My father is feeling old.
As I spent last weekend at his place, the sun was shining and we were both pottering about in his garden.
"The damn arbour is going for sure" he muttered as we walked around the house.
My heart nearly stopped. I love that arbour. It's what makes his garden sooo special. I remember playing inside it as a kid, having picnic inside it as a wannabe adult and snogging my ex fiancée inside it on our first visit to Sweden.
"I can't believe you're saying that" I stuttered highly upset and slowly turning into a stubborn teenager which sometimes happens when talking to my dad. "I love it! It's over a hundred years old! How can you be so stupid?" I screamed, pedagogically...
"I'm close to 70 years old" he answered matter-of-factly and rather pissed off. "The arbour needs cutting at least 3 times a year to stay nice, and it's really hard work as the branches are so thick".
My heart sank. My beloved arbour that my great grandfather planted. My father siezed the moment:
"let's make a deal" he suggested, " you look after it, cut it and so forth and I promise I won't remove it".
Yep, you've guessed it already I'm sure. I agreed... So it looks like I'll be travelling to Lapland 3 times a year to trim a god damn hedge. That's how it goes when you listen to your heart, I guess.
