Hey Kids

I'm still alive, and, someday, I will make a real post to this blog again. LOL.

Old School: Rolig

Here's another old-school Kimberly piece of writing. This is part of a story I was writing when I was 19, i think. It's meant for young-adults (i.e. jr high/high school)

He lived under a log; Rolig did, deep in the fortuna woods. It was warm and damp in his log, and not very roomy. Nevertheless, he spent many a day and night tidying and organizing his little log until everything was exactly the way it had been in his little imagination. He used a tiny knife to cut shelves into the wood, and to cut around knots that he used as coat hooks. He made comfortable (although moist) furniture out of moss and clay; he gathered rocks and made a fire-pit to cook his food. Whenever he gathered any food, he wrapped it very neatly in maple leaves to preserve it, and then he lowered it deep underground where it was still cold even in the spring and his food never went bad.
Rolig had also collected quite a lot of food. He had walnuts, acorns, pine nuts, blueberries, blackberries, lingonberries, cloudberries, wild cabbages and carrots, preserved meats, and very nice fruit jellies and jams that he had made by himself with much care at his kettle by the fire. As you can tell, Rolig had it rather well. He was never hungry and always comfortable next to his cozy fire on his moss chair!
The world outside of Rolig’s log was the domain of the Fortuna forest. It was a busy and bustling forest where wild animals were active and happy. They had everything that they could ever want—healthy trees full of leaves, open spaces with tall grass, even shady places like caves where they could rest if they wanted to.
The animals never fought with each other. They had everything they could ever want, so nobody had any urge to try to take someone else’s. When you have enough food, enough space, and enough companions and friends, there is no need to go and fight. Every night, Rolig sat under his log and looked at the fire. The only sounds to be heard were a few crickets chirping sleepily, and the fire crackling. The moon shone like a silver orb; it was rich and full. There were animals stirring outside of his log, but they were silent… absolutely silent. Tempted by the moon, Rolig looked towards his door and walked toward it. The light from the moon was so bright. It was so bright, but it did not illuminate the sky. Rolig stepped out under the stars that night, and they were so bright and clear that it brought a tear to his eye. They shined so brightly and hopefully and Rolig said to himself:
"There are so many stars. But they are so far apart, scattered all over the sky beyond what I can see. If I was one star and I looked all around me, would I see the other thousands like me, or would I think myself completely alone in the night sky?"
Rolig kept looking at the stars above, and this thought lingered in him. It followed him back into his log and tickled at the back of his mind like a persistent child. He felt sad for the stars and wondered if they could move together even if they did see and recognize each-other.
Rolig sat down at his chair by the fire- it was crackling and bustling and seemed to be busy with something very important. He sat and looked and thunk and thunk and had a mug of cloudberry ale before unknowingly drifting into sleep. His sleep was clouded by vivid but incoherent dreams. He saw dead things—dead plants, dead trees. Then, he heard shrieks. Someone was crying. Someone else was laughing. Rolig felt sad, but was unsure why…
When Rolig awoke, he was startled at finding himself in his chair rather than in his cozy bed. There were still embers burning in the fire and he rushed to pour well-water on them to extinguish it, only to realize that he would need to restart it for his morning tea. He sighed. Why had he fallen asleep in his chair? And how could he have slept the entire night through like that? With quite the crick in his neck from the strange sleeping position, Rolig began his daily routing rather irritated by these annoyances. This startling morning had made him forget completely about his thoughts of last night.
But even though the thoughts were forgotten, they were not gone, and they left a strange meandering trail in Rolig's mind, so that when he was pulling water from the well, he felt as though he were under a heavy cloud. Somehow, the daylight didn't seem as friendly as it used to.
"The sun doesn't shine just for you, Rolig." He thought. "It shines and shines should you hide under a rock or should you stop existing altogether."
He moved rapidly on the uneven ground, his wooden pail in hand and the cold water splish-splashing onto his warm bare feet. There were areas of heavy trees and then areas with only stumps, so the shade was never the same. The land could be hot or cool, bright or dim, depending simply on the angle of a tree to the sun. Rolig knew this land so well. His bare feet had been taught a lesson or two by the sharp twigs and pinecones. His feet moved swiftly and he took long bounds over shrubbery with ease. If you ever run across him in the wood, you shall see only the flash of his pitter-pattering feet and he will be gone. His daily errand of fetching well-water was done very hastily on his part. He did not rush because busyness, for he was quite at his leisure. He rushed simply because it was an errand, and when we do errands we feel that we must be hasty or they should never get done. If it were not for this fact, Rolig might have spent many hours fetching water and enjoying the morning in the woods.
