50/50

When I was a child, I spent many of my summers in Iceland, and much of the time during those summers at my amma and afi's house in Keflavík, on Suðurgata. My mother never identified with that house much, since her parents bought it after she married my dad and moved to the States. Instead, in her mind her childhood home is on Solvallagata. Still, when her parents died, they willed the house to all four of their kids, my mother included. Parents do this often in wills, think somehow that one house can be split between four people, but that never works in reality. In this case, it is even less practical, because my mother's brother actually lives in the house. And he was able to arrange it so that his other siblings ceded their parts to him. So now he claims 3/4 of the house. My mom has had her 1/4 for years now, and has even helped pay for repairs, etc. But she has never taken any advantage of it, well, except in 2006, when we had Palmer's baptism party in that house. ...

Iceland has gotten progressively more international and diverse in its food selection over the years, and this trip, it was particularly noticeable. The first two nights I was in town, I stayed with my relative Þórdís in Keflavík, and the first night, I brought home Thai food from my favorite restaurant in Keflavík, named, not surprisingly, Thai Keflavík. The following night she brought home one of her favorite dishes, a ready-made Chinese duck with mooshoo pancakes that I think she got at Nétto. I then migrated over to my friend Sigrún's house in Reykjavík, where she was kind enough to have made a full Icelandic leg of lamb dinner for me, along with these amazing rolls she learned how to bake in England. The next night Sigrún and I went out to Serrento's for dinner, which we both thought was going to be Italian pasta but it turned out to be Mexican food, I had a quesadilla. But it was back to Asia for dinner on Tuesday, first having Sushi in Kópavogur with my relative Bryndís...

I saw the Northern Lights briefly during my trip to Iceland, dancing there in the corner of the sky. I didn't get a picture of it, seems almost disrespectful to try to limit a miracle of nature into something so mundane. I have been awed by the moon on its own sometimes, and when the stars are shinning bright they are wonderful to behold. But there is nothing in the entire world quite like the delicate interplay of green and blue moving seamlessly, wordlessly as one, across the heavens, oblivious to their power to transfix everyone around them.  The first time I saw the Northern Lights, I was totally overwhelmed. I remember standing outside, completely mesmerized. And afterwards I cried, and I was shaking. Honestly, the experience was so overpowering that the idea for instance of taking a Northern Lights tour created an anxiety, a fear in me. I didn't think I could handle it, not in any kind of public setting. So intense, so personal, so beautiful, I'd just be an em...

When I was in Iceland last week, I spent a lot of time in Víkingaheimar and talking about Víkingaheimar with the people now running it and others that know it well. The history of Víkingaheimar, some of the things that didn't happen and the things that did happen, is not a completely happy one, and it was especially unlucky to try to open just after in the the Kreppa struck. And there are a lot of things unknown about the future of Víkinaheimar, who is going to do what and what changes are going to happen both inside and out. But I was very happy about two things. First of all, I was happy about how I felt walking into Víkingaheimar. You never know how you are going to feel until the exact moment when you are there, and my emotions could have been anywhere on the spectrum from upset and angry to not caring to annoyed. But instead I was just genuinely and spontaneously happy, and it felt good that I was that engaged, that I am not so scared as to be cut off from feeling happy. I...

While I was in Reykjavík, I was fortunate to get to stay with my artist friend, Sigrun Lara Shanko. I first got to know her silk work because it was Viking inspired, with runic texts and images of Viking Age artifacts painted in muted colors on  smooth silk, imported from China. It was impressive work and it sold well at Víkingaheimar. But I'm very glad she switched over to making wool rugs. They are dominated by undyed, muted colors, grey, black and white but with lines of color weaving through, inspired by the Icelandic landscape. Like deep blue rivers running through ash-laden valleys or molten lava inching down a hillside, hard and black on top, red underneath. The hints of color in a neutral setting are so alluring: the blues mesmerize you like the eyes of your lover, the only thing you see in a room of 200 people, the deep reds reach out to you and hug you even when hanging in the farthest corner. It's amazing. Her rugs are made out of pure Icelandic wool, so they are...

Up on Ásbru, the new name of the former NATO Base, where my parents met and where I used to live, is a car rental company called Sad Cars. That's where I got my dented, rusting, 1998(?) green Yaris. The back windshield wiper doesn't work, and it has no hubcaps, and it has a vague oily smell after it's been driven for a whole, and there is a funny noise if you break while turning. I guess that's why it's a sad car.  It's OK, I'm sad too. 

I hope my readers will forgive me for being so tardy in blogging. Let's just say it isn't a good idea to travel with two deadline projects back home left unfinished. After sleeping in past breakfast time at the hotel this morning (I had been awake working until 5am and then finally fell asleep hard), I salvaged what I could of the day by walking over to the island where the Nordiske Museet, Skanse, and Vasa Museum are located. I was very glad a museum colleague of mine had recommended I see an exhibit at another museum, called Liljevalchs. It is was a bit further down the path but well, well worth it. The exhibit is called Utopian Bodies, which is a very intersting way to think of clothing, as our idealized self. The exhibit, which took over the whole museum, had all sorts of complex philosophical ideas about dystopias and Utopias, about technology and sustainability, and about conformity. But my two favorite galleries were the last two, one dealing with Judith Butler and gen...

