Travelling
In desperate need of a different routine, and where is better for that than somewhere else, somewhere without the same habits, demands, roles and patterns? So I take a trip to New York, the city where I play the role of writer and observer, rather than administrator, facilitator and participant. For a few weeks I'll be selfishly busy with my job, my interests and myself, a much-needed period of rediscovering the personae I can inhabit.

When I travel I am somebody else: brave, strong, independent. I would have loved to add enticing, mysterious and sophisticated, but even transatlantic crossings can do only so much... Still, this brave new me tests and tries and experiences and thinks new things, and I carry it with me back into the routine of mother and teacher.

Where others go to isolated, quiet spots to work and think, I go from just such a place and dive right into the buzz of a metropol. I can hear myself think all day and night here in Volda. I need to hear something else, even if it's just the syncopated sound of the ambulances as the drivers signal their personal little tunes through the crowded streets.

So, until I arrive in New York Friday afternoon, I am offline. Unless you know my cellphone number.