This post is a quiet greeting from the motorhome, with warm coffee in my hands and the last days of summer in view. It’s about nieces who remind me of life’s playfulness, about a summer slowly wrapping up – and about finding small moments of joy even when longing still lives in the heart.
Morning Coffee and a Rain That Almost Hurt
Here I am again. The coffee is warm, and my body is slowly waking up after last night’s rain. It poured down – not a gentle patter on the roof, but more like nails falling from the sky. But I’m awake now. The coffee warms my hands, and my body awakens, inch by inch.
Two Little Girls and a Reminder About Life
My husband’s brother is staying further down the campsite with two adorable little girls. They are both Paw Patrol and – as one of them proudly said – mighty.
They showed us their tricks and how fast they could run. Two bright little souls who, with all their charm, reminded us what life is like as a child: invincible, playful, and full of imagination.
“I am mighty!” – sometimes that’s all the life philosophy you need.
The Summer Winds Down
Today we are heading home. Unpacking the motorhome. The vacation is over – a little sad, but somehow also okay. It’s August 1st, the tail end of summer.
It’s been a lovely summer, though windy and a bit chilly except for the last few weeks. Many trips with LVL^2, plenty of swims, and countless cozy evenings in the motorhome. Different from past summers, but fun and full of lessons. Memories of the summer of 2025.
Autumn Will Be Mine
Now autumn is waiting, and I’ve made up my mind:
Swim three days a week in Uddevalla
Create a daily routine that brings energy
Finish writing Vinghästen, so the story can finally be complete
Maybe I’ll even start my early morning swims again, depending on how the days unfold.
The Quiet Rest of Longing
The sorrow that weighed heavy yesterday has settled down today. It rests quietly now, no longer quite as heavy. It’s possible to find joy, even with the longing for my son and grandchildren.
Soon little Emilia has her birthday. Last year she got drawing supplies – she is so talented at drawing. This year, I don’t really know what she likes anymore. Today we’re also buying a present for my daughter’s partner – that one I’ve already figured out.
Small joys of everyday life weigh more than you think.
Between the Lines
The morning is quiet. My coffee is warm. This is where I land – in the simple things, in the now, in the summer just about to turn into autumn.
Closing Words
And so this summer ends – with coffee as my companion and autumn as the next chapter. Life continues in its gentle rhythm, with swimming laps, writing time, and small everyday joys that make the heart beat softer.
Quote: Yesterday has already laid down to rest in history; it can no longer be lived, only remembered. Tomorrow waits farther ahead, out there in the distance. But right now – this is where the breath comes, and life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
This is a post about late summer quietly approaching, about life in the campervan and an unexpected family visit – but also about longing. Longing for grandchildren, for a son, and for a time that may never return. It’s also a post about wanting the best for others – even when you’ve been left out.
When Summer Begins to Slip Away
Here I am again. Sitting in the campervan, writing as I usually do – but the feeling is different now. Not as vibrant as it is in spring. Summer is starting to pull back, even though I don’t really want to admit it. But the truth is: we are now closer to autumn than to summer in all its glory.
Of course, autumn can also be beautiful. But it will be a long while before those summer evenings return. Still – it’s not over yet. There are days and nights left to enjoy. We can’t give up just yet. It’s still summer, even if we’re nearing its final chapter.
An Unexpected Visit and a Quiet Thought
We’ll be staying at the campsite one more day. Today, I found out that my husband’s brother is coming here – something I didn’t know until we arrived yesterday. It will be nice. Still, my mind is elsewhere.
I saw pictures on Instagram – photos of my grandchildren, taken by my son’s wife. Apparently, they’ve been to Tirilparken, a Norwegian amusement park. And it hurts. Not because the kids are having fun – but because I don’t get to be part of it. Because I’m not allowed to be their grandmother.
They Chose to Cut Me Off – But the Children Did Not
Hugo has grown this summer. Emilia looks so big. I get to see Alfred now and then, because my daughter is home when he’s with her. But Emilia and Hugo… I don’t see them. My son has chosen to keep his distance. And I have to respect that.
It’s his choice. But the sorrow is mine.
What hurts the most is that the children never made this choice. They didn’t choose to cut me off. That decision was made by their parents.
And it doesn’t end there. My daughter – their aunt – isn’t allowed to see them either. Instead, my son and his wife spend time with her former partner. Maybe it’s nice for the grandchildren to go on fun outings – but it still feels strange. Deeply strange.
