13. Working on a dream

(Posted march 1,  2012 In Norwegian)

The days are slipping thru like dry sand between fingers. Its been a while since I picked up my pen for you.  I feel like I`m falling down from the wings of time. It all goes so fast. And yet, I have no track of the hours passing.  Great things are happening!! A good friend  with a big heart has begun to translate my blogletter from Norwegian to English. Imagine! Finally! Now you can read my letter elsewhere ... than in my head. And!!  The great lady of Sony Music said that she would  send my translated letters to someone who would be even closer to you - than her ...And ! I've got a name for a guy in Live Nation Norway, which I also already have pushed a bit. Maybe he can help. I hope:)

Tonight I`ve searched high and low, and I have put my light on every spot I can find that keeps even a small possibility of reaching you. My thought fell on the New York Times. Imagine getting our question ( will you come?) in a paper that reach thousands! One of them …..  must be you??? I think NOW we are talking! It can`t be more impossible to get the NY Times to write about our project, than to get you here ... so there was really no reason ... to hesitate … at all.  Now I have been vacuuming their webpage for mail addresses. I found many, and sent the whole bunch this little mail:  

Hi!

I write to you Americans in one of the biggest paper I know about “ over there”,  to see if you can help me to make people in Norway start dreaming big. And not only dream big. Think big! And find courage to BELIVE that each and every one of us has the opportunity to make a huge change in the world. Not only by dreaming, believing and thinking. But by acting. If there is anything you Americans are good at… its that. You tell us this all the time, by your music, by your films, by your books, and… by your actions. And I think we have something to learn over here about that.

40 kids (youths) in age 13-17 in a small country town in Nordby in Norway, want to give their country a wakeup call. Of the good kind! We have a project with a mission – to make Bruce Springsteen enter our stage and play a couple of songs on his guitar. It`s an impossible thought. But it is an possible action. It’s a very long story, and it has been on the road for 10 years. Now it has become a blog –that’s called: Dear Mr. Springsteen. It has readers all over the world, and just recently  it was translated in to English (I got some help with that, my written language as you can see, is not so good in other ways than… Norwegian. But this is not about being perfect. It`s about doing the right thing)

Here in Norway the local papers tells our story. But Bruce don`t read them. But I think he might read your paper. And if you Ny-times-people like our story.. maybe you will write about it. Maybe Bruce will find out. Maybe he will look us up.. And maybe.. he likes the story as well, and then… enter our stage 22.july 2012 (He is in Norway that day).  Because he is a dreamer. Because he believes in the same things as we do, that anything is possible if you go by heart- and we all pull the strings together. It`s a small worldJ

Ok – I give you the link to the blog. Start with 0, it’s the letter that lead to the blogging. And … then read the blog. Number by number. There are 12 chapters in Norwegian, but only 5 in English. It`s because it takes some time to translate it. But we are working on it!!  http://dear-mrspringsteen-english.blogspot.com/2012/02/0-very-first-letter-beginning-before.html

We have written a song about Bruce that we sing when the community comes together. It`s in Norwegian but one verse is in English. And that one goes like this:

There will come a day when a man comes along
He brings his guitar and he will sing his song
To the people of Nordby he will stand strong
Mr Springsteen`s the name and he`ll meet us at home.
And I know and you know that magic is near
when those who belive find their dreams flying there
In the steps we are taking
In the walls that we climb
In the songs of the people
that colors the sky

Links to Norwegian papers:
http://www.oblad.no/%C3%A5s/skal-lokke-springsteen-til-breivoll-1.6503241
http://www.oblad.no/underholdning/kanskje-kommer-springsteen-1.6762191

I do not expect you to respond. But I guess it was worth a try. Wish you all a very nice day!

Yours Sincerely

Rikke Soligard 40 years old and quite happy

Nordby, Norway - Across the sea

Their answer reached me in no time:

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Yepp! That’s it. Let's hope this is a turning corner. That’s all for now. I just wanted to give you a quick update. Don’t even think I’ve forgotten all about you.  I put my pen at rest and wrap my mind further into the backyards of  the night, looking for new horizons. It`s there to see. If you just bring your eyes to sight. I promise to write more soon. You see – the best .. still remains. Maybe …we'll meet in the pages of NY Times tomorrow.

Good night Bruce.

