Sunday, August 23, 2009

Number five: my Pan

No explanation needed.

Number four: birthday

Okay, so it wasn't the ideal birthday, since my Pan came home in the middle of it with a horrible throat infection that had us scared he wouldn't be able to be there if Ville decided to join the party.

But it was still my birthday, and I got pretty presents delivered by pretty siblings wearing pink dresses or cats, and I had marzipan gateau and red currants with custard, and I was able to use my belly as a personalized tea table.

Four days on: still no Ville, Pan's throat infection on the defense, and me still impersonating Jabba the Hut. Ho ho ho, Chewbacca.

And by the way, my sister had a crush on not Luke Skywalker, nor Han Solo, but Chewbacca when she was little. Because he resembled a teddy bear. I just thought you should know.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Number three: Pancakes!

As Line has blogged earlier, there's a new place on Olav Rye's that we like very much. Food story is a café/eco food store combo, with nice interior, good service, great food, and these: The most heavenly pancakes with maple syrup, streaky bacon, and Norwegian blueberries.

The first time I had them, I was almost insulted by how much better than my own pancakes they were.

But, you know, I got over it.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Number two: August darkness

Sometime during May, all darkness bleeds out of the night sky in Norway and settles quietly in the trees and boughs and bushes. But come Mid-August, it drifts upwards into the air again, making room for deeper sleep, stars and candles, and kinder lighting for the fresh students stealing kisses on the street outside.

I love it. I love August.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Number one: A star

I've decided to make a list of wonderful things that are good to keep in mind while waiting:

First out:

Here's my brother, coolest uncle-to-be in the universe, playing on the second biggest stage at Øyafestivalen. I'm very proud. A little bummed that I couldn't be there, of course, but very, very proud. He plays the base in The Little Hands of Asphalt, and the guitar in Monzano, who are on tonight (smaller stage this time, but still pretty neat).

See, Ville? Your uncle's a star. Your aunt Line, too, for taking photos.

Monday, August 10, 2009


Welcome to the world, most excellent Professor! I hope you grow wings like your mother, that you have lots of luck and love and magic, and that cats greet you on the street like a long lost friend.

Ville is right behind you, he says, so don't start any cool games without him.

Now wait a minute, miss

I was going to call this post 'Done'.

I was thinking of all the preparations that we've gone through.

Buying the baby things: done. Washing the baby clothes: done. Painting and cleaning and moving into the the baby room: done.

Making the little bed, complete with leafy canopy hovering above: done.

I've baked banana muffins and stashed them in the freezer. I've packed my hospital bag. I've finished all the official paper work. I've even voted, just in case things get too crazy for me to get over to the voting booths come September.

See? Done.

Except for one teeny, tiny, little thing, tucked into a folder on my computer. I had so hoped it would be done by now, but it isn't. My story.

Dang. I knew I had forgotten something.

And what a horrible place to stop: full chaos on all frontiers, death and loss and destruction all around.

But I will finish it sometime in the year to come, I promise, I promise, I promise.

Meanwhile: Okay, boy. It's safe to come out now, I think.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Balthasar and me IV

(Hot day. Balthasar on pouffe in living room, Pims in basket by the door, and me at the computer)

Balthasar: Hey, Tonelady. You smell great!
Me: What? Uh, thank you...
Balthasar: Yeah, the bigger you get and the hotter it gets outside, the better you smell, especially your feet.
Me: Ha. Great. Very funny.
Balthasar: (chagrined) I was being serious. Besides, I didn't get any candy today.
Me: Oh, yes you did, just an hour ago. I may be pregnant, but I'm not totally lost.
Balthasar: But you're so strict! The downstairs neighbour gives his cats as many pieces of candy as they want, you know. Every day.
Me: The downstairs neighbour doesn't have cats, little one.
Balthasar: Yes, he does, lots of kittens like me that like to play. He takes in all cats that come in from the street, too. Especially brave ones that fall out of the sky.
Me: Uhm. If you say so.
Balthasar: Yeah.

(The sound of typing fills the room. Balthasar stretches, while Pims cocks an eye in her basket)

Balthasar: Hey Tonelady?
Me: Mhm?
Balthasar: What does flea-ridden mean?
Me: (not looking up from screen) Hm. That's when someone has lots of fleas in their fur, little things that bite and itch. It's not something you want to be.
Balthasar: But what does usurper mean?
Me: (surprised) Usurper?! Let's see... I think it's someone who has stolen the throne from the rightful ruler, like a king, or a queen.
Balthasar: Then what's a flea-ridden usurper?
Me: (finally looking up) Wait a minute. Where are you getting these words from, little one?
Balthasar: (flattening ears) Nowhere.

(Pims sleeps very soundly in her basket. I stare at her.)

Me: Right, Balthasar, under no circumstances are you to jump off the veranda, okay? The downstairs neighbour does not have cats, he does not take in cats that fall out of the sky, and he does not have any candy. Pims is just joking, and you shouldn't take her seriously. Isn't that so, Pims?
Balthasar: But...
Me: No buts. No jumping, no candy. And no listening to your mother!
Balthasar: (disappointed) Okay, then.

(Pims gets up and leaves the room, tail swishing.)

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Raspberry comfort and a death row darling

Two weeks till due date today, and the bed just isn't comfortable anymore. Much better to savour some quiet early morning moments, just me, a bowl of cereal with fresh raspberries and milk, and The Owl Waltz on the stereo.

I've actually been writing a little this past week, no new stuff, just tucking in threads and getting rid of tails where they are not wanted. I must say I am encouraged by most of it, quite a few of the chapters are not bad at all. But then there is Trasher, Søplehue, who once more enters the stage as a big questionmark. I don't know what he's up to, or if he should even be there at all. But so many of the story threads are tied to him that removing him would be like ripping out the center piece of a quilt. I wonder.

Well, it's not a job for now, anyway. Maybe a future editor will help me see the light. But for now, the story can rest comfortably, all tucked and tied, until Ville lets me at it again.