Arja Kajermo

Another "The Iron Age' event

2017-12-29T09:49:00.001+00:00

Sometimes I throw a random thought across the dinner table for my family to discuss. The other day I said 'In my next life I'm going to be a stand-up comic' My droll son looked up from his dinner and said drily 'You are already!' That's the last thing I expected to hear!
He continued 'At the "Finland100" event when you talked about your book The Iron Age with the other two Finnish writers (Tiina Walsh and Hanna Tuuri) you were a stand-up comic'
'Oh..."
Then he said 'Of course not every joke needs to be self-deprecatory... although with an audience of Finns maybe you struck the right note, it seem to go down well. But another thing, you should have told them to buy the book from the Tramp Press website instead of saying that they could get it from most book shops. It's easier to shop on line'
How right he is. How astute. Of course it's always easy to know what one should have said afterwards. It is well known.
I think he has esprit d'escalier by proxy.

The Iron Age, a novel.

2017-12-28T15:05:00.000+00:00

I've written a book, tra la la! It is called The Iron Age and I'm well pleased with it. And everyone who can read between the lines will understand that it is a hilarious book. But also bleak in parts and set in a harsh climate. There's the chiaroscuro for you, your light and shade.
It is all very well to write a book and get it published. But I still had to do my bit to promote the book at book festivals. It came as a bit of a chock to me.
The first book festival was the scariest and a most inauspicious start. I was set up to be on the same stage as a writer who had just bagged a big prize and may have wanted to be paired up with a more high-ranking writer than me. Or going solo. Whatever the reason this prize-winning writer didn't turn up for the meeting an hour before the event with the moderator and me. We talked about the weather for an hour which you can easily do in the West of Ireland with its changeable weather. Every now and then the moderator would turn her head full circle and say 'where's the other writer then?'
With the hour up and no sign of the writer we ran for the event where we, rather out of breath, found the prize-winning author set up and miked up and sitting on stage. The prize-winning writer had a well prepared introduction and then read a few pages. When it was my turn I opened and shut my mouth like a ventriloquist's dummy with nothing much coming out. So I went straight to reading a few pages out of The Iron Age hoping that my hands holding the book wouldn't tremble noticeably. And so my humiliation went on until it was over and it was time to sign books. It was quick work for me and a long queue for the prize-winning writer.
Before I left I went over to shake the prize-winner's hand to take my good byes and to say congratulations on the prize. She gave me a puzzled look because she had forgotten me already, the wagon.
After that I failed better.

Autobiography, memoir or novel?

2017-04-27T11:15:00.002+01:00

Illustration: Susanna Kajermo Törner

A while back I took a notion that I would tell the story about the kind of childhood that my brothers and I had in the 50s in Finland. My brothers are no more. I am the only one left so I had to catch this fast fading childhood by the tail and pull it back if I wanted to make a record of it.
But would it be an autobiography or a memoir?
Hardly an autobiography because such mighty tomes are written by men of national or international importance. A memoir then? Tove Jansson's Moominpappa says that if you are a 'father of a family and an owner of a house' you can poise your memoir-pen and start. He also says 'Everyone, of whatever walk of life, who has achieved anything good in this world, or think he has, should, if he be truth-loving and nice, write about his life, albeit not starting before the age of forty'. It sounds as if it could be a convoluted and lengthy business.
It will have to be a novel I thought. It would give me the freedom to boil down many samey events to one intense event. And by tweaking the story a little I could give it a better structure. But my story would still be true in its essence.
And all the paper I would save!

My Amazing Mother

2017-03-10T12:25:00.000+00:00

Every weekend I ring my amazing mother. Not only is she 92 which is amazing in itself but she can also DO stuff, for example she can talk to anybody without having a shared language. One Sunday(this was when she was only in her eighties) during her brief visit in Dublin with her pal she said they were off to church. My husband offered to drive them to the Lutheran church in Adelaide road. No need, she said we're going to the local church. My mother does not know about the Reformation and the schism and even if she did she wouldn't give a hoot I suspect. And did I mention she doesn't have a word of English?

