My list of favorite fantasy/science fiction/horror authors and books

I have been a fan of fantasy/science fiction/horror literature for years, as I have mentioned in previous posts. There is something about this genre of literature that never ceases to fascinate me. I know many people who are completely uninterested in it, who find it boring because they say these types of stories are not real or logical. I have come to the conclusion that you are either a fan or you are not. There is no middle ground. I am a staunch fan. My mind was always stimulated by this type of literature; I had an active imagination as a child and could scare myself silly just thinking about the deformed creatures that were waiting for me behind the bedroom door or in the bathroom mirror. You would think that this fear would have stopped me from reading these types of books about alien worlds or strange creatures and the like. But it didn’t. And it was cool to imagine what other planets and worlds might look like, or how it would be to travel there and communicate with their inhabitants, even if it proved to be quite dangerous.

Some of the first books I can remember reading were fantasy novels for children, e.g. books by Roald Dahl (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; James and the Giant Peach) and CS Lewis. We read Edgar Allan Poe’s morbid tales of horror in grammar school and would discuss them at home around the dinner table in the evenings. Our teachers even organized movie sessions for us where we would watch films based on his books—Murders in the Rue Morgue comes to mind as a particularly violent story, although I believe we saw this in high school if memory serves me well.  As a teenager I became fascinated with the books by Ira Levin and JRR Tolkien as well as by Ray Bradbury.  I was drawn more and more to the idea that there are alternative worlds that we do not understand much about or that we cannot inhabit for one reason or another, or that there is alien life. That is the appeal of science fiction/fantasy to me. I don’t need to have this proven to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. I am not really interested in proof at all, although I think it is cool that much of science fiction is based on real facts. It is sufficient to me that these strange worlds and creatures exist in one form or another in the minds of their creators. I am interested in how the science fiction/horror/fantasy writers dreamed up the worlds they did; the fantastic stories about space and time travel, or how they managed to describe on paper the monsters that lived in the deep recesses of their brains. It is the creative process that interests me yet again. We are profoundly influenced as children by what we read, and I know that this is true for me. My parents never discouraged us from reading these kinds of books, hence the continued interest in them so many years later. I am including a list of favorite fantasy/science fiction/horror authors and their books that I have read and enjoyed during the past years.

1.       Aldous Huxley—Brave New World

2.       Bram Stoker—Dracula

3.       Cormac McCarthy—The Road

4.       CS Lewis—The Screwtape Letters; The Chronicles of Narnia; Out of the Silent Planet; Perelandra; That Hideous Strength

5.       Doris Lessing—The Fifth Child

6.       Douglas Adams—The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

7.       Edgar Allan Poe—The Fall of the House of Usher; Murders in the Rue Morgue; The Pit and the Pendulum; The Premature Burial; The Tell-tale Heart

8.       George Orwell—Nineteen Eighty-four; Animal Farm

9.       H G Wells—War of the Worlds

10.   Ira Levin—Rosemary’s Baby; This Perfect Day; The Stepford Wives; The Boys From Brazil

11.   Isaac Asimov—Fantastic Voyage

12.   JRR Tolkien—The Hobbit; Lord of the Rings Trilogy

13.   Madeleine L’Engle--A Wrinkle in Time

14.   Mary Shelley--Frankenstein

15.   Michael Crichton—The Andromeda Strain; The Terminal Man; Timeline; Prey

16.   Neil Gaiman—Coraline; The Wolves in the Walls; The Graveyard Book; Stardust

17.   Ray Bradbury—Fahrenheit 451; The Martian Chronicles; Something Wicked This Way Comes; The Illustrated Man

18.   Richard Matheson—I Am Legend

19.   Scarlett Thomas--The End of Mr. Y

20.   Stanislaw Lem--Solaris

21.   Stephen King—Salem’s Lot; The Shining; Cujo

22.   Tim Powers--The Stress of Her Regard

At the mercy of the weather

I’ve been following the TV and internet news for information about Hurricane Irene and when she will hit the east coast of the USA and New York City. Predictions are for tonight and tomorrow morning in New York. I am hearing from friends who live in NYC, who are evacuating the city as I write this. My friend Gisele, who lives on Long Beach on Long Island, left for the ‘mainland’ yesterday. New York City may close down its subway system (historic) and hundreds of thousands of people have been urged to evacuate. As I wrote to my friend Bernadette, it’s heartening to see the preparedness on the part of city officials—they are taking the hurricane warnings seriously and in doing so, have probably saved some lives. And even if the hurricane gets degraded yet again to a storm, it is still good that everyone took the warnings seriously. Because you can never know how intense a storm it might end up as.

