Hello and a warm welcome, both to those of you visiting for the first time and to those who return again and again! I am always both surprised and happy to see readers from all over the world – from Ireland, the USA, and so many places I hardly dared to dream of. Imagine that my small corner of Sweden can reach your heart across the globe.
Thank you, most humbly, for reading here with me. It means more than you know.
When Piles Come to Life
Today I want to write about something completely different than international readers – those piles we all gather at home.
I have one of those piles. It started with a printer. The printer and I already had a shaky relationship, and eventually my husband grew tired of hearing me talk to it. He said he knew where to find one of those new machines that actually worked.
Although I muttered that the old one wasn’t that old, and that it had been expensive enough that it should work, we went to NetOnNet and bought a new printer. The old printer ended up in the basement, right on the floor. We were going to throw it away “later.”
The Kitchen Faucet in LVL²
Then, as always, more things joined the pile. In the spring, when we took our motorhome LVL² out, the kitchen faucet broke. We bought a new one, and the broken faucet also moved to the basement. Not a big pile yet – but still, a pile.
Broken Pots and Forgotten Things
Last year we bought a new battery for our motorhome. The old one got a spot in the garden, waiting for recycling. And that plastic box where I tried to grow leeks? The sun cracked it, and it stayed where it was.
Broken pots, an old garden stool, and everything else slowly joined the pile. Eventually, when we walked past, it felt almost alive.
My husband thought it looked sad when you came down the street and saw our pile of junk. So we moved it to the other side of the patio, so it wouldn’t be as visible.
From Pile to Relief
Yesterday, the recycling station in the village was open. It rained heavily. The pile stayed put, and I gave up hope that we would ever deal with it.
However, today a small miracle happened. My husband said:
“Let’s take care of this now.”
At first, I wasn’t very eager. However, because he had the energy, I didn’t want to be the one to hold back.
First, we took the usual recycling: milk cartons, plastic, and glass. Then, the plastic pots went, along with my broken garden chair. After that, the printer went to Elgiganten’s electronics recycling, and the faucet joined the scrap metal. Finally, since we were in Uddevalla anyway, we returned our summer cans and bottles – two large bags, which gave us 230 kronor back.
The Joy of Order and Lightness
When we came home again, it was as if the air was lighter. The pile was gone. The garden felt bigger. And I got such an energy boost that I took out the grass trimmer and tidied all the edges where the pile had been.
The grass that had grown around the pile was trimmed away – as if it had never existed. My husband heard me from the basement, came up, and mowed the lawn. Even Lillfia caught the feeling and asked if she could help.
Reflection: Why Do We Always Wait?
Now I’m sitting under the pavilion, writing. My body feels lighter, and so does my mind. And yet, I wonder: Why do we always wait until “later”?
For me, it looks like this:
First, I say, “We’ll do it later.”
Then, the pile grows.
Then comes the shame and the quiet anxiety.
Finally, we do it – and then it feels like Christmas morning.
There is a certain reward in that final feeling – the relief and the energy when it’s all done. But I don’t know if it’s worth all the quiet nagging before. Maybe that’s just how life works sometimes. And maybe, I’m not the only one.
Between the Lines – My Voice
Between the lines, this isn’t just about trash or a pile in the garden. It’s about holding on to things – and feelings – longer than we need to, and about the freedom that comes when we finally let go.
I write this to remind myself – and maybe you – that it is in the small actions that the greatest relief and joy can be found. When the pile is gone, life feels a little bigger.
Questions for You
Do you also have a pile waiting for attention?
How does it feel when you finally finish something you’ve postponed for too long?
Do you think the relief is stronger because we waited too long?
Here’s a reminder of my friend’s YouTube channel – her sweet educational videos for children about animals, nature, and the small things that spark curiosity.
Live today, right now. Yesterday is among the memories of old piles, and tomorrow waits in the distance. Maybe new piles will come – but it all depends on what we do in the present. Right now is where life unfolds and where we can finally breathe. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
AHA – Between the Lines
Behind this story of a disappearing pile lives a lesson about life itself. It is about the weight of what we hold on to, and the unexpected freedom that comes when we let go – of things, of clutter, and sometimes of the emotions that keep us stuck. I share this because life is often lighter than we dare to believe, and because even a cleared pile can make room for new energy, hope, and a deep breath in the present moment.
This was supposed to be a post about slowing down. About seeing how a single blade of grass can whisper something about life. But sometimes, the words take their own path. And when they do, I try to follow. So here we are.
Monday under the awning – coffee, calm and everything in motion
Once again, I’m sitting outside under the awning of LVL^2, writing today’s post. My coffee cup is faithfully by my side, as always. The sky holds more clouds than yesterday, but the warmth is still there – soft, enveloping, comforting against my sleepy body.