One Cake Too Many – Or a Long-Buried Hurt?
It all started with a conflict. Or more accurately – a cake. There was no lactose-free cake for little Hugo at a party, only lactose-free coconut balls. And that was the final straw.
I understand that there’s more behind it. There usually is. But that was the reason they could point to. That was the thing they made into a decision. I forgot to buy lactose-free candy for Easter. A small thing – but apparently, a big one.
When my children were small, I used to tell people not to worry about treats. I brought my own for them, since they were also sensitive to dairy. If someone insisted on getting something, I offered a few suggestions.
But this time… the cake became a symbol. I think they had planned this long before the cake. They needed a reason to justify it. And I just… slipped into the conflict. I’ve seen this before. Back then, it took a long time before I got to see my son again. And little Emilia.
This time… maybe it’s forever.
I Just Hope He Doesn’t Feel Guilty
There’s nothing I can do. It’s their life. But I carry it. I carry the grief.
Still – my biggest hope isn’t that he’ll come back. It’s that he won’t carry guilt. I don’t want him to stand in front of the mirror one day, filled with regret. I want him to feel he did what he needed to do, for his own sake. That this was the best way he could cope.
What he’s coping with – I don’t know. But I hope that’s what he feels. That it was right for him.
A Mother’s Love Never Ends
I want him to be happy. I want him to have a good life – one where he can breathe, laugh, and live fully.
He is my son. And I love him more than he’ll ever understand.
Maybe that’s exactly why I wish for him to see clearly. To know that this choice – cutting me off – was the best thing he could do. For himself. And for his little children.
Between the Lines – My Voice
I want my voice between the lines to say this:
I am a mother who carries both pain and love in the same breath. I do not turn away from what hurts, but I do not write from bitterness. I write to understand. To remain. And to keep loving.
I am here. I didn’t choose this – but I still choose to stand in love.
I also write so that you know you are not alone, if you find yourself in a similar situation. I know this is often met with silence – and that’s why I write. So that you who carry this kind of story can see that we are carrying it together.
AHA – Between the Lines
I see that it’s still summer, even as autumn creeps in. I see children I no longer get to meet – but I still see them with love. I see my own sorrow – and I choose not to turn it into guilt. It hurts, but it’s not cold. It’s just love with nowhere to land. And maybe that’s why I write – just to be able to love anyway.
Reflection
Grief follows no rules. There is no manual for how to handle being cut off – especially not by your own child. But it is possible to keep loving, even when the relationship is broken. To stand in love, even when you get nothing in return. It’s possible to love – even when love becomes a one-way street.
”Yesterday has already laid itself to rest in history. Tomorrow waits ahead. But right now – this is where life is happening.” – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Would you like to support my writing?
I write to understand – and to help others feel less alone. If you’d like to support my work, you can do so here:
Foreword I’m not under a blanket in Madrid. But I am under an awning in Borås. There’s no wind. The sky is mostly cloudy, though patches of blue peek through. A bird calls out now and then. A few campers are waking up. But here, at our spot, I’m the only one awake. A blog post is about to be born. And it happens – right now, in this very moment.
The Zoo – and That Feeling That Never Quite Leaves
We arrived in Borås yesterday. We went to the zoo, as we’ve done before. And yes, I always have mixed feelings about it.
It’s beautiful to see animals you’d never encounter otherwise. To hear knowledgeable, passionate staff talk about them with warmth and pride.
But then comes that other feeling. The one that settles like a stone in my stomach.
These animals… they don’t belong here. An elephant is meant to roam far and wide – not in slow circles inside an enclosure. It doesn’t look natural. It isn’t natural.
I know zoos do a lot of good. They work to preserve species. They educate. They raise awareness. And still. I feel it every time. It’s not freedom. It’s an attempt. And sometimes… attempts just aren’t enough.
Too Hot for Animals – and for Us
It was too hot. Really too hot. And we were far from alone – crowds of people filled the paths. The animals were hiding. And the kids with us… they just weren’t as interested this time.
Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the crowds. Maybe we’ve just seen enough now. Maybe we’re done. That’s what my daughter and I said on our way out. We’ve done our share of the zoo.
Still, there were sweet moments. We found shade. We had soft serve. The sandwiches and pancakes we brought disappeared quickly. The kids got absolutely soaked chasing fountains in the play area – laughing until it became contagious.
In that mess of water and squeals, there was something peaceful. A pause from the heat and the crowd.
