Things my grandma taught me, lesson #1.

Dear Marc, I know you spent a lot of time with your grandma, growing up. Yesterday I went to see my own granny. She's 90 and tried to cheer me up as I told her I'm doing my best to get my driving back on track.

I don't really like driving, I'm scared. But thinking I will soon love it, I have to go on.

I only have two problems with driving

1. The speed. I like walking pace.

2. Other cars.

My granny listened to my bitching and then gave me her sound advice:

"Always wear a beautiful, big hat when you drive a car. I always did and it worked wonders. The other, mostly male drivers, let me drive first".

What did your grandma teach you?

Love from below the brim
-e

Summer conversations

Vacation conversation 1.

Me: Mom, did you actually shave your legs? They look so smooth!
Mom: No, I didn’t.
Me: But how come they’re so smooth then?
Mom: It comes from natural wear and tear. Plus the quality wasn’t all that great to begin with.
Me: The quality? The quality of you or of the leg hair?
Mom: Both.

Vacation conversation 2.

Mom: I’m old, tired and ugly. Do you still like me?
Dad: Of course. And on the bright side, you’re not fat.
Mom: That’s right. But you are!
Dad: I know, I’m old, fat, tired and ugly.
Mom: I like you like that.


Vacation conversation 3.

Me: What are you reading, honey?
A: The Odyssey
Me: Is it good?
A: Sure it is. Wherever he goes, Odysseus is massaged with oils by beautiful maidens. Then he wins battles and brags and talks about things that delight his manly heart. Every now and then, they all do drugs and eat Egyptian lotus flowers.
Me: Sorry for interrupting.

Notes from the countryside

Dear Marc, how are you? Are you on vacation? On your way to vacation? I’m a little bit more than half-way through.

We’re in the country side. Everyone loves it. The air is fresh, the water a fountain of youth, the wild strawberries ripe and life is a happy little cabaret, old chum. I’m the only one who’s having trouble adjusting. The country side, how are you supposed to cope?

I look at the birds, the grass, the trees. Ok. They’re nice. After five minutes I’m done. Let’s go back home. But noooo, it’s finally vacation time. Everyone else wants to stay around for weeks. Just relax they say.

But I can’t. I turn into vacation poison - a small, overheated red and sweaty bored person oozing discontent and lack of joy.















I tried. I picked blueberries. Buckets of wonderful, tasty blueberries, juicy and beautiful berries. I prepared a pie. Life is so great in the countryside. It took hours. In an effort to show my motherly love, I was just about to let Vanja sprinkle white chocolate over the pie before it hit the oven.

But just as the time came for sprinkling, Joel tipped the pie over and joyously watched the contents of the pie spread all over the somewhat dirty kitchen floor.

I tell you, I contemplated scooping it all up and baking it as it was.

But once, I was invited to a dinner where our lovely hostess dropped our joint dinner, a lasagna, on an old rug, cheese topping facing down. She cussed and then pulled a surprise on her hungry dinner guests. She simply turned rug and lasagna around, scraped the rug against the edge of the casserole and served us the adventurous dish.


















She had just cleaned the apartment, and I'm sure the rug was dirtfree. It was fine. We all survived. We just kept wondering if it might not had tasted better had we not known that the dinner had kissed the floor.

I did not want to let my friends wonder about stuff like that. I rinsed the berries from dirt and crust and started over again. As one of my friends said, ”these are exclusive berries, handpicked twice!”.

Such is life in the countryside. Blueberry pie often equals a catastrophe. It’s time to get back to the real world, which also makes me cry. But for other reasons.

Love

-e

I heart Katvig

Dear Marc, I hear Sofia is expecting. How lovely! You might be wondering what to bring for the upcoming showers. Don't be predictable. Don't give the little one only Little Marc items. Go Danish and delight both parent and child with Katvig wear. It's colorfun and comfortable. And as you can see, you and the rest of us oldies can wear Katvig too!













Love
-e

Almost back

Dear Marc, you must be missing your daily letters. You'll get new ones, starting the day after tomorrow. That would be Sunday.

love
-e

See you later

Dear Marc, it's July and I'm closing up. I'm going to the Finnish archipelago to marinate in salt seas, feast on rye and cheese and pick wild strawberries in the forest. I'll try to make it to Ivana Helsinki's Helsinki store, too.

If you, or anyone else would like to know when anything new gets posted here on LTMJ, simply mail me at emi@lovegun.net to get a mail. Write "I want more" in the subject line.

Hasta la vista, baby.
-e

ps. Standing in line before me today at the grocery store, was a small lady, perhaps 90 years old. She was a little crooked and kind of fragile, she looked somewhat like a small bird. She bought the usual - a roll of toilet paper, crackers, bananas, coffee, milk...and...a big slab of ostrich filet, which alone cost 14 dollars (even after the marked 30% discount).

It seemed almost kinky. Almost cannibalistic of her to buy another bird, in order to eat it. At the same time, I salute her. Who's to tell her now, at this age, what she should eat or not? Old people should only eat ostrich filet, and rinse it down with champagne. Old people rock. They lived the roaring 20's. When I'm 90, I'll treat you to some ostrich too. You'll be older, so try to stay healthy.