Mother daughter and me

I could tell that the show was in part for my benefit - the somersault, the cartwheel, and all the aborted attempts to stand on her head. Charmed no end by this toddler, I had to share my delight with her mother who also stood nearby. I noticed that the mother was observing her daughter as though she were reading a book, silently seeking protection from the world - and probably from me - by burying herself in identification with its narrator. The young girl was her possession and her extension. I could see too that mother and daughter both sought my approval. Though this mother never acknowledged it, I am sure that every inflection of my voice was registered.

All of a sudden, the little girl jumped up on a chair in front of me. Eye-to-eye, but too close to focus, we rubbed noses. As she backed away I could see that the chair had disappeared and that she wasn’t a little girl any more, that she was in fact just as tall as I was, grinning from ear to ear with a mouth full of braces. What a sweety I thought to myself.

The next thing I knew she was running out the back door in tears, crying ”Mommy, mommy why do you keep coming in and out”. I also began to wonder where and why her mother had suddenly disappeared. With hardly a chance to reflect on the chain of events, I heard the young girl call out: ”Mommy, why do you keep running in and out, it’s making me so sleepy.” This was the first time I had ever heard my niece speak Swedish. (While Swedish is her mother’s tongue it is not her own native language.) Given the intensity of this young girl's pursuit, I thought to myself that she must have confused the Swedish word for ’tired’ with the word for ’sleepy’. But to tell you the truth I was still so very sleepy and tired myself when I woke from this dream, that we are all certainly one .

Withdrawal

I remember how happy I was to have finally met the bitch – face-to-face, eye-to-eye. I had heard so much about her, about how ugly she was, that I was actually surprised to find that I liked her. I let her hang around my apartment for a while. Then one day, sensing that she was wet behind the ears and way too demanding, I brought her down to my storage space in the basement. In retrospect I think that I did that to protect her. Furthermore, a friend whose opinion I respected at the time, complained that she was barbarous and uncivilized. Since I wasn’t sure I understood what he meant by that, we withdrew. I didn’t bring her up again until he had - for all intents and purposes - disappeared for good.

Eye to eye

Her students learn by simply watching her, keeping an eye on her. She never judges them. She speaks with difficulty and despite her silent, rather stern appearance, she is oddly very close to them. Or is it they who are very close to her? They feed on her and keep her company. I think it is because she actually hates teaching, hates telling stories, that she is such a good teacher. She doesn't want to say too much, and definitely not everything all at once. She prefers to use words to investigate her surroundings. It is a curious relationship.

Self-portrait

" While the portrait is anything but flattering, its colorful uncanny aura has continued to fascinate me over the years. In fact, I brought it up from the basement just yesterday to reacquaint myself with her. She’s a young redhead, set off against a green background and a house with no smoke stack. There’s a crow with a mossy green breast perched on her left shoulder. The shadow of this feathered friend is cast across my chin - just below my lower lip - as if to make sure my mouth is kept shut. My eyes are steadfast in their look-out, as some distant gulls seem to have sighted prey beneath my brow. What am I thinking? What is it I see? What have I heard? What do I mean? What is it that I am apparently so loath to disclose?" excerpt from Living with Gerdie's diary, "Fuel for thought", March 4, 2007