I'm rediscovering my old love, Porcupine Tree. Had already forgotten that they released an album last year. I knew about it, but never got the chance to listen. Fixing that mistake now.
Back at my parents place after two weeks, a bit of fresh air and walking around with bare feet. Have to go back to Tartu on Thursday and I don't want to! It's too nice here. Morning coffee on the balcony accompanied by birdsong, my cat and dog. The dog behind the gate, though, because him and the kitty don't get along.
I've started the course and I'm absolutely loving it! The people doing the classes know what they're talking about and the overall atmosphere in the group is good, mostly, because most of the people there know a fair bit about the whole topic already. Although I must say that 30 women in one room is never good, because someone always has something to say, even when there's really nothing to say. Basically they cannot shut the fuck up : )
Today at home it's just me, my two sisters and Alex. Da's working and ma's at a health spa somewhere for the week. It's kind of nice, we have the lunch at our grandparents place, go about our own business all day long, simply relax. No pressure. There always seems to be more to do when the parents are around, but we don't think about it when they're not.
They're building another house next to our one at the moment. Our parents are. So when that's ready, mum and dad are moving in there and leaving this one for us, the kids. It will be cool, living with your parents as your neighbours. I can already picture myself waving at them, working in the garden, from our balcony while having a glass of wine, asking if they'd water our flowers and mow our lawn as well while they're at it. : D Still, it will probably be the other way around.
Cigarette time now.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Good old times.
I really enjoy these little moments that stick with you, however meaningless. Nice people. Emotions connected with strangers. Observing.
This young man. I used to be on the same bus with him quite often. Eyes meet. Every time he got out one stop before me. Jalaka. One day I smiled at him after he left the bus and looked at me from the wet asphalt.
I'm walking fast, as if in a hurry, avoiding the puddles. To get home faster, I need to cross one that is almost the size of a small pond. I find a good edge, jump on an unmelted block of ice and from there.. splash! I'm in the mud, laughing mad! Never happier!
I love not being able to find two socks from the same pair.
Don't you think that you should meet all the people in your life while playing the game of turning the blanket around and all of a sudden you're being told: "You have sexy toes!"
Why do I always look the best when I'm planning to spend the night in, listening to music and reading a book?
I love it when I'm on the window, it's in the middle of the night and it's dead quiet on the right and you can hear the snow melting due to the rain coming down on the left.
I love waking up and seeing someone has thought of me while I was asleep.
I love (and this one's for you, Jev!) having a cigarette and a cup of coffee on the window while it's lashing down outside!
.......
This young man. I used to be on the same bus with him quite often. Eyes meet. Every time he got out one stop before me. Jalaka. One day I smiled at him after he left the bus and looked at me from the wet asphalt.
I'm walking fast, as if in a hurry, avoiding the puddles. To get home faster, I need to cross one that is almost the size of a small pond. I find a good edge, jump on an unmelted block of ice and from there.. splash! I'm in the mud, laughing mad! Never happier!
I love not being able to find two socks from the same pair.
Don't you think that you should meet all the people in your life while playing the game of turning the blanket around and all of a sudden you're being told: "You have sexy toes!"
Why do I always look the best when I'm planning to spend the night in, listening to music and reading a book?
I love it when I'm on the window, it's in the middle of the night and it's dead quiet on the right and you can hear the snow melting due to the rain coming down on the left.
I love waking up and seeing someone has thought of me while I was asleep.
I love (and this one's for you, Jev!) having a cigarette and a cup of coffee on the window while it's lashing down outside!
.......
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Feel that, see that..
The smell of freshly cut grass.
The colour of sunset in a pine forest.
The taste of fresh strawberries from grandmothers garden.
The sound of grasshoppers in a warm night.
The feeling of dewy morning grass against my feet.
My favourite summer.
The colour of sunset in a pine forest.
The taste of fresh strawberries from grandmothers garden.
The sound of grasshoppers in a warm night.
The feeling of dewy morning grass against my feet.
My favourite summer.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Take me to the sea!
Anyone? I miss the ocean! Never understood how it´s possible before it happened to me. Surely, brought up in the middle of nowhere, completely landlocked, what do you expect. Listening to Anto´ and it´s making me melancholic, reminds me of the last night I went partying in Clonakilty. Or to be exact, the morning after, walking home from a strange houseparty, having the best fifteen minutes alone with the town. Just me and Clonakilty. You know that when it´s time to leave, you see everything in a new, usually even a better light.
There´s new moods in the room! I´m getting dancy with Elder.
Sipping coffee from a big red cup, having a ciggy on the window. It´s very.. how can I put it.. I suppose it´s as cliché as you can get? Okay, maybe not that extreme, but close enough.