There have been some intense storms in Norway of hurricane-like intensity, but they occur mostly on the west coast of Norway, a part of Norway that faces out toward the open sea (Atlantic Ocean). I cannot remember a really intense storm in Oslo since I moved here; by intense I mean over 100 mph winds combined with sheeting torrential rain. In recent years, we’ve had more torrential rainstorms (a result of global warming?), that’s for sure. We’ve also had a few severe hailstorms in the summertime, with accompanying drastic drops in temperature. We have been out on our boat during summer storms that suddenly come out of nowhere and turned the fjord into a black churning mess of froth and high waves that scared the dickens out of me. That has happened to us twice; one time we managed to find safe refuge ‘behind’ an island that bore the brunt of the storm from the front side. The other time we made it back to port in the nick of time. I am insistent during such times that we don’t try to make it back to port unless we are so close that we can manage it within five minutes or so. That is what happened to us the last time we got caught in a storm; we made it back to port and then all hell broke loose. It was cozy to be inside the boat, I’ll give you that, but only because I knew the alternative would be to be out fighting the wind and waves and that is not a good feeling.

I like calm oceans and peaceful skies—glassy water surfaces, few waves, no storms, clear blue skies, a gentle warm breeze. In other words, I am not a real sailor. I only want to be on the water when it’s behaving. I have no desire to cross an ocean in a boat unless it is the size of a cruise ship. Boats do sink, just like planes do crash. Rogue waves do exist and can cause problems for boats. But it is the unpredictability of the weather in the world that gives me pause. I must say that I am amazed at how many people traveled to and from Europe (to the USA for example) by boat years ago before plane travel took over. They endured storms and winds, seasickness and all the rest. I don’t get seasick as a rule, although there have been several times when on board an ocean ferry on the way to Denmark that the long slow rolling waves got to me. I found myself a Coke to settle my stomach and the trip went on. There was no way I could get off the ferry if I had wanted to. I remember being on the Oslo fjord (west side) off the coast of Stavern (http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&q=oslo+fjord+map&gs_upl=4104l4587l0l4896l4l4l0l0l0l0l221l662l0.3.1l4l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_cp.&biw=1440&bih=775&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=0x464148f14761d749:0x35b0a920dd1737fd,Oslofjord&ei=RuZYTvqsHofvsgaf0vXICg&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CB0Q8gEwAA) back in 1999, and there is a part of the ocean there that is just wild—huge waves, choppy water, in short, very unpredictable and very scary to navigate in a small boat (even a 35-foot long boat like we have). I have to say that I was of no help on that trip; the waves terrified me and panic set in. Luckily my husband is a seasoned sailor and copes with situations like that. I just did as I was told—battened down the hatches and then found myself a small space on the floor of the boat and prayed as the waves washed over the top of the boat. I prayed that the boat would not lose power. Motor stops are the worst thing that can happen to a boat, just like in a plane, because then the wind and waves will move the boat toward land and then you can end up smashed upon the rocky shore. This year, my husband and his friends returned by boat from a blues festival in Notodden, and they had to navigate through the same area off the coast of Stavern. And this year they had intense waves to deal with, as they sailed through the area shortly before a storm was predicted for that area. That is the thing I don’t like about being out on the ocean. What happens if you get caught in a storm?

This year on my annual trip to the USA, the plane from Oslo to Newark was delayed by four hours due to a tornado watch along the northeast coast of the USA the previous evening that delayed all planes leaving for Europe that particular evening. As it turned out, they found another plane to get us to Newark, but it made me think how fragile and inconsequential our lives really are in the context of the weather. How dependent we are upon the weather to travel, to get where we’re going, especially if we are traveling long distances. Commercial passenger planes have enough to deal with in terms of turbulence without adding tornadoes and hurricanes to the mix. Boats have storms, high winds and high waves to contend with. Both are dependent upon accurate reporting of weather systems, turbulence, wind strength and so much more. I am thankful for modern transportation that gets us where we want to go, but it’s not without its perils. Luckily, the perils are infrequent, but when they happen, they make me remember the past and consider how many people probably lost their lives years ago due to the lack of such systems. We have come a long way, but we need to come even longer in our constant battle with the elements. Because I have a gut feeling that global warming is only going to lead to more storms, more flooding, stronger winds, higher waves and more turbulence. And since we probably won’t let those things stop us, we’ll just have to learn to better navigate around them. 

How some companies go from good to great--a book by Jim Collins

I am reading the bestselling book ’Good To Great’ (published in 2001) by Jim Collins, who is the author of ‘Built To Last’, also a bestseller. I emphasize “bestselling” because they are books about the business world, and it surprises me that there is enough interest in the business world to guarantee a bestselling book. But apparently there is, and given the state of the economy during the past ten years, perhaps interest in these types of books is not that surprising. I for one find such books fascinating; I never get tired of reading about companies, their employees or leadership issues. Both books deal with companies, workplace leadership, greatness and longevity. ‘Good To Great’ discusses why some companies manage to become great companies starting from the level of good companies, but it also discusses mediocre and even bad companies and the likelihood of their achieving a ‘great’ status. I like the book so far because Collins is not just presenting his subjective opinions; he and his research team have done extensive research on what are considered to be great American companies, and have come up with some ideas as to why they became that way. They uncovered the qualities and characteristics of greatness—why some companies manage to become great while others don’t.

