Lit by poetry: Dinerstein’s “The Sunlit Night” illuminates

Frances grew up in a tiny New York apartment with her parents and younger sister, where they all still live even though both girls are in college. “Everything about my family was small,” she tells us, enumerating the smallness of their aspirations, physical stature, and living quarters: “Our apartment unfurled itself…the sofa bed opening up for my parents, filling the living room until it was nothing but a man and a woman in bed, with no room left, the foot of the mattress reaching just to the knob of the front door.”

One can just imagine a loving family surviving such conditions, but the love is gone.

Continue reading “Lit by poetry: Dinerstein’s “The Sunlit Night” illuminates”

Are you feeling independent today?

Photo: Pixabay Sparklers are okay, but I always crave big fireworks on Independence Day. Photo: Pixabay
Sparklers are okay, but I always crave big fireworks on Independence Day.

I have high expectations for the Fourth of July, which were instilled in me before I can even remember properly by perfect celebrations at my childhood best friend’s farmor’s.

Farmor lived next door to them in a beautiful house on a lily-pad-choked pond almost entirely encircled by houses in Seattle’s north end. Together with my friend’s three siblings, I spent many a summer day in that pond called a lake, swimming and diving off farmor’s dock and even fishing, but for some reason the Fourth was special. I suspect that reason was FIREWORKS. Continue reading “Are you feeling independent today?”

Following the king for a day: eight observations in no particular order

Photo: Emily C. Skaftun Press passes make me feel so official!
Photo: Emily C. Skaftun
Press passes make me feel so official!

1. The king is super punctual. I don’t know if the trains run on time in Norway, but the king certainly does. I was given a fairly detailed press schedule ahead of time, with some non-standard times (7:29 p.m.?). I was thinking of it as more of an estimate, but I’ll be darned if it wasn’t dead accurate.

2. Covering an event as official “press” is boring. Continue reading “Following the king for a day: eight observations in no particular order”

Kvikk Lunsj v. Kit Kat: A comparative analysis

Photo: Emily C. Skaftun I decided to see how Kvikk Lunsj and Kit Kat stacked up, literally and figuratively.
Photo: Emily C. Skaftun
I decided to see how Kvikk Lunsj and Kit Kat stacked up, literally and figuratively.

Emily C. Skaftun
Norwegian American Weekly

Around this time last year I learned of the Norwegian Easter phenomenon that is Kvikk Lunsj. It seemed that the country went wild, yearly, for this… what was it? I’d never heard of it.

The name threw me at first. It’s a lunch thing? Like maybe an energy bar?

Coworkers scoffed at me. I did more research, turning up photos. Oh, it’s a Kit Kat! Continue reading “Kvikk Lunsj v. Kit Kat: A comparative analysis”

Tomato, tomat, tómatar

Photo: Henrik Omma / Wikimedia Commons You say “tomato,” I say tómatar.
Photo: Henrik Omma / Wikimedia Commons
You say “tomato,” I say tómatar.

It’s been a while since I worked in education (teaching composition to mostly indifferent first-year college students), and even longer since I was a student in the full-time sense, so today when I think about education I think about language. You see, about a year ago, having begun work at something called the Norwegian American Weekly, I started learning Norwegian.

I never picked up much beyond “tusen takk” and “klem” from my Norwegian family Continue reading “Tomato, tomat, tómatar”

Fire & ice: winter tours in Iceland

Photo: Emily C. Skaftun Bárðarbunga from the air
Photo: Emily C. Skaftun
Bárðarbunga from the air.

I recently took a week off to visit Iceland. Iceland in winter. We’d been to the country before, right around the summer solstice, and loved it. So part of the impetus for this trip was to see how we felt about the place when it wasn’t summer—when it was covered in ice, and when the sun barely made an appearance. Continue reading “Fire & ice: winter tours in Iceland”

Blame Loki for your bad luck

Photo: Wikimedia Commons “Loki taunts Bragi” (1908) by W. G. Collingwood, used as an illustration to Lokasenna in Olive Bray’s English translation of the Poetic Edda. This sort of behavior does lend credibility to the idea that Loki makes a lousy dinner guest, but in my opinion it’s a big stretch from there to “any 13th guest means someone will die in the next year,” and an even bigger leap from there to demonizing an entire number.
Photo: Wikimedia Commons
“Loki taunts Bragi” (1908) by W. G. Collingwood, used as an illustration to Lokasenna in Olive Bray’s English translation of the Poetic Edda. This sort of behavior does lend credibility to the idea that Loki makes a lousy dinner guest, but in my opinion it’s a big stretch from there to “any 13th guest means someone will die in the next year,” and an even bigger leap from there to demonizing an entire number.

