"Are you kidding me? Someone could lose an eye."

*Please note that as my friend Cheryl pointed out- the one building in this tiny version of a village that is shut to the children is shown above and it is the Pub.
 

I can not really put into words my glee about this play park.

I also know that trying to describe how I feel about it will offend some people.

I am not a parent.

If that statement negates all my opinions about childhood and child rearing I certainly understand if you stop reading now.

Yes, in part this park represents to me an alternative way of life.

Alternate to so, so many conversations that I have listened to about play, and children, and children playing safely.  As a non-breeder by choice I often feel that all I can really do is softly make sounds of agreement.  Sure, I interject if the person is a friend, and I am a little worried that their worry is getting too heavy for them. But I keep to a safe zone, only commenting directly about their feelings, nothing about the children directly.

But I think this is only a small part of my feelings for this park because I do agree that I do not have kids.  Also I think I would be in constant terror about the safety of my child-this is one of my reasons to not have one.

No, I think in part the park represents how my travels have led me to see that the prevalent point of view in ones immediate geography is not the only point of view.  This I find is easy to forget, I believe this is how media forms opinions- or pop songs become hits, the ceaseless barrage until familiarity becomes if not belief at least unquestioned.

I think mostly this park is punk rock.

The freedom to bloody your nose.  The trust that you a child can be around dirt and real glass.  I can see the danger but to my eyes the danger seems on the level of adventure, not the stupidity of playing in the street.

Yes, the teeter-totter in the dirt is far from the formula of x amount of inches of rubber padding chips to each x amount of the height of the play equipment, which I hear discussed at length, and often.

But I love it- so you might want to consider this before you ask me to take care of your child.

"...why am I always on a plane, or a fast train...what a world my parents gave to me..."

Hello Sweden Hello-

Goodbye to several days, I can't quite remember-

"Today is Friday? Really?"

Do you remember the first time you read any of Shakespeare's Sonnets?

Perhaps receiving your own copy of the volume was an important occasion?

I have a very sweet copy, given to me as a gift.

The volume is small which seemed surprising to me, for some reason I think of the Sonnets and Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal as belonging to the same category.

My copy of 'Fluers du Mal' is cumbersome, with each poem in both French and in English.  My sonnets can fit into a pocket, yet the copy is hard back, and elegantly printed.

Of course I have many incorrect impressions formed by the committee of me, myself and I.  I still think of Baudelaire's title as 'Flowers of Death' although the title translates to 'Flowers of Evil'.

Mal- mort- I was a teenager I tell myself dismissively.

The person who gave me the Sonnets almost overshadows the book in my mind.  Sometimes I am irritated that a book I love is tainted by this strong association.

More so because I have this feeling he bought multiple copies of the Sonnets and gave them to multiple people in his life.  Of course, gazing back along the many years, I should really just settle to the fact that a gift is just a gift, and a book is just a book and let the teenage angst fade away.

Why am I bothering to put so many words out into the sphere- Yesterday, Zok, Edith and Sofia and I went to see Rufus perform here:

http://www.norrkopingssymfoniorkester.se/kalender.asp/lid/153734

Rufus has written music set to various Sonnets, I am sad to say I can't tell you which ones, I do not have the type of discipline that allows for remembering large passages of poetry, or well, even the pin code to my bank card.

Each sonnet was first read out loud in Swedish- I was distracted by my super power to interpret one of each nine of the words.

I was struck, seeing Rufus up there as the symphony swelled up behind his voice, just how composed and brave an artist he is.  I have known other singers with aspirations towards Opera or Symphony, thinking their fame provided the in to go where ever they fancied.  But that isn't true, a name that can generate money does help- but there is a lot of work, and skill that Rufus backs up his aspirations with.  

The night was a bit of a happy blur.

The town was pretty but we did not linger.

The symphony hall was blue, blue velvet tiered seats.

Dinner was excellent and long and yet I felt I had no time.

Did I say 'Thank You' properly?

I wish for the self control and skill of a Victorian hostess, making sure all have equal share in the conversation.

