A Roll in the Universe

I'm one of those people who covers her refrigerator in magnets, as seen on part of my fridge door: Typical me: An empty to-do list because I forget I have it Some are functional, meaning they actually hold something in place, like temperatures and times for a couple of favorite dishes. Quite a few are vacation memories; Alaska's state flag tells me the temperature. A timer and a to-do list are held in place by magnets. A couple of magnets are gifts, like the one from Chattanooga. Some are there because they are pretty or whimsical or were meant to be a gift from me but I never gave them away. I have to admit, I think the bottom three in the photograph are ugly (definitely not my taste), and I want to throw them out. I'm not sure why I haven't done that yet. There's a part of me that finds it hard to throw away magnets for some reason. Perhaps it's because I do buy them just as much for personal reasons, and not just practical ones. The Daily Prompt

Bergen just broke a weather record from 1952: The number of consecutive days with precipitation in June. In 1952 it was 24. This year it was 26; we had rain every day from June 1 through June 26. I pity those who will go through breaking this year's record because clouds and wet every single day gets really dreary and old. So, the record-breaking weather wrapped up with heavy squalls during the night. I woke up early on the 27th, certain it was morning (as in, time to get up). It wasn't. It was only 4 am. Granted, we have very short nights this time of year, but we hadn't noticed because it was  cloudy  all the time. Clouds are like curtains and when they finally disappeared, the night was suddenly too bright to sleep in. I couldn't go back to sleep and read in bed until it was the "correct" time to get up. Outside my kitchen window was a rare sight: Bright spots of sunlight on the lawn, created by the morning sun reflecting off the uppermost windows of

I was asked by a foreign-looking gentleman today, who spoke broken Norwegian, if I knew the area. And I do. He wondered if any of the buses at the bus stop we were at went to the bus station. Perhaps oddly, they don't. It used to be that all buses eventually ended up at the bus station, but that hasn't been the case in decades. The priority is for most buses to go through the central downtown area, which the bus station is not a part of, being across the city pond from the main shopping streets. I pointed to what used to be the main road into town, back when farmers would ride a horse and wagon in on a Saturday to sell their weekly produce, and get enticed into spending their money on their way home later in one of the many bars that lined up just past the old city gate. "Go straight down that street, keep going straight, till you see a gray, stone building. That's the train station. The bus station is to the right of that." And off he went. I didn't