A Roll in the Universe

I'm now a Norwegian! I am no longer a documented alien or immigrant. I am a documented Norwegian citizen now. Check this out: The document with my mug shot is my Norwegian passport. My country of birth is a variable and in black type. In red type above it, it says I am a Norwegian citizen. Reading that (still) delights me no end! Once I had my passport, I realized I could do something with my new citizenship. So I sent in a request to the health care system in Norway, asking for the European health card, the so-called E-111 card. One of the rights/advantages to belonging to or having an agreement with the European Union is the right to use public health services in other member countries. This, however, extends only to actual citizens of the EU or the EEC countries. Even though I am a member of the Norwegian social security system, I was not eligible for the E-111 card—until I got Norwegian citizenship. I got the card in less than a week; that's the blue thing in the low

Pest. Another " false friend ". A pest in English can be a bug or a rat, or a very annoying person. But "pest" as used in Norwegian changed the destiny of Bergen. "Pest" in Norwegian means the plague. The plague or Black Death (in Norwegian, Svartedauden) was first registered in Norway in Oslo 1348, and the eastern part of Norway was hit the hardest. A ship from England carrying the plague docked in Bergen in 1349. At that time, Bergen was the political center of Norway, the seat of both the church and the king. Bergen was not officially Norway's capital, but certainly had had that role since the middle of the thirteenth century. (Oslo was established as Norway's official capital in 1313.) In only two years, half of Norway's population was wiped out. In Bergen, the loss of half the population included the educated, and those representing the church, politics, finances and culture. The aftermath of the plague in Bergen opened the door to the Ha

"Somebody needs to go check." "Janitor?" "He's on vacation. I'll do it." I learned that one of my co-workers gets into take-charge mode when it's about someone's life; in this case, a gull chick. I took a picture of Junior just the other day from my side of the building. This afternoon, one of the girls next to the window noticed an adult gull gave Junior a vicious peck. It looked like Junior may be hurt. The cause of drama at the office Curiosity and compassion got the better of the co-worker who saw the peck and the take-charge co-worker sitting next to her. They went out the emergency exit, onto the balcony surrounding our building. We happen to have the roof of the shopping center flush with our second floor balcony, a roof covered in gray gravel and perfect for nesting gulls. And right on the other side of our balcony, on the roof, next to a plank a roof worker had left, was where Junior was last seen. At one point, ei

Living in Norway means living with all kinds of traditions, some ancient, like bonfires on Midsummer's Eve, and some much newer, like Valentine's Day. Here in Bergen, the joke is that if you do something twice, you've created a tradition. Celebrating Halloween is becoming a tradition, one for the 21st century, and has been supplanting Norway's original trick-or-treating done on Christmas Eve. At Christmas, many Norwegians decorate their trees with tiny Norwegian flags. I thought the flag tradition was as old as the flag, but it started right after WWII. After being denied anything that looked like the flag colors of red, white and blue, Norwegians got a little carried away their first Christmas after the liberation. It's a tradition that's dying out, though. I haven't seen the tiny flags on trees in recent years. I think that when we think of traditions, we think of something that has survived the generations and is still appreciated. We don't always re

Of all the life advice I've ever been given or heard, the only one I've ever faithfully followed is the admonishment to stop and smell the roses. I did that last when I was visiting the museum garden at the university of Bergen earlier this month, even thinking to myself, "Roses. Stop and smell." When I was a very little girl and still living in Los Angeles, my maternal grandparents had a rose garden at their house in San Pedro. Dark earth covered a triangle bed bordered by fence, garage wall and garden pathway. Several large rose bushes with different colors and levels of scent filled the space. I loved my grandparents' rose garden. Many years later I saw that it had been replaced by swingsets and seesaws; the owners had children. I remember feeling sad that the children would not get to enjoy the beautiful sight and scent of roses. The parents were perhaps afraid the children would hurt themselves on the thorns. I thought that that would be an excellent thing t

I just have to leave this somewhere, so here it is: I was dreaming something last night (what, I never remember). The dream/something woke me up. I opened my eyes in the dark and a woman was standing next to my bed, looking at my nightstand (or the lamp on it?). She was 40-ish, slender, had dark hair and brown eyes, and the same sort of face as actress Melissa Gilbert. I have no idea who she is or why I saw her. What really got me was that my reaction was to say, "Oh, hi!" In Norwegian. And she looked at me, startled, and disappeared. And no, this has never happened to me before and now I'm wondering if somebody was astral projecting and happened to end up in my bedroom.