Anyway, the two ladies came back about three hours later a bit giggly. I asked them where had they been. My mother said that after the lovely service everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction so they followed. Turned out they all went to the pub. Going from God's house to a public house seemed a bit strange, mother mused, couldn't happen at home. But they sat down with the ladies who ordered lemonade and mother and friend did the same. Mother and her friend were offered something stronger from the naggins that the ladies had in their handbags. And time just flew, my mother giggled.
The next time we took her to the pub she spotted her 'friends' as she called them and ran up to them and embraced and had an animated 'conversation' in god knows what language. Esperanto?

That is the kind of brilliant social skills my mother has and I don't. Must have skipped a generation. I'm green with envy.

Dirty Dublin Strip Cartoons

2017-02-19T11:58:00.000+00:00

Dirty Dublin Strip Cartoons! My first cartoon book. Published by In Dublin and Ward River Press 1982. Sold for £2.95. Remaindered at £1.49. I should have bought them all!
Because now they sell at between $25.57 - $240.15 on the net. (Why would you pay $240.15 when you can get a copy for $25.57? There's another thing I don't understand).

This book sold like hot cakes initially so Ward River printed another shipload of them . That shipload didn't sell at all. And Parsons Bookshop, the famous literary landmark and the centre of bohemian Dublin, refused to stock it. I was told by a 'friend' that the two famous ladies who ran the shop thought I should go back to my own country and mock my own people.
Would that it were that I had my very own country!

End of dog blog

2017-01-28T15:43:00.000+00:00

The marvels of modern technology! I haven't been able to access my blog for yonks&years. But now I'm back on the blog, glory be and thanks to my IT-genius! It took him nearly the whole day to get it back so it wasn't a simple task.
My dog has been a bad dog in the meantime (=while I have been on blog silent) She got into a row in the park with a Yorkshire terrier over a biscuit and somehow nearly tore the tail off the unfortunate yorkie. We have now been barred from the company of the lap dogs. Or I barred us. Can't afford to have tails stitched back on too often, what with the price of vet's fees. We both miss the camaraderie of the dog gang and their 'mums'.
The vet thinks that my little fluffy dog goes into 'pseudo heat' every so often because she may have retained a bit of ovary even though she has been spayed. Or she may have a third ovary. (Too much information?) She has 'hormonal problems' and can be a bit of a b****

Home sick

2014-10-22T17:59:00.000+01:00

How long have I lived in Ireland? Lightyears! At least 30 years anyway (And don't start about lightyears being a measure of distance, not time. You know what I mean, dear pedantic reader).

Anyway people still ask me if I am homesick:
'Are you homesick?'
'..eh mumble..mumble..I have been here thirty years...more than thirty years'
'Then you must be really homesick!'

But I am not homesick. I live here now. My home that was is gone. It is in the past. I can't go back. This is my home now. I have no other home to go back to.

But my dogged well wishers will not let go:
'Must be terrible for you not have a home to go back to'

This is very Irish. Swedes don't (usually) ask their foreigners if they are home sick because Swedes are a confident people. They think if somebody has the good fortune to be washed up on their shores that person must surely feel so lucky that they will never pine for anywhere else ever again.
(Also they are not that into to intrusive small talk. They don't ask and they don't want to know).

Small dog does pee on pavement!

2014-10-17T13:17:00.000+01:00

Long time-no dog blog!
So much to tell, so many dog days...where to begin? As I told you before people know you by your dog. You get a lot of attention because of your dog and most of the time the attention is welcome but sometimes not.
The other day my dog did a pee on the pavement. A householder rapped on his window from the inside moving his lips and shaking his fist. I stood to attention then spread my arms palms up. What did he want me to do?
Lick it up?
Honestly.

What I do all day

2012-10-15T21:47:00.000+01:00

Every week I ring a certain older female relative in Sweden. I do this every week and we "shoot the breeze" and talk about nothing much mostly. Last time she put a question to me: "What am I to tell people when they ask me what you do with yourself all day ?"
Now there's a question!

