Englene (The Angels)--my new poem

I was out walking yesterday afternoon, thinking about a collection of poems (in Norwegian) that I hope to publish this year. One of the poems I happened to be thinking about is called Englene (The Angels). As I was walking under some large trees whose branches were covered in snow, some of the snow fell on me, landing softly on my head and shoulders. I burst out laughing, because my first thought was--angels having fun, dropping some snow on me to see my reaction. It was one of those moments that was more than coincidence, at least that's how it felt to me. 

Here is the poem, first in Norwegian, and then in English: 

Englene               copyright 2021 Paula Mary De Angelis 

Engler på skulderen min Som hvisker i øret mitt Når mørket faller og vinter skraper Mot vinduene med sine skarpe negler Engler som vandrer rundt de gamle traktene Vi hilser dem velkommen selv om Vi vet at de bor et annet sted Langt fra denne verden vi kaller hjem

Jeg står i døråpningen og ser utover vinterenga Dekket med snø og iskrystaller Den strekker seg så langt øynene kan se Et kaldt landskap, men et som kaller til meg Jeg tar på meg kåpe og vandrer ut over den frosne jord Jeg vet ikke hvor jeg skal men jeg vet innerst inne At englene som sitter på min skulder vil vise vei

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Angels on my shoulder Whispering in my ear When darkness falls and winter scrapes Against the windows with its sharp nails Angels wandering around the familiar tracts We welcome them though We know they live somewhere else Far from this world we call home

I stand in the doorway and look out over the winter meadow Covered with snow and ice crystals It extends as far as the eyes can see A cold landscape but one that calls to me I put on my coat and wander out over the frozen earth I do not know where I am going but know deep down That the angels sitting on my shoulder will show the way

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Fir Tree by Hans Christian Andersen

We grew up reading Hans Christian Andersen's stories--The Little Match Girl, The Emperor's New Clothes, The Little Mermaid, The Nightingale, The Steadfast Tin Soldier, The Red Shoes, The Princess and the Pea, The Snow Queen, The Ugly Duckling, and Thumbelina, among others. I came across this little story in one of my Christmas story collections; it was in Norwegian but I found an English translation online. I had not read this one before. As always, I found it to be both sad and wise. Many of Andersen's stories are sad; they touch that part of us that has empathy for others. And also empathy for things like a fir tree or a bird. He knew how to make us feel for others, and feel sad for the plights of others. I'm glad we grew up reading his stories. 

THE FIR TREE

a translation of hans christian andersen's "grantræet" by jean hersholt: Hans Christian Andersen : The Fir Tree (sdu.dk)

Out in the woods stood such a pretty little fir tree. It grew in a good place, where it had plenty of sun and plenty of fresh air. Around it stood many tall comrades, both fir trees and pines.

The little fir tree was in a headlong hurry to grow up. It didn't care a thing for the warm sunshine, or the fresh air, and it took no interest in the peasant children who ran about chattering when they came to pick strawberries or raspberries. Often when the children had picked their pails full, or had gathered long strings of berries threaded on straws, they would sit down to rest near the little fir. "Oh, isn't it a nice little tree?" they would say. "It's the baby of the woods." The little tree didn't like their remarks at all.

Next year it shot up a long joint of new growth, and the following year another joint, still longer. You can always tell how old a fir tree is by counting the number of joints it has.

"I wish I were a grown-up tree, like my comrades," the little tree sighed. "Then I could stretch out my branches and see from my top what the world is like. The birds would make me their nesting place, and when the wind blew I could bow back and forth with all the great trees."

It took no pleasure in the sunshine, nor in the birds. The glowing clouds, that sailed overhead at sunrise and sunset, meant nothing to it.

In winter, when the snow lay sparkling on the ground, a hare would often come hopping along and jump right over the little tree. Oh, how irritating that was! That happened for two winters, but when the third winter came the tree was so tall that the hare had to turn aside and hop around it.

"Oh, to grow, grow! To get older and taller," the little tree thought. "That is the most wonderful thing in this world."

