Drank snapps and ate crayfish with Adam, Fredrik and Anna last night. It's a summer tradition here. This morning I slid into the ice-cold lake to have at least one swim before the end of the summer. Actually, the summer is over here. I'm wearing jumpers and sweats. But the Swedes are still swimming in the lakes and in the little pool up the street from here. Why would Rockhammer have a pool? We are only 302 people. But it seems that half of them were at the pool today as I limped my way up to the recycle bins. That has become my daily exercise. It's as much as I can do before the foot starts to ache and won't let up. I haven't been able to sleep these past few nights because of it. Damn you tuna mayo, damn you!
We've been pouring over the pages of last week's Guardian that Karin brought back from her trip to England. That's the only news we have. It feels a bit weird...not being in touch with the world. I sort of felt that way when I first got to Japan. I was in the countryside. It was before the Internet (yes, there was such a time); it was before CNN had reached foreign shores. And, although there was the English-language Japan Times, it would arrive a day late to our little neck of the woods. If you have any old newspapers, send them along. Send us letters, post cards from the real world, care packages (sunflower seeds salted in the shell please, and brown Rotring ink cartridges as they are what I use for my daily journal, and magazines and whatever else you can think of). You can write to us care of Karin
Daneeta Loretta Saft/Patrick Jackson
c/o Karin Jackson
Rickardsbergs Gatan #10
But, I digress. Nothing is taking shape yet. Keep cutting, but nothing is taking shape. I just have to patient...assemble the pieces. After that, we can concentrate on the whole. God help us.