12. Lonesome traveller

(Posted february 26,  2012 In Norwegian)

We are out on the road again, Bruce, and I sometimes feel the ground bites my shoes. Am I doing the right thing? By sharing all this with you? Doubt is a sneaky bastard that can rip out the speed of the legs… to anyone and everyone – not just me. But. It`s also an important pit-stop to make. It is necessary to take a few meetings with Soligard herself along the trail, checking temperature and oil, look over the luggage. Am I missing something? Have I taken too much? I tend to dive into things before the fear for the fear itself, stops me. A bit head-over-heels.  Closing my eyes, while a big hope of a safe landing, screams out of my heart. 

I do feel that I have chosen correctly. But can we really ever know that the things we do, is right, by the moment we do them? Or is it later, when the past sends its floodlight… that we can weigh up ballast for right and wrong? I think it’s a bit like both. Something that may seem appropriate at the time, can be a disaster when the account is settled. At the same time, you have no other guidance here on the road than your own barometer. Connected to the body and mind it is the best compass you have. I have chosen to let it lead me in the most choice I've made throughout my life, for other peoples' Compass works very poorly in my landscape. So I stick to the way my needle is pointing, even if it sometimes goes the way the hen kicks. If it goes stright to hell – it will be MY decisions, my wrongs, that leads me there. I'm not going wild at others expense. So! I'll stay at my course, and when time is right: I will make up my own bill. There is no other way of life for me. I hope and believe this is so for you too.

When “Cover me” faded away over Breivoll, and made ripples in the sea… the party most definitely was over. I left the rock with renewed strength - the compass needle was strong in me. Away from the sisterhood, with rough terrain in sight. And there, in all the unknown things ... it was time to build a new life. High above the cornfields,  the Aschehoug hills, and crab fishing piers - grew a new life out of grief and ice. A red-painted house in the range of the sun, with birds stretching their wings on the roof.  Three floors, rose bushes, drying rack and a tiny garden. Bang Olufsen on the wall. Yes, my mama even gave music new package. There was plenty of room for mom, brother and me. Dad… His new life grew out of a concrete colossus of Tveita. It was hard to swallow - but even harder not to, and slowly started the journey toward reconciliation. My reconciliation of the facts of life.

I was a not easy to handle those days,  I know- but I finally reached out a hand. I would so dearly like to go back to all that we left behind, but it was completly gone. Forever. For always.  In the beginning, I wrote poems.  There was so much important things to say, but my voice did not have enough power to carry the message.

Teach me the song dear father
Bring it back to me again
Your words were so beautiful
But still …they faded away


Teach me to speak dear father
My words turn to stone
Our tears are kept inside
But soon they fall in rain

Teach me to love dear father
The way we  loved each other before
Those days the sun shone upon us
Those days we kept an open door.

(the words “fits” each other in Norwegain – but the meaning still remains)

I gave this poem to him. He grabbed it with both hands. He had tried for so long, but I put my teeth in it all. It was only when he offered me a golden island in the Mediterranean that I finally got to my senses, packed my bags and left with him. Holiday. Vacation. Get-away. Slowly, the closed-door set ajar, and slowly ... we got to know each other again. Everything was undoubtedly changed, but something was still unwavering constant. I was and would always be - my father's daughter.

The new my home quickly became just that. Home. It's amazing how quickly one can adapt. I had a bedroom with a balcony, pink curtains and a new bed for big dreams. Yet you were not conceived as a possible impossibility for me, but the brain bubbling over by other big and strange thoughts. My grief was eventually laid to rest, and my horizon stretched bigger. I looked at the world with an emerging understanding ... that it was completely NOT to understand. I knew the first sparks of passionate commitment. I was stunned by the injustice, poverty and all the mean actions that was served me through the TV screen. I took in all the misery of the world - it smashed into my satellite dish and filled it with darkness. I cried in my pink room for the black peoples struggle in South Africa. I wrote tasks in school about child abuse and Amnesty International. I was beside myself over the suffering of war and misery inflicted a large number of people. Measured against all of this, was MY pain, pale and small. Here I walked on top of the world and listed me as if I had the exclusive right to suffer. Until reality slammed into the dish with a bang. I could have thrown up by myself. And I was not far away doing it either.

But. To throw up ... have rarely led the world to change, so I picked up the only weapon I had in the house, a black marker of the hottest caliber, and went to battle. I wrote hard angry letters on my sack coat: Free Mandela. MANDELA FREE! But the sad thing is that I never, NEVER a moment, ifted my finger `n from the ink to release anyone. In particular, not Mandela. Nor others who sat trapped behind the Apartheid regime's sharp barbed wire. I showed my words to the powerless, and the bag ... was a poor whisper compared to the intent that was packed into it. I wished he was free, with all my heart, but could not do anything - and therefore did nothing.