In the autumn, woodcutters came and cut down a few of the largest trees. This happened every year. The young fir was no longer a baby tree, and it trembled to see how those stately great trees crashed to the ground, how their limbs were lopped off, and how lean they looked as the naked trunks were loaded into carts. It could hardly recognize the trees it had known, when the horses pulled them out of the woods.

Where were they going? What would become of them?

In the springtime, when swallows and storks came back, the tree asked them, "Do you know where the other trees went? Have you met them?"

The swallows knew nothing about it, but the stork looked thoughtful and nodded his head. "Yes, I think I met them," he said. "On my way from Egypt I met many new ships, and some had tall, stately masts. They may well have been the trees you mean, for I remember the smell of fir. They wanted to be remembered to you."

"Oh, I wish I were old enough to travel on the sea. Please tell me what it really is, and how it looks."

"That would take too long to tell," said the stork, and off he strode.

"Rejoice in your youth," said the sunbeams. "Take pride in your growing strength and in the stir of life within you."

And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew wept over it, for the tree was young and without understanding.

When Christmas came near, many young trees were cut down. Some were not even as old or as tall as this fir tree of ours, who was in such a hurry and fret to go traveling. These young trees, which were always the handsomest ones, had their branches left on them when they were loaded on carts and the horses drew them out of the woods.

"Where can they be going?" the fir tree wondered. "They are no taller than I am. One was really much smaller than I am. And why are they allowed to keep all their branches? "Where can they be going?"

"We know! We know!" the sparrows chirped. "We have been to town and peeped in the windows. We know where they are going. The greatest splendor and glory you can imagine awaits them. We've peeped through windows. We've seen them planted right in the middle of a warm room, and decked out with the most splendid things-gold apples, good gingerbread, gay toys, and many hundreds of candles."

"And then?" asked the fir tree, trembling in every twig. "And then? What happens then?"

"We saw nothing more. And never have we seen anything that could match it."

"I wonder if I was created for such a glorious future?" The fir tree rejoiced. "Why, that is better than to cross the sea. I'm tormented with longing. Oh, if Christmas would only come! I'm just as tall and grown-up as the trees they chose last year. How I wish I were already in the cart, on my way to the warm room where there's so much splendor and glory. Then-then something even better, something still more important is bound to happen, or why should they deck me so fine? Yes, there must be something still grander! But what? Oh, how I long: I don't know what's the matter with me."

"Enjoy us while you may," the air and sunlight told him. "Rejoice in the days of your youth, out here in the open."

But the tree did not rejoice at all. It just grew. It grew and was green both winter and summer-dark evergreen. People who passed it said, "There's a beautiful tree!" And when Christmas time came again they cut it down first. The ax struck deep into its marrow. The tree sighed as it fell to the ground. It felt faint with pain. Instead of the happiness it had expected, the tree was sorry to leave the home where it had grown up. It knew that never again would it see its dear old comrades, the little bushes and the flowers about it-and perhaps not even the birds. The departure was anything but pleasant.

The tree did not get over it until all the trees were unloaded in the yard, and it heard a man say, "That's a splendid one. That's the tree for us." Then two servants came in fine livery, and carried the fir tree into a big splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hung all around the walls. On either side of the white porcelain stove stood great Chinese vases, with lions on the lids of them. There were easy chairs, silk-covered sofas and long tables strewn with picture books, and with toys that were worth a mint of money, or so the children said.

The fir tree was planted in a large tub filled with sand, but no one could see that it was a tub, because it was wrapped in a gay green cloth and set on a many-colored carpet. How the tree quivered! What would come next? The servants and even the young ladies helped it on with its fine decorations. From its branches they hung little nets cut out of colored paper, and each net was filled with candies. Gilded apples and walnuts hung in clusters as if they grew there, and a hundred little white, blue, and even red, candles were fastened to its twigs. Among its green branches swayed dolls that it took to be real living people, for the tree had never seen their like before. And up at its very top was set a large gold tinsel star. It was splendid, I tell you, splendid beyond all words!

"Tonight," they all said, "ah, tonight how the tree will shine!"