Here is his opening paragraph in Chapter 1: “Good is the enemy of great. And that is one of the key reasons why we have so little that becomes great. We don’t have great schools, principally because we have good schools. We don’t have great government, principally because we have good government. Few people attain great lives, in large part because it is just so easy to settle for a good life. The vast majority of companies never become great, precisely because the vast majority become quite good—and that is their main problem”. The opening paragraph draws you into the book and makes you want to explore the topic further. His premise is interesting. But what is a great company? How does Collins define ‘great’? His book is not a primer on how to get to greatness. It is more of a scientific treatise that describes the qualities of companies and of CEOs that have achieved greatness and maintained those results for at least fifteen years. And that by itself makes it an exceptionally interesting book, because it is steeped in objective research about the issue.

Here are some of the ideas that Collins brings up and discusses:

·         “In a good-to-great transformation, people are not your most important asset. The right people are”.

·         Who are the right people?  Collins writes: “The good-to-great companies placed greater weight on character attributes than on specific educational background, practical skills, specialized knowledge, or work experience. Not that specific knowledge or skills are unimportant, but they viewed these traits as more teachable (or at least learnable), whereas they believed dimensions like character, work ethic, basic intelligence, dedication to fulfilling commitments, and values are more ingrained (sounds like integrity and emotional intelligence are prized highly in both leaders and the right employees)

·         He argues for rigorousness in finding and keeping the right people and in letting go of the wrong people or shifting them to positions where they may be able to blossom.  It’s not about mass layoffs and ruthless treatment of employees. He says: “To let people languish in uncertainty for months or years, stealing precious time in their lives that they could use to move on to something else, when in the end they aren’t going to make it anyway—that would be ruthless. To deal with it right up front and let people get on with their lives—that is rigorous”.  He doesn’t argue against laying off specific people but he also discusses the possibility of shifting them to other positions to give them a chance to develop their true potential. This takes emotional intelligence and common sense on the part of company leaders in order to figure this out.

Collins also discusses ‘Level 5 leadership’, which he describes as a “paradoxical mix of personal humility and professional will. Level 5 leaders are “ambitious….., but ambitious first and foremost for the company, not themselves”. They are “modest, self-effacing, understated, fanatically-driven, diligent, take responsibility for failures and give others the credit for success”. In my book, this is the definition of people with integrity and emotional intelligence. He is quite clear on one thing—that “every good-to-great company had Level 5 leadership during the pivotal transition years”; this conclusion is unequivocally supported by his team’s research data.

My questions are—why is there so little emotional intelligence in workplace leaders? Ditto for integrity and ethical character? Why aren’t they reading these kinds of books, or if they are, why aren’t they learning from them and putting their newfound knowledge into action? And why aren’t more potential Level 5 leaders being tapped for such positions? Why is it that there is so much mediocrity in workplace leaders at present? Potential Level 5 leaders are stifled into silence, bypassed, ignored, encouraged to leave or simply fired. Strange behavior on the part of companies whose visions are to be ‘the best (company, university, hospital, etc.) within the next few years’. I’m hoping for a renaissance of sorts—a new focus on integrity and emotional intelligence in workplace leaders.

Visiting Tarrytown

On two separate occasions I had the chance to wander through the town where I was born on my recent trip to New York. I am always drawn back to this town—Tarrytown, and I’m not even completely sure why (my life remains a mystery to me in so many ways—why I do and feel the things I do and feel), since I have lived in two other places after I moved from Tarrytown in my early twenties before moving to Oslo Norway. I guess the main attraction is that I was born and grew up there, and from that perspective it is interesting to see the changes that the town has undergone in the years I have been away from it. My old neighborhood is no more; it has been replaced by a new generation of young people raising families. The old generation has passed on, and in truth the town is really a stranger to me now. I was discussing that recently with my friend Gisele who also grew up in Tarrytown; we agreed that as much as we think it is a lovely town, it could feel a bit strange to live there now because everyone we used to know is gone. But I remain fascinated by it just the same. If I am driving, I make the turn onto Tappan Landing Road where I used to live and just drive around and look at the apartment building where my mother lived (and where I grew up) and where I visited her on my annual trips to New York after I moved to Oslo. I drive around the corner to Henrik Lane to look at the houses that used to belong to friends and neighbors many years ago. Or I drive down Tappan Landing Road to its end, and stare out over the Hudson River, remembering what it was like to walk up from the Tarrytown railroad station when I was commuting to Manhattan to go to New York University for graduate school. When I went to Fordham College, I used to sometimes take the train to the Marble Hill station on the Hudson Line, and take the bus from there to Fordham. Being in Tarrytown is a trip down memory lane for me, and a real one at that, since I am witnessing the churches, schools, houses, libraries, parks and shops of my younger years. Some of these places still exist—like the Transfiguration Church and school, the Washington Irving (WI) junior high school, Sleepy Hollow high school, the Warner Library, the Music Hall and Patriot’s Park. But many of the shops of my youth have been replaced by newer shops, and Main Street is nearly unrecognizable. There are so many restaurants, antique stores, and small shops that line this street now; it used to be home to some bars, a pizza restaurant and some stores that I have forgotten about. I like the street now; in fact I prefer it now to the way it used to be. It has been spruced up, and the restaurants are trendy and quite good. There is a Seven Eleven on the corner of Broadway and Main Street. I don’t recall what used to be there before, but the fact that Seven Eleven is there now is fine with me. And why should I have an opinion, one might ask? I guess I still feel a bit territorial—I mean, it was my hometown once, and a part of me still wants to feel like a Tarrytowner, even though I am an Oslo-ite now.

