Norwegian Kransekake



EnglishKransekake is a cake made of almonds, powdered sugar and egg whites. It is a Norwegian and Danish tradition to serve it at weddings, Christmas, and other important holidays and events 🇳🇴

Norwegian2Kransekake er en kake laget av mandler, melis og eggehvite, og er først og fremst en norsk og dansk tradisjon. Den serveres ofte ved høytider og høytidelige anledninger som jul, barnedåp, konfirmasjoner og brylluper 🇳🇴


Spring in Stavanger, Norway



EnglishWhen my beautiful Japanese Cherry tree blossoms in May, I know it’s not long until our 17th of May – Independence Day Celebration is here in Norway 🇳🇴

Norwegian2Når mitt Japanske Kirsebær tre begynner å blomstre i May, så vet jeg at det ikke er lenge til 17 Mai, vår Nasjonal Dag, som skal feires rundt i hele landet 🇳🇴

Easter in Norway




Acrylic painting by Eva Newermann


EnglishDo you ever wonder what the Norwegians do for Easter?

  • They “all” go up to the mountains skiing, some in just a bathing suit.
  • They eat Easter lamb and yummy Easter marzipan.
  • If they are lucky they can see the Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis).
  • They read spooky crime novels and solve Easter quizzes. 
  • They sit in the sun getting a really dark tan and wear a white high neck sweater when they get back in the city, and brag about their winter cabin.



Lurer du på hva Nordmenn gjør i Påsken?

  • Alle reiser på fjellet for å stå på ski, noen bare i en badedrakt.
  • De spiser Påske Lam og god Påske marsipan.
  • Hvis de er heldige så får de se Nordlyset.
  • De leser krim bøker og løser Påskenøtter.
  • De soler seg hele påsken og har på seg en hvit høyhalset genser når de reiser tilbake til byen, hvor de skryter av hytta si.


Ewa Lowe: Chapter 24


The chapter below is from the sci-fi, triller book Fear is in the Air by Eva Newermann


Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

Star Gaze Airline called one day asking if I could work on a special flight. A group of Arabian sheiks were flying from Miami to Egypt. They had asked specifically for Lovise and me to serve them. I was very flattered and agreed. I called Lovise and she was also very excited. 

Having sheiks onboard was always fun. They would give you beautiful gifts, like a ruby ring or a diamond bracelet. One time I got a Rolex Oyster, I’m still wearing it every day. Airlines do have rules and regulations saying a flight attendant is not allowed to receive gifts from the passengers, but since SGA is a privately owned airline, they don’t have any such rules.

It’s May 2005, Friday the 13th and we are flying from Miami to Egypt. 

When the passengers board I can see some of the sheiks are bringing their wives and others their mistresses. All the girls are very young, pretty and blond. 

I guess blondes do have more fun.

I recognize the sheik who probably asked for Lovise and me. He is an older guy, at least 50, and the one who gave me the Rolex. He’s always asking for a date and I’m always turning him down, saying, “You don’t want to go there!”

He will then grab my hand, his ugly brown eyes glowing. “Oh, but I do, I do want to go there!”

You don’t know how lucky you are, being rejected.

The sheik spots me and waves me over.

“Ewa! I’m so happy to see you!” He grabs me and three smackers are planted on my cheeks, then he whispers in my ear. “I’ve got something very special for you this time.” 

I smile and show him the Rolex on my wrist. “See, I’ve been wearing this ever since you gave it to me.”

He takes my hand, smiling. “I’m very, very pleased to hear that. I will give you my special gift later.”

The cabin is all clear for takeoff, Lovise and I are in our seats. Lovise is grinning.

“I’m ready to hear the next adventure or horror story from you.”

Too bad I can’t tell you about drowning Eva Newermann in the bathtub, but I do have a story involving liquid. 

“This time I’m in California.” I lean back and continue my story.

“I had rented a car and was driving down the coast. I’m getting hungry and when I spot a place called By the Way (clever name), I stopped to get something to eat. The place must have been popular because it was packed. The only free seat was at the counter, so I jumped on a stool. An older man next to me is eating soup, so I order the same. 

“I get the bowl of soup in front of me, pick up the spoon and I’m just about to open my mouth to taste it, when out of the corner of my eye I can see the old man’s head crash into his soup. 