It's 10 AM and I'm watching a memorial ceremony on TV from Oslo, reading the names of the 77 who lost their lives 6 years ago in what has been called Norway's 9/11: The bombing of a government building, and the shooting of young people attending a political camp on the island Utøya on July 22 2011. I'm crying again. On July 22 2011 my TV was on for 6 hours, broadcasting everything that was happening, starting with an explosion in downtown Oslo at 3:25 pm. There was complete confusion: Nobody knew what had broken windows in many buildings. By 5 pm it was confirmed that a bomb had gone off. We would learn later that 8 people were killed. The offices of the national newspaper VG were also hit. Rereading their report —before anyone knew what was going to happen next—the caption on the link to a video stands out: "Hallo!? Er det noen som trenger hjelp?" Some of the strongest images I first saw on that day were of people filming the rubble and smoke and confusion,

"Gate" is one of those words that linguists call "false friends". The word looks alike in two different languages but does not have the same meaning. So a movable barrier in a fence in English is a street in Norwegian (pronounced as GAH-teh).  I'm bilingual, equally comfortable with my mother tongue English, and with Norwegian. I learned Norwegian at age 8 so I speak it without an accent. Being bilingual does not mean translating stuff on the fly. Both languages exist with their respective glossaries, grammar, idioms and sentence structure. On occasion my brain will glitch and try to speak Norwegian using English sentence structures, which leads to some awkward phrasing and some fumbling around as I try to correct myself. The reverse only happens if I'm trying to translate Norwegian into English on the fly. Somewhat more frequently, my brain will toss in an English word while I'm speaking Norwegian or vice-versa. I have yet to refer to a street as a

Disastrous: Causing great damage. Fortunately (heh, see what I did there?), I have never experienced a disaster. Neither of the natural kind, nor the personal kind. And that leads me to the word's origin: From " disaster " which means "ill-starred" or to be ill-fated because of the stars. Modern astrology is more psychological and less about fate, more about choice and less about destiny. If I really want to scare myself all I have to do is read an old book and my own birth chart will horrify me. I should be in prison or a psychiatric hospital, or perhaps married to a violent man whom I stay with because he's stinking rich. Here's where I like the modern stuff better: Understanding that a birth chart is exactly that: A chart, a map, not a reality. You can experience your map in many different ways, and how you do will be colored by the people in your life and your circumstances. We all share a birthday with many people and none of us are having the e

My own egg cups The thing about growing up with a Norwegian grandfather is that you assume everybody has a cheese slicer and egg cups. Turns out that one of the things American immigrants left behind in Europe were egg cups. I was reading an article on Lifehacker about how Americans eat soft-boiled eggs, seeing as how there is no such thing as an egg cup in the US. It was only then that I realized why a British friend who lives in Hawaii asked if I could get egg cups for him. In every hotel I've been in in Europe, they serve soft-boiled eggs for breakfast. That is to say, they serve a hot egg that is still nearly raw, or a hot egg that is nearly hard. I therefore rarely eat soft-boiled eggs in hotels. But they do have egg cups (and teaspoons) for the eggs. And I have egg cups at home. Any complete set of dishes also includes egg cups here in Europe. 60's fashion: Coffee cup and egg cup from my childhood Now for some etiquette on eating a soft-boiled egg: I learned b

I sometimes wonder if I'm able to savor. I seem not to have passions, things or feelings or beliefs that grab me with all my being and all my fiber and that I cannot and will not let go of. So I let go, perhaps a little too fast, denying myself the opportunity to savor. Except, that's what my blog lets me do. I revisit, I remind myself, I remember by sharing here and that gives me a chance to savor the experience I just had, to look at my pictures again and enjoy the view, the moment once more. But as I write this, I realize there are other things that qualify as savoring. For example, the wash cloth that just left my knitting needles. Knitting is an activity that gives me great satisfaction and calms my mind while also keeping me creative and engaged. With this particular project I was also enjoying the yarn color itself. I think any activity that lets you lose yourself for a bit while also rewarding you in some way is a form of savoring. Savoring the moment, savoring the ac

Ole Bull, violinist and considered Norway's first "rock star", had quite the flare for the dramatic and the mysterious. This last was why he was drawn to the island of Lysøen, where he built his last home. Portrait of a more mature Ole Bull next to flag gift from USA How famous was Ole Bull in his day? Well, the hotel manager in Bergen would save Bull's bath water, bottle it and sell it to Bull's female fans, and Bull didn't mind, as he absolutely loved any attention. He was constantly touring internationally, and knew how to promote himself before and during shows. He had a bottle of smelling salts, and when women would swoon at his concerts, he'd go to the prettiest ones and revived them, something considered a great honor among the female fans. Ole Bull also composed some amazing music, incorporating Norwegian folk music into his melodies. He started Norway's first Norwegian-language theater in Bergen in 1850, since Norwegian theater was

I mentioned a new sign (piece of art, actually) that will greet travelers when they exit our new airport terminal that's opening in August: Art at Bergen Airport I also promised the view from Landås . I deliver thusly: Different angle: Bergen as seen from Landås And a bonus because you're here: A child having fun skipping on stones while Ole Bull seems to be playing for her. Ole Bull statue and fountain. Children like to play around the fountain.

Lygra As Eddie and I carefully set our feet down between sheep droppings, we caught a whiff of fresh manure. Instantly, I was transported back to my childhood in Norway, spent in the country with a potato field in front of the house, a couple of steers grazing in a pasture next to the carport, and my uncle's sheep passing by our house on their way to and from their barn. With nice weather, there’s customers and house painting at Feste My friend and co-worker Eddie decided to take a drive out to Seim and Lygra and wanted to know if I'd like to join him. Our goal was to deliver a life preserver our company hands out for free. For both of us this was a nostalgic trip. Eddie family name comes from a tiny island on the fjord that passes by Feste, and the way there was the way my family drive through to get to the family farm in Mundal (not the one off an arm of the Sognefjorden but an unnamed valley in the municipality of Lindås north of Bergen). We drove on narrow, win