While I was waiting one morning to be picked up by my friend Jean when I was in Tarrytown, I spent a couple of hours walking along Broadway from the Doubletree Hotel where I was staying all the way to Main Street, and then meandering my way back to the hotel through all the side streets dotted with pretty little houses with lovely gardens, some of them flying American flags. It felt good to see this—comforting, like coming home in a way. This is the town of my youth, when we had free from school during the summer, when we would hang out at the WI field on hot summer nights with friends, or sit in the bleachers at the same place watching the fireworks together with our parents and siblings on July 4^th, or spend a lot of time sitting in the darkness of the Music Hall theater on Main Street watching feature films or going to Baskin Robbins on Broadway for ice cream (Pink Bubble Gum comes to mind, as does Mint Chocolate Chip and Rum Raisin). Some of the memories are not so pleasant—boys who weren’t as interested in me as I was in them, or friendships that didn't last. But by and large, the bad memories have faded and have been replaced by more of a nostalgia for the past. I would not want to return to this past, to go back to that time. I am perfectly happy in the present. But I understand that by understanding where I came from, by turning my past over in my mind and carefully examining it, I am figuring out who I am—even at the age I am now—figuring out the person I was, the person I am now and the person who is yet to come. I am trying to integrate them all into one person, if that is at all possible. It may not be, but the considerations give me a perspective about myself that I find comforting and even enjoyable. Perhaps it is a way of bringing back loved ones who have passed on, even if just for a short time. I don’t wallow in the past memories. I respect them as things of value. I want to preserve them. They are part of my history. Perhaps this matters to me, to the woman who moved a long way away, because she cannot just return on a whim and visit her birth town. It is kind of cool to wander down memory lane as I visit the ‘old’ places and haunts. And as I am wont to do these days in most situations, I take lots of photos. Photos of houses, gardens, schools, churches. libraries. The list is endless. I am capturing the life and history around me on film. I started doing that when I was thirteen, and I’m still doing it. I have become a historian of sorts, and I have to smile, because my mother and father used to be quite interested in the local history of Tarrytown, and here I am, so many years later, interested in the same. Perhaps they are smiling at that as well.

Transfiguration Church

The Warner Library

Washington Irving school

The Music Hall

Beautiful New York State

In addition to today’s earlier poem, I am posting some photos of some of the places I visited on my recent trip to New York. Enjoy!

·         The United States Military Academy at West Point and the Thayer Hotel also in West Point with Renata, Tim and John: lovely views of the Hudson River from the Academy grounds, and a brunch worth the money at the lovely old Thayer Hotel. Also wandered around Newburgh and surrounding area. 

·         Long Beach on Long Island with Gisele: amazing waves and long stretches of white sandy beach; peaceful to walk along at night.

·         The New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx with Jean and Maria: there were only about a million photo opportunities here—from bees to butterflies to trees to flowering plants to greenhouses and conservatories—take your pick. Botanical gardens generally are among some of the most incredible places in the world.

·         The Lyndhurst Estate in Tarrytown with Jean: you can visit the beautiful Gothic mansion that was designed by the American architect Alexander Jackson Davis. The mansion was home to three important families, including Jay Gould, the railroad magnate. We walked along the Lyndhurst part of the River Walk for a short distance; see the following links for more information about this great idea that has found its way into reality: http://planning.westchestergov.com/images/stories/RiverWalk/riverwalkmap11x17.pdf and http://planning.westchestergov.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1187&Itemid=2128

Back view

Front view

A poem by Christian Morgenstern

Just thought I'd share a whimsical poem with you today, written by the German poet Christian Morgenstern--in preparation for the weekend and for those of you (like me) who are in the process of fighting off a cold..........

The Sniffle

 

A sniffle crouches on the terrace

to catch a victim he can harass.

And suddenly he jumps with vim

upon a man by name of Schrimm. 

Paul Schrimm, responding with "hatchoo",

is stuck with him the weekend through. 

Some insights

We need to get away from the routines of daily life, not only to help us appreciate what we have so as not to take it for granted, but also to help us experience the periods of insight that we simply may not experience otherwise because a life of routines will often hinder that. The pause from work that vacation represents is important for body and soul, and the longer the pause, the better. Insights begin to surface when one gets away from routines that dull the mind and soul. A week’s pause may help, but better still if it can be two or three weeks, because to disrupt routines, one needs a longer time away from them. It is only then that we can begin to understand that if the house is not in perfect order, if the refrigerator is a bit on the empty side, or if the laundry piles up a bit, that these are not crucially important to the quality of our lives. No one is going to pass judgment on us; we are often our own worst critics. It is better to spend time together with family and friends rather than worry about whether our houses are clean enough to entertain guests or whether there is enough food in the refrigerator to serve a three-course dinner to guests.  It is often enough if a good conversation is accompanied by a cup of coffee; we don’t need to serve a gourmet dinner. I am not saying that we shouldn’t make the effort required to serve a nice dinner to those we love if we have the chance, just that not being able to do so should not be the determining factor for whether we choose to be together with them.  Routines may be comforting because if we don’t want to ponder the meaning of our lives, we can use our routines as a way of not doing so. I know I enjoy many of my routines; I like the lack of personal involvement in connection with performing them. It takes strength to reflect on the meaning of our lives amidst the routines of our daily lives. It comes down to choosing to want to do that, to deciding what we will prioritize or focus on. I come back to this theme often, because I see that the choice can be as simple as a walk outdoors or a bicycle ride versus the mind-numbing viewing of yet another reality TV show that leads to the creation of a passive state inside of us. But it’s not always easy or practical to choose this, especially when we are tired.