"Oh," thought the tree, "if tonight would only come! If only the candles were lit! And after that, what happens then? Will the trees come trooping out of the woods to see me? Will the sparrows flock to the windows? Shall I take root here, and stand in fine ornaments all winter and summer long?"

That was how much it knew about it. All its longing had gone to its bark and set it to arching, which is as bad for a tree as a headache is for us.

Now the candles were lighted. What dazzling splendor! What a blaze of light! The tree quivered so in every bough that a candle set one of its twigs ablaze. It hurt terribly.

"Mercy me!" cried every young lady, and the fire was quickly put out. The tree no longer dared rustle a twig-it was awful! Wouldn't it be terrible if it were to drop one of its ornaments? Its own brilliance dazzled it.

Suddenly the folding doors were thrown back, and a whole flock of children burst in as if they would overturn the tree completely. Their elders marched in after them, more sedately. For a moment, but only for a moment, the young ones were stricken speechless. Then they shouted till the rafters rang. They danced about the tree and plucked off one present after another.

"What are they up to?" the tree wondered. "What will happen next?"

As the candles burned down to the bark they were snuffed out, one by one, and then the children had permission to plunder the tree. They went about it in such earnest that the branches crackled and, if the tree had not been tied to the ceiling by the gold star at top, it would have tumbled headlong.

The children danced about with their splendid playthings. No one looked at the tree now, except an old nurse who peered in among the branches, but this was only to make sure that not an apple or fig had been overlooked.

"Tell us a story! Tell us a story!" the children clamored, as they towed a fat little man to the tree. He sat down beneath it and said, "Here we are in the woods, and it will do the tree a lot of good to listen to our story. Mind you, I'll tell only one. Which will you have, the story of Ivedy-Avedy, or the one about Humpty-Dumpty who tumbled downstairs, yet ascended the throne and married the Princess?"

"Ivedy-Avedy," cried some. "Humpty-Dumpty," cried the others. And there was a great hullabaloo. Only the fir tree held its peace, though it thought to itself, "Am I to be left out of this? Isn't there anything I can do?" For all the fun of the evening had centered upon it, and it had played its part well.

The fat little man told them all about Humpty-Dumpty, who tumbled downstairs, yet ascended the throne and married the Princess. And the children clapped and shouted, "Tell us another one! Tell us another one!" For they wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, but after Humpty-Dumpty the story telling stopped. The fir tree stood very still as it pondered how the birds in the woods had never told it a story to equal this.

"Humpty-Dumpty tumbled downstairs, yet he married the Princess. Imagine! That must be how things happen in the world. You never can tell. Maybe I'll tumble downstairs and marry a princess too," thought the fir tree, who believed every word of the story because such a nice man had told it.

The tree looked forward to the following day, when they would deck it again with fruit and toys, candles and gold. "Tomorrow I shall not quiver," it decided. "I'll enjoy my splendor to the full. Tomorrow I shall hear about Humpty-Dumpty again, and perhaps about Ivedy-Avedy too." All night long the tree stood silent as it dreamed its dreams, and next morning the butler and the maid came in with their dusters.

"Now my splendor will be renewed," the fir tree thought. But they dragged it upstairs to the garret, and there they left it in a dark corner where no daylight ever came. "What's the meaning of this?" the tree wondered. "What am I going to do here? What stories shall I hear?" It leaned against the wall, lost in dreams. It had plenty of time for dreaming, as the days and the nights went by. Nobody came to the garret. And when at last someone did come, it was only to put many big boxes away in the corner. The tree was quite hidden. One might think it had been entirely forgotten.

"It's still winter outside," the tree thought. "The earth is too hard and covered with snow for them to plant me now. I must have been put here for shelter until springtime comes. How thoughtful of them! How good people are! Only, I wish it weren't so dark here, and so very, very lonely. There's not even a little hare. It was so friendly out in the woods when the snow was on the ground and the hare came hopping along. Yes, he was friendly even when he jumped right over me, though I did not think so then. Here it's all so terribly lonely."

"Squeak, squeak!" said a little mouse just then. He crept across the floor, and another one followed him. They sniffed the fir tree, and rustled in and out among its branches.

"It is fearfully cold," one of them said. "Except for that, it would be very nice here, wouldn't it, you old fir tree?"

