Called Karsten, spoke to his lovely wife Lisbeth, he called me back later in the day. Joined him at their home, for a couple of hours’ work on some work-related project. Don’t know if I contributed much. He enforced on his son to play us the theme of ‘Casablanca’ on his grand-stand keyboard. Biggest mother I ever saw. He’s obviously very proud of his son, rightly so; talented sob. ~~~ Spoke with sis on the phone in the evening, one full entire hour. Arranged for a visit on the twelvth of this month, then were on about parental guidance and, mostly notably, influence. She agrees that she’s never once heard Mum say that she was happy to have had kids, and in general adopt an overtly positive demeanor. Sadly so; I think it would’ve helped us a lot of she’d agreed to this out in the open, so to speak, instead of hiding behind good deeds and the such. Should of course not cling such to the written word; but as I can’t remember much from that childhood – wherefore I falsely deemed it happy all those years – what else is there to do. A good answer would be to try and remember some more, which this conversation mentioned did some to alleviate. There will be more of that ahead, I’m sure. Especially over the Christmas. Will make sure of it, personally, in fact. At times I envy her from being born those two years prior to my own entrance, but don’t know how much there’s to it. She’ll have enjoyed the company of other kids to a greater degree, being an integral part of Mum’s then daycare-operation. But maybe that just meant she missed that so much more when the move came about? Why can’t I remember her being around that much when we were little ones? Because it was such a long time ago? Will talk some more come Christmas-time, of course. Look much forward to it, in fact. ~~~ She mentioned a funny slash strange episode, did sis. Of when she returned triumphantly with her first grade-report, age six or seven, mum actually called the teacher and had him reduce the grade, as the one he’d offered in the first place apparently left too little room to inspire for more. She never received a grade as high as that again, alledgedly. Such an odd thing to do. Quite obviously brought on by her need to have her daughter strive for more, to end up better than she did. But, my God, the way of doing it! Instead of telling her what a great job she did and thus have her trying to repeat the feat, she instead pretty much let her know she was not worthy of such high marks. Around here otherwise known as ‘pretty fucked up’. Once again, worthy cause, shitty excuse for an fullfilment of it. She also, incidentally, remembers often times she had wanted to bring a friend back from school, but was not allowed this. So I’m not the only one with episodes like that in storage. She remembers waking up in the nights in Herning, where she first went away from home, education the purpose, crying from what she deems those memories. I think her lucky she was able to do that; and wish I could’ve done the same. Instead, i.e., of just sitting there and wondering, and keeping things back. I’ve done that a lot, haven’t I. I even think I was – and remain – well trained in it. But so help me God, the reaction will come. Because I’m ready for it, and want it to. Can’t escape me forever. ~~~ More pages on the project in the evening. Am getting, on another note altogether, increasinly better at that in an setting that’s far from peak-perfect as far as writing’s concerned. Couldn’t do much worse than the English scripts, I guess. ~~~ Tomorrow Monday. Must remember to be around the local lumberyard for some for the girlfriend’s Christmas-calender gift for me. I, a fortunate man. Am hoping for a quiet day.