When I booked this hotel online a few weeks ago, it's location reminded me of a hotel I stayed at in Stockholm in 1998, when I was working on the Viking exhibition at the Smithsonian. That hotel was a small botique hotel right in the waterfront, and although the three other people on the trip with me were unimpressed, I remember liking it very well, even though my room was tiny. So I did not hesitate to book at Hotel Esplanade, close to the museum and right on the waterfront. It is an old hotel, and I think it may well be the same one I stayed at all those years ago. What I like about it is that it is a weird hybrid, kind of like a bed and breakfast more than a hotel. There is no elevator for one, so that makes it like a house. But the real distinction is the decor, which is a hodgepodge of styles. There are beautiful antique pieces from the 1800s, including even the desk in my room, intermixed with cool mid century modern pieces, like my coffee table, and then 1980s style floral...

I like how the architecture of allthe Nordic airports feel similar, such that when I arrived in Sweden it felt familiar. And then, as I made my way from the plane to the luggage drop to the train station, I recalled another reason it felt so familiar. I was here in 2009 for the Saga Conference, and the experience at Arlanda was not good. I had to pay a lot in extra baggage fees.

Tonight I went to a rather extensive talk (79 slides!) about Finnish history.  The speaker, a graduate student working on his dissertation, emphasized that there are many dark parts of Finnish history that never get talked about. Sad times when terrible things happened, like the civil war and the red and white terrors. But through it all there was enough of a sense of democracy and law that things moved forward, rather than turning even darker. It's all so hard, because it seems untrue to ignore the past, to push things under the rug, but on the other hand, talking it out can reopen wounds and trauma all over again. A nation has to be able to move forward. This morning I bought my ticket to Iceland, and my niece passed her driver's test, and my sister made it down to my parents house safely.

A long steady rain, the kind of soaking that will surely cause flooding and might actually make a dent in the drought. The kind of rain this disaster zone of a state needs. No fake snow in the mountains, just the real stuff please.  I'm taking my son down to see my parents tomorrow but am feeling humble about it. Tonight I asked him if he wanted a tuna sandwich for a snack, and he told me he hates tuna. That's the sort of thing a mother really ought to know.  I made oatmeal for breakfast though, that was good, made it with milk and butter instead of water so it was rich and creamy.  Anyhow, if there is anything the last days, weeks, months, years and decades have taught me, it is that Star Wars, Star Trek, and Superman are constantly being revamped. And I would like something steadfast, even though I haven't done anything to deserve it. 

I am now in the midst of finalizing details for the last of my four major Christmas themed events in as many weeks, and all of it work related. This time it is a formal sit down dinner, a sort of office party I guess only it isn't a crazy dance all night-do-things-you-might-regret later kind of party. Rather it is a tradition for a lot of people, who bring a group of friends with them and thereby save themselves from having to throw a party at their house. Attending the Nordic Fest dinner has become a part of their holiday plan. In years past, it has always been a huge buffet, but this year, the majority of members who voiced an opinion asked to have a plated meal served to the table. There clearly are some people who wanted change. On the other hand, I have been getting plenty of phone calls from people who are confused and don't understand why we have changed things. They liked things just the way they were.  So the common phrase is that opposites attract, but I really ...

Today is Sankta Lucia Day, an event I had never heard of before I came to Pacific Lutheran University. It is not clevrated in Iceland, but I understand it is celebrated in some places in Norway, and very widely embraced in Sweden.  It is about a person, an Itslian girl named Lucia according to the legend, who stands up for her beliefs to the point of martyrdom.  We use it as a way to encourage young people, especially women, to think about the I,pittance of having conviction, moral fortitude, and the bravery to let their light shine, to stand up for those that cannot stand up for themselves.  Although the it is a lot of work and has been going on non stop now since Thursday, and continues today, I am pleased to be a part of this, of encouraging people to stand up for right and wrong. Although we sometimes critics people for being too self righteousness or judgement, we also have to demonstrate a commitment to justice.  Happy Sankta Lucia Day. 

It is raining hard here in Seattle again this morning, as one would expect. And I am waiting on news of my mom's MRI, she is back in the hospital again as of yesterday. When this first happened, I should have reached out to my mother's family in Iceland, her sister and brother and my cousins, instead of just blogging about it. But instead I guess I was just in too much shock. Now that it has had some time to settle in, I am being better about letting those know that need to know what is going on and what they can do to help. My brother thinks there is a possibility my mom might need surgery. That has got me thinking about the term "it isn't brain surgery", which is used when there is something so obvious, anyone should be able to do it, even without special training. Like figuring out that it rains a lot in Seattle. Or figuring out that I am upset. Here is hoping for a wonderfully talented, careful and caring, brain surgeon to come in and make it all better. Mak...