“I’m sitting there frozen with the spoon an inch away from my mouth. My nostrils are picking up the smell from the soup. The waitress comes running over, pulling his head out of the bowl. I can see he has white foam around his mouth and he falls off the chair and hits the floor.

“Someone hollered, ’Is there a doctor in the house?’

“I looked down at my soup and very slowly put the spoon back, into the bowl. I had lost my appetite. 

“’He is dead, Jim.’ I heard a man say to another guy. I got down from my high stool and walked out the door. Outside, the sirens swelled louder and louder. End of story,” I tell Lovise.

Lovise is jumping up and down in her chair.

“Didn’t you stick around to find out if it was the soup that killed him?”

“No, I didn’t, but I tell you, it took me a long time before I could eat soup again!”

Now we have reached cruising altitude and we get on our feet to serve the sheiks.

“Let’s see what’s cooking,” I say. “Maybe we can serve them some soup! 

We head off giggling to the galley.

For the following hours we are busy serving people drinks and food. The Blondies want champagne and a lot of it.

My sheik has been dangling a little red box in front of me every time I passed him. 

Finally 20 minutes before landing in Cairo I have a break and the sheik pulls me down onto the empty seat next to him.

“Open it!” He thrusts the little red box into my hands. I pull the gold ribbon off and open it. It’s a music box, playing “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” Inside is another smaller box and when I open it, I gasp. It’s a huge diamond ring.

“Ewa,” my sheik is laughing, “I know how you adore Marilyn Monroe. Her movie ’Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ is one of your favorites. Well, this is the ring she was wearing while singing ’Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.’ It’s a five-carat emerald-cut diamond ring.” He then takes my left hand and slips it on my finger. “It will go well with your Rolex.”

“I’m speechless,” I say, “and it takes a lot to make me speechless!”


The sheik puts his hand under my chin and looks into my eyes.

Funny what a five-carat diamond can do to a girl. His brown eyes seem nearly attractive, and 50, is it really that old?

Suddenly a strong electrical shock goes through my body. Similar to the feeling I get after a kill but much stronger. I feel like I’m burning up. The sheik puts his face close to mine.

“Now, can I have that date?” He is going to say something more but the plane starts to go into a steep nose dive. Suddenly all hell breaks loose. Glasses, champagne bottles, laptops, you name it; everything is flying, getting smashed to smithereens.

The people who weren’t strapped in, including me, are getting tossed around like rag dolls. I’m trying desperately to get up front, but I finally have to give up. I manage to get into a seat and put on the seatbelt. I can feel blood dripping from my forehead. The Blondies are screaming and some are crying.

The purser has made it to the intercom but nobody can hear what he is saying. I try to tell people around me to prepare for a crash landing.

I show them the vests and we all put them on. The pilot has managed to level the plane out a little and I make it to my jump seat. Next to the seat inside a small compartment I have my personal waterproof emergency pouch. It contains a small flashlight, matches, lighter, Swiss knife, fishing hook with a line and a birth control box containing Rohypnol.

You never know.

I put the pouch around my neck and tuck it inside my blouse. I can’t see Lovise anyplace. 

Now the plane starts shaking and goes into another steep dive. I try to signal the passengers to take their shoes and glasses off, bend forward, lock hands behind their neck and get ready for a crash landing.

Oh crap! We are all going to die!

For a moment I look out at the sky.

If I really have some alien DNA in me, this would be a perfect time to put it to use. I need a miracle to happen!


The cockpit door slams open and I can hear the faint voice of the copilot.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!”

Inside my head I see my brother James holding up his daughter Lilliana, who is trying to say my name –but it comes out “wawa.”

A whiff of cinnamon tickles my nostrils and I remember Adam Skai telling me Friday the 13th will be my lucky day. Oh, boy! Was he ever wrong!

I put my head between my knees and close my eyes. My head feels like it’s going to explode and in flashes I see: 

Sunny, crushing my head with a stone. 

Genie, throwing me into the fire.

Pharaoh, cutting me open with a razor-blade.

Erik, pushing me off a cliff.

Eva, drowning me.

Adam is swimming towards me. His white arms are trying to catch me. He is saying something I don’t understand. Could it be Friday the 13th?

The cinnamon smell gets stronger.

Then there is a terrible explosion and a bright white light.

19-L copy

In Hollywood, Florida, Irene is in the living room playing with Lilliana when James comes rushing in.