But one thing I have, (not that it makes me a Mother Theresa) I stood up for some of those who had rougher times than me at school. I could take as little of shit and injustice there,  that I could take it through the TV screen. The only difference was that here, here, I could actually make a difference. It had a price like so much else, and I if I was out of the sisterhood before.. I surly was out of the sisterhood now. School time was an ambivalent period. The first couple of years, hung itself like a plumb line around my legs, and slackened the system that was supposed to develop my inner confidence. The compass pointed straight to the north, but the engine `n spluttered. I was always convinced that someone had lost me down in the wrong place-I could not seem to fit into anywhere. I was at times so lonely in all my chaos that the world at one point almost ceased to exist. I collapsed and cried in my pillow at night and during the day…, I went with a straight and defiant back while the sisters closed their tongues around swollen gossip. It grew like shit in the linoleum-hallways. A burning tenacious fog settled on the inside of my lungs, shattered ribs and glued itselves to each breath that I took. I walked my daily green mile with Mandela screaming out of my back. Inside me I was screaming: FREE Rikke.

Somehow I was stuck in my own captivity. My glowing desire to fit in, be liked and good enough ... with this strong conviction that I was damn good enough just as I was… made me as strong as I was weak. Just like I put a big zero over myself. And for a little while I did just that. I lost all the color and character I ever had, and became invisible. Went in with the ceiling and walls, asphalt and sky and was ... no one. Least of all – Rikke. The grindstones around my legs were so heavy that it was impossible to take me over to the plus-side. The fog in my loungs was so impermeable that even Mandela slipped from sight. But then Bruce, then something weird and wonderful happened. Something that changed everything. Forever! Once out there in my tenth school year I saw a glimpse what later has become you. Something, which my thoughts and heart went back to - 12 years later. It ripped of the grindstones and trigged this hole journey, and that my friend…. in many ways took me from zero to 100 on a nanosecond. I did not know the reach of it then – but I do indeed know today. And that's why Bruce, I lay all my doubts at rest. For if there is a thing in this world that I am sure of (except that you one day will arrive, and that we all one day will die), it is that the compass on the inside never fails. It is when you defy its course that things go wrong. I welcome my doubts, because it creates opportunities for reflection and contemplation - important elements that provide insight and development. I am not in the least doubt about where I`m going. The challenge is to find out how the heck ... I get there.

Well - that's enough for today. I have, after all, an entire night in front of me to find out these things. A weekend has again settled for its end, and the new week is flashing merrily behind tomorrow's curtain. Outside, the moon hangs with a smile over Nordby. Jupiter and Venus compete (as always) about who of them that shines the strongest. Alone individually - but together they form a wholeness that we all are part of. As little everything seems up in the big eternity. And how big everything can be… if you just give space… in all that’s small.

Good night Bruce Wherever you are!

Rikke

 

A pitstop-message about falling behind... no more

Dear Mr. Springsteen!

I`m so sorry, that my blog in English just is posted in 11. chapters. The Norwegian one is on 23. It might seem stupid since this letter is for you - and you don’t read Norwegian. You might think that if it`s so important for me to reach you - I should prioritize the english version. As I told you earlier (and you soon will see for yourself) - my English sucks. I put my heart in that I would get some help. And I really did!! This incredibly fine people did 11. chapters. It’s a big job when life is in a hurry all around you. It’s a really big job even if everything is silent.  I can`t expect them to do it all. I`m truly happy, and deeply moved that they volunteered for this in the first place- that kept me going, because I really felt that NOW it was possible to reach you. I can’t!!!!! Loose that thought.

Oh!! I really wish you could read Norwegian Bruce. It’s so much easier to find the right words that describe the motion in this project. But since you do not, and time has put on her fast-track- shoes, I have to jump in the water and start paddling. Because…. the story is not finished. In the Norwegian blog it’s only a few chapters left, and we start to reach the place... where everything has its beginning. BUT I still have to write them. And today it is 14 days for your impossible arrival. I have to reach it all before you put your footsteps on Gardemoen. The wind is blowing, and it’s like a noisy big train pushes the timeline closer. It’s nothing to think about any more. I can’t let it fall further behind. It’s time… to make this happen.

Give me a couple of days. And I. Willl be there.