Everyone in Iceland is talking about a performance "artist" who has placed himself, naked, in a plastic box and is living his life on public display for two weeks or something. Everyone can watch him on a live cam as he eats and sleeps and poops and pees and explores other bodily functions. The debate rages about whether or not this counts as art. My response to this extreme interpretation of artistic license is not particularly strong. I find it uninteresting and lacking in imagination, since it is extremely literal, stripping man down to his animalistic base. We have left that animal base so long ago, I am not sure I see the relevance of reemphasizing it now. Art ought to have an element of social critique to it, and I am not sure I see the social critique in this particular performance, unless it is anti-technology? Then why broadcast it on a webcam? Is it just irony? Anyhow, if the definition of art can be stretched to include that, than the definition of poetry can d...

It is strange, everyone I know, including a lot of people in Iceland and people from work, as well as family and friends, I am facebook friends with all of them, 400 and some-odd people, almost all of whom I have met and know personally.  But I don't want to put today's news on facebook, because I don't want all the empty platitudes and expressions of concern. So instead I will put it here in my blog, no one I know reads my blog. The statistics show 20-30 people see the posts, but as far as I know, except the occasional pop-in by my dad, none of my friends or family read my blog. It is only strangers, nice strangers maybe, strangers looking for information about Iceland or something interesting about the United States, and instead get my increasingly myopic and uninteresting observations, complaints, and diary-esque entries. Still here seems to be a good anonymous place to say that around noon today I got a call from my dad, he was at the hospital with my mom. They were r...

I suppose I could accept the idea that there might be some Icelander out there who is jealous that they did not get the opportunity to take Thursday off work and spend the entire day cooking a set of weird recipes based on a fabricated encounter between Native Americans and pilgrims, foods that never make anyone's normal meal time experience. But I can assure any such delusional Icelander that while the idea might sound good, and a few bites here and there are worth savoring, in general the food is heavy, greasy, gamey, and gives one an upset stomach. No one could, or would ever want to, eat like that everyday. Unfortunately, for those of us living in America, we are forced to try to eat a Thanksgiving meal not only on Thanksgiving day, but also for days and days afterwards, because of all the containers full of mashed potatoes, stuffing, cold chunks of turkey, and gloppy bits of gravy. In the last 5 days, I have only had one meal that has not involved some form of left overs from ...

It is so hard to find the time, and the means, to express the intensity of fears, wants, needs, hopes, and emotions that swirl around inside our heads every day. Working full time in a cultural center at  university, where lots of people stop by all the time and meetings are scheduled back to back with events every other day, and being a mom and scholar keeps me running around most days from 9am to 9pm. But in the morning when I have my coffee and drive to work, and in the evenings when I am settling in for the night, there is only one thought on my mind, every morning and every night. I so wish something could be done about it, I wish some change would happen, I keep waiting every day to see something new in the world, something that shows this entire silly system is finally about to give way to something revolutionary. Perhaps I am overly optimistic, perhaps it will always just be slow, painfully slow, imperceptibly slow, until some day 20 years from now I will be abl...

My Thanksgiving meal went off fairly well, except the spinach dish. I've never worked with canned spinach before, plus I tried to do some sort of hybrid creamed spinach/spinach soufflé/spinach cornmeal mush. And then I added lemon flavored olive oil. It was not very good. I am going to try putting some in an omelette this morning, but otherwise, it may just go down the drain. On the other hand, my turkey turned out beautiful and the pumpkin cheesecake much better than I could have hoped, which makes me very happy. For the meal time conversation, I implemented one of my favorite strategies. I find this strategy to be highly affective, plus it fits my optimistic, positive, problem-solving personality very well. It runs about like this: assume everyone is in agreement. Now many other people go into a family meal with the mindset of a battle, that there will be winners and losers, and that the war is never over, there is just a series of skirmishes. I don't have the patience fo...

Tonight I have lots of company in my condo, which is making for interesting sleeping arrangements. My son came in on Saturday, and his room has always been the smaller second bedroom in the condo. However, that room is also the room my sister uses on the nights she is here. But tonight my sister is here also, so well she is on the couch. My mom came in Monday night, and I put her in my bedroom. Where might you ask am I sleeping? I'm not sure you can call it sleeping, but anyhow, I am laying down next to my son. Which makes me privvy to what he says in his sleep. Just now he blurted out the subject line of this blog. I share it for no reason other than the fact that it was funny. Thanksgiving always brings with it drama and stress. I am behind on my cooking and disappointed by how much I've had to work this week when I've had company. Yesterday I was quite snippy actually, until I broke down in tears. So here is hoping for a drama free day today. That's not parti...