(This is a backdated entry, written on Wednesday, but delayed posting until Friday because Blogger was having problems with picture uploading to group blogs all week. It's now been fixed - yay!)

Last night Lars-Göran and I had a difference of opinion. We usually get along with each other very well, but something I said inspired him to almost reach boiling point. Evidentally, it irritates him that I'm always right. Or so it would seem.

It all began innocently enough with the following picture he snapped while he was out yesterday.




He showed it to me and asked me what I thought of it. I began by saying "Ohh...it's Villagatan", but before I got a chance to continue, he said with a touch of irritation "No it's not Villagatan. Can you just tell me what you think of it as a photo." Now, this is not a big town and I reckon that I've walked around almost every part of it and I was sure this was Villagatan, which would be neither here nor there except that I was a little surprised by him saying it wasn't. I wondered where it was. So this made me pause for a bit and start to puzzle out in my head where in town it could be. Lars-Göran was getting impatient with the delay and said that he'd tell me where the street was after I got back to the original question and answered him properly. (yes, I know I tend to ramble off in tangents a lot of the time).

So I told him what I thought and then asked where it was taken. He waved his hand dismissively and said that he didn't know the actual street name, but that it was the "long road that runs adjacent to the railway line up near where Christer lives".

I'm guessing that you all know where this is heading.

Marie: "That's Villagatan!"
Lars-Göran: "No it's not."
Marie: "It SO is Villagatan. We go down it every time we go to the vet or the woodyard." I hurry off to get the road map. And yes, it was Villagatan. Is he happy about this? Nope. He's pissed off. And I'm made to feel bad about being right.

This is not the first time I've struck this. I'm not one of those petty people who always has to be right. It is just that when I know something to be the case and someone vehemently denies it or tries to tell me I'm wrong, I like to check for my own peace of mind, I'm not trying to be a smart arse. But some people prefer to see it otherwise and there isn't much you can do as they are going to draw their own conclusions.

When I was at Swedish classes a few years ago I managed to upset two of the teachers in the same way. By being right. The first time, one of them mentioned that the only youth hostel here in town was at Nicksta. All I said was that there was one at Lövhagen as well. I know this because we had walked around the area and had stopped and looked at Lövhagen Café och Vandrahem. The teacher then emphatically told me I was wrong. I knew I was right, so I hauled out my tourist map of Nynäshamn (which I always keep in my pocket as I often get asked for directions when I'm out walking the dog) and showed him where it clearly said youth hostel (vandrahem). He was furious, made me feel like I was just trying to show off and then for the rest of the time I was in his class, he would make sneering remarks about "if it's alright with Marie, of course" whenever he made a statement about something.

The other time it was with a different teacher and she told me outright that it was ludicrous of me to say that we grow bananas in Australia. Everyone knew that was impossible, which I'm sure is news to the Australian Banana Grower's Council! I said that I knew for a fact that we did grow them in commercial quantities Queensland, but she insisted in the strongest terms that I was wrong. This time I was stunned. She has never been to Australia, admits that she knows very little about it, but still insists that she is right. And when I Google it in class and show her, she gets mad at ME. She also refused to believe that Bananas in Pyjamas were Australian and get this, when we had to do a talk on the capital city of our country, I initially got a failed mark because I talked about Canberra, when "everyone knows that the capital of Australia is Sydney".

Spare me from stupid people!

Anyway, not everyone in Sweden is like this, but when they are, it really gets on my nerves and I'm finding myself having to quell the urge to batter them to death with my handbag. Which is all not good for my bloodpressure, so I have to learn to let it all go.

To help keep me cool, it is still wintery here, with even the dead being reminded that they are stone cold.





See how deep the snow drifts lie if you just leave them? There is a incredible sense of peace here, with just piles of snow and headstones barely peeping out of the white mass. It is both a spare, bleak sight as well as being strangely comforting.




In earlier times, when the graves were hand dug, it was impossible to dig through the frozen, stony ground in these seasons. In some towns, they would simply estimate how many might die during the winter and dig the holes in advance. In other towns, they stored the dead bodies until the spring thaw. These days, they can clear a space and use a digger to make a burial place, no matter what the season.




The chapel here also looks bleak, surrounded as it is by snow and the leafless trees of the late winter landscape. The glorious blue sky is a reminder that new life is about to appear as the days get gradually lighter and lighter.




Yes, there is hope. And if I don't want to end up here before my time, I am going to have to learn the art of staying calm, letting it all go and not trying to be too smart for my own good.