Four years ago I started this blog. Blogging suits me because I like to write, and reflect, and turn things into stories. I like the scrap-book approach of sticking everything in together, and putting up photos so that when you scroll through them they make a narrative. Sometimes I do it for my family, who are far away, sometimes for Michael, sometimes for the writers of the blogs I read. And I do it for strangers, who might stumble across this site and stay a while, as I do with other blogs, loving the windows they give into other lives. But mostly I do it because it satisfies a need in me, to record things, to create things, to write things down.
Four years ago I couldn’t have imagined my life today, although I suppose it’s a fairly predictable trajectory: PhD, House, Wedding, Baby. Each of them utterly exciting. Along the way there’s been plenty of traveling, and flying high in the sky, and watching the seasons come and go, and a couple of very sad things too. And of course not everything is perfect, and there are things I don’t write about. But lately I have found myself thinking of my friend Kate, who died. Who should not have died, but there was a stupid accident, and she did. Kate had a lovely life, and loved life fiercely, but twenty-seven years is not enough. Sometimes when I stand in the kitchen of my little house, and look at my child, I am sad that Kate didn’t have the chance to experience all this. I am grateful for my life, and for my little family and the lives we are building together. I am grateful I can watch the rain ploshing circles on our deck.
I am a little nervous about our next adventure – in a month’s time we leave for six months in the USA, and there is a lot to sort out here first – but I am grateful for the opportunity. And then we plan to visit Australia, and then to return to our cosy little house and the tail-end of another Norwegian winter. Bring it on.