Rikke

10. First day of spring

Goooood morning Bruce! Are you up-and-about yet? That might be a bit too much to ask for as morning here probably means night where you are. Or perhaps you are still waltzing around under the oak tree? Or perhaps… you are dancing around somewhere else…I, on the other hand, has just danced my way out of my dreams, and I am still tucked under my duvet while my thoughts are performing a last pirouette as I am surrendering into a nice cup of coffee. I turned 40 yesterday. And I must say I am pretty pleased with myself for making it this far. Who would have thought? And not everyone makes it to 40, we all know that! I’ve decided I’d like to take another 40 rounds in the ring of life, but then again, that is probably not entirely up to me. For instance, yesterday it almost went really bad – again…

In fact, it’s been a while since I have felt the chill of death down my spine. Imagine that – the day before I turn 40! Now that would have been something… What makes it even spookier is that I had this really low feeling from the moment my feet hit the floor in the morning. I decided to not pay any attention to it, not to let it ruin my day as so many times before. So when I saddled up the horse and set off into that sunny day, I saw no dangers ahead. Until WHAM! – the horse suddenly panicked and threw me off – or at least try to do so. Just a small problem there – my foot was stuck in the stirrup. I was hanging there for a split second or two before the foot got loose, and I hit the ground. Talk about change! – one second I am happy as a clam and mastering the horse, the next I was a “super” in my own movie of life; short-films and memories raced through my mind but I soon snapped out of it. All I saw was the back of my horse running off like it had the devil on pursuit up the Breivoll-hills. Then it was my turn to run like crazy. A gentleman in a car pitied me, and offered me a ride. Normally an offer like that would have made me run even faster, but this time I threw myself into the car and the chase begun. Thoughts were racing through my head – thoughts not suitable for print I might add… Thankfully it came to a happy end. The horse gave up as it arrived at the bottom of the Aschehoug-hills. It had been running like a wind past a boat builder, streams and several other local spots without slowing down. I never thought I’d be grateful for those steep hills of Aschehoug, as I had a real hate-hate relationship with them in my youth. But this time around I felt nothing but gratitude for their steepness! You need a huge amount of motivation to climb those, and the horse (as I so many times before) just didn’t have that. Total surrender!

The speed of life… well, sometimes I feel we’re breaking the speed limit… Like at the church bench 11 years ago, when I faced the fact that I had not become the woman I planned to be… Sometimes we have to walk backward to be able to grasp the feeling of speed. From there to here in a snap. Looking ahead – at all those years folding out just waiting to be filled with laughter and memories it is easy to feel immortal, eternal, because…. yes!! Time is an endless stream of hours, minutes and seconds passing by as we fly our circles around the sun.  How naive! We know of course that life does come to an end, that nothing lasts forever and that no one … are immortal. I think it’s a good thing to acknowledge these facts as they make you appreciate life right now more. I strongly believe that anyone who has had a near-death experience just knows how to fill the rest of their life to the full. They are good at sorting out what’s important and what’s not – how to fill the remaining days of their life with things that matter, that gives positive energy and good memories. Most of us are just dancing in the twilight of ignorance… Even I do that – despite taco shell experiences, the fear of darkness, total strangers, sharks etc. I was never in any real danger, my life had until now for the most part been about avoiding danger; airplanes, boats, dentists, elevators, snakes, deep water – the list is long. And the irony of it all – the one time I got myself into a plane, there was a fire in one of the engines at 20,000 feet. Now we’re talking panic and prayers - and an offer to sit in cockpit despite the fact that I was 20 years old… And, of course, that one time when I was 2 years old and the world went starry white through the front screen of my dad’s Volvo PV as we were trying to get down from the Klimpen mountain at Tynset in Norway…

It was Easter and freezing cold. Unmanageable roads twirled icy and steep through the landscape. At one side of the road the world plunged several hundred feet down into what looked like eternity, on the other side – steep cliffs. This, Bruce, is my first memory in life. My family and I with our feet up and heads down, and inch away from death as we slid into the snowdrift on the other side of the road. The wheels spinning as the car tried to take off to heaven. The winter past by our windows like glittering sparks before it all went silent and it felt like it whispered “welcome back” behind the screen. My brother was just a few weeks, sleeping like an angel at the hat rack in the rear window when the world suddenly when backwards and upside down and he was nowhere to be found… My parents were terrified – there were no signs of him and not a sound. A couple of minutes later he was found underneath a pile of luggage – smiling and giggling! Yes – that was fun, one more time please! The smiling and giggling soon stopped after my dad – with shaking hands – handed him to some helping hands standing there. He slipped out of their hands, hit the ground – and screamd so high the snow blew away from the mountain tops.  There was no doubt!  He was alive. And kicking. Same goes for the rest of us. Perhaps it was this day it all begun. The life where I constantly felt I was starring death in the white of the eye. I somehow felt I had played all my cards at one hand, and the next time around…. I would loose.

