Sunday

Woke up and felt full of energy. Put on some loud "good mood" music in the early am which is when this household gets out of bed. The kids went with my lead and put on some smiling faces to match, which they kept on all day. Had a long breakfast with many laughs about nothing essentially. A trait which otherwise mostly is a characteristic exclusive to my three year old who doesn't really need a reason for the odd laugh here or there.

Still with the music thumping away we all got ready for Diana's friends birthday bash and then closed the door behind us and with great spirits headed to it. Running late but not feeling any stress, we walked through a deserted sunday morning Stockholm that finally treated us to some spring weather. Having finally arrived at our destination we hung out at the birthday celebration which to us parents was surprisingly chill, but in a good way. The mom in the family had totally outdone herself as far as creating a cake themed according to the movie "Cars",  with matching cup cakes that were very impressive to say the least. And tasty!

When the party was drawing to a close this little trio, spun out on sugar highs, went to the park for a long sought after after skate session. Well, at least two thirds of the group did some skating, while the crippled other third did... well, not that much. Some other parents who were present in the park were first a little surprised that D+I, despite their age, were on skateboards. But the surprised looks soon turned into faces of worry as these fearless little grommets started darting from one end of the skate park to the other, not showing much respect to the (much) older skate heads and still wearing those smiling faces regardless of how many times they involuntarily studied the tarmac at a closer range.

However, even I drew the line when Ivar insisted on hitting the ramp. But judging by how intensely he instead studied the guys at work in it, I probably wont be able to keep him out of it for too long.

On the way home the activity of choice became picking as many spring flowers as one could possibly carry, which now are spread throughout the apartment in all kinds of odd places in equally odd solutions that fit the purpose of vases.

This day has in many ways felt like it went on forever and at the same time like it went way too quickly.

In conclusion, the only negative thing to say about our Sunday together is that it wasn't a Saturday.

Being 15 again

Last weekend when I was at my parents, I found a whole box of old photos from when I was just a little boy till when I was about 20, which was when I moved into my first apartment. This box has been sitting with my parents since then and I had totally forgotten about it. Talk about walking down memory lane...

Friends/girlfriends that have come and gone, different places I've travelled or lived, old pets etc, etc...

Looking back I was especially nostalgic about the images from when I was 15. I was living in Australia at the time and through these pictures I began to remember what a special time in ones life it is when you're around 15. It really is when one at least starts to think that one is becoming a man. Relationships evolve into being more serious, alcohol gets introduced into the picture, staying out all night with friends, school gets tougher academically, one begins to be able to challenge adults for real at different sports.

In general it really is the time when one starts to transgress into what eventually will become adult life...

Happily I can in hind sight conclude that I have been lucky and that it was a great time of fantastic memories for me. These pictures of many different sorts allowed me to more concretely bring up to the surface this long lost part of my life after all this time...

Me at 15 in my S.C.E.C.G.S Redlands
school uniform on my way to school

Doing what I did every opportunity I got

Tis the season to be jolly

I am lost for words so I'll let the pictures do the talking.

But remember, it's not about where you are, but who you're with...

Have a nice day!

The kid in me doing some decorating

The little ones have been on a well deserved vacation for what feels like an eternity. Me on the other hand have not only been busy with work and a back that is giving me hell again, but have also taken the opportunity to do some redecorating of the kids rooms (might actually explain the resurfacing of my back issues). How nice of me you might think, but imagine if you went away on a vacation and when you came back your dad had redecorated your room without telling you. My guess is you would be kind of questioning if he had in fact finally once and for all lost his mind!?

In any case, today was judgement day as the little rascals finally showed up on my door step all tanned, sporting new sun glasses and displaying creative new ways of injecting "crazy" every second word in each spoken sentance. I'm wondering to myself how they aged ten years in the last ten days?

Although I was a little nervous as to what the verdict would be in regards to me having taken the liberty that I had when it came to their sacred places of refuge, the reactions from the two were fortunately enough of a positive nature.

As Ivar's room is still work in progress, I'll share Diana's room with you for the time being. There are still some tweaks left, but it's more or less there. And yes I know, it's very pink, very Hello Kitty, very stereotypically "girlie" and so on. But guess what? That's how she likes it. Or rather demands it! So I'm not about to paint her room brown and hang pictures on her walls dominated by the colour green, portraying characters of undefined sex just to be politically correct.

