Mum calls me every day. She wants to know how I slept and if my lunch included any proteins. She tells me to wear a scarf and remember my gloves. She asks if the snow has melted and when will I finally buy rain boots. I used to roll my eyes and say, Muuuuum! I mean, who didn’t? Wait, she used to say, when you’ll have children, you’ll understand. I do, mum, I really do.
It was such a beautiful day. We woke up early and listened to Vivaldi’s Four seasons and then I took my baby to the window to watch a billion white butterflies dancing outside. We were planning to have brownies for breakfast. And then I checked my phone and saw the news about attack on Charlie Hebdo. It happens way too often. Reality breaks into my cozy little world chasing snow butterflies away. Reality reminds me that life is fragile, time is not kind, love is fleeting and no matter how loud we clap our hands, sometimes fairies die. That morning
A few days ago I woke up with an extraordinary thought. I don’t know where exactly it came from, but it made me very very happy. My thought was this – I CAN DO ANYTHING! I mean it. All my life I was making excuses for not doing things I love because of the circumstances. Wrong job, wrong partner, wrong location, and so on. If only I could get things right, I would really spread my wings! A few days ago it dawned on me. I’ve done it! It was long and it wasn’t easy, but I got rid of
My favourite Christmas story is the one of Harper Lee, the author of "to Kill a Mockingbird". How she was cold and lonely, stranded in New York for Christmas, sleeping on friends' couch and how on Christmas morning she received a priceless gift - one year worth of her salary, so she could quit her job and write her novel. I like it, because it's a piece of biography, but also a fairy tale. For years I've been dreaming that something like this would happen to me, something wonderful and unexpected, something out of the ordinary holiday routine. For as long as I remember, I spent every Christmas waiting for a miracle.
I wake up afraid that I missed it. Somehow autumn seems more important than any other season. Maybe it’s in the falling leaves, or early uncertain dawns, or growing anticipation of Christmas magic. Maybe it’s because I used to love going back to school: buying new notebooks and pens, picking new books in the library and flipping through their pages was something akin to fortune-telling. Good things happen all the time, but in autumn my faith grows stronger.
It’s spring here in Estonia. I walk in the forest on my rare holidays. I scout for tiny lilac flowers on the thick carpet of dark moss and pale new grass. Soft and innocent scent of lilac blossoms is the signature of my spring, the very essence of mellow April on the shores of cold Baltic sea. June smells of linden flowers from grandma’s garden, sweet and honey-ish like in my childhood. Every summer, as a matter of unwritten family tradition, I picked linden flowers for tea. Linden tea is like dandelion wine – it makes summer last well into
I know you have been there before. One month, two airfares, a glimpse of spring, two awful hope-killing snowstorms just when you thought winter was already over, half-dozen of lines written, erased and written over, zero stories. Silence. A whole month of silence. First you tell myself it’s nothing major, just a stutter, a long-needed pause in a daily routine of writing, thinking, creating, arguing, laughing, talking with yourself. You say to yourself, it will pass. But it doesn’t.
I have a wonderful mother-in-law whose name is Josefine. She is more than 80 years old, but always in a good mood, smiling and laughing - I´ve never met a person who loves and enjoys life that much. Every single day of it. She lives in a tiny half storey appartment just under the roof of an old Jugendstil house with the view to Belvedere and bakes best apple strudel on Sundays. In her small kitchen overvieving the tiled Viennese roofs a truly magic happens.