38 years later, and full of experience, here I am. Underneath my duvet, thinking  about the days of my life… I’ve decided to defy all fears and phobias, and live my life to its full for all the time I have left.  And that, Bruce, is a promise.  All this has a reason – and that is…. why you are heading my way. How all this is connected??  I’ll tell you another time. Right now I need to seize the day. I’ll saddle my horse and ride far, far away under the beautiful, pale wither sun, until my fear melts and the calm surrender my heart. I will ride until I feel the first day of spring grow strong. I will ride until the end of the world, and return with my pack full of new decks of cards, ready to play another few rounds of life. I might even keep the jokers… The uncertain and unpredictable is indeed part of the game of life. Because in the middle of all this, anything and everything comes alive…. and possible!

Catch you later!

Rikke

Published in Norwegian 21.february 2012

PS. The song I’ve linked up this time is one I hope you’ll take the time to listen, really listen to. I know you will not understand the lyrics, but if you truly listen I believe you will still grasp the meaning. This is one of my major favorites right now, and it fits like a glove.

9. Yes Sir! I can boogie!!

I keep dancing, both in the light and in the dark. But most of all I dance around my kitchen on a slow February morning, when the pale winter sun is beaming through my windows. I sometimes dance instead of walking down the street – especially if my headphones fill my ears with groovy tunes. My body is definitely not made for walking straight if there is some boogie inside. And despite stormy weather there has been plenty of boogie, believe me. If this was the day to measure up, and boogie was to go on the scale together with melancholy, boogie would hit the ground. There’s plenty of melancholy inside still, but too much of anything brings nothing good. It’s all about balance, nuances’ and experiences that in the end leads to emerging thoughts and progress, and right out of this; a new horizon. The scale has tipped a bit back and forth over the years. I reckon that is how it should be. Happiness and boogie gives strength, energy and the feeling of being blessed. It gives fuel to your engine and guts, but rarely wisdom, progress and enlightenment. However, you’ll get plenty of that when life beats you up, when you’re pushed to the ground and grief and sorrow rides your body. It takes one to know one – it easy to recognize and acknowledge others pain when you’ve been there yourself… That is precious knowledge not to be mismanaged. We all need someone. Someone who understand, who stumbled and fell – and got back on their feet. Someone who have fought their way through what seem to be an endless and lonesome journey. Out of this grows generosity, empathy and support to those that are struggling. Daring to share experiences about your life-journey through all kinds of terrains forces the darkness to yield to the light. Honesty in combination with love is a powerful gift to give – to others and to you.

Boogie came into my life long before it started to be hurtful. We are talking about the 70s when Yes Sir! I can boogie filled the air everywhere you turned. Baccara swept into our small apartment in a skyscraper in Oslo. My mother on the floor, desperately trying to zip-up her pants. Skin-tight really meant exactly that those days. I could feel the dance growing inside me, and I took my first steps on the parquet floor of a dancing academy. After a while I felt like a dancing queen, swirling around the floor in waltz, cha-cha and samba. Dedicated and concentrated I memorized each step. I had talent, and after a short while I advanced and got to dance with the elder. I was soooo proud. And each year there was a ball. And each year my mom and I took the bus to the city center of Oslo to buy dancing shoes. The shop we went to was no ordinary shop. You could hardly spot it from the street; it was through a gate, into the courtyard, up some stairs, and there… hidden behind the gray front of an old building was an almost secret shoe store – for the initiated only, with the sweetest personnel ever. I became a princess the moment my foot hit the top step of the stairs and I entered the shop. They treated us like royalty, and it felt like there was no one else in the shop but us. It was if the world had seized to exist and we were the only one left. It was magic, a perfect fairytale and Christmas Eve - all in one.

