mouth like a magazine

It's early, but I am already tired. It's a rainy, cold, dark day for August. The apartment's strewn with laundry brought in from the rain to dry but I can't bring myself to do a thing about it. I have been struck with inexcusable relaxation (borderline laziness) since returning home. It's nice - I like work and I'll drain myself finding things to do. So it's nice to chill out and not worry about chilling. Feels a bit like days of old although now the chill is natural and not chemical.

Ah, vacation. Tranquil, blessed, fleeting. Over all too quickly. I fully intended to write about Sweden and our time there (it's the best way to remember) but really, I've been too relaxed to feel like doing so. But here I am. Martin - he's one hour into his graveyard shift. I've got good, raw tunes going and moccasins to keep my feet warm.

Our travels left me both satisfied and strangely empty. It was a near-perfect respite. I had a lovely sense of familiarity in Martin's parents home; happy, at ease, feeling welcome and appreciated. His dad - a merry, well-read, warm-hearted man. His mom - smart, hard-working, the ultimate hostess. She has filled my daydreams with vanilla pastries, Swedish strawberries, home-baked bread, buttery cheeses, cream sauces, gooey carrot cake, rhubarb soup and pie, oh my. I never did weigh myself upon my return home. Why spoil it all? It was a food-lovers paradise. That's all I should say on that particular subject, or I shall weep over my keyboard.

There's so much I could say, and it all falls flat on the screen. I was sad to go. It seemed like we were leaving many good things behind... I felt sad and impotent, feeling Martin's heartache as he said goodbye to his nieces and nephews. He said they would remember less of him with the passage of time, and I had to work hard to hold back the tears. I fear that as well - but I hope it won't be so.

What I enjoyed most, in no particular order:

• Our Swedish wedding celebration, basking in the support Martin's family and friends
• Swimming and sunbathing with Martin at a lovely, calm lake
• Eating a whole bowl of wild blueberries with a spoon
• Blowing bubbles with the kids - I was strange but cool with the ability to make giant bubbles
• Sitting in Martin's parent's beautiful backyard arbour
• The crystal clear pure silence
• Receiving welcoming hugs - warm, good, real hugs
• Mocking stupid American movies with Martin on the plane
• The wood floors and artistic window sills
• Pastries at every meal
• Going "mining" with our parents in a very dark, cold mine
• The curious, blushing looks of Martin's nephews
• Standing at the rail of a ferry in the fresh, clean wind
• The cathedral in Uppsala
• Sharing a basket of fresh strawberries in the sun
• Understanding far more Swedish than I ever expected
• Beating Martin soundly at minigolf
• Soft beds, feather pillows, heavenly-smelling laundry soap
• Martin's nephew teaching me to count to 10 in Svenska
• Soaking in the fact I now have another fun, loving family
• The medival churches and climbing the tower of one
• Taking a little boat slowly across a sunset lake

Now, I must commence my study of Swedish with real fervour, and I must convince Martin to speak more around the home so my mouth can become bilingual. I've mastered "Can you pass the dessert, " and now I must move onto other basics.

Hm. Still relaxed. Still sleepy. Methinks I will go find my book where I left it and burrow under a quilt. Adjö!