Along with the official day for waffles came an inevitable epiphany. Me - the next Bruce Lee. As simple as that. Martial arts practicers all over the world, WATCH OUT - you're looking at the next Wing Chun master. Sticky hand you say? I'll take you down without using a single muscle, easypeasy.

Inevitably, spring is (finally) approaching - thank God. Count the pairs of white Chuck's out on the streets and you'll have proof enough. People seem to now awaken from the few months of the national, unperceived darkness-coma and take every second to let the skin soak up some vitamine D.

I never thought. But. Chocolate mud cake. With. Bleu cheese. Amazing.

A regular friday ? Oh no. Sun (snow), quiet breakfast table and holy Chuck Taylor-weather.
And as topping on the chocolate chips on the sprinkles on the whipped cream on the very best B&J - J's in town.

Serendipity.
What is life, if not the newly woken sunrays of early March?

Here I am - a daughter (and now only-child since my second brother escaped the nest a few weeks ago) undescribably proud of having yet another doctor in the family. Who knew the feared D-day would turn out such a great day, from start to finish - with friends and family there to help and support.

Friday was BLACK SWAN. Entering the theatre with high on expectations, two hours sitting as if on newly sharpened nails accidently tipping half of the popcorn over the couple in front of me, exiting with arm hairs still raised hours after the end credits. It should have gotten more Oscar's.

Lajla

Surrounded by beautiful people, inside and out. Morning darkness is fading along with my hair color. Fridays are for celebrating birthdays, especially 18th:s. Excitement.

Moena, Italy.
Slow down and let minutes go by as if they were clouds passing on a summer blue sky.

Blog activity low lately, requesting apology from friends, family and tout le monde. However, Naima activity high - hours and hours spent nailing the processes of our metabolism, the theories of Archimedes and Isaac Newton, acting out Beethoven's miserable life in the Concert Hall of Gothenburg. Almost a week of living the dream, devouring russian romanticism with nightly nibs of more modern thinking. Along with a dad that just turned half a century, and a mother that just finished a thesis I will both flee and sadly be parted with the city covered in mushy, wet, heavy snow. Missing all the fab(ulous) things here at home, the Italian dolomites for a week of winter sport break will sure be  more than great. Don't fret - I will make sure I do everything I can to keep all my body parts intact. Now - 30 hours in a bus. Fab.

Second movement, second semester, second year.

Living and loving.