Tonight I fall into the strange little trapdoor between Swedish and English, Sleepy, where one word is perfectly innocent on one side of the sea and slightly alarming on the other.
There will be Swedish words. Real ones. Suspicious ones. A few that sound rude but are mostly about road signs, ice cream, children, baths, herring, nurses, kindness and the grief of standing in a doorway. Somewhere in there we find lagom, fika, orka, jobbig, sjö, jo, and a made-up word that maybe should exist: threshold grief.
It’s an introspective and slightly linguistic journey to sleep, through language, memory, fatherhood, old places, Swedish fog, and Pippi Longstocking. You may learn something. You may learn absolutely nothing. Both outcomes are accepted here.
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