Fifty Meters of Relief – and a Night with Sausages and Cards
After the zoo, we headed to the pool nearby. Not every day you get to swim in a 50-meter pool. It was a balm. For body and soul.
We swam, jumped, played. And I felt it – here I am. Here we are. Right now.
When we got back to the camper, my husband was grilling sausages. I made mashed potatoes. Everyone ate. It wasn’t gourmet, but we were hungry – and that made it good.
Later, we played Chicago with my daughter and her partner. I had a great hand – but their strange rules meant no one actually won.
Then we headed into town. Movits were playing in the city park. I’d only seen clips my daughter had posted on Facebook and thought, “Eh, not my kind of music.” But I was wrong. There was rhythm, groove, and lyrics that spoke to me. And they were from way up north – which warmed me. Creativity is alive across the whole country.
But that’s also when it began to scratch. That other thing. The thing that didn’t sit right.
When Night Falls – and the Kids Aren’t Home
There were so many people. Music, laughter, movement. And safety – thanks to the many police officers and security guards. It felt reassuring.
But then I saw them.
The kids.
Girls and boys. None of them older than 14. Many of them barely 12 or 13. Big groups. Makeup. Tough stares. Twitchy movements. Shifty eyes.
And I knew. I knew what I was seeing.
I’ve seen it before. In my job. In real life. These are kids who are getting lost.
And it wasn’t a judgment. It was experience. I could spot the ones who had already tried things. I could see the weight they were carrying – things they should never have to carry.
And all I could think was: Where are you, parents?
What makes you not see this? Do you really think your kids are little angels? Standing there – with fire in their eyes and the wrong people around them?
It tells me they’re not angels. And it should tell you the same.
You need to wake up. Not later. Now. It’s already late.
This isn’t a path kids “end up on.” It’s a path they’re pushed onto – when no one’s holding the door closed at home.
I was furious. And heartbroken. No child should have to be grown-up at that age. No child should be navigating drugs, threats, violence – because their parents can’t be bothered to be the boring adult who says no.
That’s what parenting is. It’s being the one who says: “No. You’re staying home.”
It’s checking in. Talking to other parents. Knowing where your kids are – really knowing.
Don’t you see? It’s scared kids who carry weapons. Scared, disguised kids who need parents.
No kid should need a weapon to feel safe in town. They should be home – with you – even if it means playing boring board games.
Don’t you get it? These are scared children. They hide behind Gucci caps and fake status. But it’s not real. It’s a shield.
It’s not cute. It’s dangerous.
And it’s on us.
My Friend, Her Films – and the Question We Don’t Ask
Lastly – a soft end. I want to share my friend’s YouTube channel again. She makes short educational videos for children – about feelings, about life. She works on them late at night, after her own kids have fallen asleep. She records, edits, narrates.
100% for her kids during the day. 100% for others’ kids at night.
And I wonder… when does she take care of herself?
Or maybe – maybe that’s how she does it. Through creating. Through giving. Just like I do it here – with my writing.
Maybe that’s how we save ourselves. One sentence at a time.
Closing Words
This post held a lot. About animals that shouldn’t be in cages. About children who shouldn’t roam the streets alone. About adults who shouldn’t hand over their responsibility. And about the small things – an ice cream in the shade, a laugh in a splash zone, a friend who gives her all.
It’s easy to lose your footing in this world. But maybe, just maybe – it’s in the small, everyday moments that we find it again.
I don’t write to be liked. Im write because the world hurts sometimes – and because I know we need to look ´. I carry experience, but also hope. And the guts not to look away.
Yesterday has already laid down in history. Tomorrow waits up ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Support My Writing
If you’d like to support what I do – my words, my time – you’re welcome to contribute here: paypal.me
Preface Some days stay with you, like pearls on a string. This is one of them. A day that began with rain and grey skies, and ended in deep reflections, play in the waves, and a troubadour singing for a scattered crowd. Here’s my story from our last day before heading home – written just as it happened.
From rain to sunshine – the day took a turn
Yesterday began with clouds, rain, and wind. However, by late morning, the sun broke through, bringing back the warmth. Despite the gloomy start, we had breakfast outside. Somehow, food always tastes better outdoors – even the driest toast becomes delicious. That’s how it is, at least in my world.
Even before the sun appeared, my husband and I took a walk down to the lake – just to see it.
Photos, swims and dancing waves
My husband had bought a new camera lens, which sparked his creativity. I’ll try to include some of his photos here – let’s see how that goes.