"I'm not at all old," said the fir tree. "Many trees are much older than I am."

"Where did you come from?" the mice asked him. "And what do you know?" They were most inquisitive creatures.

"Tell us about the most beautiful place in the world. Have you been there? Were you ever in the larder, where there are cheeses on shelves and hams that hang from the rafters? It's the place where you can dance upon tallow candles-where you can dart in thin and squeeze out fat."

"I know nothing of that place," said the tree. "But I know the woods where the sun shines and the little birds sing." Then it told them about its youth. The little mice had never heard the like of it. They listened very intently, and said, "My! How much you have seen! And how happy it must have made you."

"I?" the fir tree thought about it. "Yes, those days were rather amusing." And he went on to tell them about Christmas Eve, when it was decked out with candies and candles.

"Oh," said the little mice, "how lucky you have been, you old fir tree!"

"I am not at all old," it insisted. "I came out of the woods just this winter, and I'm really in the prime of life, though at the moment my growth is suspended."

"How nicely you tell things," said the mice. The next night they came with four other mice to hear what the tree had to say. The more it talked, the more clearly it recalled things, and it thought, "Those were happy times. But they may still come back-they may come back again. Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married the Princess. Maybe the same thing will happen to me." It thought about a charming little birch tree that grew out in the woods. To the fir tree she was a real and lovely Princess.

"Who is Humpty-Dumpty?" the mice asked it. So the fir tree told them the whole story, for it could remember it word by word. The little mice were ready to jump to the top of the tree for joy. The next night many more mice came to see the fir tree, and on Sunday two rats paid it a call, but they said that the story was not very amusing. This made the little mice to sad that they began to find it not so very interesting either.

"Is that the only story you know?" the rats asked.

"Only that one," the tree answered. "I heard it on the happiest evening of my life, but I did not know then how happy I was."

"It's a very silly story. Don't you know one that tells about bacon and candles? Can't you tell us a good larder story?"

"No," said the tree.

"Then good-by, and we won't be back," the rats said, and went away.

At last the little mice took to staying away too. The tree sighed, "Oh, wasn't it pleasant when those gay little mice sat around and listened to all that I had to say. Now that, too, is past and gone. But I will take good care to enjoy myself, once they let me out of here."

When would that be? Well, it came to pass on a morning when people came up to clean out the garret. The boxes were moved, the tree was pulled out and thrown-thrown hard-on the floor. But a servant dragged it at once to the stairway, where there was daylight again.

"Now my life will start all over," the tree thought. It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeam strike it as if it came out into the courtyard. This all happened so quickly and there was so much going around it, that the tree forgot to give even a glance at itself. The courtyard adjoined a garden, where flowers were blooming. Great masses of fragrant roses hung over the picket fence. The linden trees were in blossom, and between them the swallows skimmed past, calling, "Tilira-lira-lee, my love's come back to me." But it was not the fir tree of whom they spoke.

"Now I shall live again," it rejoiced, and tried to stretch out its branches. Alas, they were withered, and brown, and brittle. It was tossed into a corner, among weeds and nettles. But the gold star that was still tied to its top sparkled bravely in the sunlight.

Several of the merry children, who had danced around the tree and taken such pleasure in it at Christmas, were playing in the courtyard. One of the youngest seized upon it and tore off the tinsel star.

"Look what is still hanging on that ugly old Christmas tree," the child said, and stamped upon the branches until they cracked beneath his shoes.

The tree saw the beautiful flowers blooming freshly in the garden. It saw itself, and wished that they had left it in the darkest corner of the garret. It thought of its own young days in the deep woods, and of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice who had been so pleased when it told them the story of Humpty-Dumpty.

"My days are over and past," said the poor tree. "Why didn't I enjoy them while I could? Now they are gone-all gone."

A servant came and chopped the tree into little pieces. These heaped together quite high. The wood blazed beautifully under the big copper kettle, and the fir tree moaned so deeply that each groan sounded like a muffled shot. That's why the children who were playing near-by ran to make a circle around the flames, staring into the fire and crying, "Pif! Paf!" But as each groans burst from it, the tree thought of a bright summer day in the woods, or a starlit winter night. It thought of Christmas Eve and thought of Humpty-Dumpty, which was the only story it ever heard and knew how to tell. And so the tree was burned completely away.

