A traditional Swedish midsummer song (about elves, and a magic forest)
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This friday we had ed camp and discussed various relevant topics. In the group with Nisa, she shared some of her expertise regarding foraging and plants. The whole group agreed that it is extremely valuable to bring nature into the classroom, and engage children in nature outdoors. I had an inquiry presentation on this topic last term, but it was so useful and interesting to hear others’ ideas and perspectives. We talked about guided foraging trips, school gardens, and how this all connects to First Nations concepts of interconnectedness. Fungi are also extremely fascinating and ‘intelligent’ species, and now I want to learn more! Apart from picking chanterelles in Sweden in the autumn, I haven’t engaged that much in these beautiful, mystic things. Thanks Nisa for an inspiring discussion!
Shout out to Michael and Hans for assisting me with this piece of art.
(omg I actually wrote a chapter in prose! It didn’t take a miracle- it did however take being alone in a cabin by the ocean that lost its wifi for 1.5 hours)
LĂ„rö lake, a spectra of green. The sun shaving flakes of gold through the surface, the inexplicable blackness beneath. No contours or outlines around, but the hand, numbed yellow, before her. Eyes wide, it floods you; it becomes you. Only two pirouettes for the green to blur; blur limbs, gravity. Until her aching lungs, as if suddenly inflated, spit her up.Â
Above her, the world still miserably intact. Lars on his stomach on the grass, as engrossed in a comic one can be, legs swinging in the air. Ida dreamt of it; her brother running over the dock, a desperate, clumsy dive in, shirt still on. The magnetic side of the blackness beneath her suddenly shifted, from pushing away to pulling her, straight and motionless, into the abyss. Until Larsâ hand finds hers, drags her back up. Perfectly lifeless sheâd lay, sprawled in the sun, shiny and pale, creature-like. But her eyes would flutter open, to Larsâ cry, his body collapsing over hers, sorrow and relief heaving through and out of him. She would smile, alive by nothing but love, pure with nothing but a will to live.Â
Her sultana fingertips found the dock, and she pulled herself up. She could see their cousins, Maja and Kalle, having joined Lars. The two siblings were each flat on their stomachs, pinching each other. Maja, as always, shrieking- a cry of pain and delight. Kalle was the oldest of them all, older than Lars by two years, the biggest, strongest, and due to this Ida was of course, scared and infatuated. She pretended not to notice them as she went for her towel, wincing at their bashful closeness. Lars seem to pretend to not notice her. She dug in her purse, and took out the letter. Droplets from her hair bled out the ink. The paper wrinkled as if kept and re-read for years. It only arrived yesterday.
âĂ€lskling!
You should see the colours of the Marrakech market. They are so bright they are burnt on the inside of my eyes when I go to sleep, and re-appear in my dreams. The air is so thick and wet it feels like a thousand little eels are constantly sucking your skin, leaving you tired and dry. Work is well, we are on the 12th floor of a building, facing the river in the east. I have a cubicle, but at least there is working air condition so I am not complaining. Iâm writing a piece on the lack of healthcare for expectant mothers- itâs intriguing and heartbreaking all at once!â
âCan I see?â
Maja blocked the sun, and goosebumps bit every inch of Idaâs skin.
âItâs from mammaâ, Ida said.
Maja sat down next to her, resting her head against her shoulders. Ida started to read.
âCome onâ, Lars moaned, slapping his comic shut. âNot again. Iâve heard this three times today already.â
Heart in throat, Ida was about to respond, when Kalle interrupted.
âLast one in is aâŠâ
He started sprinting and the rest leapt after him. That was Kalleâs godly ability; to own and steer any moment his way.
Back in the water, even with splashing and laughter around her, Ida wished again for it to reset her, bleed out her proportions, her perspectives. She fought a sudden urge to drag Lars down, wrestle him, tumble through the water, smear out time, find themselves in stillness, back as little kids, find each other again, find mamma coming home and this summer no longer being be so nakedly, burningly bright.