SHE knows of course that I do nothing all day but what is she to tell people? Here's the answer: I do what Picasso did all day. Except I don't have the talent. Or the money.

Still it is nice that people in Sweden are asking about me.

Am I dreaming?

2012-10-04T14:55:00.000+01:00

I have my old "job" back!
Yesterday my newspaper rang and said they had resurrected the cartoon page.
So I rise again from the ashes like Phoenix. I stand up from the heap of ashes, where I have been sitting like Job scratching my sores with a potsherd. So weird.
Maybe I am dreaming and the sleeping mind have lured me into a "wish fulfillment" dream. Soon I will wake up and say: "I dreamt that I got my old job back drawing the old Tuula cartoon, isn't that weird".
What was it the the philosopher said again: Am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a philosopher- or is the other way round?
Anyway, now I have to draw the cartoon again, damn it.
Unless I wake up.

So good bye then, Job!

2012-09-11T10:19:00.000+01:00

The dogs in the street don't know it yet but I have lost my job!

As a freelance cartoonist one could say that I never had "a job". But like all freelancers I cherished the weekly assignment that I could rely on being there, week after week. I had my Tuula strip. It was my rock in an uncertain world, my lodestar.
The pay wasn't all that great but it was steady work and it gave my week a shape, a routine.
My routine: Monday to Thursday pursuing various interests&avenues and drawing for fun if no other assignment had turned up, Friday panicking, Saturday seriously panicking and drawing the strip, Sunday panicking some more and changing my mind and drawing it again.
That kind of routine.

So good bye, Tuula! What next? The plans are brewing...

Mother of Dog

2012-08-24T13:26:00.001+01:00

I quote from the Control of Dogs Act 1986:

"Owner" in relation to a dog includes the occupier of any premises where the the dog is kept or permitted to live or remain at any particular time unless such occupier proves to the contrary. Provided always that where there is more than one dwelling in any house, the occupier of the dwelling in which the dog is kept, or is permitted to live or remain, shall, until the contrary is proved, be presumed to be the owner.

Is that perfectly clear? Is that chilling enough? I am the dog's owner. The dog is my property. I own the piece of walking, barking fluff at the end of the lead.

The Swedes have the perfect words for the special relationship between man/woman and dog. Or rather the role the human has in this relationship. The words are "Matte" (fem.) or "Husse" (masc.) Husse is derived from "husbonde" and "Matte" from "matmor" (matmoder). The words describe somebody who provides food and shelter, care, warmth, comfort and affection.

When I look for a translation in my dictionary I find "Master" and "Mistress". Not the same thing at all. A "Master" indicates overpowering bossiness rather than caring and loving. And "Mistress"?....a bit too much loving perhaps? Too medieval?

M. in the dog park calls me the dogs "Mum". "Mum"?! Mother? The very idea of giving birth to a dog...please!

No, only the Swedes have the word for it. I am "Matte".

Dog Days

2012-08-14T14:51:00.001+01:00

I don't know if I am cut out for dog ownership. A person accompanied by a dog attracts attention. Mostly of a welcome and friendly kind. But sometimes a dog triggers aggression from a certain kind of individual.
The other day my dog was sniffing a lamp post. I hear an angry voice.
-I hope you are PICKING UP after that dog!
-I am! I say and to demonstrate that my promise is not just empty words I put my hand in my pocket and show him the black plastic bag that I will use. I am both willing and able to do a clean up. Any time. I feel smug. I smile.
The elderly man glares at me.
- The place is a MESS!!!!

This is when I get an attack of mixed feelings. Despair is one. Also anger. Mostly murderous anger. I want to shout: "YOU are a MESS, you stupid old ********!!!!!"

But I don't. I walk away. My day is ruined.

