I can’t believe I was stuck in traffic that long. We only moved one inch at a time, and it was steaming hot inside the car.
How I hate driving.
It makes me nervous when we’re on the highway, because they are all driving so fast. One little mistake, and they can start digging a hole for me. Like they did for Grandpa.
I wonder what really happened back then. Grandma said that he was a good driver. And that she warned him to stay home that day, but he’d laughed and told her not to worry. That he would be back within an hour and it would be bad for the baby if she worried.
But he never came back. Never.
Grandma raised her kid alone and did well. But I wonder how things would have been different if Grandpa had been alive to see Mom grow up? Would it have changed anything?
Maybe it was meant to be?
How much of what happens is fate and meant to be? And how much is just sad - or happy - coincidents? We’ll probably never know.
But I’m sure that if traffic was meant to happen, God would have given us wheels instead of legs and a steering wheel instead of hands. And that’s not how I looked the last time I saw my reflection in the mirror.
Speaking about mirrors... don’t they just always make you look fat? Especially the ones inside dressing rooms. You’ve finally found a nice dress, but when you try it on, you look like a hippo in ballerina dress.
I should cut down on the sugar in my coffee. One day I’ll do it.
When I was around five years old, I went with my father to work sometimes, and I always loved that they offered me a typewriter and paper.
That white paper… all those possibilities!
A year or so later, my parents gave me a light-brown typewriter made out of plastic. One of those things that was made for children.
With it I typed stories and fairy tales and used my imagination. Later I got a real typewriter (still not electric, though) and I kept typing.
My biggest dream was to become a writer.
High-school killed my imagination, but I discovered a new-found love for writing non-fiction.
For several years, though, I almost didn’t write. I worked in a bank for six month, studied medicine, worked in a supermarket, worked as a childminder, as a secretary and book keeper for a lawyer, before I finally dropped my day-job for good and started to write books.
My books were non-fiction books, and they were published through a couple of Danish publishing houses.
I also sold two short stories (out of the three I wrote) to two of the biggest Danish magazines.
Until recently that was the only fiction I could boast about, because I struggled to write a novel. That’s all over and done with, luckily.
I grew up in Denmark (and Germany for 3 years), but in 2000 I left to live in France. We stayed there until June 2011, where my husband, son, cat, dog and I moved to Israel.
When I write today, I have a view over the blue see, the blue sky and the ever-shining sun.