Once the sun came out, we couldn’t resist the water. I lost count of how many times I swam – but it was a lot. One of the swims was from a rocky outcrop with a ladder into the lake. The wind had stirred up fairly large waves, and it took effort to descend without being tossed against the rocks. Still, what a swim it was! The movement felt like a full-body workout. Surprisingly, Lake Vänern was warm.
Sitting on the ground – and getting back up again
In the afternoon, our daughter arrived with little Alfred and her partner. My husband took charge of the grill, and as usual during camping trips, the food tasted amazing. Since we only have three chairs, my daughter and I made do by sitting on the ground.
Now, being 60 years old with a stiff hip and aching back, getting up again wasn’t my most elegant moment. It probably looked quite amusing. Yet with a bit of help from my daughter, I managed just fine.
Playing in the waves – childlike joy
Later, when the others went grocery shopping, Alfred stayed with us. So he and I went down to the lake again – this time under heavy clouds and even bigger waves. We swam and played in the water for over an hour. Bathing with children changes everything – it’s not just about swimming; it’s about adventure. Together, we chased waves and explored the shoreline. By the time we got out, my fingers had turned purple-blue with cold – but I was still smiling.
Bruno the dog, dishwashers and the best eggs ever
After they left, my husband and I went to do the dishes. This campsite has one of those super-fast dishwashers – two minutes and you’re done. What a luxury!
Earlier that morning, we had seen Afghan families having breakfast by the sinks. One woman was cooking a traditional egg dish called Tokhm-e-tomato – eggs fried with onion, tomato sauce, and Middle Eastern spices. It smelled absolutely wonderful. I tapped her gently on the shoulder and told her – this is one of the tastiest things I’ve ever eaten.
Later on, we met a man from another Middle Eastern country who told us he had owned a restaurant and used the exact same kind of dishwasher. I mentioned that my husband and I had looked into buying one ourselves, though it’s a bit bulky and expensive for a regular home. Still – imagine getting your kitchen cleaned in just two minutes!
Respect in the small moments – when hearts want to speak
I stood a few steps behind her. The scent of the food lingered in the air while she focused silently over the frying pan. I wanted to say so much. Over the years, I’ve worked with many boys from her part of the world – boys who arrived in Sweden alone. And I always carried the image of a mother far away – perhaps someone like her – cooking, worrying, hoping.
In my work, I tried to offer those boys what I believed she would have wanted for them: dignity, safety, care, and deep respect.
I wanted to thank her – not just her, but all the women I’ve never met yet still carry in my heart. I wanted to say: I saw your sons. I listened. I tried to be worthy of your trust.
But I stayed quiet. I hesitated, unsure if we would understand each other. Maybe that was a mistake. Sometimes, it doesn’t take perfect words. A smile. A hand on the shoulder. A simple presence. That’s often enough.
People talk about culture clashes. But not here. Not on this campsite. Here, we shared meals, stories, swims, and dishwashing tips. Here, we were just people.
If only we could take that simplicity with us – into society, into our politics, into our everyday encounters. What if we led with curiosity instead of fear, and respect instead of suspicion?
Evening music and a soft goodbye
That evening, there was live music at the bar. Not many people showed up – perhaps because of the weather. A troubadour gave it his all, trying to capture the audience. He was good – had a nice voice and plenty of witty remarks between songs. But most of us were busy socializing.
Still, I appreciated his effort. It added something to our last night here.
This post turned out a bit different. But these are my words, from our final day at the lake. Tomorrow, we pack up and drive home – to celebrate my mother-in-law who turns 81 today. She’s one of the kindest souls I know.
Then it’s back to work for my husband for a week – and after that, two more weeks of spontaneous camper freedom. We don’t know where we’re going yet. And that’s exactly the beauty of it – the freedom to just go.
What do you think?
Have you ever sat on the ground at 60 – and needed a hand getting up?
Have you experienced warm encounters across cultural boundaries?
What’s your most memorable camping moment?
Reflection
Sometimes, the most powerful bridges are built quietly – with a glance, a plate of food, a shared laugh. That’s where humanity lives.
“Live today – right now. Yesterday rests in history, and tomorrow waits out there in the distance. What matters is now.” – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Support this blog
If my writing means something to you and you’d like to support what I do, you can do it here:
It’s early morning in the motorhome. The wind is humming outside, and the waves gently reach the shore below. It’s just past six, and everything else is still and sleeping. My coffee is, as always, by my side. I suspect the entire campsite is still asleep—except for a few early birds like me, soaking in the calm of the new day.
