The end-of-term show at Ingrid’s dance school. This term she’s been doing disco again, as well as show dance. The show dance group focuses more on performing than the other groups, so her group will be up on stage during each of the three shows, not just one. Which means hanging around at the theatre almost all day. After the second show Ingrid was going stir-crazy, totally fed up with being confined to a cramped room with ten other kids, with not much to do. I was really only there to see the second show, which is the one that her disco group was assigned to, but seeing how down and done she was feeling, I hung around and helped her wait.

This photo is from between the two shows, with kids running free on the stage.

First snow. With cat tracks, and a reflection of our floor heating grille. The world immediately feels less gray but also colder. It feels pretty cosy to be inside, looking out.

(Borrowed from tomorrow. Virtual time travel?)

We take turns to bring Friday fika to work, and it’s my turn tomorrow. I made a double batch of double lemon muffins, and the “double” means that first you bake lemon muffins and then you drench them in lemon syrup. Plus there’s poppy seeds in them to make them even more delicious. I’ve been longing for lemon poppy seed muffins for some weeks already, so the fika at work was a perfect occasion to make some.

The evenings are getting chilly. Some of us have hair to help keep the head warm; others have to find different solutions.

My favourite cardigan is awaiting its second revival.

I bought it many years ago at a luxury department store in London, for more money than I had ever spent on an everyday piece of clothing. The cut and the colour and the feel and the details were all perfect and I’ve loved it ever since.

First the silk edging on the cuffs wore out. Luckily I found a patterned silk fabric in a matching colour and replaced it. Now I’ve managed to wear a hole in an elbow. This is a pretty common fate for my cardigans. Today I made a trip to the only remaining leather store in Stockholm and bought matching red leather for some elegant elbow patches. Elbow patches are almost fashionable now, I believe, but even if they weren’t, I’m not throwing this cardigan away until it falls into pieces.

Ingrid is a worrier. I also used to be, although I’ve worked hard at letting go, and I worry much less than I used to.

High on her list of worries: Making the wrong choice that she later regrets – especially when she has to choose between joining the rest of us for an activity or staying at home. Not getting good grades. The looming responsibilities of adult life. Dying. Family and relatives dying. Wasting her day. Wasting her life.

What can a mother do?

Give the child a book on philosophy. William Irvine’s A Guide to the Good Life. I bought it for myself but hadn’t yet gotten around to reading it.

What better place for a pedicure than a south-facing kitchen table?

Ingrid also needs new winter boots. She’s short for her age but her feet are size 36/37 so she’s graduated from children’s shoes to the women’s department.

The obelisk sculpture in the middle of Sergels torg had puzzled me for years. It was dull and unimpressive, and I couldn’t understand why and how it got chosen for standing in such a prominent place in the middle of Stockholm. After its cleaning and renovation two years ago, I finally understand. Now it sparkles and shines, and as I understand from newspaper articles, this is what it was supposed to look like all along.

The Gandalf hat, this time on the right head.