Some of my own insights from this summer’s wonderfully relaxing vacation: I have been given many blessings, among them, the good fortune to have been born in a part of the world where women have the right to speak, to think for themselves, to work, to travel, and to decide for themselves how they want to live their lives. I know I am loved, and I know that I love. I have wonderful friends, who are there for me no matter what; just knowing that gives me joy and a peace that I cannot adequately describe. I know that absence can make the heart grow fonder; that we can appreciate our spouses even more when we are not always together with them. I can travel, and am always humbled by the unique beauty of each new place I visit. I always think that someplace else couldn’t possibly be more beautiful than the place I am visiting, but I am always proved wrong. I want to travel more in the coming years. I am looking forward to that. I have discovered that upstate New York is one of the most beautiful places I know of, especially during the hot summer months—lush, green, and if global warming continues—semi-tropical; perhaps I always knew this, but it’s cool to rediscover it. The Hudson River is a big, long, beautiful and winding river that beckons you to explore it; the best I can do is to photograph it and even then I could not capture its beauty accurately. I marvel at the miracle of plane flight; being on a plane can make me nervous (especially if there is turbulence), but mostly I cannot believe that I am experiencing something that my grandparents never had the opportunity to experience. Who was it that thought the first thought that made aviation possible? Or for that matter, who was it that thought to create the huge ferries (almost like cruise ships) that manage to sail round-trip from Oslo to Germany with cars and trucks on board and us sleeping in cabins on the floors above them? These forms of travel are safe for the most part; despite the global financial problems and cutbacks, maintenance of planes and ships is still prioritized, thank God. I appreciate the fact that I chose to work in science after choosing to study it in college; I continue to marvel at the natural world, at the odd plants that are found in far-reaching places like the Amazon (we can see them courtesy of the different botanical gardens around the world), as well as at the pigeons that sit outside my kitchen window each morning waiting for a handout, or at the squirrels who rob the bird feeder at my friend Jean’s house. I continue to be amazed at the foresight of some of the rich families in New York who contributed money toward the city parks and botanical gardens that enrich our lives. I am grateful for their philanthropy. I have discovered that the media in the form of newspapers and TV have lowered their standards in many countries, not just in my own; so that it is surprising when they actually step up to the plate and report a story responsibly. I remain appalled by how low TV programming has sunk in the space of a decade. And as far as understanding the meaning of my own life; I am beginning to see the contours and perspectives of my life in ways that I never did before. A certain amount of years on this earth will probably do that --give you those perspectives and allow you to see your ‘place’ in the scheme of things, in the course of history. I don’t know yet how I have contributed toward making the world a better place. Sometimes people tell you that your kindness or thoughtfulness meant something to them in a time of need. It’s good to hear that, because I know that the reverse is true—that I have been the recipient of the same in times of need. In the end, it comes down to love and faith, and strangely enough, for all the mystery surrounding both of them, if we have them, they make life easier despite the difficulties that arise in this life.

Back in New York State

I’m in my home state of New York this week, on vacation visiting family and friends. It’s been a wonderfully relaxing visit so far, even though I’ve traveled here and there on planes, trains, in cabs and in a rental car. Some of my friends wonder how I deal with the stress of traveling. I deal with it, probably because I am not working and living in the New York City area anymore and don’t have to deal with it on a daily basis. I was in New York City yesterday and met a good friend for lunch. When I left her apartment at around 3:30 pm, it took me almost 45 minutes to get from the upper west side (88^th street) to Grand Central train station on 42^nd street because the streets were so congested with traffic. I had forgotten that it could take that long. Could I do that now each day—deal with this kind of traffic? No, not anymore. But I did at one point in my life—commuted into and out of Manhattan from my home in Somerset New Jersey. Two-hour commutes each way. I got a lot of reading done on the commuter buses; in fact, I don’t think I ever got so much reading done as in the space of the four years I commuted into and out of the city. But I had no social life to speak of in New Jersey—I got home too late each night, and on weekends, I was often back in Manhattan again with friends, going to discos, to the theater, or out to eat.

