Me, among people

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I’m alone a lot these days. I spoke to two people this weekend, one of which was the guy at the store, the other my friend Aislinn. They are both really nice people, mind you, but I was thinking about how this time 3 years ago, I lived with a man, and the only time I wasn’t surrounded by someone was on my 15 minute way to work through early morning San Francisco. For the rest of the day there was someone there, by my side, even at night. Continue reading “Me, among people”

The day Paul Walker died

DSC01935The day Paul Walker died we were in New York City. We had dinner reservations at Acquavit that night, where we found ourselves indulging in everything tasty Scandinavia may have to offer amidst warm light and warmer service. There were plates that married tapioca pearls and quail egg, langoustine and sea urchin, sardines and elderberries, foie gras and radish, cod and sunchoke, squab and apple, white chocolate and a bird’s nest, smiles and hands holding each other across the table. Continue reading “The day Paul Walker died”

Memories I take with me

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When I get up in the morning at 6.30 am it is still dark outside. I jog downhill to the gym through San Francisco’s moist and cold, and it smells of fried bacon on some street corners, and burnt wood on others. I hold my maze spray in hand, because – you never know.

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Home again

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I am sitting at the Copenhagen airport, clinging on to what is probably my third cup of coffee this morning—who’s keeping count at this point—in the hope it might heal the current state of pain my brain is suffering after only 3 hours of sleep last night. Memories of the week at home sooth my state of mind. Besides running endless errands, going home in my case always means indulging in delicious meals, indulging in many pleasant conversations with my grandparents, about the past and the future, and about how to live in the present despite them both, and finally, indulging in cuddles with the world’s cutest puppy, Madame Flo.

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Week 28

Cookie Butter Monday Notes

Scandinavians are peculiar in many ways, and I say that with the utmost love and affection towards humankind of the Northern European variety. After having lived in Copenhagen for some years, as well as in the unofficial capital of Sweden that is Barcelona—I met so many Swedes there it made me wonder whether anyone was actually left in Sweden—part of me likes to secretly consider herself scandinavianized. Driving to IKEA in California makes me feel homey and whole and that’s a sensation brought forward not only by hotdogs you get to top yourself and $1 soft serve cones.

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