Today is Friday the 13th, a day for bad luck and fear. Does anyone know why? Continue reading “Blame Loki for your bad luck”

You have one week to live

How’s that for a sensational headline? But according to some, Ragnarok, the “Viking apocalypse” is due on Feb. 22. The countdown began when the horn of Heimdallr was blown on Nov. 14th in York. According to legend the god himself would have blown the horn to warn that the end was a mere 100 days away. At which point, theoretically, the Vikings would have thrown the biggest party the world had ever seen.

Putting aside the question of who decided it was a good idea to blow Gjallarhorn, I have a few problems with this.

Photo: Wikimedia Heimdallr with Gjallarhorn. Artwork by Lorenz Frølich. Published in Gjellerup’s Edda in 1895.
Photo: Wikimedia Heimdallr with Gjallarhorn. Artwork by Lorenz Frølich. Published in Gjellerup’s Edda in 1895.

Continue reading “You have one week to live”

Things that will eat us

1) Travel. Why is it taking me so long to get back into my regularly scheduled life? I don’t know. I guess I can’t complain about that.

2) Aliens?

Postcard of a volcanic plume erupting out of the ocean
Dear Mr. President,
I work on a derrick far offshore, & I seen something you should know about. We’re not alone. Humans, I mean. At first we thought the things were dolphins, but their faces weren’t right. Bobby tried to make contact. I didn’t hear what he said, but I think he offended them. Their heads went underwater. Then it was quiet. Then in a huge puff of steam and whatnot, the aliens zoomed right into space. I tell you, it was impressive. I thought we were about to explode or sink or both. so, I don’t know if they’ll be back, but maybe you should prepare, just in case?
Sincerely,
Buck
p.s. I didn’t vote for you, but if you protect us from the aliens I will this time!
p.p.s. Bobby says he’s sorry, whatever he said.
p.p.p.s. I’m not crazy.

3) Injuries. This week has taught me that I am not cut out to be a caretaker. Get well soon, mom. For lots of reason, including that I miss my life. To the extent that I have a life right now it isn’t my own: I’m living at her house and driving her car. I miss my cat and my husband and my bed. I’ve slept in it shockingly little this summer.

4) Bears. No kidding; they will eat you.

Postcard of a polar bear on its hind legs

Dear human friends,
You didn’t have to run away. I won’t eat you; I only eat seals & fish. I only wanted to hug your friend. Bear hugs are awesome; everyone says so. It’s not my fault he struggled.
Please come back.
I saved your friend’s wallet & camera for you. There are some really good shots in there.
Love,
Clyde the polar bear

Family, and a poisonous corpse

It seems troubled family is on my mind.

Postcard of woman in red dress near a waterfall
Dear Tyler,
We’d hiked all day to get to the waterfall, like the guidebook said. It was supposed to be awesome. But we got there & there was no water. None. Like, the rocks were dry & there were dried-up fish bones in the riverbed. Then this lady in a bright red dress totally appeared out of nowhere. She looked creepy, man, right away. But Sam whistles at her. Her creepy eyes flash red & she spins around pointing at him & says, “Blood for water!” Then the waterfall starts back on like she opened a faucet. We all scrambled out of its path, but I don’t know what happened to Sam. We never found him. I think the witch got your brother.
Sorry, dude.
Robbie
Postcard of tiny plane and huge volcanic ash cloud
Dear Dad,
You’ll be happy to know that Susie is still a virgin—or at least she had this tribe fooled. After your last letter I tracked her halfway around the world, to a beautiful little island. She thought she had it made, because the natives were treating her like a princess (like you). She told me to get lost. But I stuck around long enough to decipher some stone carvings: virgin, volcano, sacrifice. Standard stuff really. I got to her just in time, swooping into the caldera in my little plane to pluck her from mid-air (who’s your favorite child now?). We’re on our way home now.
To recap: The good news: Susie is a virgin.
The bad news: there’s one less island in the ocean.
Love,
Eric
Postcard of Edvard Munch's "At the death bed"
Dear Gramma,
I’m sorry you’re dead and won’t receive this card. But I want to thank you for a couple of things. 1) Your snickerdoodle recipe. Because of it I was in the kitchen pulling cookies out of the oven at your wake when uncle Dwight decided to open your casket. Moron. Which brings me to 2) whatever chemical or bacteria or voodoo curse you had yourself buried with. It actually melted them, the whole aggravating lot of them. I had just time to watch as they dissolved into ghostly wraiths before I ran for it. And now I am free.
I love you, gramma. Rest in peace,
Kelly