This weekend we joined friends for a road trip to a brand new science centre open in Estonia.  The museum was great - one of the best science centres we've ever been in.  The kids loved it: curious, active, fearless - running through the exhibits, ready for anything, the first to jump into flight simulators, dark tunnels, mazes, elevators.   I was surprised to see my own reaction to things though.  A number of times throughout the day I found myself fighting mini panic-attacks as I failed the challenges that the kids seemed to thrive on.  I couldn't overcome the feeling that I was going to cry and scream and vomit all at once when Tiss tried to lure me into the mirror maze.  I clenched my eyes shut and prayed for the ground when Jem pulled us 2 flights high in the rope chair lift.  I turned around and fled when Mikus invited me into the "Shanghai house" with a sloping floor, which made you feel instantly sea sick.  I was surprised at my own amount of fear and dread at simple things that cause kids joy and wonder.  My pulse racing and insides tingling, I sat down on the huge row of exercise-balls-come-exhibition couches and tried to gather myself together.

Maybe giving in to panic was just my reaction to my fear at real-life situations that have already come up early this year.  Almost immediately after new year's we found ourselves in a crisis at home, with our sweet Mikus developing a debilitating health issue - which has us confused, searching for immediate answers to relieve the problem, and possibly facing years of management once things settle down.  I have been finding this process difficult - because the sadness and fear that I have been feeling about this little person, my own flesh and blood.  Overcoming fear has been the hardest part of this process - finding the courage to keep searching, to be active in engaging health professionals and being advocate for my own child.  Things late this week started looking a little more positive, though not completely cured, and I have managed to regain some sense of balance.

So it looks like my theme for 2013 has been defined by outside influences.  Turns out that my resolution of learning to make sushi has been usurped by something a little more challenging - finding courage, wherever and whenever I need it.

It's not too late for this cosy romantic scene with a handwritten "Happy New Year!", is it?  I picked up this postcard at a collector's fair this autumn.  I think I was taken by the obvious chemistry between the photo subjects - and the absurd hand-coloured hot-pink flames in the fireplace.


The heartbroken Sigurds has written to Elga in 1924 - a lovestruck poem he can only have composed himself, inspired by the image on the card.  After reading his verse, I can't help wonder if he was also responsible for hand-colouring the card:

"...Oh, believe me!  A fireplace is love,
Where the most lovely dreams are consumed by flame,
But there is no more love, and my heart grows cold..."

 Years ago, my mother-in-law taught me a concept taught to her by her mother - that some days are just "days with holes in them".  Meaning that on those days you feel miserable, and everything goes wrong.  Or they are melancholy, and you just can't wait for them to end.  Or maybe something actually terrible happens, or you get some bad news.  A day with a hole in it is a great concept - it gives you the acceptance that today is a shitty day - and that some days are just like that.  It also gives you a sense of closure, in the way that it is just one day - tomorrow will probably be different.

Over time, I have also taught this phrase to my own kids, and sometimes in tears or frustration or unhappiness we agree that today is just a day with a hole in it.  And we feel better!  If any other hurdle comes our way, we figure it's meant to, because it's that kind of day.

Well, for various reasons today was that kind of a day for us.  So we decided to get out of the house and tackle the day head-on, by going to various museums and exhibitions in town.  I managed to abandon my men and dived into the Marimekko exhibition on at the Decorative arts museum.

Dear lord, if there was anyone on earth who NEVER had a day with a hole in it, it's those happy Marimekko designers.  I have never seen a fashion label with a bigger sense of joy de vivre.  Who doesn't love their cheerful, bold, colourful prints?  And to top it off, they sewed these fabulous floral fabrics into short frocks that could only be described as stylish sacks.  In the midst of my day with a hole in it, I realized that I NEEDED one of those frocks/sacks - and all my problems would be solved.


 Meanwhile, my boys were visiting an old favourite, which never ceases to amuse and amaze - the Latvian Natural History museum.

The best bit is the vintage diorama on the second floor, with all the moth-eaten stuffed animals.  If they ever refurbish that floor of the museum I will make a one-woman protest by chaining myself to the lopsided taxidermied giraffe.

We have been visiting the museum since the boys were tiny, and they still get excited every time we walk in the doors.


And there's certainly nothing like a careful examination of the "Mouse school" to chase away that day with a hole in it.... 

 I had a fond memory of my grandmother today.  Margarita was trained at the Latvian Academy of Art before the war, and when she came to Australia she ended up teaching the Adelaide high society ladies to paint in the 1950s and 60s.  She was an incredibly "modern" person, an eternal optimist, forever interested in things and making new friends.  She also had a charming set of prejudices.  Apart from recoiling from men with beards (Is there a name for beard phobia?  ...just googled it. Its pogonophobia.  Seriously.), she also often wondered aloud why the women with the biggest backsides wore the tightest pants?  And she also hated the new hairstyle that "all the tv presenters have" - layered hair.  Another pet grouch of my grandmother's was framed, mass-produced prints of famous paintings, found on the walls of many Australian houses (hello, IKEA!).  "Why would you have a print on a wall?" she would rant.  "You should never resort to having a print on your wall!  You need to have ORIGINAL art!  There are so many art students out there!  Anyone can afford to buy art at student shows!"

And you know, although I dearly loved and greatly respected my grandmother  - I kinda like a beard on a man. And my own hair, well...you could call it layered.  I won't comment on the size of my derriere, or the tightness of my pants.  But I have to say, I think grandma hit the nail on the head with her art show comment.  REAL art rocks.  And there is no better way to illustrate this than by making a stop at the Latvian Art Academy students' Christmas market which opened yesterday.  We try to make it every year - Jem and I raced in there at lunchtime today and were bowled over by the range of stuff the students were selling.  Amazing talent and creativity, all crammed into the one hall.  Every year we pick up a little something for a good price - probably cheaper than that framed ikea stock photo - something totally original, and completely beautiful, something to be kept at home on the wall to be enjoyed by family and visitors alike.

In our neck of the woods, you could be forgiven for believing that the end of the world was nigh. It's  4 p.m. and it's just getting dark.  There is a snowstorm outside - it's about minus 5 - so the snow is swirly, powdery and fine.  It's like Mrs God up in the clouds has gone crazy sifting the flour for gingerbread... or something.
The lights in our windows are twinkling hopefully, and I can hear the wood pellets jingling as they are fed into our wood furnace.  Fizzy is cosily crunching on some of her catfood, kids are snuggled in front of the TV.  Tiss asks me why I'm smiling - I didn't know I was.
"Because we're warm, and we're at home, and it's snowing outside", I say, realizing that it doesn't take much to be truly happy - not really.