Today we’re heading out with our little LVL^2. There’s a pleasant feeling in my body – a sense of well-earned rest. Maybe it’s because the laundry baskets are empty. That doesn’t happen often. I don’t know how many loads I did yesterday, but it turned into a full laundry day. And still, we managed to fit in a swim.
Not the refreshing, cold dip I often long for. The lake at home was warm – almost body temperature. I didn’t even feel cold getting in. But the kids enjoyed it – and so did I. Even though I was in the water almost as long as they were, I still felt warm when I got out. But I also felt grateful. Swimming together is its own kind of quiet luxury. Though mostly, I just swam on my own.
Have you ever felt that? When life is overflowing with things to do, but still feels strangely empty? Maybe those small moments – a swim, an empty laundry basket – are where life happens most clearly.
Thirty kilometers in blazing sun
Later in the morning, my brother and his daughter arrived. They had biked all the way from Uddevalla – 30 kilometers in blazing sunshine. The temperature reached 27–30 degrees. I’m impressed. Also, a little worried. I would’ve passed out halfway.
But my brother has always been determined. He once biked all the way to Gothenburg. I suppose it runs in the family – because when our grandfather was young, he and his brothers used to cycle from Gothenburg to Uddevalla every weekend. They worked until 1 PM on Saturdays, then hopped on their bikes to spend Sunday with their parents. Would anyone do that today? I doubt it. These days, people train for the sake of training – not to visit their parents.
Do you think we’ve become too comfortable? Or are we just showing love in different ways today?
A pancake worth remembering
After the swim, I got the idea to make a gluten-free oven pancake. I’ve tried many times before – but it’s never really turned out right. That fluffy, firm texture has always been missing. But yesterday… it worked.
I found a recipe from Det glutenfria köket (The Gluten-Free Kitchen) and made a double batch. I left out the bacon since we were having it with ice cream. The pancake turned out exactly the way I hoped. We ate it with queen’s jam and vanilla ice cream. The kids devoured it like they’d never seen food before. And I… I just sat there, enjoying the fact that I pulled it off. It had that soft, fluffy texture – just like I remember from my mother’s kitchen.
Recipe – Gluten-Free Oven Pancake
You’ll need: – 4 eggs – 3 dl gluten-free flour mix (like Finax Red or Semper Mix) – 4 dl milk – 1 tsp psyllium husk – 1 tsp baking powder – A pinch of salt – 1 pack of bacon or smoked ham (optional)
How to make it:
Preheat oven to 220°C (428°F).
Whisk a bit more than half of the milk together with flour mix, psyllium husk, baking powder, and salt.
Add eggs one at a time while whisking.
Pour in the rest of the milk. Let the batter sit for 10 minutes.
If using bacon – dice and pre-bake it in the baking dish for 10 minutes.
Pour the batter into the dish and bake for 30–40 minutes in the center of the oven.
Serve with jam and ice cream – and a cup of coffee if you like.
Evening with cheese, crackers, and card games
Later that evening, my daughter and her partner came by. She had called earlier and asked if we could have cheese and crackers. I said yes right away. There’s something about those kinds of evenings – simple, yet deeply meaningful. We sat out on the patio playing cards until the dark slowly settled in. I wasn’t exactly a champion at the games, but I did win with my laughter – and my “fult ord”.
(Now, I don’t actually say a lot of bad words. I say “fult ord” – which literally means “bad word.” The boys at work thought that was hilarious and joked that whenever I said it, they’d mentally insert an actual swear word. But after a few months, they all started saying “fult ord” too. It became our thing.)
Have you ever felt that someone is doing something just to ease your pain? It’s beautiful – but also fragile. What happens when we realize we need to carry our own grief?
But in the middle of all that warmth and joy, a thought crept in. One I’ve been carrying for a while. I don’t want my daughter to come just because our son doesn’t. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to fill a void or be a comfort. That emptiness – that’s ours to deal with.
