Wow Bruce! What a day!!! Our project is just like a magnet to the youth – and this afternoon, we had the first meeting with “Breivoll Experience 2012”. We have tripled the Experience-gang, and work is being laid out and distributed. Full house at the Clubhouse by Nordbybanen – a sporting area, also the place for my soccer career, where I was known as “Ms. Drible-herself”. I was eager with the ball, you have to give me that. Arms and legs, all over, making the opponent dizzy from toes up, and that was that. You have to play with what you’ve got – then victori is within reach. That’s the way it is with the “Experience” also. The sum of all the youths talent and abilities and their courage to show the way. Last but not least the sum of power to believe in things to happen, everything is possible – Bruce Springsteen also. That is what will get us there, in the end. If we stumble across the finishing line, dosen’t matter – the important part is to participate and to complete. Just ask Northug (Norwegian Skier, look him up). If you reach the goal, you have completed the task… I believe that Mr. Northug does not quite agree with me on that, but if you ask ME: You necessarily doesn’t have to be the first one over the finishing line to be a victor. My god, think if THAT was the purpose of it all? Run like hell and get it over done with in no time. “Allo! Allo St. Peter! Did I do allright?!?” “Yes, my dear, no life – but in bloody good time”.
The Experience-group landed some rules, forming the climate of the group. We agreed on some things, important to make this work. One of the most important things we agreed upon was RESPECT. Meaning that we should respect each other. Saying that – in wide terms, one can pick from the top shelf: But for our part it is about safety, care and recognition. Everyone means something, everyone has the right to be heard. Everybode works together on the same premises. Everybody has equal opportunities. Everyone, needs everyone – to reach the finishing line. Therefore no shit, no denigration. You build… And make those around you strong. We did the wave, and the first stone is in the ground.
So, back to the eighties (Got to work with the translations… I’ll get there). Summer of ’82. Me and my brother, down at the pier at Nesset. We loved that pier – boats everywhere, in all sizes and all shapes – the pier almost went for miles out into the ocean, all filled with boats. We raced til the end of the pier, waves gently touching the pier from underneath. To walk was just not possible. “That one’s mine” We screamed, pointing at our favorite boats. “No, that one”. The boats were rocking gently, looking at us with their sleepy faces as we ran past. One boat, more white than the other, chrome that sang into the sun. Decks in polished hardwood. We constantly changed our minds about what boats was our favorite. In our fantasy, WE were the one hoisting the anchor, taking the boats smotthely out on the sea, freeing them from the soft embrace of the pier. WE were the ones sitting in white leather seats, drinking Coke from high glasses while the wind gently touched our necks. WE dived from the platform, and were hanging gently from the ladder, with pearly water glittering on our backs. The fact that we didn’t even was close to having a small dinghy, just made the dreams stronger. Even more real. The boats were ours. King and queen of the harbor. When we were tired from racing and running, we sat down on the pier – just where it connects to mother earth. Sitting there, the legs in the water dangling, we fished for crabs – while watching our own mirrored images from the calm sea. Then we headed back home, with a basin between us containing today’s catch, we arranged crab-races on the lawn. The crabs literally ran for their lives when we emptied the basin. In all directions. Several weeks later our property was surrounded by the stench of dead, sun hot crabs… Mom and dad were freaking out from the smell – but me and my brother did not say anything about what we had done. I felt bad for this many years after… What were we thinking? I have not harmed an animal since. Well, except from a wasp now and then, and maybe some spiders. But that’s something else. Insects are not protected the same way.
The summers lasted forever at that time. Forever, slowly and filled with laughter, making jam, lemonade and my dad’s poker nights. Everybody was welcomed in our house. My mom and dad’s friends were colorful, who loved me and my little brother like their own kids. We were so lucky, surrounded by love. Sometimes me and my brother were allowed to join the grown ups card game. Dimes and cents were like small mountains on the dinner table. The smog from cigarettes filled the room from floor to ceiling. Remember, this was the 80’s - long before someone talked about passive smoking, and the health risk as a cause of that. Glad I didn’t know about that… I would probably be wearing a gasmask to avoid the consequences. Smoking were as natural as sun and rain to me, at the time – I even breathed the mood into my lungs with deep breaths… And let my heart grow because I was happy to be allowed to the grownups community. The eyes around the table were warm, the hair jagged and a beer or two were consumed. A nice feeling of safety surrounded us.
Pekka, one of my dads friends from his youth years was one of our favorites. He was a red-haired, fast-talking, with large necklaces in gold and tattoos. A more happy man, you would have to search worldwide for. He was full of stories from their wild youth years, and especially I loved the story where he and my dad were cruising down “Karl Johans Gate” (Parade street of Oslo) in a Mini Morris. This was the late 60’s. With the pedal to the metal they flew down the street, folding like a black necktie from the Kings castle in the vest, to the central station east. They were young rebels, and flying like the city-seagulls, with the tank filled with pranks and laughter. Just around Oslo Cathedral, the car was slammed to the ground, the suspension were not good enough to cope with the speed. The car screamed, and was split into two parts – like god had splitted it with an axe, just by the gear shifter. I will never forget the pictures Pekka painted for me by telling this. Pekka and daddy, split by heaven. They tipped, sitting in each their leather seat. Pekka to the left, my dad to the right. Screaming of laughter, they got out of each half of the car – patted each others back while they took a look at the car. “Shit” said Pekka. “I had just washed the car”.
Later, it turned out that Pekka was alone in the car, and daddy… He was long gone… But the rest is true. Either way, I will let the canvas stay like it is, with my dad in the story. For me, daddy will always be sitting next to Pekka flying in each their half of a red Mini Morris over the Kings curled necktie. And me… I’m going flying… To the land of dreams, with every possibility that gives. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow morning. My life motto, after Alice’s dad. Remember: 6 impossibilities before breakfast. I usually get 5 of them done during the night... The last one? I will use the rest of the day for that one. Even I have my limitations.
‘nite Bruce
Rikke.
Posted in Norwegian February 9. 2012
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