Memoirous

My days in Skene were centered around Ulrika and her family. Time here is very fluid and the most important thing is to relax, because eventually something will happen, people will gather their things, start a project at midnight, or simply sit around a table as the room grows dark and they light candles while we continue to chat. I've come to find over my years of travel that the people I collect and know are not “typical.” Yesterday started with a typical Swedish breakfast at a point sometime before noon. Typical in the sense that they emptied out the refrigerator onto the table. There were tea choices, juice options, and, of course, 3 or 4 cheeses, meats, and fish tin tins along with spreads and an array of toppings. Then there was the bread–three or four different kinds. There is no stopping the Swedish breakfast train. After eating we went to the second-hand store. It's not just me, but everyone loves to get a deal. I found more things for my daughter and grandsons. Then w...

When Ulrika mentioned we would leave early, I had my own idea. She just meant before 2 pm. AFTER the Swedish breakfast. They had prepared their camper or caravan for me to sleep in. It was absolutely perfect. My own potty, electric cooker for tea, and a cozy bed. I felt like the New Zealand author Janet Frame in the dramatized bio movie, Angel at my Table (very last scene). So because we had such a late dinner, this a.m. we had what was intended as our after dinner (last night's) snack. Nevertheless, a full smorgasbord. Ulrika said before we depart (noon?) we'll have a second breakfast with eggs and bacon to hopefully catch up. I'm personally not sure I can eat a second breakfast after all that I had at the ender/starter meal. After eating again we left for Stockholm around 2. We stopped at a roadside plaza for the restroom and to climb around in an abandoned castle. I know, not what you'd expect in the US. It was modest, with a tower and several rooms, built in the mid...

  Friday, September 5 Tranas to Boras to Skene, meeting up with Ulrika. This a.m Lotta came downstairs in her robe saying she was going to jump in the lake. I declined to join her. She relished the idea it would be cold. These Nords! So calm, so practical. Let's see. I started my trip picking up a package at my hostel from Lotta of trekking poles and a folding knife and a nondescript envelope of money. Approximately $50 cash, since I couldn't get any in the States before leaving. I was to pay her back after getting to Tranas and pulling out currency. My train left Stockholm station so early, my plan was to open the package before boarding and leave the box for trash. I was reminded of the opening to the old TV show, Mission Impossible, my mission if I chose to accept it, was to hike Kungsleden. I accept. So my trip began with intrigue, the feeling of subterfuge, working undercover. Lotta's mission if she chose to accept it was to get me to the bus station in Granna on time ...

Perhaps by the time you are reading this I am already in the Arctic Circle in northern Sweden, Lapland! The weather in central Michigan took an abrupt change: the heat broke. Cool mornings made me think of what it will be like to hike in the grassy valleys and birch wood forests. I’m a bit worried about my clothing choices. Layers are always best—but will I need more than just one of everything?? I try to remind myself that I’ll be working and creating my own heat. After my hike I train to Tranas a sweet little town on the edge of Lake Sommen where I participate in an international arts festival: Tranas at the Fringe. There still isn’t much at the website concerning times/places/info on the workshop, but it’ll be on Flash Memoir. Hopefully people will turn out. The last part of my itinerary takes me to Skene, another small town near Gothenburg. I’ve visited here before when in Sweden to see a dear friend from my days in community. I’m looking forward to catching up and seeing t...

ACCHHH!! That chaotic feeling in the pit of the stomach when you’ve committed big bucks and are not quite sure of what the future holds. Of stepping out over the ledge. I booked a flight to Sweden for the fall with the hope of hiking the Kungsleden (King’s Trail), southern terminus, Hemavan–Ammarnäs, 78 kilometres in total, I chose this segment of the trail, 6 days walking, 5 nights, 8–19 kilometers per day, as both beginning and ending points are served by the SJ train. I’d love to do the whole trail someday, but wanted to get my feet wet (not literally, but maybe it’ll happen). I’ll stay in the mountain huts and not bring a tent in order to cut down on weight. Also I don’t want to lug a tent around after the hike as I plan to visit friends. I haven’t been back to Sweden since 2018 and before that I first visited in 2014. Each time I’ve hiked and biked while there, so I do have a feel for terrain and weather. Nevertheless, the Kungsleden lies within the Arctic Circle and want to ...