“I just heard on the radio, a Star Gaze Airliner has crashed into the ocean, close to Alexandria in Egypt!”

Irene picks up Lilliana and looks at James, worried.

“Ewa can’t have been on that flight. They would have contacted us if she was.” 

Lilliana is frightened by her parents’ alarm and starts crying when the phone and the doorbell ring at the same time.

Irene and James look at each other in horror.!



The chapter “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” is from the sci-fi, triller book “Fear is in the Air” by Eva Newermann. Available on Amazon Kindle and Apple Books

Ewa Lowe: Chapter 23


The chapter below is from the sci-fi, triller book Fear is in the Air by Eva Newermann


A White Dwarf – A Dying Star

“Let me fix the drinks,” I say, “you just sit down and relax.”

My gloves are on the table and I put them on.

Then I walk to the front door and flip the Open sign to Closed. Locking the door I tell Eva, “No point being disturbed.”

Erik’s picture is glued to her chest. 

I go into the small kitchen. She has a collection of different liquor bottles on the counter.

After mixing each of us my easy-on-the-Coke Bacardi specials, I go back to her.

Handing her the drink, with my glove on, I say, “I can’t believe my fingers are still cold.” 

She grabs the glass and gulps half of it down. I do the same thing with mine. “No mother should have to bury her child,” Eva says, monotonously.

It seems her mind is somewhere else. Maybe far, far out in the Cosmos.

Eva looks at me with tears in her eyes. “We had been married for seven years and then, last year, on the 17th of May, he disappeared. 

“We didn’t know what happened. He was such a loving husband and we were trying to have children.”

If you had only known how your loving husband was screwing around.

“One month after he disappeared, I find out I’m pregnant. After two months, I had a miscarriage, probably from all the stress. 

“Well, four months pass and then they find him dead, at the bottom of the Pulpit Rock.” 

Now her drink is empty and I go and get her another, even stronger. Her eyes are getting heavy and her speech is slurred.

“The police are not sure what happened, there are too many questions. They think it might be suicide, which is ridiculous. He was very happy when I saw him the last time. 

“May 17 is a big day here and we had lunch with our family. He told me he had to go meet some people from the Viking soccer team. He was being considered as their next coach. 

“When he was not back the next day and I had called all the people I could think of and none of them knew where he was, I called the police. The police have ended the investigation now, it was just put down as a suicide.”

Eva stands up and throws her arms up in the air. 

“I just feel something is wrong. I don’t believe it was suicide. He didn’t drive his car and no cab drove him to the Pulpit. 

“I’m going to my cabin in the mountain for a week. 

“When I get back, I will use the extra cash I get from selling you the painting to hire a private investigator. 

“There must be somebody who has seen something.”

This is no good! I have to put a stop to this! She is going to use my money to find me and get me convicted for murder? I don’t think so!

She gets up and stumbles towards the stairs. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

I jump up. “I’ll help you up the stairs.”

After some commotion we reach the bathroom and she falls down, and crawls the rest of the way to the toilet.

This girl is going to pass out any minute now. 

I walk over to the bathtub and start running the water. I pour in a good amount of her bubble bath bottle.

 “Look,” I tell Eva, “why don’t you get into the tub? It will do you good.”

 She is still sitting on the toilet half asleep.

I unbutton her blouse and her bra; her slacks and panties are still around her ankles. 

When I have undressed her I put my arms around her and help her into the tub.

She slides down into the water. I clap her on the head.

“I’ll go down and get you a drink.”

“Thank you,” she sighs deeply and closes her eyes.

I mix her a drink in a new glass and bring it upstairs. When I get back she is nearly gone, literally and visually. All I can see is her long blond hair, floating on top of the suds. 


I put my hands on her head and push it under the water. No resistance. I go down on my knees, glance at my watch and hold her head under the water for five minutes. All I see is the foam covering the whole bathtub.

You are like a white dwarf, which is a dying star. You are at peace now. I’m doing you a favor. Another tragic suicide in the family.

I close my eyes and enjoy the electric jolts that run through my body.

I put my dripping wet gloves into a plastic bag. At the sink I take one glove out and use it when I open the faucet, being careful not to leave any fingerprints. Then I wash both of the gloves under the running water, getting rid of the suds. I wring the water out of them and put them back on.

Now I have to rewind and try to remember everything I touched when I wasn’t wearing gloves. I did have them on until I sat down at the table. I’d better go downstairs and start wiping off prints.