As we were saying, Rolig rounded the familiar bend, climbed up the hill and then raced down (his favorite piece of the journey). But as Rolig reached the bottom of the hill, he saw a strange patch of leaves. It seemed to him unnatural, but before he had time to avoid it, he stepped on the patch of leaves. There was an instant metallic "CLANG!BANG!" and at the same time, bursts of pain shot up Rolig's leg. He felt an unbelievable amount of squeezing metal teeth biting him, and he grasped the device and pulled it apart, freeing his leg. The metal jaw snapped shut and Rolig's mangled leg was left in the wake.
It bled and bled, his ankle did. He pulled off his under-shirt and tied it tightly around his ankle. This was the worst of the pain yet, and he would have screamed, had he not been so brave. There Rolig lay. He sat and was amazed- not scared- just amazed. The metal beast that attacked him once did not move again. It was obviously lifeless, but how could something lifeless be so hungry? His ankle throbbed, and he felt light-headed. His familiar woods now felt somehow foreign and threatening to him as they swum in circles around him. He was nervous and felt defenseless against attacks; he would be easy prey for whomever was allied with this savage metal monster.
Had Rolig been made of stuff less strong, he would have fainted where he sat. But that was not his style, for instead of falling into despair, he roused his deepest, most hidden feelings of anger and liveliness.
"Never would I let this iron beast take my life as well as my blood!", he promised himself, and with that promise, his blood started pumping and he felt and used the sun's warmth and energy, managing to bring himself to his knees.
"Aargh!!" groaned Rolig as he dragged himself to his feet. Blood poured out of his ankle, and he wondered when he would be bled dry. He started limping home. It was slow going, and eventually blood had been cut off from the ankle and he could barely feel it at all. There were things along the way that had never before hindered Rolig, but that were now terrible obstacles He still carried his pail of water the entire length of his journey home, though. He certainly had a strong and brave heart inside of him.
After much pain and much light-headedness, Rolig finally made it to his log. He replaced the dressing on his ankle and washed it well. He also had a few pieces of meat, to replenish his strength and he drank some cherry ale, which he thought would cheer him, but only made him desperately sleepy. He felt a little insulted, and a little bit as though his pride had been taken from him. He fell, once again, into an uneasy sleep with thoughts of metal jaws and bad surprises floating in his head. Rolig slept deeply, and his thoughts of bad surprises slowly evolved into a complex dream. It was one of those dreams that feel both more real and more bizarre than woken life; a dream that you never forget but never believe. He was in the middle of a plain-- nothing but grass and wildflowers all around and not a tree or a soul to be seen. The sun was shining and there was not a cloud in the sky. Then, with a flash, he was in a valley, with endlessly tall, sheer and jagged mountains surrounding him at every direction. He sat up quickly out of shock and looked all around him. Again, not a soul was to be seen all around. But, this time, whether out of apprehension or clairvoyance, Rolig could feel someone's presence. He felt eyes and breaths directed at him. He felt as though he was being observed and closely monitored. He was not afraid. Above him a single star hung in the sky like a water droplet about to drip and plop down. The shining star was right above Rolig and as he watched it; it grew larger-- closer. It was moving towards him... or he was moving towards it... He could not tell which. Then, the light was all around him and his body was radiating from it. Slowly and peacefully the giant star overwhelmed Rolig and he was joyously engulfed inside of it. Light and only light all around. It was beautiful.
Bang! Rolig awoke with a start. He quickly looked around himself and gathered his wits once again. He felt quite out of place and ill at ease after his dream... even in the broad daylight of the morning. The pot that had fallen and awoken him lay peacefully now on the floor. Rolig stared at it-- it was very still and very quiet, but seemed to have personality. "What a power that little pot had... to awaken me with such a fright!" Rolig said aloud. "Never has done that before, now, has it?" It was quite odd, really. There was nothing but stillness and silence all about and the pot was lying there in the middle of the floor. It almost seemed as thought some power had overtaken it. It was almost as if it was meant to awaken him, Rolig thought to himself. The words "meant to" resonated in his mind. This, again, was a strange and unpleasant thought for Rolig. He was, after all, quite bound to think that his log and its surroundings were safe and free from menace. His past few experiences had shaken that belief. Nevertheless, Rolig was nothing if he wasn't persistent. He put these thoughts aside and started to boil some water for his tea.

