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There's lots to remember and none of it will be in order. Hunh. I didn't mean to keep a travelogue but it seems to be working out that way. Deeeeal with it.

So, all jumbled: my first impression of Linn's mother was both hilarious and appropriate, for when we arrived she was clad only in underwear. That's right, it runs in the family. They just love to strut around nude. Oh, those Swedes.

And, her parents sleep on mats on the floor.

Hello?

Her parents, her parents. First of all, absolutely gorgeous people. Surprise, surprise. Her dad, hunkandahalf. Her mom, beautiful silver-haired pixie. She and Linn hug and press their faces together and you can see how stunning Linn will be when she's older. Her dad, gruff and shy but popping in every once in awhile and dropping off a photo for me to look at-- their summer house, Linn eating cherries, Linn's sister Emma on the cover of a magazine.

I haven't met Linn's sister yet, but she's the kind of person that you desperately want to hate, but can't because she's so wonderful. I know this before having met her, about the wonderful. Because of Linn, you know. Not that that always follows-- siblings aren't always equally pleasant personalities*, but in this case one knows. (Juan knows? Who's Juan?) Sister Emma is a model, a sort of stunningly gorgeous so that your eyes hurt perfect specimin of beauty. And an artist. A sort of stunningly talented so that your eyes hurt creative being. In the face of this you sort of just ache with your own inadequacy, except that they're so warm and darling that there's no room to dwell on such nonsense. (Ha, I sense a theme, meeting a family like this and reading about the Glasses at the same time. It's like watching M*A*S*H and reading Catch-22 simultaneously.)

Today is Midsummer's Eve, not yesterday (oops), and so we went to Linn's friend Sara's house for our indoor pickanick. Lots of herring and wejeetobbles and frukt, frukt, frukt. Yellow watermelon! Linn's friends Sara and girl-whose-name-I-can't-pronounce Ulrika were truly lovely. Ulrika apologized needlessly every time she started to speak Swedish and then translated for me. It was fun to enjoy the musicality of the words unencumbered by such distracting baggage as meaning and context. Swedish is very pretty to hear. Sara's boyfriend was also there-- he was cute and polite but spent most of the time playing some sort of Quake-like game on Sara's computer. After lunch we went for a walk in this amazing park and I drank in the pretty things and belched out awe and wonder.

I'm sort of exhausted now-- a lot of new people met in one day, and I'm in the house where Linn grew up, typing on the computer she typed on when first we "met". It's spooky how much her living room, particularly, matches my imaginings of it. Almost exactly. The high, slanted, bare white wall and the long blondewood staircase and the rag mats and the plants lining the windowsills, sort of my Mental Picture of Sweden now in living colour all around me.

Still no sign of the mysterious Oscar. My curiosity mounts.

Did I mention Swedish condoms yet? Only passingly, ah, I see below. They're packaged really funny. Looks like candy should be inside, but out pops a prophylactic!

All this useless beauuuuuuutyyyyyyy...

*My sister, for instance, although wonderful, vivacious, funny, witty, puckish and intelligent, often hides these qualities from me out of spite, although she is eager to share them with my friends. Perhaps this is because we still share a room. I miss her. I will bring her back some Aquavit. I wonder how she's doing. I saw her online this morning but we didn't IM. Perhaps she will read this entry and decide to email or call. Ha, funny. All this talk about people's perfect sisters makes me long for my own. Have I gone on in length about her beautiful qualities? How often we think the same thing at the same time, and harmonize together, and how she's always, always, always telling me how pretty I am and how good I would look in this or that, and how she's constantly telling her friends how smart I am. And do I ever tell my friends how smart she is? No, I say, "Kirsten is writing Japanese basement porn again, yawn yawn." Wow, I am tired, because I'm getting all choked up now. She's not demonstrative so I can sit here and weep all over with love for her, but she'll only show these emotions when it is important to, and it makes them so much more powerful. I have more to say about my tendency to overstate and exagerrate my love and admiration so that it loses its meaning and it's just a bunch of empty words that I'm vomiting out, but I'll put that down later when I'm less sleepy and emotional.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:01 PM | shower me with attention