In the dog park

2012-08-04T12:46:00.000+01:00

Honestly, some people! There is a certain type of individual who will see a group of fifteen dogs frolicking and having fun in the park, off lead. And they will say to themselves- aha, there is no sign saying designated for dogs only. I will take a short cut, it will save me at least ...oh, I don't know..30 seconds? I have a perfect Right and Entitlement as a Citizen born and bred to go in over there. I will get my shoes soaked for the grass seems to be wet and up to my ankles, also I am terrified of dogs, but here goes.
They puff out their chest and walk stiffly because their muscles are tense already. Their eyes are are wide open and bulging from fear. Their faces are set in indignation.
I can't say for certain but they probably also put out a scent of fear- aggression because one of the dogs will stop in their tracks and look around. Then that dog will make a bee-line for the individual and bark, bark, bark.

Last week it was my dog giving the individual a good barking over. While I was trying to stay calm and get a grip on the the scruff of my cursed dog and muttering sorry, sorry, sorry, the individual started barking at me. Sorry for the noise but the dog wont harm you, I whispered. The individual roared: I DON"T CARE!! IT IS INTIMIDATING!!!!!

A roller-coaster ride is "intimidating" but you have to pay for it. The dog park is free.

Welcome.

Mother of Dog

2012-07-27T15:12:00.001+01:00

Nearly all dog owners in our local park are named different versions of Mary. They are Mary, Maureen, Maria, Marie, Moira, Miriam and Maíre. (There is Mairead too but that is the same name as Margaret so I can't count her in).
All named after the mother of God. Now mother of dog.
Isn't that interesting?

My faithless dog

2012-04-03T17:41:00.004+01:00

Why are dogs supposed to symbolize fidelity and loyalty? My little dog is a faithless hound. Every morning I go to the park to let her play with dogs of all shapes and sizes. She gets on fine with the dogs but she has formed a strong relationship with a woman- let's call her M- who distributes treats to all dogs. These treats are unconditional and given with a generous heart and hand.( Not like my treats that are doled out for "good behaviour" and sparingly).

When M comes to the park my dog run towards her faster than a speeding bullet. She dances on her back legs with her mouth open in a wide grin in front of M. She is beside herself with joy. She runs around M in a circle. Then she gets the biscuit. It is of a brand called Biscroc.

Next day I go out and buy biscuits called Biscroc. I train my dog to come to me to get a Biscroc. She comes running alright. But her mouth is closed. She doesn't dance. There is no grin from ear to ear. She is just doing her job.

When we are leaving she decides not to come to me. I have to ask M to call her for me. My dog pricks up her ears and returns faster than a speeding bullet. M gives her a Biscroc and my dog is overjoyed.

The pain of it.

Thomas Clarke's house

2011-08-02T12:26:00.005+01:00

This is the house (in Richmond Avenue, Fairview) where Thomas Clarke, signatory to the 1916 Proclamation, lived
The night before the rising Thomas Clarke, his wife Kathleen and his two bodyguards planned what to do in case of a raid.

Kathleen Clarke tells the story: "....the hall door was in the middle of the house, with rooms on each side, and the stairs faced the hall door. If a knock came, I was to go to the door and ask who was there. If the answer the police or the military, I was to say nothing but open the door, keeping close behind it. Tom was to be in the door of the room on the other side of the hall door, and Tommy and Sean were to take up a position at the head of the first flight of stairs. We were to fire at each man as he came in, and it was to be a fight to the finish."
(The quote is from "Revolutionary Woman" by Kathleen Clarke, edited by Helen Litton)

The next day Thomas Clarke left this house to start the uprising.

In 1919 Madam Markievicz moved in (with all her "valuable furniture" that filled four rooms of the house!). The house was raided by the military several times while Kathleen Clarke and her children and Madame Markievicz lived there.

A house of historic importance. Now in a very precarious state...

Swedish Embassy in Dublin

2010-02-04T12:31:00.007+00:00

This is a great little country! The bicycle scheme (last blog) in Dublin has succeeded better in Dublin than in any other capital in EU. Heartwarming, eh?
But not everyone believes in this great country in these times of adversity, economic downturn, wooden shoes and brass money. Sweden has decided to pull out of Ireland. Or at least their Department of Foreign Affairs, led by Mr. Carl Bildt, has decided to remove the Swedish embassies in Bratislava, Dakar, Ljubljana, Luxembourg, Sofia and...DUBLIN!
Luxembourg is only a stamp and Bratislava is only an hour on the bus to Vienna. So no big deal for them. (Don't know about the rest.)
But pulling out of Ireland? Are the Swedes going to let the embassy in LONDON handle Irish affairs?!
Message from Sweden. You are going down the plughole so we are leaving now. Lie down and die you sick man of Europe. Our man in London will deal with your little matters.
But I am not bitter.

