September in Europe was comprised of three distinct passages. First a visit to the ‘young’ cousins in Kristiansand, the Setesdal Valley, and Neset. My ancestral stomping grounds. Can I call it home, even though I didn’t visit until age 46? Yes, why not? It feels right, especially since most of the names on the mailboxes of my Minnesota childhood road were Olson, Nelson, Gunderson, and Neset so it seems my grandfather didn’t move us too far from Setesdal. And then lastly, I spent a brilliant and surprisingly emotional time in Paris.

For a perfect autumn week in between, there was time with Arne and Aslaug Neset in Stavanger, Norway. You see, and I hope Arne will not be insulted by this, in a way, I feel like Arne is my twinish-cousin. He’s almost exactly my age, is kind of a bookish person, and shares an obsessive love of salty butter. There are of course some serious differences: Arne was a professor who wrote a scholarly book on art history, while I considered professors among my heroes and, while my book is just fine, it’s hardly an intellectual feast. Also, Arne has many fewer wrinkles than I do.

I think of Aslaug, Arne’s wife of many years, as a force of nature. She’s a little younger than Arne, but has some physical issues that make walking difficult—which doesn’t appear to slow her down from regular life to a great degree. She is outgoing, funny, curious, and a connoisseur of the arts. She also looks way younger than me…which makes me just the tiniest bit jealous!

I really love being around my Norwegian cousins, but here’s the thing. This year, I was a little melancholic the whole time. I wished to have grown up with these fine people, and also hang out with them now, just as I’ve shared my whole lifetime with US Audrey and Vivian, and moved with them into old age-land.  

There’s also the uncertainty of ever seeing people you care about again when distance is an issue. True of all ages anytime we part from each other, but it does carry a different weight, the older we get—at least for me. It’s interesting that when Tone said, ‘Well, why don’t you come back with one of your sons?’ it seemed sort of doable. Whereas, even though Arne, Aslaug, and I are all relatively fit and healthy (for our age, I whisper), it seems more than a little far-fetched—especially with airplane travel not being for the faint of heart or body—that we’ll get together again. But who knows…I may show up on their doorstep as a refugee from American craziness.   

It turns out, the entire week I was in Stavanger the weather was exactly as autumns of golden light and wishful thinking are supposed to be. I’ve been to Stavanger several times so there weren’t any things essential to sight-see so we pretty much stuck to what are my favorite pastimes: conversation, eating at new low-key (but nice food) restaurants and at home, and a perfect artful evening. I was a little nervous about my energy levels for the whole trip—until halfway through Paris when I figured I was going to make it upright and moving forward for the whole thing. I didn’t walk as much as perhaps I have in the past, but it seemed not so important since both Kristiansand and Stavanger are somewhat familiar.

And it is still true that much as I loved every part of my time in Norway, the favorite moments are still just sitting around talking (or in Simon’s case, driving and talking).

Come to think of it, cousins, whether in Minnesota, South Dakota, or Norway are almost my favorite people in life. We’re close enough to find commonalities and pleasure in each other’s company, but with enough distance to be spared the possibility that any of us have any unpleasant habits or annoying opinions. However, even if I am possessed of any of those less than perfect attributes, I believe my Norwegian cousins will at least temporarily forgive me since they seemed quite thrilled with the Kamala t-shirts I brought along!

I so did not want to leave.