On a grey February Sunday

Valentine's Day is a day when the fairytale version of love is celebrated. Therefor, a poem that tells you what to do when you're stuck in a fairytale seems suitable:



The wisdom of Neil Gaiman seems indefinite.

Good luck!

Teenagers and words

Dear everybody living with, in one way or another, teenagers, and every now and then ending up getting frustrated by their behaviour,

may I offer one tiny piece of advice? It comes from once being a teenager, not really remembering anything of the things that must have happened, school and stuff, but remembering every single emotion, feeling, fear and frustration of it. It also comes from working with teenagers and young adults for more than *mumblemumblemumble* years, and also having the privilege to live with such people for, so far, almost ten years.

I may? Thank you. So, here it is:

Give them a few kind words.

Even if their behaviour drives you nuts, say a few kind words before sending them off to school. When they do kind things (which they do, all the time), mention it casually and kindly to show them you've noticed. You do mention when you've noticed them doing the other stuff, don't you? Balance is important, mention the kind things too. If they look nice, let them know. If they give you nice words, smile and be happy.

You'll never regret kind words, and they will carry them with them and the words will act like a shield towards teenage life's general awkardness.

Ok, that's all.

Kind words.

Congratulations

One of my favourite authors is getting married to one of my favourite artists. It's like a fairytale in so many ways.

On love

Just a few tables away from where I'm sitting. He's so much in love, he smiles at her, at everyone around, at the potted flowers, he’s just so full of smiles. I can see the stars flying around him, I can literally see them flying from his twinkling eyes to her.

There are no stars around her, and the smiles seem forced. When he leans forwards she leans backwards, when he leans backwards she relaxes. It’s like they are choreographed, but not together.

His stars brighten the entire restaurant, but when he gets up to leave the kiss lands on her cheek. He’s still smiling, strokes her hair and goes away, no dances away. He waves from the entrance and is gone. With him all the stars left.

She picks up her phone, dials a number. Her voice sounds tired and a little flat.

I fear this story ends with one heart broken. Perhaps even two.