Living in Norway means living with all kinds of traditions, some ancient, like bonfires on Midsummer’s Eve, and some much newer, like Valentine’s Day. Here in Bergen, the joke is that if you do something twice, you’ve created a tradition. Continue reading
Of all the life advice I’ve ever been given or heard, the only one I’ve ever faithfully followed is the admonishment to stop and smell the roses.
I did that last when I was visiting the museum garden at the university of Bergen earlier this month, even thinking to myself, “Roses. Stop and smell.” Continue reading
I just have to leave this somewhere, so here it is: I was dreaming something last night (what, I never remember). The dream/something woke me up. I opened my eyes in the dark and a woman was standing next to my bed, looking at my nightstand. She was 40-ish, slender, had dark hair and brown eyes, and the same sort of face as Melissa Gilbert. I have no idea who she is or why I saw her. What really got me was that my reaction was to say, “Oh, hi!” In Norwegian. And she looked at me, startled, and disappeared. And no, this has never happened to me before and now I’m wondering if somebody was astral projecting and happened to end up in my bedroom.
It’s 10 AM and I’m watching a memorial ceremony on TV from Oslo, reading the names of the 77 who lost their lives 6 years ago in what has been called Norway’s 9/11: The bombing of a government building, and the shooting of young people attending a political camp on the island Utøya on July 22 2011. I’m crying again. Continue reading
“Gate” is one of those words that linguists call “false friends”. The word looks alike in two different languages but does not have the same meaning. So a movable barrier in a fence in English is a street in Norwegian (pronounced as GAH-teh). Continue reading
Disastrous: Causing great damage. Fortunately (heh, see what I did there?), I have never experienced a disaster. Neither of the natural kind, nor the personal kind. And that leads me to the word’s origin: From “disaster” which means “ill-starred” or to be ill-fated because of the stars.
The thing about growing up with a Norwegian grandfather is that you assume everybody has a cheese slicer and egg cups. Turns out that one of the things American immigrants left behind in Europe were egg cups. Continue reading
Wee changes to the blog. Found another standard WordPress theme to have fun with, other/new pics rotating in header, and changes to fixed pages. “About the blog” is gone (info is now part of “About Me”) and new page about the header pics added.
I sometimes wonder if I’m able to savor. I seem not to have passions, things or feelings or beliefs that grab me with all my being and all my fiber and that I cannot and will not let go of.
So I let go, perhaps a little too fast, denying myself the opportunity to savor. Continue reading
Ole Bull, violinist and considered Norway’s first “rock star”, had quite the flare for the dramatic and the mysterious. This last was why he was drawn to the island of Lysøen, where he built his last home.
Ole Bull’s house on Lysøen island