Had my first day working in the pub yesterday. Serious shake in the hands, I kept doing the same mistakes, but all in all, I suppose it wasn´t half bad. I still seriously suck at pulling a pint of lager. It´s not even a pint, actually, it´s 0.5 l and we only have 3 beertaps. I never got a hang of it, even after working in a pub in Ireland. Although it was only for a month, should have been enough time for practicing the fine art of it. Wish we had Guinness here, I´m good at pulling a nice pint of stout.
It´s well cool working there, though, because before leaving Estonia, I practically lived in that pub for three years. I´m really thinking of organising live music nights there. The place is tiny, but they used to have musicians there every now and again, it´s possible. Should ask Gavin if he´d come and do a sitting room session for us. :)
It´s well nice to be back in the "big city". Not even half a city, really, with it´s 102,414 citizens. 102,415 now that I´m back. Tartu is the second biggest place in Estonia and it is the place i´m proud to call my home, although I spent most of my life 100 km southwards before coming here 5 years ago.
The first thing after I got back here on Saturday was to take a walk around Toome Hill. Tarbatu, the ancient fort built on it at around the 6. – 8. century, is where Tartu began. Now it´s a huge, pleasant park that seems to get you anywhere in the city you happen to be going. As soon as the grass is dry, it´s also full of people emerging in all sorts of social activities, mostly drinking.
Well, I´m off to ’doing stuff’ or ’running errands’ now, whichever tickles your fancy. They´d better not call me in for work today, I need a day to recover and lose the shaking in my hands.
Huh!
PS: going to the market and talking to the old ladies really pays off, one of them sent me a bottle of homemade wine last Saturday.
There´s new moods in the room! I´m getting dancy with Elder.
Sipping coffee from a big red cup, having a ciggy on the window. It´s very.. how can I put it.. I suppose it´s as cliché as you can get? Okay, maybe not that extreme, but close enough.
Had my first day working in the pub yesterday. Serious shake in the hands, I kept doing the same mistakes, but all in all, I suppose it wasn´t half bad. I still seriously suck at pulling a pint of lager. It´s not even a pint, actually, it´s 0.5 l and we only have 3 beertaps. I never got a hang of it, even after working in a pub in Ireland. Although it was only for a month, should have been enough time for practicing the fine art of it. Wish we had Guinness here, I´m good at pulling a nice pint of stout.
It´s well cool working there, though, because before leaving Estonia, I practically lived in that pub for three years. I´m really thinking of organising live music nights there. The place is tiny, but they used to have musicians there every now and again, it´s possible. Should ask Gavin if he´d come and do a sitting room session for us. :)
It´s well nice to be back in the "big city". Not even half a city, really, with it´s 102,414 citizens. 102,415 now that I´m back. Tartu is the second biggest place in Estonia and it is the place i´m proud to call my home, although I spent most of my life 100 km southwards before coming here 5 years ago.
The first thing after I got back here on Saturday was to take a walk around Toome Hill. Tarbatu, the ancient fort built on it at around the 6. – 8. century, is where Tartu began. Now it´s a huge, pleasant park that seems to get you anywhere in the city you happen to be going. As soon as the grass is dry, it´s also full of people emerging in all sorts of social activities, mostly drinking.
Well, I´m off to ’doing stuff’ or ’running errands’ now, whichever tickles your fancy. They´d better not call me in for work today, I need a day to recover and lose the shaking in my hands.
Huh!
PS: going to the market and talking to the old ladies really pays off, one of them sent me a bottle of homemade wine last Saturday.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Such a perfect day
You are so full of positivity that you already feel happy for the people who get to share this day with you. If only for a minute. You feel like you've found the meaning of your life and it is to make people spot all the pretty little nonsense-seeming details that eventually paint the big beautiful picture that is their life. You feel like you can not hold this feeling inside you for another minute or you're simply going to run outside and tell the first soul you see, shout out that it's perfect!
You wake up at half six in the morning with a bit of a shock that you actually want to jump out of bed straight away so you do it. The grass is still dewy, but you know that the sun has been shining strong for a while. It will be another hot day.
Your friends who have stayed the night come back to life about an hour later, you have already cleaned up the empty bottles and slightly embarrassing display of general boozy night debris. You feel better although your parents have already seen it and they only laugh at you, you're still young and this time there was no baby sleeping in the house. besides they were happy that I woke up at home and didn't stay somewhere else again.
You have a coffee with your friends, then a second one, a chat, a cigarette, maybe a bite to eat. You don't feel like eating this early, really.
Your friends leave and you have some me-time, old newspapers, juice, Jeff Buckley, Milosh, Gavin Moore.
You give a hand to your dad, lifting heavy wooden scaffolding, feeling loved when he gives you his working gloves so you wouldn't get splinters. His palms are too hardened for that already or so he says.