Our Irish coffee mugs are still on the table, together with the Cuba Libre glasses and Erik’s picture. In the kitchen I open the dishwasher. It’s full, I start counting glasses and mugs. There are four glasses and three mugs, matching the one we have used.

Opening the cabinets I see three more glasses and two more mugs.

So, she has a total of nine glasses and seven mugs. That includes the ones we have been drinking from. Odd numbers, so nobody is going to notice that one glass and one mug are missing, I will take mine with me and throw them away later.

I grab Erik’s picture and go upstairs to the bathroom. Standing in the doorway, I try to visualize what it would look like if she had committed suicide.

The toilet has not been flushed, so I leave it like that. Her clothes are on the floor. I take Erik’s picture and drop it into the bathtub, face down. 

I hope this is the last time I will see your ugly brown eyes.

Putting her glass on the bathtub shelf, I give it a push, so it hits the floor. It doesn’t shatter, only gets a few cracks. I stand there and watch as her Bacardi Coke runs down the drain.

I go back to the doorway for another look.

Hope I have remembered everything. Would she have left the door open? No, I think she would have closed it.

Closing the door, on my way down, I pass a door with STUDIO painted on it. I can’t resist, I go inside. The room is filled from top to bottom with paintings.

It really would be nice to have a souvenir. I think I deserve one. I can’t take the Stonehenge painting in the window. That’s too risky.

Finally I find a small painting of Stonehenge. Not more than 30 by 30 centimeters. It has no frame or signature.

Perfect! If anybody asks, I’ll just say I bought it from somebody on the street. 

I wipe it down with a cloth I find on the table.

In the kitchen I put the painting in a plastic bag and put my glass and mug in another. The chair I’ve been sitting on I push back under the table. That way only one chair is pulled out. 

Eva’s Irish coffee mug and her other glass is still on the table.

In the hallway my socks meet the glass and mug. I will throw them away on my way back.

I peek out the door. All quiet on the Western Front, except for the rain drumming down. I hurry back to the hotel, getting rid of the evidence along the way. 

We are flying out this evening.

So much for my relaxing time in Stavanger!



The chapter “A White Dwarf – A Dying Star” is from the sci-fi, triller book “Fear is in the Air” by Eva Newermann. Available on Amazon Kindle and Apple Books

Ewa Lowe: Chapter 22


The chapter below is from the sci-fi, triller book Fear is in the Air by Eva Newermann


The Ghost

It’s February 2004 and I’m back in Stavanger, Norway. Last time, nine months ago, I had killed Erik at the Pulpit Rock. This time I have no evil planned. I’ll just spend some relaxing time with my flight crew. 

Maybe I’ll even look up a bridge club. I’ve seen a flyer in the hotel’s lobby, saying; 

Join us for bridge! 

Gann Bridge Club, Sandnes. 

Sandnes is a town just 20 minutes’ drive from Stavanger. 

I can also do some shopping, visit museums and art galleries. Lucky for me, I’m rich! I don’t have to cry over how expensive everything is in Norway.

I’m not lucky with the weather, though. Strange, it’s Friday the 13th and since that’s supposed to be my lucky day, according to Adam Skai, the Sun should be shining. Instead it’s cold and rainy and the wind feels like a wet dust devil. Here they have a saying: There is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes. So I‘ve bought the best money can buy in the latest rainwear fashion. 

My green rain jacket, slacks and boots are all covered with decorative prints of daisies and bluebells. The rain hat and my knitted gloves have daisies on them too. I look like a freaking, walking garden, wobbling down the streets!

The streets have cobblestones and are hard to walk on, the small wooden houses are all painted white. In the windows are colorful flowers and sometimes a cat peeking out.

Suddenly I see a large sign saying The Big Bang Gallery, Eva Newermann. In the windows are paintings of planets, Stonehenge and the giant three swords of Hafrsfjord, the same image that was on the postcard Erik gave me on the plane.


I’ll be dammed! This is the artist Lillian was going to introduce me to in Miami, back in 2001.

I go inside. 

In the hallway a large stack of knitted socks are on a table. I hang my raincoat and hat on some brass hooks, then I take my boots off and put on a pair of socks. 

I keep my gloves on, still feeling cold. I’m wearing a dark wig to protect my own hair from the rain.

The only person in the room and I presume she is Eva, is sitting on a high chair with her back towards the door when I walk in. 

