The colour red

I read an article, in relation to Christmas about the colour red. But there's more to it.

Red takes a big place in several cultures, and religious cermonies, such as weddings, baptisms and funerals. In the Chinese culture (don't worry, I'll get to the Volvo stuff eventually) red means prosperity and happiness while India holds it to be happiness, life, energy and creativity.

Naturally Christianity is more bleak and it's a symbol for shame and guilt, even wrath, one of the capital vices. Is there really a conflict between happiness, life, energy, creativity and wrath? Isn't anger a kind of energy, regardless? Don't we sometimes need to get angry to push forward and actually get to those better places where we can be happy?

A sidenote: Kent's new album holds the title Röd - Red. How much more can it get? Red is here. Even though Christmas is fading for this time.

But first, and foremost red is the colour of love symbolizing passion, desire, sensuality and life. Just look at the expression "red light district". Or the 12 red roses as part of seduction. The metaphor might be platitudinarian, but the message couldn't be more clear "I love you, I want you".

The colour red is deceitful, however. You can't trust a colour that both symbolizes love and hate, capitalism (look at the red FOR SALE signs) and communism. It's the colour of socialism, as well as the colour of the American republican party.

The colour red is seductive and deceptful, is that why we love it, for it's temperament?

Have yourself a Molly little Christmas

I wish all of you a Merry Christmas. I suggest you spend yours like mine, cuddling cute animals, watching movies that makes you cry even though they're supposed to make you laugh and give those you care for a minute of your time. Perhaps two if they've been good.

Right now, Babe and something saffrony.

Well, congratulations.

In accordance to tradition I decided to clean my house for Christmas. The full works, washing, dusting, but mainly washing throws, blankets and such to get rid of cat hair. The drain in the laundry room was a bit clogged. No big deal. I'll fix it. Yes. I'll fix it. Three buckets of water later, I try again. How do I manage to make it worse by trying to fix it? Five buckets of water later, it must work. Well it doesn't. I'm cold. I'm wet. The house is still messy and the day is pretty much gone. Let's try again! And this time, I get down on your hands and knees and curse. Turn on the water and whine a little. Stomp around in the puddles, thinking "this could have been fun had it not been so pathetically annoying". While I'm trying to keep a cat off my back, quite literally, I scoop up the water, for the mess I've made is way beyond mopping. Oh no! The mopbucket! Water, water, everywhere water, under the shower, under the washing machine, the bucket floats by. I feel as if I'm in that poem I wrote while sitting in a guest house, the one about flying sofas and tigers.

I...just...can't...get...the...tool...far...enough...in. So I bend, I push, I grunt, I pout, I go back to the cursing. Pull some nasty goo out while I hear drip, trip, stomp, swoosh. Hello cat. A happy cat, in the misery made up from water spills and tiled floors (I should say "Thank you God for giving me tiled floors") I sigh and put the cat on top of the washing machine. I can, yes I can, hear him giggling at me. I go back to scooping water off the floor, feeling my heart sinking lower, but I will be damned to be beaten by a drain. It must work, somehow. My stubborness is mighter than my intelligence. Much mightier. So I struggle more. Try even harder, always with the same result.

I can feel the rest of the house bending in over me, the boxes, the curtains, the dishes in the sink, the piles of laundry that brought me to this in the first place, the burnt out candles, the expired milk, the dried in coffee stains, the bottles I ment to recycle, everything at once and by that I'm close to tears. It's not the drain, it's not the mess in the house, it's not the agony of having to have a nice holiday, it's my own shortcomings and trying to accept that I can't do anything I set my heart to.

I can make sense of abstract problems, but I simply cannot fix a clogged drain. (I can cure cancer, I can climb mountains) I can relate Derrida to Almqvist, but I cannot fix a clogged drain. I can avoid answering the phone for weeks, I can write a story about a lactose intolerant mouse, but I cannot fix a clogged drain. I can memorize all of In i öknen ("He clung to me like the drowning") I can train a cat to sit before dinner, I can train it to fetch, but I cannot fix a clogged drain.

I've been beaten at last. My Akilles heal. Who'd have know it'd take a drain to do it? So congratulations, world, you finally beat me.

How to put up the tree in Molly's house

Start out with locating the boxes. Avoid stepping on cats. Once found, pick them up and curse the tape that doesn't hold them together anymore. Try to get the cats out of the storage room without stepping on them or dropping the boxes. Take it easy down, to avoid death by Christmas.

Once downstairs, open the box with the tree and ponder why parts of it is white, then remember you got it cheap because of those white spots, also pick up a mirror to see if you have any grey hairs yet. Start putting the tree together. Remove cats from tree. Wonder why you have a fake tree when you live surrounded by evergreens, but slap that idea of going out in the forest away and remember how muddy you get and how heavy it is and keep in mind that you don't have a tree foot anyway. (Even though you do, somewhere) Remove cats from tree.

Move the catbed and the lamp to get the corner ready. Ignore evil stares from cat. Put a toy in the catbed in it's new place and speak in a silly voice to prove the new spot is even better. Put bandaids on your booboos. Put the catbed back, along with the lamp and give the cat treats so that he'll find it in his heart to forgive you. Wonder how you ever got the idea to move the ugly purple and black shagbed to make room for a pretty tree.

Move the palm plant to make new spot of the tree. Lug it over there. Remove other cat from tree. Begin to untangle lights. Remove cats from cord. Attempt to put the lights on and come to the same realization you did last year. You can't do it by yourself. Ask someone to help. Wait for response. Remove cat from tree. Ask for help again. Remove cat from tree. Get frustrated and pout. Laugh at cat wrestling with tree. Wait for help and remove cat from tree.

Explain the new location of the tree to said help. Sit around and wait for help to do everything but help. Hold lights for help and try not to be in the way. Make smalltalk. "Yay!" a little when it's done. Remove cats from box of ornaments.

Put the glitter up. Sigh when you don't have enough and try to distribute it as evenly as you can. Tie strings to all the ornaments as those have magically disappeared from last year. Giggle at the glittery snowflakes. Throw a cat toy to keep them occupied. Feel your mood raising by each ornament. Ask for help to put the topper on. Sit back and enjoy. Remove cat from tree.

Take a picture and try to upload it to your computer. Fail. Repeat. Fail. Repeat. Succeed. Post picture on blog and know that you think it's prettier than it actually is, because after all, it's your tree.

Waiting is better than having

Tomorrow's the second week of advent. Yes, I celebrate Christmas even though I'm not religious, but I'm quite willing to overlook everything churchy just for the lights, the scents and the movies on TV.

There's something else to it though, the notion of moving towards a fixed point rather into a vast open field of nothingness. December with it's advent offers a break from the endless oceans of time and with presents in the end. Though, wanting is better than having. Once you have, there's no more wanting, no more longing, and very rarely does it even begin to meet your expectations.

When Christmas Eve has already been it's done. Finito. What good were those presents, did you get what you wanted? Is your stomach full and your bank account empty? So really, advent is better, candles and oranges.

No matter how it feels in the middle of March when everything's slush and damp, we're still moving towards a fixed point, the final end, and you can't take all those things with you when you go.