One of the reasons I love coming back to New York in the summertime is because of the heat. It’s hot here! The week before I landed at Newark, the temperatures were over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. My brother told me that it was so hot last week that many cars just couldn’t tackle the heat. In fact, his car’s air conditioning system collapsed. It’s not that hot this week (temperatures in the high 80s, low 90s), but it’s warm enough so that you don’t need a jacket when you go outside. That’s summer to me. Or sitting for a few hours on a white sandy beach like I did with another good friend out in Long Beach, Long Island, digging my toes into the warm sand and watching the waves roll in and crash onto the shore.  I’m sunburned and I don’t care; I so rarely lie in the sun that it can’t matter too much one way or the other in terms of all of the potential health risks. We ate paninis on the beach and fed some of the sandwich bread to the many seagulls that stalk the beachgoers. Sly little birds, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce on a piece of bread. I love them too. I love them in Oslo as well when we’re out on the boat, even though they poop on the boat to the great irritation of my husband. My friend reminded me that they poop on people too; this I know. It’s happened to me twice in my life; you wash it off and go on. I cannot imagine a world without them, or any bird for that matter. Incredible little creatures.

I was in upstate New York again too, this time in Highland Falls visiting my sister and her husband. We ended up at West Point and took some gorgeous shots of the Hudson River at that vantage point. The day we were there was also a scorcher; there were a lot of boats out on the river, and it was just a lovely sight. Such a beautiful river, the Hudson River. I know that I could photograph it at all angles and from all vantage points and it still wouldn’t do it justice. Its essence cannot be captured; you just have to ‘feel’ how beautiful it is. I will be posting some shots from my New York trip shortly; as always, I am taking many photos and enjoying snapping away.

It doesn’t take much to be happy in this life. A long vacation away from work stresses will do wonders. But it’s more than that too. You can start vacation feeling overloaded from work, and that feeling can just pervade and ruin an entire vacation. I feel free this year, entirely free, from all the negativity and confusion that has defined my work life and environment for the past two years. I don’t miss work. I know it’s there when I get home, but there’s no rush to get back to work. How I have changed. And I wonder how that was possible—me, the career woman for many years. But no longer. I still love science, the wonder of learning, I am still curious about so much in nature, but I am no longer interested in an academic career. I’ll leave that to those who are. I’ll do my level best to do a good job now, but within the confines of a forty-hour work week, and no more. My free time is my own. That is what has given me this newfound freedom; the knowledge that I changed my way of working and living. I work to live now, not live to work. Again the word grateful springs to mind; I am grateful these days for the changes, for the work difficulties of the past two years, for the learning processes, for the ‘divine choreography’ that is ever present in our lives as my friend Bernadette puts it. God is ever present and working in our lives, and sometimes we are granted an open window into ourselves or out into the world. We can look in or look out, or maybe even both. The window is our connection with the divine and when it is there, true happiness is there too.

Some photos from the Hortus Botanicus in Amsterdam

A few more photos from the Hortus Botanicus (Botanical Garden) in Amsterdam, where we spent a very pleasant afternoon. It is well-worth seeing, especially the Butterfly House. Check out the photo with the butterfly with eyespots, called an Owl butterfly according to what I saw on internet--way cool. Enjoy!

Butterfly with eyespots, an Owl butterfly

Amsterdam views

We were in Amsterdam last week, enjoying a short vacation. The first time we visited the Netherlands was in April 1998 when my husband took a microscopy course at the University of Delft. We managed to spend one day in Amsterdam before traveling on to Delft, which is southwest of Amsterdam. While he attended his course, I traveled a bit around the country by train and bus, visiting Amsterdam for a day, visiting Anne Frank’s house (a moving experience but also a claustrophobic one—how she and her family managed to live in such tight quarters plagued me no end) and walking around the city and taking in the lovely views of the canals (the Dutch word for a city canal is ‘gracht’).  I also spent a day at the famous tulip park called Keukenhof in the city of Lisse, which is west of Amsterdam; the park is closed during the summer so we did not get to see it this time around. I remember it being very easy to travel around Holland—the train system is excellent and most people speak good English so it wasn’t a problem to communicate with them or to ask for help or guidance.

While we were in Amsterdam this time, we walked quite a bit around the city as we are wont to do when we are in a new city; walking is the best way to get to know a place. We visited the Rijksmuseum with many of Rembrandt’s paintings as well as several paintings by Vermeer and van Dyck, the Van Gogh museum with a wonderful and moving exhibit of the artist’s life and works, and the Stedelijk Museum with its very unusual modern art. The ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’ by Vermeer was unfortunately not in the Rijksmuseum; it is located in the Mauritshuis gallery in The Hague. We visited the Madame Tussaud wax museum with its interesting presentation of Dutch history as well as of Hollywood actors and actresses like Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe and American singers like Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson. Who doesn’t want their picture taken with one of these people? It’s just a lot of fun, and where would the world be without American celebrities? We also walked around the Red Light District that is famous for its sex shops, museums and window prostitutes, and which is frequented by tourists from all over the world who walk through the district ogling the shops and the young women in the windows. This district dates back to the fourteenth century when sailors from all over the world arrived in the city of Amsterdam and went looking for female companionship. We also took the requisite canal boat tour that is always a lot of fun. We are boat people; no matter where we go, if it is possible to take a boat trip of one kind or another, we always do, since it is a relaxing way to see a city and to take some interesting photos. We ate lunch one day at the Café Americain which is located inside the famous Amsterdam American Hotel; this is a beautiful café with a splendid interior that just has to be seen. On the last day we were there, we visited the Botanical Garden (Hortus Botanicus) on the east side (the quieter side) of the city, with its incredible Butterfly House. When you walk inside the house, there are hundreds of butterflies of all kinds flying about, landing on the orange slices and sugar water that have been set out for them. The house contains many different kinds of plants, from coffee plants to sugar cane, and the butterflies alight on them and then move on, flitting from plant to plant. We rounded out a very enjoyable stay at a Dutch restaurant where we enjoyed typical Dutch-style food: pea soup (called ‘snert’) with smoked sausages and bacon for me and mussels for my husband; Holland is apparently world-renowned for its mussels. But I have fallen in love with ‘stroopwafler’, also called syrup waffles in English; these are to die for—a waffle sandwich made from two thin layers of baked batter with caramel-like syrup as the filling. Impossible to eat just one!