I have a lot of ideas for my story, and many things are falling into place. I have the dramatic climax down, the structure for jumping back and forth in time, and of course, a plot twist. However, there is one important aspect I am awfully stuck with. I want the story to be centralised on two friends, and I have the traits of my main character down, but her best friend⊠I canât seem to fully capture her; her essence. Who are you, what do you want with your life? Do I flesh you out through text as I go; sketch you with letters? Or will your contours and details simply emerge out of the dark room when ready?Â
Jesse Miller’s talk was super refreshing. Instead of simply vilifying or victimizing children regarding their technology and social media use, he focused on the larger picture. We model our behaviours, good and bad, intended or not, onto children. And the truth is, adults use their phones excessively, and are the creators of the majority of toxicity and crimes online. We also, on the other hand, enjoy and learn a lot from technology. So why have such a dismissive attitude when it comes to children’s use of it? Jesse emphasised that while yes, some troubled youth may spend a lot of time online, the screen time or content itself is not the real issue, but rather, the lack of a supportive, present role model. Instead of confiscating phones in school and banning screens at home, Jesse suggested instead to work WITH students; engage with their online life, ask questions, and help them regulate their use. This is a complex question, especially since a lot of tech companies are conspiring against us, engineering their algorithms in order to make profit from toxicity, outrage, and sensationalism. However, we should be scrutinizing them, not each other. Awesome talk by Jesse!
I made a screencast for the excellent website Pexels. Unfortunately, I was unable to edit it. My MacBook is apparently too old for iMovie, and when I tried to access my video from another computer, it would not download properly from my Google Drive. Ah well, I will check in with Michael next week for help.
Iâm always starting novels. Theyâre fun to begin, tedious to continue, and impossible to finish. Anyway, here is another attempt. I am using some tips and prompts to help me along. I read a post online that recommended that to help the plot forward, and not getting stuck in elaborate narration, you can try to visualise the different scenes, as if you were writing a movie. It helps to be visual, precise and explicit, and then you can scaffold around that.
For the actual story, I was inspired by some of my favourite books The Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante, which follow the whole lives of two female best friends- their complicated, yet unbreakable bond.
Main character: Ida. Setting: Canada and Sweden. Time: Present (Canada) Past, her childhood and youth (Sweden).
CHAPTER 1
-Empty city streets in the evening. Clapping and banging heard. People are out on their balconies and lawns with pots and pans.
-A couple on the couch in front of TV. The woman, Ida, looks out the window, yawn and says: âItâs seven already?â No reply from the guy.
-Ida goes out on her balcony, stretches. on the balcony next to hers is a woman in her pyjamas, smoking. âHow was the hospital today?â asks Ida. âYou know⊠Just one panic attack. Itâs the fucking visor.â Silence, then woman says: âWish theyâd shut upâ, she says. âI have to be back in five hoursâ.
-Ida goes back inside. âSpoke to another human todayâ, she says. Guy hmms absent-mindedly, scrolling his phone. âOr, more like a zombie. Oh, and you killed my baby succulent. Drowned her.â no reply. âMurdererâ, she says, and he finally looks up, going âmmh?â. She sighs and scrolls her phone.
-Ida coughs. They both freeze for a moment, looking dead serious. Then they start to laugh. âThatâs it. Weâre deadâ, the guy says. âShut upâ, she says. âItâs just a-â cough â-tickle in my throatâ.
-Night time. Ida is on the couch, twisting turning, moaning from her fever. Her breath is hoarse.
-(Flashback) You can still hear her strained breath, but now all we see is dark water. She is struggling to get to the surface. You can hear splashes and people screaming. She starts coughing.
-She is still coughing, but now she is awake, in a hospital, on a ventilator. Panic-breathes. Nurses trying to calm her saying: âYouâre okay, sweetie, youâre okay.â âYouâre a lucky girl, youâll be fineâ.
-She is back home, looking frail. Sits on the couch in the evening with tv on. then shuts it off, removes all the garbage on the sofa, and lies down, staring. scrolls her phone, but soon throws it on the ground.
-She goes to the desk and opens her laptop. Puts her face in her hands as if she has to do something difficult but important. She starts typing an email: âHejâ. then she slams the laptop shut. Opens it again. âHejâŠâ. She canât do it. Instead, she googles: âTime in Swedenâ. It says: 6:08 AM.
-She grabs her phone. She is starting to cry. She heads for the door. In the apartment complex she bumps into someone who is wearing a mask who swears at her.
-She is outside and she dials the number, hand shaking. She falls to her knees on the ground and sobs, phone to her ear. She hears the signal. Then, suddenly, someone picks up: âHallĂ„âŠ?â Ida sobs: âHej⊠det Ă€r jag.â (Hello, itâs me).
*End of chapter, next one will cut to the past.*