I just read over the galley proof for my short story in Two Thirds North, coming out Spring 2025. I worked closely with Adnan Mahmutovic and a student editor. They were GREAT! I definitely felt the work of a close hand in revising the piece. So close that at one point I had my cursor placed to make an edit and suddenly there was another cursor there—from across the ocean and time zones in Stockholm, reading along and seeing my changes. It was weird and surreal. I sort of wish I had that little cursor following me around now as I work on my hard big revision project. This fall I intend to go to Sweden to 1) see friends, 2) hike the Kungsladen, and 3) do a few Flash Memoir Workshops at Writer Festivals. The itinerary is just now getting set up and is a bowl of mush right now. Hoping by end of February things will come together—and then pray for a great air sale. Let me know—both of my readers if you have Scandinavian connections . . .

If you like what you read here, please click in the upper left corner and become a follower. Recent posts will come into your email box. That way we can start a conversation about NOTHING! And, don’t forget my reading on Tuesday, April 30 at 7 pm EASTERN with other contributors Of Rust and Glass. Print copies will be available April 30,  go here:  https://ofrustandglass.com/ ZOOM for writing contributors. April 30, Tuesday, at 7 pm EASTERN time. Go here for ZOOM link:  https://fb.me/e/ 4mjb9vL5t My story is called The Yellow House loosely, and I mean loosely, based upon a visit I made to Sweden in 2014 . I keep a mental and physical notebook of story ideas—often very random, never knowing how I might tie something together to make a narrative, a beginning, middle, and end. All writers, unless they are liars, must confess that real life speaks into their writing life. So I hope the real life people, my friends, don’t think this story is about them. After reading...

For readers of this blog, both of you, you know I like metafiction. Well, there is a film within this film, just as there is an island within an island. The film references Bergman’s films, which become a sort of jumping off point for the film, where about half way through the main characters, both script writers and directors, begin to tell another story. Confused yet? Just hang in there. Because I’m about to tell you what I think the movie is about—or the theory it provoked. I’m a writer who was once married to a writer. Just like in the movie, we were both at different stages of our career. BUT, and this is an important BUT . . . women who choose to have children have chosen to put their art aside at least for a bit. The adage that we can have it all, well, that person was in lala-land. It is possible to be a mother and create, but what I’m talking about is the person who desires to devote themselves full-time to art and at the same time mother. Yes, there are nannies and gr...

First, let me say I’ve been to Bergman’s Island. All by accident. I was in Gotland, a place I hadn’t first planned on. You see in 2014 I went to Sweden to see some old friends. While visiting with Lotta in Tronas she said to go to Gotland, it made more sense to insert it into my itinerary than my original plan. So I quickly booked tickets on a ferry leaving from a town south of Stockholm, went on a hike, got lost, almost missed my train, arrived late for the ferry, ran to catch it, and was the last passenger aboard. The man in the safety vest closed the door behind me. Or was it a gangplank? Anyway, I rented a bicycle in Gotland, even though it was after the tourist season and at first seemed impossible. It was only the second week in September and the skies were blue and the weather wonderful. Nevertheless, many restaurants and accommodations had shuttered. I was given a map of the island and stopped at little churches and a local harvest festival on my first day. The harvest fe...

I'm missing mid-summer in Sweden. A year ago I spent one of the most magical evenings I can remember amongst friends and strangers in the hinterlands of Sweden dancing around a "pole" and yapping like a frog (I have no idea) in celebration of the longest day of the year. Summer in Chicago can suck and it certainly isn't getting off to a good start: temps in the low 60s and drizzly rain. We've had weeks of rain now. I really miss riding my bike way into what should be night, into what is normally sunset--yet the sun is high and bright. I miss cleaning up at the water's edge and sleeping in the cool dusk--falling asleep before the sun goes down. I long for long summer days in Sweden.

