Aug 23 – Last night I was going through all the photos from our Norway trip.   The first dream I remember returning home was an image of a Softis  (Norwegian softserve ice cream cone) sprinkled with red fish roe. I didn’t see or eat any such thing, but this dream summed up my impression of Norwegian cuisine. I enjoyed the food there and have been eating sandwiches of buttered bread, cheese, sliced ham, cucumber and sometimes scrambled egg for breakfast often. I haven’t included fish yet, but that may come. According to the book ‘Brown Cheese Please‘,  given to us by family on the first day we arrived, open-faced sandwiches (smørbrød) are among the keys to norwegian character.   I have many layers  images and impressions from the trip and I have been having a hard time getting myself to write them down and organize them. So before too much time gets away here is a small non-chronological sandwich of odds and ends.

( I got news of clear scans today, Yes!  Over time my personal worries about cancer  are becoming more like butter, a thin layer at the base of all my sandwiches.  They do flare up to main course status with odd symptoms , between scans and results, and at other inexplicable times, but only for a short while.)

Aug 7 – My daughter, Sia, and I have returned from three weeks of traveling in Norway and reconnecting with trunk of our family that my grandfather branched off from when he moved to America in his early twenties . A highlight of our visit was a family reunion in Sandefjord where my grandfather grew up and where three generations of the family have been returning each summer to swim and sail since 1938.  The oldest relative we met was 83 and the youngest 8.

Back in San Francisco we are returning to fog, early morning chi kung, new construction , and the neighborhood dahlia garden in full bloom.

Aug 13 – My biggest fear, running out of time. I seem to be flirting with it by putting writing off until the last minute when I have to do something else soon.  Its just another way to rationalize procrastination, as if the repeated frustration of running out of time in small ways could be a useful practice to prepare for running out of time for good.

7/14-15 Travel  – San Francisco – Amsterdam airport- Hamar, Norway

My daughter, Sia, and I began our travels midday on the 14th, boarding a blue KLM 747 in the company of about 400 others. We were not packed in closely as sardines but it felt like it. San Francisco grew smaller, more like my imagined  emerald city,  as we left it behind.  I  watched ‘Searching for Sugarman’ on seat back screen flying over the Atlantic, dozed off briefly listening to Stevie Wonder.  Then we were landing in Amsterdam flying over flat green fields. All I remember of the airport was that it was large, light, and full of signs and billboards in English.  It was so nice to sit in comfortable chairs and stretch out legs.

Airports are great for people watching. The differences between Americans, Dutch and Norwegians when I see them in large groups becomes apparent, just as the varieties trees and plants in new places look familiar but distinct. The combination of lack of sleep and dislocation made me feel I was dreaming even when awake. The flights blended into each other then we were flying over forests and fields to land in Oslo.

My second cousin Greger, and his youngest son, a huge expert on everything Harry Potter pick us up.

We are on the highway heading north along the shores of Mjosa, the biggest lake in Norway.  Green fields with red  and white farm houses and pine forests. There are fences to keep the moose off the highway. They have built crossing bridges for the moose along their migration routes.

Our first norwegian meal a big bowl of  strawberries shared with family in the afternoon. Our trip coincides with the short season of fresh local strawberries, little gems of sweetness.

Anne Merete tells me that farmers in other parts of Norway tease the farmers here, saying that they are not really farming because they  have it too easy with the rich soil and good conditions, the crops just grow themselves

I did manage to stay up past 10pm and the sun was low in the sky but it was still bright out. I woke at  4 am,  the sky already light, to the chatter of unfamiliar birds.

Yet I feel  at home here with Sia in the house of Greger and Anne Merete and their five children.

 7/29- The best part is meeting family. Reconnecting with the few I have met when they visited California over the years and meeting, for the first time, those I have only heard about through letters and stories . I’ve felt strongly connected to my sister, Karen on this trip, she came here in 1975 when she was her daughters age, 19, and loved it so much that she considered living here. Instead she returned to the states and eventually settled with her husband in the northern Sierras because it resembled her Norwegian ideal. When her daughter was born she named her  Sia, after an elder relative she greatly admired.

Traveling here with young Sia, who became my daughter after Karen’s death, feels like completing a cycle.  We have patterns of migration, cycles of returning, that help us give shape to our lives. When we lose someone close to us, no matter how young or old, something is broken. I think this cycling and returning is how we attempt to mend what is continually broken.

8/23

Much more to elaborate,  we travelled from Oslo to Bergen to Roros to Volda through farm lands, mountains and the western fjords, by car, train, ferry. We stayed with several wonderful cousins who opened their homes to us, prepared delightful meals which we often ate outside at picnic tables. Norwegians know how to make the most of summer. We would stay out past sunset 10:30 to 11 and talk about everything. I hope to put together  a picture album of some of the beautiful places we saw and the people who showed them to us.