Old School: Lord Coffee and Madame Tea

This is Old-school Kimberly writing. It's pretty fun though. Enjoy!

Lord Coffee and other reflections on the culinary culture

If a very ripe cupcake were to tell me that he had lost all of his sprinkles, I would not offer him my jacket. Although it is true that sprinkles symbolize youthful exuberance, it is also very true that sprinkles denote a foolishness that should be mostly left to french fries and onion rings. It is very irritating when onion rings dress themselves up and parade around in their fancy dipping sauces. If only they knew how the wise old baked potato scoffed at them and if only they knew that Sir Quiche de Lorraine is no likelier to share an oven with them because of these pleasantries.
I’m sure you are about to tell me that I don’t know what I am talking about. This is, of course, true, for I am but a silly box of baking soda. But you see, if you were an intelligent little cucumber, you would understand that I know very well that a little bit of my soul will aid a cupcake greatly in retaining her fraicheur. Although she might lose her sprinkles and her colors might blend together, she will be always sophisticated and respectable while Onion Ring will never reach that delicacy of style and beauty.
Coffee, however, will never be in danger of losing his throne. To be usurped by any culinaire of lower stature than Ketchup, he would have to be sorely ganged up upon by an enormous force of peas and chocolate. (But that, too, is a silly thought... peas and chocolate have always been and always will be the greatest of enemies as long as they share the same drawer.)
As a box of baking soda, I myself greatly admire Lord Coffee. He is one of the few edibles who are perfect without any sort of adulteration. He is also the greatest paradox that can be reckoned with the legume mind. This paradox exists in his being so pure and without experience while still being unfathomably corrupt. He attracts followers subtly with his enticing smooth silk robe and his warm, moist breath, until every weak or strong-minded soul follows him and aches to drink his forbidden nectar. A wise nectarine once told me that coffee is a god and that he steals the soul of the other culinaires like a vampire to achieve his enigmatic allure. Even though the nectarine is beyond her years in wisdom, I believe that coffee is an all-powerful force who wins his throne not by taking life from the innocent, but by providing them with an unsurpassable foe who is so foreboding that his kingdom would rather completely succumb to his temptations than try to unite and defeat him. Whether Lord Coffee is benevolent or malevolent, however, I believe I will never know.
Lord Coffee has a queen also. It would be a travesty not to mention her, for she is the regal, lovely and sensuous Madame Tea. Madame Tea unassumingly claims power and love from all that know her. She has many more moods than Lord Coffee does (who is always dark and foreboding). At times, Madame Tea is strong and bitter; she wants to stimulate you with her murky and rich brew. At other times, though, she floats like a light breeze of spring and she smells of sweet blossoms. She lingers with you and even dances with you if you are lucky. You feel more intoxicated than stimulated by her, and you yearn for more of her than you can ever be fortunate enough to get. The more of her you experience, the more your thirst for her grows. You begin to cherish her and create rituals around her; she seduces you with her sweet perfumes, and ultimately she enlightens you. After the sun has set, she whispers to you of inner peace; she reminds you that you know the Way. In the morning, she is a strong but comforting presence; she stimulates you and opens your senses to appreciate the mysteries of the universe. There are secrets lingering within Madame Tea that you sense as soon as you meet her; for she is composed of both the oldest and the youngest things in the universe.
Together, Lord Coffee and Madame Tea are a power that has yet to be reckoned with. Although neither Coffee nor Tea can claim to hold power over all, together they hold claim to every weak or strong-willed soul that has ever encountered them.
--kbl

i don't seem

to be updating this blog very well recently.... but it's just out there, in the universe. Waiting. For what, I'm not sure...
For me to return to it?
For someone else to hack in and corrupt it?
For inspiration?
For some blog loving?

I haven't figured it out yet. But when I do, rest assured, it'll be posted. In the meantime, you know where to find my facebook profile!
OH! And basic info:
I am back in the U.S.
I am back at law school.
Cell phone number is the same.
Sense of humor is even better than it was pre-Sweden.
I have an unrequited love for the subway.
I now sit in the sun instead of the shade (thanks to the Swedes again).
:)

System Bolaget

Considering Sweden verges on socialism, it's not surprising that it's government has a monopoly on all liquor sales. The place is called "System Bolaget" which is a name that makes no sense at all and translates into "System Company". 1984.... anyone? anyone?