What I remember most about my Scanlandia bike ride from earlier this summer: Crossing the mountains Crossing fjords on ferries Impossibly high bridges Moose meat stroganoff Long, slanty light The sun Wishing for the sun to come out Wishing for the sun to go down Winding down on switchbacks, thinking       this could be the last day of my life Mostly what I remember is the fear             a knife-edge, precipice-inducing fear             the awful feeling you get                         when lost                         when there are no maps         ...

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean-- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down -- who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life?             Mary Oliver The Summer Day This is the time of year w...

If you’re like me, the idea of traveling with a bike and all your stuff seems overwhelming. In my armchair, in front of a computer there is no simple way to figure it out. Maybe a crystal ball. . . . I first looked into the idea of an international bike trip when considering meeting up with friends/family in France. They weren’t going to be available the whole time and I may as well think about doing my own thing for a week. I knew I wanted to see Mount St. Michel, so spun an itinerary off of that. I found 2 or 3 places that offered bike hire for a week. The trip ended up not taking place, but planted the idea in my head. Then when going to Sweden in September 2015 I Googled the top 10 sights to see while in Sweden and up popped the Göta Canal. I then referenced places to hire a bike and, voila!, it seemed do-able. I never once considered early September to be out-of-season. The whole town of Sjötorp was closed down or so it seemed. I eventually found a small grocery t...

So as I mentioned in my last post in 2013 a friend moved away and I was left trying to figure out if I would continue long-distance cycle touring. Pursuing it alone. A test trip was a ride I planned from Grand Rapids to Chicago the third week in April 2014. It didn’t start very auspiciously. I forgot to pack my front wheel in the box, so that when unpacking at the Grand Rapids bus station I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. A phone call to emergency UPS the forgotten wheel, costing as much as the gas saved if I’d just driven there and back. Then the day I was to leave there was a lot of rain. I really wanted to postpone. I did delay until noon. That night I stealth camped by Lake Michigan and the wind was ferocious. The next day on the Blue Star Highway working my way down the coast it was cold. I remember trying to swing my leg over the top bar and being unable to straddle it. I simply had too many layers on. I was off itinerary and stayed that second night in a woo...

Once Upon a Time: Tranås, Sweden I blindly followed Lotta. We were on a bike ride around Lake Sommen. The roads reminded me of driveways, tiny little lanes, some dirt-packed. I couldn’t imagine cars navigating these narrow byways. At some point even Lotta was lost; she stopped to consult with a farmer. Of course I didn’t know what they were saying. Sometimes when traveling I’d often feel an out-of-body experience, as if I was observing myself reacting. This is just one example of how travel transports us out of comfort zones; everything is new and slightly off-kilter. We continued on, pumping up a sudden, steep rise where we entered an emerald forest. Earth and sky were this amazing mossy green. Spongy moss carpeted the forest floor while the tree canopy sheltered us, Only patches of blue sky showed through. Even the tinkling stream nearby gleamed green. Eerily dark, fecund, musky—all my senses were attuned. Lotta explained to me that we were in a mushroom forest and that th...

In 2014 I went on a solo trip to Sweden. It didn’t seem like such a big deal to go by myself—more like an adventure. Until the airlines lost my luggage, until I couldn’t explain to the bus driver where I wanted to go, until my credit card stopped working. I could go on and on. Right now I am stressing about my upcoming trip to England, September 1 – 26, where I plan to ride my bike from the top o’Scotland to the bottom of Cornwall, Land’s End. A journey of over 1,000 miles. I can think of an endless stream of things that might go wrong. And, likely will. But as I think back over Sweden and that trip two years ago, I had a fabulous time. The weather was perfect. I managed to meet up with 2 of my friends and have a great time re-connecting. I ate wonderful food, and fell in love with Konditori cozy cafés that sell great pastries and coffee. For the most part people spoke English—why don’t I speak 2 or 3 languages!? And all those problems: the luggage got delivered the...