Saint Margret?

Californians, at least in my experience, do not spend a lot of time talking about people who have died, especially if they died quite some time ago. I had to overcome that hesitancy last night, since the main topic of conversation was a woman named Margrét who died in the 50s. She also happens to be my great grandmother. My mom is named after her, and I'm named after her sister, who died just before I was born. Her daughter, my grandmother, was named Maria, and my sister is named after her. So this morning I am thinking about four generations of women who carry the names of devoutly religious women, and whose lives, each in their own way, have a touch of the divine. Not a bad payoff for going a bit out of my comfort zone. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

On Icelandic doctors

My friends and family here in Iceland were very enthusiastic about me going to the krabbameinsfélag for an exam. I was really impressed how easy it was to get an appointment--booked online even! And when I got there this afternoon, the efficiency continued: they have a well oiled operation in place there, all very organized with computers asking questions and keyed lockers to keep one's personal belongings in. Then when it came time to see the doctor, well, that lasted all of 2 minutes. And I paid 3420 kroner. So I was overall a little disappointed. When I mentioned to the front desk clerks that I was wondering if it was possible to actually get an appointment where I could speak to a doctor, I was given a variety of phone numbers. None of the ones I called had appointments within the next 6 weeks. In the United States, when I want a doctor's appointment, I can usually get it within a week of calling, though sometimes I have had to wait 10 days or so. The highest co-pay I hav...
Read more

Violists

The first time I came to Iceland, it was with my mom and my brother when I was 7 years old. We spent a lot of time that summer with my mother's first cousin and her two children, a boy Einar and a girl Margret. Margret was older than my brother, and Einar a bit younger than my brother but older than me, and we all got along pretty well. I especially adored Margret, probably because she reminded me of my sister who had stayed behind in California; they are about the same age and both have strawberry blond hair. I guess it was the summer when I was 9 that I caught on to another similarity; they both played the viola. Of course, my sister stopped doing so when she was 17 I think, but Magga still does it today, freelancing her talents on the mean streets of New York, after graduating from Juilliard. 
Read more

The sky weeps

For the last few days, the sky here in the San Francisco Bay has been filled with smoke, blown this way from a fire 100 miles away. At least 40 people died in that fire, a whole town destroyed, and many others missing. One reporter described the sky over the town as raining down ash. On this day, the 100 year anniversary of the end of World War I, the news in the US is filled with stories of the man who calls himself President, unwilling to step out into the rain to lay a wreath. Unwilling to partake in our communal, world wide weep. And I'm thinking about my trip to Iceland on Thursday, of the carbon dioxide the plane will be spewing into the sky. My third round trip from SF to Iceland this year, and I don't have anyway to make up for my carbon footprint. But in all honesty, I'm also wondering how bad the weather will be, if I'll have to be out braving wind and snow for the shot the documentary film maker wants, of me walking around outside. Will the landscape reme...
Read more