Amsterdam is rich in history, architecture, beauty, culture and tolerance. It is a city that has a modern feel to it without having sacrificed its ancient architecture and beauty. The canals are an amazing feat of engineering and were constructed in the seventeenth century; it is no wonder that the city is often called the ‘Venice of the North’. People live in the many houseboats that line the canals; they are considered legal residences since housing in Amsterdam is tight. The houseboat inhabitants seem to take tourists in stride; they are nonchalant about being stared at and don't seem to mind the tourist canal boats. We will return to the city at some future time, probably during the springtime in order to be able to visit Keukenhof park, and look forward to doing so.

The Queen of Holland in the Wax Museum

The singer Prince in the Wax Museum

Reflections on living abroad

The events of the past days have overshadowed all other things that have been going on in our lives. And that is as it should be. I realized yesterday that the two most horrific life-changing events that have occurred in my lifetime—9/11 in 2001 in New York and now the terror attacks in Norway on July 22^nd —happened when I was living in another country (9/11) or visiting another country (July 22^nd). They have changed my life nonetheless. They are life-changing events, just as being part of one or both world wars must have been to our parents and grandparents. 9/11 changed me forever; I have written about that earlier in this blog and I know that many friends and family members in New York feel the same. I ‘became’ an American and a New Yorker for all time on 9/11. That is how many Norwegians will feel about July 22^nd. I understand how they feel because I feel a bit that way myself. I criticize Norway from time to time because I live here now; I did the same when I lived and worked in New York. Somehow living in a place gives one the sense that one has the right to criticize it. But what if criticism simply means that the place has gotten to you, gotten under your skin to the point that you cannot shake it off no matter how hard you try? If that is the case, then I have become a ‘Norwegian’ in some way, after all these years here. Should that be surprising to anyone? Probably not. Probably it is most surprising to me. I know that whenever others who have not lived in Norway or New York City criticize either one of them, there is a defensive feeling that surfaces in me—as if to say, who are you to criticize a place you have never been to or never lived in? I or those who have lived here (or there) and experienced how life is here (or there) are the only ones who have that right. But I know too that people are human; just like me, they read the newspapers and watch TV and think that Norway is a pure socialist country (it’s not). Or they think that New York City and the USA generally are filled with gun-toting individuals who are not afraid to use them (not true). I always remind people that New York City has a larger population than the country of Norway, and that each day about four million people commute into and out of the city without any major problems. They are not attacked on the streets or mugged or killed on their way to and from work. All media forms have a responsibility to report the news in an objective, not sensationalistic fashion. It does no one any good to foist a false impression of a foreign city or country upon readers, because if you never travel, you could end up thinking that your life would be in danger the minute you stepped off the plane at Kennedy airport in New York. And then you might not choose to travel. Luckily, most people I know don’t think like this or if they do, they don’t let it stop them from traveling.

I have lived abroad, outside my birth country, for many years; in October it will be twenty-two years. I left New York the day before the huge earthquake in San Francisco (October 17, 1989) that caused such damage there and to the surrounding areas. It was odd to hear about what happened on TV in a new country whose language I did not understand, whose newspapers I could not read, and whose radio broadcasts were like Greek to me. So many years later, I have no problem understanding Norwegian. I even think in Norwegian now, and I have dreamed and talked in my sleep, and talked in Norwegian. The funny part of this is that my husband, who is Norwegian, can talk in his sleep as well, and he has spoken English. Apart from one year where we lived in the USA, in San Francisco in fact, we have been in Oslo for all these years.

We have traveled quite a lot in the space of twenty-two years. We are privileged to have been able to travel in Europe. I don’t say that lightly. We had very little money starting out, so our ‘chances’ to see the world lay in attending international scientific congresses that were held in places like Finland, England, France, Denmark, and Sweden. We have traveled to Italy on business. In many cases, we took an extra two or three days in the foreign cities we found ourselves in, and in that way got to experience a little bit of other European cultures. In later years, and with a bit more money in our pockets, we have traveled to France, the Czech Republic, Germany, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, England, and the Netherlands, to name a few countries. We have foregone luxury in many instances—cheap and worn-down hotels and bed and breakfast places, but it didn’t really seem to matter. What mattered to me most of all was to see these places, to really get a feel for them, to see the beauty that is found there.  We are privileged to have gotten these chances, and I am grateful for them.  