Of course, the government also has a monopoly on all sales of medicine... and by medicine, I don't even mean prescription pharmaceuticals. I'm talking aspirin, midol, probably even tums. The idea is: control everything. Save people from themselves, assume they don't have any common sense whatsoever and if left to their own means, normally productive members of society would throw themselves into the gutter with a big bottle of aspirin in one hand and cheap untaxed whiskey in the other. And, of course, the government gets a load of cash in the process, but that's not something we talk about. This is for the good of the people after all.

Let me demonstrate:

theres a thing on swedish msn where you can take a poll as to whether u like System Bolaget or not. one of the things says this:

"en av ideerna med att ha alkoholmonopol är att man kan sälja alkohol lite återhållsamt så att folk inte köper mer en de hade tänkt"

now what that's basically saying is that System Bolaget stops people from buying more alcohol than they had planned on buying because it is a little bit more controlled......... ummmmmmm.... and they can say that OUT LOUD? And people aren't rebelling?

OH, but according to Folkhälsouniversitet, alkohol consumption would go up by 3.5 Liters of vodka per person in sweden per year if there wasn't a monopoly. WHOA!!!!! i couldn't make this up if i tried. 3.5 Liters!!!

Swedes must be an unusually alcoholic breed.

I thought that perhaps this poll was occurring as some sort of change in political thought. Maybe, I thought, they are considering doing away with System Bolaget. So, when I finished my poll and entered my phone number I awaited my follow-up call, eager to give my opinion on the matter. What I received, though, was an automated message about how I obviously don't think it's important to have system bolaget but it's really good anyway, I should be grateful that it exists, and no matter what I think, it's impossible to do away with it anyway.

Thanks, System Bolaget. Thanks.

Scandinavian Sea-faring

I was so full of excitement and expectation as I saw the huge, 7-level boat rise above me at the shore of Newcastle. It was about to take me on a cruise from Newcastle England to Kristiansand Norway, after all! The ship was so huge and white and sparkly compared to the gray narrowness of Newcastle. To top it all off, I knew that I would be sailing to Norway, the land of Fjords and trolls. You can imagine my joy! I remembered how nice my cruise between Norway and Sweden had been 2 years ago ... I certainly didn’t have any seasickness then!

Well, that wasn’t the open ocean.
God I was naive when I boasted to everyone that I don’t get seasick. You can’t know if you get seasick until you have been on a giant cruise boat that’s heaving back and forth as it oh so gut-wrenchingly slowly rolls you about in your bed. The worst of it, though, isn’t the nausea. It’s the vertigo. You don’t know whether your upright or upside down or whether you’re going to slip and crack your skull open while you take a shower.

The end result was phenomenal though. Kristiansand is a tiny glittering jewel of a town, right on the water. I spent hours in a little cafe there waiting for my train, and the people were relaxed and social. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world as they stared out the window at the bright, sparkling water and ate their Lefse (yummy norwegian pancake-like things).

On the train ride from Kristiansand to Sandefjord, I saw some of the most beautiful scenery possible. It was worth the sickness, worth the 9 hour layover in Ireland, worth the overweight luggage; worth it all. The sun shone brightly that day, and there was a blanket of crisp white snow that covered mountains and fjords that rose dramatically up from little rivers and valleys. The snowy mountains were covered with traditional little Scandinavian wooden houses in red, yellow, blue, and green. I can’t compare it to anything except to say that the least beautiful leg of that journey was as pretty as the most beautiful area of the Colorado rockies. And that’s saying a lot.

I finally arrived in Sandefjord after an hour long taxi ride on narrow, icy, winding roads with a swede and 2 norwegians. The swede, of course, took that opportunity (mid-taxi-ride) to talk about the bad condition of norwegian roads and the high number of fatalities on those roads. The Norwegians preferred to discuss their favorite show about drag queens, “Queentastic.” Typical.

I can’t wait to see what misadventures will come next!

Jigs and Kilts

True, I'm in England, but I can't help but re-live Ireland, and all 9 hours that I spent there. One of the funny things about traveling to a country whose language you (supposedly) speak natively is that you forget that there are different words for different things. Take "que" (or is it "cue"?) as an example. In America, we "line up" for things, but when I asked a group of 5 or 6 pleasant-looking thirty-something Irish men "are you in line?", they looked at me, smiled from ear to ear and said, almost incomprehensibly, "Nooooow, we ahn't een keelts, now, aah we, nun uv us?"
Then they laughed... goodheartedly, I might add, and not at my expense at all.
I hope they were referring to the Irish Jig or something like that. Lines. Kilts..... ?