50/50

We started our paskafri by having 'traustvekjandi' pizza.

When I got here, they were servicing 35. Now it is 41. Not bad progress, considering I am 43.

As was perhaps apparent from my last post, Pálmar and I headed out for a little drive this afternoon. We went over to Kleifurvatn, and then stopped at Sultún, before making our way around to Grindavík and then home. A tour guide had told me yesterday that is the route they use for all the visitors going on the Wonders of Reykjanes tour, and although I did it once myself as part of the Viking Congress, I wanted to drive through there again today. So there we were on a bumpy dirt road in my mini van. When I stopped to take a picture of the lake, I noticed my cell phone had no reception (though it did further down the road). As we crested one particularly steep hill, I began to worry a little bit that this was perhaps not one of my brightest ideas. And then I started wondering what would be the proper response, if indeed something happened to my car while we were out on that little journey. I think the instinct of many people is to try to walk to find help. But then I have heard rescu...

Not quite Laguna, but I like it.

Here in Keflavik, there is something called a skógar garðin. I have heard people talk about it, but have never known what they are talking about. There is no skóg (forest) in Keflavík. Well, yesterday we were driving around, and I saw the sign for this skógargarðin. And there in a large field, with walking paths all around, I saw maybe 50 or so tiny little pine trees. They were practically saplings, but I know they must have been planted several years ago. Trees grow very slowly here in Iceland, but they do grow. It reminded me of the park near the house where I grew up. Last time I was home, I noticed how a pine tree that had been planted when I was a kid was still there. It was not all that tall, actually, since Southern California is not the natural habitat for pinetrees either, and it was rather crooked, but I was happy it was still there, and still growing in its own funny way. Maybe I'll take Palmer to the skógargarðin this weekend, so he can pick out a favorite pine tree...

I knew when Pálmar started leikskoli here that he might have some problems. On Friday we found out that he has been fighting with one of the boys in his class, Kristján Gisli. The first day we were there, it seemed to me he liked Pálmar and wanted to be his friend. But I think he did not take it well that my son does not speak Icelandic very well.  So now they are fighting with each other. And I have to say, I now Pálmar is not just the victim here. He used to fight with some of his classmates in California also. In fact, he and his friend Ethan and a little girl named Tory used to have weekly dramas of some sort or another. But anyhow, it does not stop me from worrying about him, now that he's away from the house every day for many hours.

Yesterday I read that one of the Icelandic soccer players playing in the U.K. was suing a newspaper here in Iceland for reporting on his contract negotiations. I do not know anything about the details of the matter, but it struck me that this is one of the few lawsuits I have heard anything about since I have moved here to Iceland. Sure, there are criminal prosecutions sometimes, but this is more of a civil dispute, and I am assuming that the claim would be one of monetary loss or perhaps even damage to reputation. Sport figures and business figures in the U.S. sue for those sorts of things all the time. I have always found lawsuits against newspapers for reporting this that or the other have a slim chance of succeeding, at least in the U.S. The reason for this is that the litmus test for civil lawsuits is whether or not the parties were carrying out their original intent or not. The original intent of a newspaper is to report on the news, so that makes cases against them for doing s...

For anyone who heard the news reports about the Tea party rally in Searchlight Nevada , where Sarah Palin  made a grand appearance, I did not want the weekend to go past without mentioning that my dad was at the rally. My family has owned a weekend place in Searchlight Nevada for 20 years, and this is the first time I have any hope of anyone knowing what town I am talking about. So it is a big moment.

In my son's apartment complex in California, there are three little boys his age. Here in Iceland, the boys I know are all older than my son. He has two cousins his same age, but they are both girls. And none of them are near as enthusiastic as he is about playing cars.

There is a very nice indoor swimming pool in Reykjanesbaer, which was not open today when we went there. This seemed OK to me, since somehow that always felt like some sort of extreme luxury, to be in warm water inside a warm building, when it was in fact freezing cold outside. Plus I am rather used to outdoor pools from growing up in California.

Yesterday afternoon, my cousin's daughter, who is Palmer's age and who knows English (she lived in Ireland until last year) came over for dinner and a play date. Because she was the guest, we let her pick out what show we would watch, and she chose a DVD I have of some HC Andersen tales in Icelandic. We watched the Matchbox, the story about the three dogs that guard piles of copper, silver, and gold. They come to the soldier whenever he strikes his magic matchbox. They also help him win the affections of the princess. We read this story at Berkeley, and there we spent a great deal of attention discussing the dogs' eyes, and what they symbolized. The cartoon gave the dogs regular eyes, instead of the bizarre spinning eyes in the original. Anyhow, it was nice not to have that distraction, because I think now I have come up with a better interpretation of the story. The matchbox is the soldier's self confidence, perhaps even arrogance. The more confident and arrogant h...

Today is a beautiful, clear day, and they are predicting the same bright skies all weekend. When I was a kid in California, a spring weekend like this would call for an all day trip to the beach. There are few places where I can as contently spend an entire day doing basically nothing, other than just feeling the sand between my toes, listening to the waves, walking around the rocks down by the shore, and watching the birds. To sit in one place, but feel part of something more, is such a wonderfully luxurious experience. I get that feeling from waterfalls here in Iceland, too, so I think that's were we'll be heading this weekend (and not to the volcano).

This blog has started to loose some of its original intent, in as much as I find myself incapable of not talking about my work at Vikingaheimar or my work on my dissertation. So I started a new blog specifically related to the museum, to at least de-clutter this one a little. I hope you find it interesting enough to follow .

Today the decision was made that the Icelandic police and other enforcement agencies would not restrict access to the area around the volcanic eruption. Partially this is because the eruption has remained relatively stable for the last 36 hours or so, with a steady but not increasing lava flow. Partially this is because the eruption is not a massive one nor fast moving, so the danger is manageable. But of course the real reason is because there will be an awful lot of people trying to get a good look at the eruption this weekend. Even if the law enforcement proclaimed a ban, it would not be heeded. The eruption simply lies too close to a popular walking path for lots of people not to think that a hike up to it is the thing to do this weekend. The plus side of this is that there will be exactly that, plenty of people up there this weekend. Whenever anyone is trying to do something rather dangerous and unpredictable, it is really very advisable to do it in a group. There is safety in...

We sent off a postcard to Palmer's California preschool. Real mail is always a treat for kids.

Two weeks ago, I bought a houseplant at IKEA, and yesterday my friend Koleen gave me clippings from some of her houseplants. Up until now, I have been reticent to have houseplants (let alone a pet), because I am gone away from Iceland so often and so much. And afterall, plants need to be watered on a steady basis, if there is any hope of them living.

I mean I know the word in Icelandic for icecubes, "klakka".  And I know, very well since I was a child, the Icelandic word for icecream, "ís".  Still, as I dropped off the little boy who had hit his head on Gunnar's ship today with his brother, I suggested that he needed "ís" on his forehead. I blame it on the stress and excitement of the day.

Palmer pulled all the soda bottles out of my fridge, svona i tilefnis dagsins.

Growing up in Southern California, there were wild fires pretty often. Our family reacted to these events in what, I later came to learn, was a somewhat unusual way. We piled into the car and drove towards the fire, so we could get a better look. This morning I find myself so tempted to jump in the car with Palmer and drive down to the southcoast of Iceland, where a volcanic eruption started last night around Eyjafjall glacier. But I think maybe I should skip it in favor of doing something slightly more sane. 

When I was Palmers age, they lived in California. Jon says the same thing he said then: he has the prettiest wife in the world.