A City of Flowers--Oslo after July 22nd

We were in Amsterdam on July 22^nd when the madman who is Anders Behring Breivik put into action his evil plan—something he had been plotting to do for nine years according to news sources. This by itself would boggle the mind; the fact that he went after children and teenagers on the island of Utøya is something that no one can or should ever forget. Watching and hearing about what unfolded there is like watching a horror movie, only with the knowledge that it is for real. I cannot imagine what went through the minds of those who experienced this horror, only that I would like to reach out my hand with a magic wand to obliterate the images that the survivors will live with for the rest of their lives. My brother, who worked in the Twin Towers in NY and who lost colleagues and friends on 9/11, says that many of those he knows who survived suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder ten years later. He was fortunately spared—first in 1993 when a car bomb went off in the parking lot under the towers, and then in 2001 on 9/11—both times he was away from his office. But even for those of us who were not physically present in NY when 9/11 occurred, the images of the Twin Towers being hit by the planes and then disintegrating have engraved themselves on our memories for always. To this day I cannot watch video footage of this happening without falling apart. So I know it will be the same for many of the survivors of July 22^nd in Oslo and in Norway generally.

We watched the terror unfold in Oslo on a TV in a hotel room in Amsterdam. Minute for minute, hour for hour—updates, pictures, interviews, more updates. Shock and more shock. Stillness, deathly quiet—that is how the public’s reaction was described following the bombing in Oslo. That is shock. That is disbelief, horror, and sorrow. It is hard to believe that a huge car bomb went off in Oslo. It is hard to believe that a mass murderer mowed down so many young people on an island that is only accessible by boat. It is hard to fathom that it happened in peaceful Norway. And yet it did. It is hard to imagine that this society could have ‘grown’ such a person; that such a person could be the product of a free and democratic society. And yet he is. Norway in that respect is no different than other free and democratic countries. We pay a high price for our democratic philosophies and for our freedom of expression. But we must ensure that the price that both homegrown and external terrorists pay is even higher. What Breivik did is treasonous, and if it was wartime, he would be tried as a traitor. But it is not wartime. This is peacetime. So he will be tried as a mass murderer. He will go to prison for the rest of his life. But he goes to prison knowing that the families of those he murdered are in a prison of their own, of his making. They have lost their children or their spouses or their friends. This is the prison of death and sorrow. For some it is a lifetime sentence, for others it may not be so. But it is impossible to say what it will be for each person affected by this tragedy, because each person is an individual.  

We joined the huge numbers of people who found their way into downtown Oslo yesterday. We placed flowers in front of the Oslo Cathedral like so many others. The front of the church has become a sea of flowers, spreading out in all directions. We were there at 3pm; by 7pm the sea had doubled in size, both horizontally and vertically. There are layers upon layers of flowers, interspersed with lit votive candles. Many people circled the sea—just standing and reflecting, taking pictures, others explaining to their children what had happened. What they could not explain was why is happened. No one will ever really know why evil happens. But it does. Evil exists. Hate exists. Darkness exists. Sometimes the darkness tries to obliterate the light. But the sea of flowers is a symbol of compassion and love for the victims and their families, and really for all those affected by terror and tragedy. I remember the flowers and candles and flags that people in Oslo placed in front of the American embassy building after 9/11. People reached out, like they do now, with compassion and thoughtfulness, and I hope these feelings and emotions last and lead to a more empathetic world society. 

Attacks in Oslo and Utøya

It is very difficult to comprehend what happened today in Oslo. The city went from peace and order to horror and chaos in the space of a few minutes, and it is awful to see the destruction on the news. Also the horrific shootings of teenagers on the island of Utøya. My husband and I are on vacation in Amsterdam and are watching BBC news closely for new updates. I am also checking Facebook and internet news to stay updated. Family and friends are safe and that is good to know. Our hearts go out to the families who have lost loved ones in these attacks. We are tired--with that incredible fatigue that comes from trying to absorb such shocking news. My gut reacted just like it did after 9/11--with shock, sadness, disbelief, anger, rage--all sorts of feelings. I know we will experience many different feelings over the next few days.

A new poem

On my way back from Ireland, the first sentence of this poem was already forming itself in my mind. It's hard not to feel awe when you find yourself in the presence of literary greats, as I did when I visited the William Butler Yeats exhibition at the National Library of Ireland. But I found myself inspired by so much more--so much of it just an intuitive response to a country that is rich in so many ways, in the ways that count, at least to me. 

I Walk in the Shadows of Giants

I walk in the shadows of giants

Stand in the splendor of kings

Mute in the presence of tyrants

Lost in the halls that sing

I roam the passage that beckons

Ancient the call that keens

Lithe is the fairy that reckons

Spirit remains unseen

I fly in the temple of sinners

Eat at the tables of saints

Join with the forces of winners

Scarce are the jabs and the feints

I reel in the smoke of the fire

That burns in the halls of the kings

Fly in the face of ire

Sail with the lords of the rings

I forage the future of time

Divine with the rod of the druids

All things about me sublime

All things about me are fluid

I stand in the shadows of giants

Walk in the presence of lights

Far out upon the horizon

Dancing about me like sprites

I speak in the tongues of the ancients

Keen with the songs of the dead

Free my soul from the dungeons

Of fear, of death, and of dread

copyright Paula M De Angelis

July 2011