Her long blond hair makes her look like a typical Norwegian. She is working on a painting of a kitten chasing a butterfly.


“Hi,” I say, “what a cute kitten. Is it yours?” 

She doesn’t turn around, but keeps on painting and starts mumbling in English.

“That’s Tussa, she is a wild cat.” 

Cute, Tussa is the female name for the trolls that live in the Norwegian woods. 

She continues, “She runs wild outside my cabin in the mountain. When I’m up there I feed her, and sometimes she lets me pet her.”

I step up a little closer. I can smell alcohol even though she’s not facing me. 

I clear my throat, “You will never believe this, but my whole family was going to come to your vernissage in Miami, back in September 2001. My aunt and uncle had a restaurant chain all over the world, called the Big Bang and they were going to buy some paintings from you, but then the September 11 attack happened. They got killed in one of the Towers.”

By now, Eva has stopped painting, turns around and looks at me without smiling.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, “I remember that well. My whole exhibition was affected by that event. Hardly any people attended my vernissage. Very few came to the art gallery the next three weeks. Everybody was so devastated by the attack. They had other things to do than to shop for paintings.” She peaks with a slight Norwegian accent.

“Well,” I say, “I see you have a painting of Stonehenge in the window. I would like to buy it. Money is no object.”

She smiles for the first time. “I’m leaving on a vacation tomorrow and it would be nice to have some extra cash, if that’s OK with you?”

“No problem. I just have to find an ATM.”

Eva has been taking sips from a glass while we were talking. She takes a look out the window and then back at me and puts her glass down.

“Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable for a while, and maybe the rain will stop?” she says, as she pulls up a chair for me.

“In this weather nobody will come to the gallery, anyway. You look like you could use a warm drink, what about an Irish coffee?”

“That sounds great!” I pull off my gloves and sit down.

“By the way, my name is also Ewa, but I spell it with a W. Ewa Lowe, I’m from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.”

“Ewa Lowe,” she says, almost dreamingly. “What a catchy name! Catchy enough to be an artist’s name. Are you an artist?”

Yes, but not the kind you can imagine.

“I’m a flight attendant, but I do some painting in my spare time.”

“Airline stewardess!” she exclaimed. “What an interesting life you must have!”

Well, compared to some other things I do, it’s almost dull.

I smile and put my gloves on the table. I get up and walk around the room looking at her paintings. She disappears into the kitchen. After a while she returns with two Irish coffees, in mugs.

We talk some more and I notice she is drinking way to fast, getting a little tipsy. When she has finished her Irish, she walks back to the kitchen. She returns with a bottle of Bacardi Rum and a large bottle of Coca-Cola.

So, we have the same taste buds, drinking wise.

“Listen,” she says, “I have some more paintings upstairs, if you would like to take a look. Would you like another drink to bring upstairs?”

“No, thanks,” I shake my head, “I’m fine.” 

After she has mixed herself a Cuba Libre I follow her up the stairs. 

The wall leading up to the second floor is covered with what looks to be family photos. I see one in black and white of a young Eva. She is wearing a polka dot bikini. 


“That’s a delightful picture,” I say. 

“Yes,” Eva smiles, touching the picture tenderly. 

“That was many moons ago. I did some modeling in Hollywood, California. I lived there when I was 20 years old and I met many movie stars.” Her eyes are twinkling like stars, too. 

Before I can ask her which movie stars she met, my eyes pop open.

Holy Terror!

I stop dead in my tracks. I’m staring straight into Erik, the Viking’s big brown eyes!

What is this? Am I going insane?

The biggest heebie-jeebies you can imagine are going through my body.

I let out a small gasp and point at the picture on the wall.

“Who, who is this in the picture?” I stutter. Eva turns around and sits down on one of the steps.

“This,” she says, “was my husband, Erik. He is the reason I’m drinking too much.” She empties her glass and starts to cry.

I turn away from her, hoping she hasn’t noticed how shook up I am.

“You know what?” I say, “I think I will have that drink after all. Why don’t we go downstairs and you can tell me what happened.” 

She gets up, clinging to the rail. When she passes the picture of Erik, she takes it down and cradles it to her chest. 

We go back to our chairs.



The chapter “The Ghost” is from the sci-fi, triller book “Fear is in the Air” by Eva Newermann. Available on Amazon Kindle and Apple Books