Anyway, judging by how much more fun it was messing about with the interiors of Ivar's and Diana's rooms than the rest of my apartment, I'm afraid there is a great risk that I will be at it way too soon again.

I'm not suggesting it's a cliffhanger,
but Ivar's room will be shown when
it's done.

My best friends birthday

He shows loyalty like no other.

He is always there for me.

He is the best listener I know.

He never complains or shows a negative attitude.

He always wants to hang out when I want to.

He never bails out on a party.

He is compassionate.

He gets along really well with all my other friends.

He has a great character.

He is warm.

He is my partner in crime.

He makes me laugh.

He is great company regardless what mood I am in.

He snores.

He has shared so many good times with me.

He has spots on his belly.

I love this little guy and although I've thought all week that he was turning ten, he apparently actually turns eleven today. But that doesn't really matter since age is just a number and he if anyone proves it.

Happy Birthday Taz!

A personal reflection on style

Fashion, style, call it what you may but increasingly more people have a definite opinion and a conscious point of view of what they like when it comes to it. But just like with everything that has to do with aesthetics one can’t escape the fact that it is a subjective point of view that simply is in the eye of the beholder. A view that is grossly influenced by media and the giant marketing machines behind the industry that do their best to convince us simple mortals of what is “right” or “wrong”.

Even counter reactive forms of sub-culture style/fashion are today very quickly transformed to become mainstream, spreading rapidly through the digital landscape which has become second nature to us.

There is a sweet spot in a young child’s mind however when they have not been influenced enough to yet mirror what the fashion industry wishes for them to wear. My daughter is at that stage right now. She has a very clear opinion of what she wants to wear and how she wants to wear it. She carefully picks out her outfits by herself but not at all in accordance to how it “should be”. The result is a colourful mix of styles, patterns and for me perhaps irrational choices where the “wrong” types of clothes are also layered on top of each other.

In one word I have to admit that it’s very refreshing. And more importantly it is a fantastic expression of who she is that is worthy to be treasured.

As a side note I really want to encourage parents out there not to fight this spirit and force your children to wear what you want them to wear, just so that you may feel good about yourself in relation to other parents when you “showcase” your child in various social contexts. Believe me, in time your child will unfortunately “get in line” and start to mimic whatever everyone else is wearing anyway…

An unlikely ambassador for what I’m describing, but who kept this sense of individual and iconic style even as an adult is the artist Jean-Michel Basquiat. I’ve previously stated that he is one of my greatest forms of inspiration when it comes to his art, but he’s also worth mentioning when it comes to his style.

For most part of his life he lived in poverty, but only of economic sort, not of the spirit. And that is just the thing. Style has nothing to do with economic capabilities, but much more importantly ones spirit. Just like my daughter does, he mixed up different styles, colours and patterns to his and only his liking.

Regardless if it was the time when he was living in the streets with no fixed address to his name, or when he had “made it” and was roaming the very same streets with his pockets full of cash, he kept the same attitude. And regardless he equally carried himself with pride, projecting his own form of nobility and always displaying an honest, pure and extraordinary form of self expression through what he wore.

But was it conscious, you may interfere, or was it more of random choices? The answer could be exemplified by his evolution of his dreadlocks. They were not rasta, but his own twist on it. Going from a dread mullet, to a baroque like creation to his own crown of thorns. So no, it was not random.

As his wealth grew he of course could buy anything he wanted, but then very deliberately chose very specific designers. He discovered the artistry of Japanese designers such as Rei Kawakubo and Comme  des Garcons and Issey Miyake, but always wearing it his way. Mixing haute couture with haute thrift. Often treating the apparel like overalls letting paint splash all over them as he was working and then wearing the same clothes as he went out.

Basquiat left us way to early in 1988 at the age of 28. And although there are most probably more examples then him to personify what I am attempting to express, we are unfortunately not talking about an abundance of individuals to lift forward.

Most of us are already spoiled, me to a large extent included. However, we can at least make an effort to allow for the next generation to stay true to themselves for as long as possible. Laying focus on and building and encouraging that which is most important of all:

The spirit.