Dubin transport

2009-06-21T12:40:00.003+01:00

The useless government have come up with a GOOD PLAN plan that I am totally in favour of! (Will wonders never cease?)
They want to introduce a premium cycling infrastructure. There will be 109 schemes (why not 110?) to improve things for cyclists, including the creation of "motor ways" for cyclists, tax breaks for the purchase of bikes, identifying inter- urban cycling routes, the development of a "culture of cycling" et.c
All good stuff to help people get around. It would also be like introducing a free "citizens gym" which would help against the obesity epidemic. And possibly save many lives - cyclists are every so often crushed under the wheels of the progress of the juggernaut...

This will cost €2.3 billion. Worth every cent if you ask me.

But if you ask Labour Party transport spokesman Tommy Broughan? -The man from Labour says NO!
He mocks the idea, he knocks it on the head from every angle. He says it is a Flann O'Brien style proposal. He says Labour is supportive of cycling -says he has an old bike in the shed himself- but this plan he can not support because it costs too much MONEY.

To this I say - Tommy, take that bike OUT of the shed and think again!!! Please do.

Once more on Dublin Bus 123

2009-04-06T14:13:00.004+01:00

It was on the 3rd of April, on the bus 123 that leaves the terminus in Marino at 11.18, that we once again gathered for yet another journey. We were all grown up so we knew what we were letting ourselves in for but there was an air of optimism on board all the same.

We were going at a brisk pace, picking up passengers in Ballybough and Summerhill. And then- the bus stopped in Parnell Street. The engine was turned off. Damn! Was this the LONG wait for the new driver? No, the driver explains, he has been instructed by management not to enter the city centre until the time table says so.

We the passsengers go into baffled mode. Why leave us waiting in Parnell Street? Why can the bus not go two more stops and let us get off in O'Connell Street (where most of us are going) and wait there for the correct time table departure. Rules, says the driver, orders from the management.

A mini riot breaks out. I feel steam coming out of my ears. Everyone has something to say and says it out loud. A pensioner starts shouting about being a union man, about having worked all his life - for THIS?! The driver takes a lot of flak. He tells us to complain at head office. We tell him to drive on but he wont. We wont get off and walk the two stops because it is just that bit too far.

Annoying, annoying beyond belief.

Dublin Bus 123 - the best thing about

2009-02-19T13:07:00.004+00:00

The best thing about Dublin bus 123 is the stop in O'Connell outside Penney's. A uniformed employee of Dublin Bus whose sole duty appears to be "passenger calming" is stationed at this stop.
He is a charming and personable man with a talent for dealing with the public. Everyone who has been in a job that involves dealing with the public knows what a chore that is and how quickly one can change from a benevolent person to a humanity hating lunatic. Not so this man. He is forever cheerful. He creates so much good will for Dublin Bus that he should be paid like a celebrity or a film star.
Sadly he has a small flaw - he has absolutely NO idea when the next bus might arrive. Ask him and he will say chirpely: In three minutes-that's not very long is it!
You cheer up, you think you are in luck. Twenty minutes later you watch him speak into a phone (or radio?) but the phone is only a prop and he is only pretending to talk to somebody. He does not know if or when there will be a bus 123 -soon, today or ever!
He is only like the rest of us.

My place in the pack

2008-12-11T14:07:00.007+00:00

Ten years ago or so, I bought a dog, or should I say -I was sold a pup! She was six months old and seemed adorable. And normal. Maybe it was a bit dark in that parking lot (ha ha) for it turned out she was not NEAR well in the mental department.
The dog was (is!) a bundle of nerves and irrational fears. Is she a genetically modified product of puppy farming? I shall never know. Two professional dog trainers and an animal behaviourist and my own efforts have failed to change her highly strung nature.
She is an intelligent dog however and with small rewards and encouragement she can learn...anything! (The "small rewards" have made her put on a little weight.)
But she is often ill with stress related ailments which means we often go to the vet.