While the Camp Sleeps
I’m sitting in our motorhome, listening to the wind outside. The waves whisper down by the lake. Coffee next to me. Everyone is still sleeping. I think the whole campsite is mostly asleep. Just a few, like me, sitting up, enjoying the peace.
Real Campers – With Tents
There are many tents on this campsite. And I think they look so cozy. They’re probably the real campers. They’ve packed, they’ve set up, they’ve organized their things. I find myself wishing I was one of them.
We’re the Glide-Campers
We, on the other hand, are glide-campers. We bring the house with us, and it takes almost no effort to get ready. It’s become a part of our daily life—something we do just because we can. And lately, we can go often.
But that doesn’t make us real campers. It takes us 15 minutes to get on the road and 15 minutes to set up. By then the mat is rolled out, the table set, and my coffee’s brewing. Cooking? Almost like at home.
The Tent That Never Left the Garden
Long before we even bought a caravan, I wanted us to get a tent. My husband, who usually supports my quirky ideas, said no. A firm no. So I bought a tent anyway—with four small rooms and a center to eat breakfast if it rained.
But we never used it for real camping. I set it up in the garden, and the kids and I pretended we were camping. My husband shook his head, saying, “The bedroom has better beds—and it’s warm.” Next sentence: “A hotel would be better.” But that wasn’t what I wanted.
Caravan, Then Motorhome
One day, I found a caravan. That story is in my book, titled “I Prefer to Call Myself Impulsive”: Buying a caravan without a tow hitch. Buying a caravan 30, maybe 40 miles away – and buying it cheap. No, it wasn’t a hit – but that’s where we discovered camping.
We had several caravans. Then my husband started talking about getting a motorhome. I resisted. But he bought one—and I was hooked. Now, sitting in our fourth motorhome, I dreamily watch those with tents.
Milk Frothers and Forgotten Chargers
I can picture myself packing the car, setting up the tent… cozy, charming, everything I long for. But—not for me.
I can’t even pack a bag for a work night without bringing half my house—and still forgetting the essentials. How would that go with tent camping?
In the motorhome, I have everything. For example: I own a milk frother I’ve used maybe four times. I also have three battery whisks for frothing milk. One broke yesterday. I still have two left—one in use and one backup. The broken one lasted two years, so no need to buy a new one just yet.
Reality Check: I’d Forget the Charger
Tent life looks lovely, it feels like real camping. And I think I’d like to be that kind of camper. But I’d need packing skills, and a brain that remembers things.
I wouldn’t be able to sit here as I do now—feet up in the passenger seat, laptop in my lap, coffee steaming—because I’d have forgotten to charge the laptop, lost my phone charger, or packed everything in the wrong place.
So… maybe my husband was right. But only maybe. Because… tenting really does look lovely.
Little Films, Big Love
Let me again share the link to the small educational videos for young children. They’re made by my neighbor. She works on them in the evenings after her kids have gone to bed. I’m so impressed by her films—so sweet, made with love. Yes, impressed is the word.
Reflection
There’s beauty in wanting something else—while also appreciating what you already have. The tent is a dream. The motorhome is my reality. And maybe, in that contrast, I find my own truth.
”Live today, right now. Yesterday rests in history, and tomorrow—we’ll see if we get to live it.” – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Callout
Do you dream of tent camping too—or are you perfectly happy with the comfort of a motorhome like I am? Leave a comment or share the post with a fellow traveler!
Stay connected
Want to follow more thoughts, memories, and everyday reflections? Subscribe to the blog. No noise – just words from the heart.
We use cookies to optimize our website and our service.
Functional
Alltid aktiv
The technical storage or access is strictly necessary for the legitimate purpose of enabling the use of a specific service explicitly requested by the subscriber or user, or for the sole purpose of carrying out the transmission of a communication over an electronic communications network.
Preferences
The technical storage or access is necessary for the legitimate purpose of storing preferences that are not requested by the subscriber or user.
Statistics
The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for statistical purposes.The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for anonymous statistical purposes. Without a subpoena, voluntary compliance on the part of your Internet Service Provider, or additional records from a third party, information stored or retrieved for this purpose alone cannot usually be used to identify you.
Marketing
The technical storage or access is required to create user profiles to send advertising, or to track the user on a website or across several websites for similar marketing purposes.
