TIME AND PLACE

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It’s Day 27 of being a Norwegian and I’m almost feeling it. But then I touch on-line reality and remember I’m an American with a President Sleazy-T. I’m sad this evening. It usually happens a little sooner on these epic journeys but being in Norway has kept the inevitable down-day during any given month at bay. It’s not exactly depression or anxiety or physical-offness—more like I need a pajama day with eight… Read More

I’m traveling on a different kind of quest this summer. To Norway to find…me? India and Greenland were physical challenges. Russia and South Africa literary, historical, and artistic adventures. Vietnam last year and Norway this year feel more like major life searches. In the case of Vietnam to see with my own eyes (and to offer mostly unspoken apologies) a place we Americans nearly destroyed in the name of false pride. In… Read More

Sunday out at the “Old Place.” Our oldest (in both friendship and age time) friends and a walk in the woods. It’s the first time Michele has seen the kids’ Minnesota land; Steven’s is the eastern 40, Scott’s the western part where the broken house is returning to the land. THE FRIENDS The ever-amazing Helen Week, age 95, is the last of my folks’ generation. She still mows her lawn and bakes… Read More

Home means very different things to different people. Now that’s a trite statement if ever there was one—but important to say before I launch into what that seemingly innocuous but really heavy-laden four-letter word means to me. I’ve declared my spiritual, home as everyone who’s ever seen this blog knows, to be Neset Camping in Setesdal Valley, Norway. My birth and forever-after—my history and geography—Northern Minnesota. My son Steven went up to… Read More

Teresa and I were invited for treats, both the little girls playing and the fresh buns and berries kind, at my friend Adrienne’s house in what is the most charming of villages out on the city’s edge. Adrienne is married to a handsome IT guy whose kids greet him with screams of joy when he arrives home from work. She is engaged in her foodie cookerywriting passions and being an obviously great mom… Read More

Facing west from California’s shores, Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound, I, a child, very old, over the waves, towards the house of maternity, The land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circles; For starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere, From Asia, from the north, from the God, the sage, and the hero, From the south, from the flowery… Read More