even way before, during my previous life, from Thailand, the USA, and elsewhere. But I am glad I corrected my mistake and began to write. These journals have always served as raw material for my blog posts – and the blog posts may serve as raw material for something else I’m working on.
Beach, book, bike ride, and ice cream. All I need on a day off.
This blue marble 