Of course we could have bought the shoes at Grændsen skotøimagazin, like everyone else did. Grændsen skotøimagazin – the shoe store in Oslo – 3 floors filled with all the shoes your heart desire. Stairs. Polished handrails, shining elevators for busy shoppers with busy feet. Where you live, Bruce, I bet this place would appear like a corner shop – but here in Norway we have next to none tradition for anything large. We tend to not approve of things we feel grow out of proportions and above our head. And we certainly don’t approve of anyone trying to fit into shoes that are not theirs – so to speak. If you try to outgrow your own shoes or grow taller than those around you, you are soon pushed down. Who do you think you are?? However – we are keen on watching over small sprouts as they peek out of the soil and into the air, but we don’t ask twice before cutting them down when they are outgrown. Heeelllooooo!? I thought we were supposed to grow and develop throughout our lives…  We have a “syndrome” here in Norway – kind of a principle of 'just who do you think you are'. I will try to explain it to you and give you a couple of examples. We call it Jante. Perhaps you have heard of it…

1.       You are not allowed to think you are someone.

2.       You are not allowed to think you are just as valuable as the rest of us

3.       You are not allowed to think you are wiser than us

4.       … and so on and so on.

Some claim this is the worst of all unwritten rules. I guess they are right, but there is something thats worse. Because if you change the focus in those principals from outward to inward, you will see that in the end you’ll be your own worst enemy… “you are not allowed to think you are any wiser than the others”. Powerful trick when you want to hurt yourself, and the mechanisms to tackle those principals just do not exist, do they?! When you repeat to yourself over and over again that you are not as valuable as the rest – after a while you start to believe in it – despite the fact that deep, deep down you know that it’s not true. It`s not so dangerous when people starts to "Jante" you.  It`s dangerous... when you start to  "Jante" yourself.  

It was not because of Jante my mom and I didn’t choose Grændsen skotøimagazin. According to my mom it was a question of cost and value. To me it was a question of being the princess in the fairytale or not....and the secret shoe-store-shop up those stairs gave us the full package – value for money, and the feeling of being Cinderella on her way to the royal ball! After my mom had paid for the shoes, the lady handed me a roll of smiley-faced stickers. However, the smiley face on the other side of the counter was not stuck on anywhere – it was genuine. It was real –and warm. An angel among shoes who had helped me pick out my ballroom shoes; silvery shining and perfect. I would glow like a princess – at least along the floor… All that was missing now was a ballroom dress – one with an ample skirt. How I wanted a dress like that – like the other girls at the dancing academy. Pink, lilac or icy blue sparkling and twirling skies at the parquet floor… My own beige, velvet dress was soft as… yes, velvet – but with absolutely no sparks or bristle. When at last my mom said I could have a dress like the other girls, the dressmaker was out fabrics in the right colour. However – she had plenty of acid-green fabric… How fair is that?! Well, it was either beige velvet or acid green tulle, so I chose the latter. Neon ballerina – not easily missed at the ball...glowing all the way to the moon.

At the age of 8, my skyscraper life ended, and so did ample skirts and a newborn career as dancing queen. The result being I’m best when I’m dancing alone; in the kitchen in the beaming sunlight, along the road under the stars. The reason for all this solo-dance, is that there is not a living soul out there able to lead me on the dance floor. I appear to be a person hard to lead. One thing is my mind – but my body to. So don’t even think about it Bruce. However much I love the stage performance and Dancing in the dark – I do not recommend you ask me up for a dance. However, in the middle of the night – there is always a perfect moment, right there underneath the oak. Just look for a twirling, acid-green ballerina…

Until then… caramba!

Rikke
Published in Norwegian 19. february 2012



8. Dancing in the dark

You must have understood by now that our first meeting has followed me all the way until this point. Some flagpoles are taller and with more colorful flags than others in our Memorybank and hence are easier to spot when we look back. You at Breivoll a hot summers day in June'85 is such a flagpole, and it is deeply rooted with a couple of others. Invisible to most, colorful and vibrant to me as their flags fold out in the wind.

I know I've said it before – I am no Springsteen-fan. Even though and despite tall flagpoles and vibrant waving. To me a fan is a collector – a collector of information and experiences connected to the object they are a fan of.  A real fan might have all releases neatly lined up in numerical order (or perhaps alphabetical?). Rigorously neat, not a track missing. They might even have a triple; LP, CD and MP3, and in their youth they probably plastered their walls with posters of their hero, and as they grew older they hit the road. To me it's the music that is catchy, not the artists. I can get complete hang-ups on tunes or lyrics – no matter the artist. If it's catchy into the bone marrow, I'm sold. Until I've played that particular song so many times my ears, my brain, my feet and my whole body is totally worn out. After that it might be years and years before the tune catch my dancing feet again. With you it's different I must admit. Your songs don't wear me out; they just stay... and stay. They tickle my feet and capture my heart – over and over again – year in and year out. So after all – your appearance in Mrs. Soligard's life is not at all brief. At least not compared to others. And the others are quite a few.

