Mirabelle Plums and Memories: The Strength of Friendship

 

I enjoyed picking mirabelle plums for a friend of mine; I have known her since we were seven. She loves them.

She has an autoimmune disease and has already lost the ability to walk and move her hands.

I visited her yesterday, and we were talking about all the exciting road trips we took together (with two other friends) in our late teens and twenties. She said that all those memories help her get through her long days – she visualises the things we did together.

She often says to me and our other two friends: “Girls, you must walk as much as you can! Walk also for me.”

I have learnt so much from her. And I am grateful that I can, in small ways, brighten her moments and bring a little joy to her days.

The Only Thing I Truly Need: On Grief, Health, and Gentle Words

 

I’ve been feeling unwell throughout July, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time in doctors’ waiting rooms. It’s nothing too serious – just a virus and a viral eye infection. But still, once again, I was reminded of the one thing I truly need: health.

Yesterday, while waiting for a medical examination, I was reading a book when I overheard two women in their early seventies. They had gone to school together and hadn’t seen each other in a decade. I wasn’t intentionally listening, but one of them was speaking so loudly that I couldn’t help but hear parts of their conversation.

One of the women had sadly lost her husband three years ago. The other asked her about his illness and how long it had been since he passed. The widow’s voice was filled with sorrow – I could feel that he had meant the world to her.

Immediately, the other woman began offering advice: “You have to be strong. You need to find new activities to fill your days. You must keep busy.”

She then asked how many children and grandchildren she had. (The answer was two and four.)

And with that, she concluded: “Oh, that’s good. That means you’re busy.”

But who knows? Her children may live far away, busy with their own lives, while she sits alone with her grief.

It made me think about the profound lessons infertility, suffering, and countless thoughtless comments have taught me over the years.

That sometimes, the most precious thing you can say is simply:
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how hard this must be.”

 

 

P.S. In the photo: I picked some early white apples from my husband’s family garden, and a few early red apples were a gift from my granny. I turned them into the most delicious apple and cinnamon jam you can imagine.

No children. Just us. And it was more than enough.

 

I visited my granny yesterday. My uncle and his wife happened to come by as well. It felt good, at first — being with family, chatting about summer plans, soaking in the warmth of familiar company.

Then, without warning, my uncle began to speak about their seaside holiday. “It was wonderful,” he said, beaming. “Especially because we brought the granddaughters along. A husband and wife on their own — that’s just not enough. You need grandchildren to truly enjoy the holidays.”

His words were matter-of-fact,  cheerful. His wife chimed in, eager to recount all the joyful things they had done with the little ones — the laughter, the games, the simple happiness.

And me?
I did nothing.
I sat in silence, struck by the sheer thoughtlessness of it all. How wrapped up people can be in their own joys, blind to the quiet sorrows seated right beside them. How carelessly words can fall, without the faintest thought of who might be catching them.

I’ve always believed in thinking before speaking. Sadly, many seem to prefer the opposite.

It’s been 24 hours. The remark still lingers — like an echo that won’t fade.

What helps me now is this:

a) Writing it down.
b) Holding onto a happy memory. I want to share one of mine with you — a beautiful Matsumoto castle. More info: https://www.matsumoto-castle.jp/eng

How I loved travelling through Japan. How we both did — my husband and I.
No children. Just us. And it was more than enough.

 

Japan, Castles, Shinkansen trains—and a bit of me I thought I’d lost

 

I have just returned from travelling around Japan. It was the first visit for both of us, and we absolutely loved it.

I'm sharing the most beautiful sight I saw: Himeji Castle. It is quite literally breathtaking.

More information: https://www.himejicastle.jp/en/  

I could write for hours about what we loved most about Japan.

What impressed me the most was how kind, gentle, and hardworking the Japanese people are – and how incredibly safe Japan feels.

We bought a 14-day Japan Rail Pass and took many journeys on the shinkansen. We really enjoyed riding them!

Before this trip, we hadn’t travelled long-distance for over ten years (for various reasons), and I was a bit nervous – the world had changed since our travelling days. But we were absolutely thrilled to discover that the spirit of adventure is still very much alive in us.

Din veg / Your way

 

I’ve just read a book by Erling Kagge called Walking, and I really enjoyed it.

So, when I had the opportunity to visit the Slovenian seaside with my husband, who had to work there all day, I decided to spend the whole day walking. It turned out to be an absolutely perfect day. At first, it felt a bit strange – I was almost the only one walking alone. There were so many families with children, couples, and groups of friends.

But once I embraced being on my own, I truly began to enjoy it. I walked nearly 20 kilometres along the seaside. 

Here are a few photos I’d like to share with you.

Do you see the signpost on the first photo? Translation: White Rocks (to the right) and Bay of the Moon (to the left). I love the names of those places so much. The town to the right is beautiful Izola. City in the distance: Trieste.

 

***

In the book Walking I came across the Norvegian poet, Olav H. Hauge and his poem Din veg / Your way. Here is part of the poem (translated by deepl). I love it a lot!

 

Din veg

Ingen kan varda den vegen
du skal gå
ut i det ukjende,
ut i det blå.
Dette er din veg.
Berre du skal gå han.  

Your way

No-one can tell you the way
you will go
into the unknown,
into the blue.
This is your path.
Only you will walk it.

A haiku and a walk in the forest

 

Birdsong fills the morning,
I walk on soft forest ground,
Step by step, toward a new day.

 

 

I am sharing with you my very first haiku, and I hope you like it.
The photos were taken during today's morning walk.

I recently read the book Shinrin Yoku: The Art and Science of Forest Bathing, and I loved it. I realized that I was already doing everything recommended, except writing haikus.

So I decided to write one. While I was writing it, a beautiful black kite flew very close to me—it was a magnificent moment.

It was a moment that felt just perfect—I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Without any regrets and without any sadness. 

Living fully in the present, caring for both body and soul.

It’s not the life I once planned, but over the years I’ve learned to love it just as it is.

 

I stand by Ukraine

 

I stand by Ukraine.