Here is one such visit:
Vet-"Could you lift your dog up on the table"
Me-"Eh..she is a bit heavy and I have a bad back...?"
Vet-"I would like to have her on the table"
I lift the struggling and howling dog on to the table. She has to be muzzled.
Vet-"Now LOOK at the dog"
Me- "eh..? Yeah..?"
Vet- "Tell me what you see! Would you say she is overweight?"
Me- "No...only a tiny bit"
Vet-"HOW do you expect your dog to carry that weight on those thin legs?"

The vet has a Socratic questioning style. I don't like it! My dog is very slightly overweight for a good cause which is to put manners on her by rewarding good behaviour. And anyway my dog's weight is supported by FOUR legs!
I say nothing to the vet because I respect authority and a white coat.
Unlike my dog I know my place in the pack.

scary dog, eisode 3

2008-12-03T18:48:00.002+00:00

When my dog was a young, slim thing my two Sons used to walk her. One day a pitbull shot out of the park (like a bat out of hell) after them and grabbed our dog by the neck. There was no warning, no foreplay, just straight for the neck. It dragged our dog on to the road and held our dog (by the neck) until she stopped struggling.
A woman motorist stepped out of her car,took stock of the situation, ran to a house, explained the situation, asked for a bucket of water, got the bucket and poured it over the pitbull's head. The pitbull let go of our dog and attacked Son number one. When the owner tried to stop the attack she got bitten herself.
The injuries were: a deep puncture wound to the neck of our dog and many teeth marks to my Son's hands and tattered nerves all around.
This attack was reported to the Guards (who already knew because the woman motorist had been in). We were told to contact the Dog Warden.The Dog Warden told us that nothing could be done until we got the name and address of the dog and its owner.
So take note: If you survive a dog attack- don't forget to ask for name, address and date of birth of the pitbull.
For it is always a pitbull, I don't care what you say.

scary dog, episode 2

2008-12-01T17:06:00.002+00:00

A good while back, when my highly strung nervous dog was a small highly strung pup, we were ambushed by a big Alsatian. The Alsatian chased and chased and chased my terrified pup until she could run no more.
"PLEASE call your dog in, PLEASE put your dog on a leash", I kept calling to the Alsatian' s slackjawed master. Nothing doing. No reaction.
At this point the Alsatian was taking great big leaps in the air and landing on top of my pup - seemingly with the intention of breaking the pups back? My pup whimpered and whined and cried. I tried to step in between the Alsatian and the pup. The Alsatian kept circling us and when it lept at us I put my foot up to try and stop it. I was hopping around on one leg and holding the other leg out at an angle, hoping that the dog would not bite through my boot.
At this point the Alsatian's master came to life; "Are you effing kicking my dog you effing ... I'll effing kill you you effing..."
Argue with that? Reader, I nearly died.

Scary dogs, episode 1

2008-11-30T17:55:00.003+00:00

Being a member of the dog owning community I can feel free to criticize my own kind, right? Most dog owners are bonkers and the more bonkers the more obnoxiuos the dog.

This is what happened to me a while back. I was walking in the park with my medium sized dog( a Finnish spitz by breed, a poorly socialized nervous wreck by nature) when a Great Dane came running towards us. The Dane was on a leash dragging a young fit Irish man behind it.

By one light tap of the paw the dog had me tumbling the ground. It put its two front paws on my chest and opened its mouth over my face. Drops of sig saliva was falling into my eyes. My level of fear was OFF the scale at this point. I had a desperate plan - if I could reach my own dog maybe I could push it into the Dane's crocodile jaws and save myself before it ripped my face off?

Fortunately the dog released me. I stood up covered in mud, trembling like a cartoon figure and said "That's some animal you have there! (I was reared near Sparta)
The young man answered: "He is only a pup, he was only playing"