Far väl Herr Bergman...

...och tack för dina gåvor, stora som små (som att du vågade tilltala mig direkt).

Namedropping - in the garden

While we’re at it, why not drop the names of the many others with whom we think we might share a lace handkerchief, like Cornelia Parker or Jack Kerouac? And why not mention everyone and anyone who’s forever lost, literally blown up, or burnt out while we're at it. And be kind to grandma (and everyone else for that matter), because she’s more than just another old fart in the universe. (2Ti 1:1-7)


Every decent writer knows that she eventually has to kill her darlings, however endearing or alliterate their expressions may be. You simply can't expect them to fly out of context: 'Olly olly oxen free'. 'Ring around the rosie'. 'A tisket, a tasket.' They're not some serendipity (a gallery, som gäller alla), or part of a process that mimics cartoon deaths. From now on, we must promise to take a good look at our own baskets before gathering lost fragments of someone else’s. Who wants to live vicariously in the the coal, dark remains of a burnt out church, or a blown up garden shed? Remember C, what we saw on Isla de la Muerte, a la D.H. Lawrence in Quetzalcoatl?

”Go home,” you say. ”In due course,” she says, "and where do you come from?" ”And what about yourself, baby, boom, boom, boom, boomer?" This time she's caught her baby on the upbeat, just as he touched a home, though not his own.

Dusting off memories

from Alta Mesa to the new de Young

Thanks to all mothers who continue to work from the other side.

Have just been to visit the mausoleum where the ashes of paternal relatives are gathered. Have also been good at pacing myself since mother Anne's funeral, like here in the sculpture garden at the new de Young, or sitting in the perch of its tower - on a redwood bench shaped like a compass needle - where I could regain my orientation and bearings in a 360 degree landscape loaded with personal history and childhood memories.
Cobwebs, earwigs and silverfish, motheaten photos, cookie crumbs, rotten fruits, mouse spill, and soiled curtains give way to oxidized copper and bronze, an enormous blob of molten stainless steel that reflects the sky, the redwood forests, cypresses, plane trees and live oak, green grasses, a vast ocean and the two towers of a single suspension bridge.
I am doing my best to avoid being overwhelmed by the aftermath of the open casket, the requiem in the Haight, the burial at Golden Gate National Cemetery, intensive visits with old friends and family, the natural beauty of the area and the incredible richness of ambient culture. Mother Anne and I used to visit the old de Young regularly. The new de Young serves to lighten the burden of today's relentless cleaning, inventory, reading of notes, sifting through letters and documents.

Belated entry

Saint Agnes Church, San Francisco, June 29, 2007
Excerpt from my eulogy:

“…When I asked mother Anne just a few years ago what she thought were characteristics that I had inherited from her she answered: ’I loved your father very much.’ At first I wasn’t really sure what she meant, and wondered if she was trying to avoid my question, but when I gave it some afterthought it made perfect sense. Her love for our father was perhaps the truest story of her life. It was, of course, to that love that we not only owed our very existence, but also for which we shared a tremendous grief over his sudden death...
We often had talks like this over the phone between Sweden and the US. Insightful, wise, sometimes comforting.”

Into the Bay

This is where the phones sank. Orpheus descending? "Mom calling" from the depths, though no longer displayed.


The search goes on.

On eagle's wings

One of several memorable details of mother Anne's funeral was C's incredible solo:
...And he will raise you up on eagles wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand...
Mother Anne continues to work from the other side:
Spent a beautiful day in good company on Ns boat cruising the bay, where both mother Anne's and my own cell phones apparently sank to the bottom, and are no longer emitting even weak signals. The dip was refreshing. The fireworks were magnificent, however shortlived.