Traffic is heavier today. It’s Monday. People heading to work. And I’m just sitting here, a little too comfortably, almost feeling guilty for having this much peace. But that’s what I have – and I’m grateful.
Painting with the wrong medium – but the right feeling
Yesterday moved in a slow rhythm. Swimming, shade, a short moment in the sun. In that shade, I brought out my watercolors. And right there it becomes obvious: I’m not a watercolor painter. I’m oil. I’m texture and reshaping. I’m mistakes that turn into masterpieces.
But I painted anyway. A girl’s face, drawn freehand. The eyes turned out too big – almost cartoonish – but still, there was something there. A glow, a kind of motion. It wasn’t detailed, but it had feeling. And sometimes that’s enough. When you’re new at something, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It can look childlike. What matters is that I dared to try. Watercolors feel risky to me, almost threatening in the way they settle and stay – no second chances.
I also painted a landscape, and there it was even clearer that this wasn’t my strength. Watercolor requires discipline. It doesn’t forgive. It stays where you put it, whether gentle or unforgiving.
I like paint that moves. That lets itself be shaped. That’s why I love oil. With oil, you can make mistakes – and still end up with something better than you imagined. Like life, sometimes. You think you’ve ruined it, but the mistake becomes the part that makes it whole.
Callout: What happens when you try something you’re not good at – but do it anyway? Can you be brave enough to be a beginner?
The calm in every brushstroke
Painting quiets my body completely. Just like writing. Something releases. Everything else fades away. It’s like coming home to something inside myself. A space with no pressure, no expectations. Just being. Stillness in color.
Mandys Diner – when the spark disappears
After painting and a few dips in the way-too-warm pool, we headed to Mandys Diner for dinner. It’s usually a highlight. A place where the food and the vintage décor create a sort of time-travel back to the 1950s and 60s. I’ve always loved the atmosphere – the pictures, the details, the vibe. It feels like an experience.
But yesterday… no. Something was off. Maybe it was just me. But I don’t think so.
We were greeted by a waitress who hadn’t bothered to iron her shirt. That might sound petty, but it sets the tone. It says something. That it doesn’t matter anymore.
We waited. Too long. For drinks. For food. And drinks should come quickly – it encourages you to finish and order again. It’s a win for the restaurant, really.
I ordered a burger with coleslaw. What I got was a few limp strips of cabbage and carrot – no mayo, no seasoning, nothing to hold it together. The meat was dry. Tasteless.
And the milkshake, usually a highlight – cold, creamy, dreamy – was gritty. Not even cold. The whipped cream tasted like it had been sitting out too long. Disappointing. And when even the milkshake disappoints – something’s wrong.
The whole thing cost 1400 SEK. And it stung. Not because it was expensive – but because it was a lot of money for food that didn’t bring joy. I wanted to feel satisfied. Instead, I felt tired.
Callout: When does the magic fade from a place you once loved? Can you feel the shift when passion turns into routine?
ADHD – when the mind sees more than it wants
I often think my brain works like oil paint – it wants to revise, reshape, go back and try again. That doesn’t fit well with watercolor. And it doesn’t fit well with a restaurant visit that misses the mark.
With ADHD, I notice everything. A wrinkled shirt. The too-long wait. A milkshake that isn’t cold. Maybe others don’t see it – but my body feels it. Sounds, smells, small signals. They all hit me deep.
At the same time, that’s what gives me the ability to really see. To sense when something’s lost its spark. To know when something’s off. It’s both a challenge and a strength. And maybe that’s why I need painting and writing – because those are the spaces where I can breathe in my own rhythm, without other people’s noise or forgotten details pressing in.
The words took a different turn
I had planned to write about slowing down. About a blade of grass moving in the wind. About the beauty in small things. But instead, this became a post about watercolor, disappointment, and quiet realizations.
And maybe that’s what I needed to write all along. Because sometimes, stillness isn’t what we plan – it’s what happens when we allow life to be what it is.
Thank you, wherever you are
I also want to say thank you. This blog has visitors from all over – Ireland shows up every week (hello from me to you!), and I’ve seen readers from the USA, Australia, Germany, Denmark and of course Norway. Norway has been with me for years – you feel like family now.
Callout: Where are you reading from? Leave a comment – it makes the world smaller and this blog a little bigger.
Quote to carry with you
Yesterday has already settled into history, tomorrow waits further ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Final words
This post became what it became – not what I planned. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. Letting what wants to be written find its place. Just like in painting – sometimes the mistake is what brings the whole picture to life.
Reflection
There’s peace in simply being honest. In not dressing it up. In saying: I wanted something else, but this is what came. And that’s enough.
Support this blog
If you appreciate my words, reflections and raw honesty – feel free to support this blog with a small contribution. Thank you for reading, and for being here.
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