I'm not sure you are at all interested, but here is my top 3 list of Bruce-tunes:

1.       Dancing in the dark

2.       Cover me

3.       Born in the USA

This might not be a shock to anyone as all I have is one of your albums. In return I think that particular album is so fantastic that my top 3 are on it. And if that's not all, the album has my no 4 and 5 too. If we are to extend the list I mean; My hometown... I'm on fire. I know, I am heaping, but then again... it's hard to choose. But the top of the list remains. You see, I fell head-over-heels with Dancing in the dark. And I am still head-over-heels. My goodness what a song! Countless are the times I've been glued to the TV screen watching that legendary performance of the song over and over again. Wow – what a man! You're oozing IT. OK, time for a small admission. Right there and then in the good, old 80s, I fell just a bit. But mind you – just a little bit. After all, you were 1 year older than my dad. There a line – and it goes right there.

Thinking of it, you were my age at that point... Minus 4-5 years, give or take a few. But right there and then, on that stage, you don't look a day older than 25. I bet no one would say that about me today. Me,... I even have wrinkles and lines by my ears – and they didn't appear yesterday. I also have a couple of speed streaks between my eyebrows, and they are not from frowning but a result of high-speed- brain-activity. They might be related to a speedy appearance in general. Besides that I think I'm a pretty good match of a woman of 40. And that is not bad at all. I am close to halfway down my line if I'm lucky – after all, it's dangerous out there. But hey – let's get back on track. We were talking about the legendary stage performance. The one where you pull that girl up on stage with you. My apologies for the inconsistency – my thoughts are bouncing and leaping and are not easy to follow. Bear with me, please. I know it might be a tough ride, but hang on – there is a meaning behind all this. All that is bouncing are heading towards something – and so are we.

 Oooookey. The girl and you. Dancing in the dark – though you were right there in the spotlight the both of you. I'd trade you my clarinet right on the spot if that could have been me. Just to experience that. To be seen. To be chosen. To be someone! But, I didn't stand a chance. I was not on the concert. I was not old enough. I was not hot. I was too many "not's". Too much Rikke.

Later – much later – I heard it was all planned, that the stage performance was not at all a coincidence. If that's true, it sort of falls a bit apart in my end. After all, it was the part that it just happened – that it was not planned, that was the beauty of it and made it amazing! The spontaneity of it, that no one had foreseen, least of all her. If that's not a "flag of the tops" moment, I don't know what is. I know now she is Monica from Friends. Was she an actress back then I wonder. Was this her first part? Or was she discovered after you pulled her up on stage and into the spotlight? It could be like that... It is like that sometimes – that we don't see the beauty of someone until the spotlight actually catches them. And then it is sooo much easier catching them in your own beam. But not before. That's sad. That we don't let our beam search a bit more around and let our thoughts about others be more independent. We are missing out on so many good people because we don't take the time to light our own torch and do our own search. We just do a quick sweep, and our beam might not even catch them – we let them there in the darkness, our darkness. We let them stay there like none, though they might be everything! Perhaps this is the real Dancing in the dark...

Here on the other hand is not much dancing and quite a lot of dark. It's time to let this day surrender into the night. To leave thoughts and dreams at rest in a place they can find nutrition to grow strong. The big dipper has started its engine high above my chimney, so I’d better dash. Don't want to get stuck here in this fine night. Promise me you'll stick around, Bruce. Until then...

Rikke

posted in Norwegian on February 15th 2012.

7. Cover me

The first record of you, that I heard – came out right before my life bursted, and the ice found it’s way through the roof. I will never forget the time I LISTENED to your music.  That day it was more than distand music on the radio.  We had a party, celebrating the end of elementary school, and the start of high school, the year was 1985.  Breivoll is a fantastic public area/beach just by the feet of the steep hills of Nordby.  Summer was in the air, and the sun was shining.  Breivolls rich grass plains ran to meet the blue ocean and the forest behind us forming arms stretching against us. It was a celebration… High School was in front of us and soon, youth was to enter us… In between, a burning hot summer.