I’ve spoken to her about these thoughts. And I hope she comes to us because she truly wants to – not out of guilt or responsibility for something she can’t fix.
And yet… I’m so grateful that she does come. That we have these evenings. Together.
Thoughts on faith – and a question from my neighbor
Before I end, I want to share a short clip from my neighbor’s YouTube channel. She makes sweet little educational films for children – but sometimes, she speaks to us grown-ups too. Today she asks: Can we live without religion?
I don’t know. I think many people in Sweden live without God in the traditional sense. But I believe we all still believe – in something. Karma, nature, kindness, purpose. I believe goodness creates more goodness – that kind acts ripple out into the world.
Faith has always been part of humanity. People have always needed to believe in something bigger – a reason to keep going. Our ancestors had gods long before priests came. Vikings, cave dwellers, everyone had their form of belief.
As for me – I go to church once a year. On Christmas Eve. For the songs, for the peace. I wouldn’t call myself religious. But maybe I am, in my own way.
Do you need something bigger to believe in? What holds your thoughts when the world feels too large – or too empty?
Reflection
This was a day full of sun, swimming, food, family and thoughts. A day where the heat pressed down, but my heart opened. A day that tasted like pancake, smelled of sun-warmed skin – and left something to quietly ponder.
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”Jag vet inte om du har en sån plats – en som en gång gav dig ro, men som nu bär på andra känslor. Själv sitter jag här på altanen och låter tankarna vandra just dit…”
Det här skrev jag igår, i värmen under altantaket. När du läser det sitter jag nog vid sjön där det är simskola. Kanske med en kopp kaffe i handen, kanske i samtal med en liten kille som sakta men säkert närmar sig vattnet. Små steg, med tillit. Både för honom – och för mig.
Att lära sig simma – och våga närma sig
Idag fick jag följa med grannens pojke till simskolan. Han har inte riktigt lärt sig simma än, och har lite svårt att komma i vattnet. Men simkunnighet är så viktigt. Inte för att bli duktig – men för att kunna ta sig till land om något skulle hända. För mig är det en av de mest grundläggande kunskaperna man kan få.
Vi bestämde att ta med lite fika och stanna kvar en stund efteråt. Visa att sjön kan vara något positivt. Lek, skratt, nyfikenhet. Kanske blir det bara fötterna i vattnet idag. Kanske lite hundsim imorgon. Vi tar det i små steg. Det är så man lär sig – både barn och vuxna.
En annan sjö, en annan känsla
Men samtidigt – jag badade inte idag. Inte i min egen sjö. Den där platsen som är min. Där jag brukar andas, vila, känna mig hemma. Jag valde bort den.
Det var inte av feghet. Inte ens av sorg – även om det gjorde ont. Jag valde det av respekt.
Respekt för min son, om han skulle vara där. För barnbarnen – för att de inte skulle behöva känna något konstigt, något svårförklarligt. Jag ville inte vara den som störde stillheten. Inte idag.
Det var mitt sätt att visa omtanke – på avstånd. Men det innebar också att jag avstod från något som ger mig kraft. Och jag saknade det.
När minnen färgar en plats
Det är märkligt hur platser kan förvandlas. Inte för att de fysiskt förändras – men för att våra känslor gör det. Från trygghet till vaksamhet. Från frihet till försiktighet.
Den där sjön är min plats. Men idag fick den stå tom – av hänsyn. Och kanske av rädsla också. Rädsla för att riva upp något. För att bli en känsla i någon annans dag som inte är välkommen.
Att ta tillbaka något – varsamt
Men jag vill tillbaka. Inte genom konfrontation. Utan genom stillhet. Genom att bara vara där, igen. I min takt.
Kanske i gryningen. Kanske en annan dag. Med fötterna i vattnet och hjärtat lite närmare mig själv.
Hemma, i långsam rörelse
Under dagen hemma hängde jag tvätt i solen. Kände vinden mot huden. Lyssnade på tystnaden mellan maskinerna. Rensade lite ogräs i slänten – men bara så mycket som kroppen orkade.
