The first months after my husband’s passing, I didn’t have much strength.Friends invited me to dinners, conversations, and warmth, and I could feel surrounded by love—but after an hour I wanted to go home again. To the solitude. To my bodyguard. Every day I looked at photographs of him. Perhaps it is about strength running out. Perhaps it is about something else—a need to be swallowed by memories, to not be interrupted in grief. I had a conversation with Håkan Ludwigson, a

Can you almost fall in love? I don’t think so. You either do, or you don’t. Love with the Bodyguard struck like lightning but grew slowly, winding. Food and art once brought people together; now I write to give shape to grief, to beauty. Birds remind me of that balance — physics and miracle, mystery and freedom. They move between worlds, guided by stars. You see, one is in love with them. Not almost.

Pamela Hanné - "Wranglers and Wild spririts. Giddy up!" Some years pass without leaving a mark. This wasn’t one of them. It´s been...

I am fascinated by hands. In fact, I probably always have been, but since I tend to be late with most things, it’s only now that I truly...

It’s summer in Causses et Veyran . My  first summer in 35 years without my bodyguard by my side. To stay grounded, I keep myself busy...

I’ve decided to start blogging. I ’m not really sure why. Maybe it’s a way to talk to those of you who’ve tried calling me without...