You are not in Norway anymore, Marjorie. You are home…home where Republicans roam with their guns and their gods at play. But this fall is heard an encouraging word…and the skies are not cloudy all day…. And where tomorrow evening I will be back home on the range...because Albuquerque is out west and on the range and I love that about it. Okay enough with the bad cliches and parodies.
Right this minute, this fine Saturday morning, I’m sitting in the last in a series of ‘homes’ away from home, my humble travel abodes getting humbler by the day. Actually…the reason I know I’m not in Norway anymore is…no fluffy white duvet, no electric kettle, no silence. I am happy to be home though, although the Queens is not quite all the way… This little layover is due to some awkward travel planning on my part…horror stories to follow. But never mind all that, Southwest will get me back into high desert mode by tomorrow evening. Meanwhile l’ll see if Zahir, my last airbnb host, will drag one of my heavy travel bags up the flights of narrow stairs to the third floor where I’m semi-comfortably ensconced in yet another economical attic…this one with not a cruise ship in sight.
And just so you know…no need to go into withdrawal at the prospect of no more Norwegian family, Norwegian butter, Norwegian trees, Norwegian sunset, Norwegian rain…. posts, I do have a few to go. Just need to get back to my very own desk and coffee pot and make sure my bamboo trees are okay first.