Och vet du vad? Jag sa till mig själv: Nu räcker det. Det som blev gjort var tillräckligt. Det var vackert. Resten tar jag en annan dag.
Det är något nytt. Och kanske också något jag lär mig – precis som lillpojken i sjön kanske gör.
Reflektion:
Att välja bort något för att skydda någon annan är också kärlek. Men glöm inte dig själv. Det du längtar efter förtjänar också plats. Det går att visa hänsyn – och ändå sakta hitta tillbaka till det som ger dig kraft
Fråga till dig som läser:
Har du någon plats som förändrats för dig – en gång trygg, nu osäker? Hur gör du för att ta tillbaka den? Och hur vet du när det är dags att försöka?
Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Citat att ta med dig:
”Lev idag – just nu. Igår vilar i historien och morgondagen väntar där borta i framtiden. Det är nuet som räknas.”
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”I don’t know if you have a place like that – one that once brought you peace but now carries something heavier. I’m sitting here on the patio, letting my thoughts drift in that direction…”
I wrote this yesterday, sitting beneath the roof of the patio while the sun warmed the air around me. As you’re reading this, I’m likely by the lake where swimming lessons are held. Perhaps with a cup of coffee in hand, watching a little boy slowly approach the water. Step by step. With trust. For him – and for me.
Learning to Swim – and to Approach Gently
Today I had the opportunity to join the neighbor’s little boy for his swimming lesson. He hasn’t quite learned how to swim yet, and he’s a bit hesitant about getting into the water. But swimming skills are essential. Not about being great at it – but about being able to reach the shore or a pier if you fall in. For me, it’s one of the most fundamental life skills.
We packed a small picnic and decided to stay a while after the lesson. The idea was to show him that the lake can also be a place of joy. Of play, laughter, curiosity. Maybe today will only be about getting his feet wet. Maybe tomorrow we’ll try dog paddling. Step by step – that’s how learning happens. For children. For adults.
Another Lake, a Different Feeling
At the same time, I chose not to swim in my lake today. The one that usually brings me calm, breath, stillness. I stayed away.
And not out of fear. Not even just sorrow – though yes, it hurt.
I made that choice out of respect. Respect for my son, in case he was there. For my grandchildren – so they wouldn’t feel something strange or awkward. I didn’t want to stir anything up. Not today.
It was my quiet way of caring – from a distance.
But it also meant stepping away from something that gives me strength. And yes, I missed it.
When Memories Color a Place
It’s strange how places can change. Not physically – but emotionally. A place of safety becomes a place of caution. A place of freedom becomes a place of hesitation.
That lake is still mine. But today, I left it untouched – out of consideration. Maybe even fear. Fear of becoming a feeling in someone else’s day who didn’t want me there.
Reclaiming Gently, Not Forcefully
But I want to return. Not through confrontation. But through presence. By simply being there again – in my own time.
Maybe at dawn. Maybe on another day. With my feet in the water and my heart a little closer to myself.
At Home, In Slower Motion
Back home, I hung laundry in the sun. Felt the wind on my skin. Listened to the stillness between washing machine cycles. I weeded a little in the slope by the house – just as much as my back allowed.
And you know what? I told myself: That’s enough for today. What I managed to do was beautiful. The rest can wait.
That’s new for me. And maybe something I’m learning – just like the little boy at the lake.
Reflection
Choosing to step back to protect someone else is also love. But don’t forget yourself. The things you long for deserve space too. It’s possible to show respect – and still gently return to what gives you life.
Question for You, Dear Reader:
Do you have a place that once felt safe – but now feels uncertain? How do you reclaim it? And how do you know when it’s time?
Quote to Carry With You
Carina Ikonen Nilsson
”Live today, right now. Yesterday rests in history, and tomorrow waits out there in the distance. Right now is what matters.”
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