 

 

"...you are not the only choo-choo to be left out in the rain..."

My favorite thing about blogging is that I can look up where I was in previous years.  Also- even though I rarely believe anyone is reading besides myself and Zok (when he is away)- my writing is better than when I was younger because I edit myself for an imaginary reading audience.  While my journals are in truth frenetic, and lacking in details.  When I glance back to the early 1980s, most of the time I do not know about whom I am writing.  "Dear teenaged self, you will know many boys named Josh, trying adding in a last name occasionally."

I recently went back through the 'May'(s) and found that 'Star Trek' came out in May of 2009, and now May of 2013 the second one is out.  In 2009, Zok and I went to the 'Gold Class' cinema for the first time.  Gold Class is a Zok thing, not a Colleen thing.  My perfect cinema being that strange, roofless, outdoor cinema we found in Croatia, or any Alamo cinema, or even our independent local here.  But of course I am happy to go along as Zok does the same for me.
Our ticket prices were about nine times what I remember paying for a matinee as a kid, and and seven times what I paid as a young adult.  Amazing.
Apparently our gold class cinema now runs a 'classic' movie one a month, at the low low price of $30 a ticket.  The ticket seller looked stumped when I asked if the print was digital or not.
 

We leave for Sweden in two days.  I have had a sudden panic that I should have cleaned out my closets in a more thorough manner.  I did move shoes and clothing to vacuum but did I completely empty out, wash, and air out the closets? NO! I did not.

I try to be very casual on the rare occasion that someone asks what it is like to go back and forth - to leave homes empty for long months- but truthfully the experience has a certain amount of stress.

I have only conceded on having 'two' of a few things- such as hairdryers.

I mean I can not have two complete sets of make-up- this like food, spoils.

I agonize over which jacket will go with the most outfits, the same goes for shoes.
Although I started a small bookshelf in Sweden, I long to take about twelve kilos of books with me.  I will however, only take one.  Then I will agonize a bit about leaving it behind in Sweden when I return.
I wish I could take my massage table (ha! remember that old gem? Me the masseuse?)- I really, really want to take my portable 45 player and my favorite 45s.
23 kilos in luggage allowance seems like a lot until you think about packing for months.

Once again I have had about a month of winter but not the deepest or darkest month of winter- and now I return to spring.

 
 

"...a thousand dreams that would awake me..."

I suppose one can give Tasmania the credit of admitting to its loses or shortcomings. The image and sparse left overs (video of the last captive) of the Tasmanian Tiger are everywhere. The tiger is on our license plates, beer labels, used in commercials, the video displays which are now all much larger and projected onto walls in the museum still have the last known, live tiger footage running full time. Just as the sad, worn out, badly stuffed leopards in the museum are to tell you that once leopards came with a circus to town, only to die "mysteriously".  The exhibits to tell you about the convicts, the indigenous people, and the whaling trade- all point out the cruelty from our modern perspectives in bold writing- lest anyone was to try and point it out before they, the experts do themselves.  Just as in town there are pictures and storyboards that tell you what was historic- but now missing on that space.  Or one of my favorites: These Zoo gates are to show you there was once a zoo.

I went with Fran (I suppose she is a bit of a captive audience- as she will be staying with us in Sweden and perhaps feels obliged...) to the re-opened and spruced up town Museum.  It is much nicer- on par with the big cities now in my opinion- well maybe not for content but I for one, like that as Fran pointed out a lot of the art is from Tasmanian residents.

We meant to spend time in the Arboretum but we were really both too hungry to linger there.

I would like to write that my going out- clicked me into high gear- but it did not.
I really just want to hang about and read.  Which is perfectly fine except for my own battle within myself with guilt about everything I should be doing- (learning Swedish!, organizing cupboards!, running five miles!,).

This time next week I'll be at the airport and on my way to Stockholm WITH Zok (gratefully I am getting really spoiled by going on all my long flights with him).

I want Zok to make us some outdoor seating just like the museums!  Surely he can.