Your mum arrives home from the market and gives you a mission. Take the lilies and the watering can and visit the graveyard. You grab them and set off in your light summerdress floating around you but you don't get far before your neighbour from the house across the road, a nice lady in her seventies, calls you over for a chat. You haven't met her in a few years and she barely recognizes you, you couldn't remember her more clearly, though. She's got so old. Deep lines in her face, showing her real age, but in her heart she hasn’t aged a day. You talk about flowers and she tells you stories of your grandmother, whose grave you're going to visit. How she used to tell your neighbour what a good girl you are. And how much you read. She was proud of you. Sometimes you think whether she would still be proud of you now, nine years after her passing away.
One way to get to the graveyard is to take the walk through the woods. The birdsong and the mosquitoes and the grasshoppers and the rays of sun shining in through the trees, the wild strawberries and the blueberries. You remember how you used to pick them and put them on a straw, just like beads. Then you went to your grandmother and you put the berries in a bowl and your grandmother would take out the small 3-litre container, which she’s had for as long as you can remember, it’s always been full of milk, too, as it is this time, and generously, with a scoop, lifts milk on your biggest treasures. Every now and again, you might feel like adding sugar to your berries, too, but I think not this time. Not in this memory.
You find the burial plot and arrange the lilies into the vases. Then you take the watering can and head to one of the hydrants on the side of the so-called main road of the cemetery. It’s a beautiful place, really, in the middle of a smallish forest. Big trees guarding the sleep of our ancestors. The sounds in there make you want to sit down and have a moment with your thoughts, or to just listen to the wind in the treetops and if you’re quiet enough, a woodpecker arrives and maybe a squirrel. You know why you didn’t take the dog today.
On your way back the rusty iron crosses, scattered around, unaligned, surrounded by high grass, forest flowers and some trees. No one ever steps there, this is real sacred ground. Who is buried there - even that no one knows any more. Rays of sun from between the trees are giving that piece of land a magical glow. You don’t even want to leave through the gates that are now right in front of you.
You almost run to your grandparents place, sit them down and ask them to tell you stories. You have heard them all a hundred times before, but today they all sound brand new to your ears.
You wake up at half six in the morning with a bit of a shock that you actually want to jump out of bed straight away so you do it. The grass is still dewy, but you know that the sun has been shining strong for a while. It will be another hot day.
Your friends who have stayed the night come back to life about an hour later, you have already cleaned up the empty bottles and slightly embarrassing display of general boozy night debris. You feel better although your parents have already seen it and they only laugh at you, you're still young and this time there was no baby sleeping in the house. besides they were happy that I woke up at home and didn't stay somewhere else again.
You have a coffee with your friends, then a second one, a chat, a cigarette, maybe a bite to eat. You don't feel like eating this early, really.
Your friends leave and you have some me-time, old newspapers, juice, Jeff Buckley, Milosh, Gavin Moore.
You give a hand to your dad, lifting heavy wooden scaffolding, feeling loved when he gives you his working gloves so you wouldn't get splinters. His palms are too hardened for that already or so he says.
Your mum arrives home from the market and gives you a mission. Take the lilies and the watering can and visit the graveyard. You grab them and set off in your light summerdress floating around you but you don't get far before your neighbour from the house across the road, a nice lady in her seventies, calls you over for a chat. You haven't met her in a few years and she barely recognizes you, you couldn't remember her more clearly, though. She's got so old. Deep lines in her face, showing her real age, but in her heart she hasn’t aged a day. You talk about flowers and she tells you stories of your grandmother, whose grave you're going to visit. How she used to tell your neighbour what a good girl you are. And how much you read. She was proud of you. Sometimes you think whether she would still be proud of you now, nine years after her passing away.
One way to get to the graveyard is to take the walk through the woods. The birdsong and the mosquitoes and the grasshoppers and the rays of sun shining in through the trees, the wild strawberries and the blueberries. You remember how you used to pick them and put them on a straw, just like beads. Then you went to your grandmother and you put the berries in a bowl and your grandmother would take out the small 3-litre container, which she’s had for as long as you can remember, it’s always been full of milk, too, as it is this time, and generously, with a scoop, lifts milk on your biggest treasures. Every now and again, you might feel like adding sugar to your berries, too, but I think not this time. Not in this memory.
You find the burial plot and arrange the lilies into the vases. Then you take the watering can and head to one of the hydrants on the side of the so-called main road of the cemetery. It’s a beautiful place, really, in the middle of a smallish forest. Big trees guarding the sleep of our ancestors. The sounds in there make you want to sit down and have a moment with your thoughts, or to just listen to the wind in the treetops and if you’re quiet enough, a woodpecker arrives and maybe a squirrel. You know why you didn’t take the dog today.
On your way back the rusty iron crosses, scattered around, unaligned, surrounded by high grass, forest flowers and some trees. No one ever steps there, this is real sacred ground. Who is buried there - even that no one knows any more. Rays of sun from between the trees are giving that piece of land a magical glow. You don’t even want to leave through the gates that are now right in front of you.
You almost run to your grandparents place, sit them down and ask them to tell you stories. You have heard them all a hundred times before, but today they all sound brand new to your ears.
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