I did not celebrate.  I was there just because that was expected from me.  I would rather be miles away, on the back of my horse in the direct opposite direction.  I would go to Mars, Jupiter or (preferably) Pluto, right there – if I could.  Out there, in outer space I could have lowered my shoulders and made stardust from the pain behind my ribs. But I was stuck and earthbound, standing outside the sisterhood forming several groups of people on the grass.  I would so much like to fit in, but always fell between chairs.  In one day, out the next one.  Always that insecure feeling as the week closed in on the weekend… In, or out? That day at Breivoll: Out. So, no reason to dance.

I was not good to see the signs, or to play by the unwritten rules. The art of manipulation was not strong with me, but I could recognize it from miles ahead.  I had seen to many people pulling the puppet strings and THAT was something I didn’t like.  I didn’t wanted to be harnessed, bound to follow.  It was my own small steps that was supposed to get me where I wanted.  I was deeply independent, but strived at the same time for the sense of belonging.  A place I could just be me.  Without looking over my shoulder. Always on watch, always a quick beating heart – with a hope that one day, everything was to be ok.  I looked for hints of change every day – but the day for changes did not come then.  Maybe I have to grow up, I thought? Maybe we have learned then? How to carry friendship with dignity and confidence. That IN means IN, not soon out.  That friendship is not power, but fellowship and equality.

As an adult it is easy to see that the sisterhood game is about positioning, power and control. And that slandering, scorn and insults is about making the others smaller, and their selves bigger.  I was then, like now, not ready to be a part of making people smaller og being made small myself. Still it bothered me so much… It made me unfree and seeking.  Luckily I had spaces that made me free. The stables and my horse and the marching band.  And the time with the boys.  They were straight forward and honest. Loyal and secure, and they talked a language I understood.  Boys that allayed and balanced.  Friends like that I had been blessed with as my friends since kindergarten, probably because I was a tomboy.  High and low, cowboy and Indian, soccer-playing and adventurer. Out doing pranks, without doing anything wrong.  My consciousness was to big for that. I was just very properly.  I had my things… Some lessons is to be learned during life, and they… seldom is to be learned if you do everything by the book.

So there I was at Breivoll, not thinking about lessons learned or to be learned – that what’s the night is for.  The only thing on my mind was the nauseating feeling stuck in my throat. My look over the ocean, away – away – away. Over the waves, to Oslo, up the steep hills of Holmenkollen, into the deep woods to “goneaway-land” and Pluto. But then, out of nowhere, you came.  Someone had brought a beast of a ghetto blaster, powered by 8 huge A-batteries squeezed out The E-Street band, so you could hear it all the way over to the other side of the fjord. There you found me, and by a firm grip – you brought me back. You sang “Cover me”. And was it something I was screaming for then and there – it was cover.  You sang like my own soul had written that lyrics. Damn, it felt better stamping my feet against the smooth hot rocks of June.  I wasn’t alone about the need for cover.  Even The Boss had felt need for cover.  The waves brought the night in and your words were like an extra layer of skin on me, covering my exposed inner. And just then, I just didn’t give a damn about anything. The “shit” that were running in the sisterhood being 13. My mum and dad, in the always present death.  I stood there with both my feet IN the music and I just… was. You were strong and safe, and just that tough one can get being born in the USA. With my humble “Born in Norway” I felt your strength pulsate in every nerve-fiber in my body. Yes, it was rough times – and it was to be even rougher. But if no one could cover me from the outside, I would certainly make sure to cover from the inside.  It was the time to meet – no more running away.

 The times are tough now, just getting tougher 
This old world is rough, it's just getting rougher 
Cover me, come on baby, cover me 
Well I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me 
Promise me baby you won't let them find us 
Hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us 
Cover me, shut the door and cover me 
Well I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me 

Outside's the rain, the driving snow 
I can hear the wild wind blowing 
Turn out the light, bolt the door 
I ain't going out there no more 

This whole world is out there just trying to score 
I've seen enough I don't want to see any more, 
Cover me, come on and cover me 
I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me 
Looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me

With these words, I went stronger into summer. THAT was good, because I had a rough fall waiting for me.  I owe you a great Thank You, Bruce.  You saved me that day. You gave me cover, when I could not provide cover myself.  I have walked a long distance since that summer, and in 2012 I have ploughed what can be ploughed.  I wouldn’t be anything near what I am today, if I didn’t fight so much that I have fought on the way.  And the best thing I have learned on this journey, is to cover me!

Once again, the night strikes – and the starts shoots their way against Pluto. This time I’m in it for the ride.  I was done running away for years ago. Good night Bruce, see you when I get there.

Rikke.
Posted in Norwegian February 11. 2012