The children played on in the courtyard. The youngest child wore on his breast the gold star that had topped the tree on its happiest night of all. But that was no more, and the tree was no more, and there's no more to my story. No more, nothing more. All stories come to an end.

Oslo at Christmastime

I wanted to post some photos of Oslo at Christmastime before the Christmas season ends. Winter has been exceptionally lovely this year in Oslo due to the snow, which when it first falls, is magical. The combination of darkness, snow and lights is beautiful to behold. Enjoy!

Hotel Bristol's gingerbread hotel

Hotel Bristol's Christmas tree at entrance

Hønsa-Lovisas house decorated for Christmas

My wonderful new nutcracker that is now added to my collection

A place to buy fireworks--getting ready for New Year's Eve

Light Inspired Liberated

I played one of those word games on Facebook where 'the first three words you see are your mantra for this month'. Light, inspired, liberated were the three words that I saw first. I do not usually play games on Facebook and I do not normally attribute any special meaning to any results from such games. But given that we are finishing up another dark pandemic year, I would like to apply these words to January 2022, and to 2022 in general, especially since the first word I saw was 'light'. I'd like to think that means something, even if only to me. The word 'mantra' itself is derived from a Sanskrit word meaning a “sacred message or text, charm, spell, counsel.” Even better. 

Light. Lys in Norwegian. I hope I can be a light in the lives of others in the coming year. Perhaps a light in their darkness. And I hope they can be lights in mine. We all experience periods of darkness, where life seems joyless, meaningless, hopeless. Sometimes we can be enveloped by that darkness because of sickness and/or death. There are many people I know who are sick; one of them, who has been declining gradually for several years now, found a light inside herself this Advent, and for the first time since she was diagnosed with her illness, took an active part in setting up Christmas decorations in her home with the help of her aide. When I spoke to her on the phone, she sounded happy. I have not experienced a darkness of the soul this year, despite the pandemic all around us, despite the sickness all around us. I am trying to focus on having hope because it seems as though it is in short supply. I am trying to 'light one candle rather than curse the darkness'. Literally. I understand the value of candlelight and soft lighting in the home during the darkest time of the year. I am comforted by the lights I see in others' windows. I try to find the joy and light of my childhood in this season. I seek out the memory bubble that allows me to live there, peacefully, remembering my parents and our childhood Christmases. It means bittersweet memories, but I treasure them. I cannot sing the Christmas hymns and songs that my mother liked without tears, but I treasure those songs and the lyrics. So much of Christmas reminds me of my mother and my father. They were guiding lights in my life, each in their own special way. Those lights remain lit in memory; they bond me to them across the vast expanse of time.  

Inspired. Inspirert in Norwegian. I find inspiration in writing. Writing inspires me to want to write more. I hope I am reasonably good at it; I don't attempt to measure my success in the traditional ways--money and fame. They don't inspire me to write. I am inspired to write by someone like Georgia O' Keefe who wrote: 

“Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing--and keeping the unknown always beyond you.”

I find inspiration in the writings of others--favorite authors whose words have shown me different aspects of life, who have shown me the underbelly and the beauty of life, the sadness and the joy of life, who have described life's mysteries without solving them. I am inspired by the creativity of others, be they writers, artists, actors, filmmakers, bakers, gardeners, parents--by any person who makes his or her unknown known. Creativity is the experience of bringing something into existence; anything that nurtures that is light-filled and inspirational. Creativity inspires more creativity. I remain fascinated by for example, the creativity of putting a record album together as Pink Floyd did with Dark Side of the Moon. I watched a documentary about how that album was made, and awestruck is the only word that begins to describe the feeling of watching a creativity unfold that nearly reached perfection. I would go so far as to call it a divinely-inspired album--one of my favorites. 

Liberated. Frigjort in Norwegian. Strange (but nice) that this word should be one of the three mantra words, since I was recently liberated from the standard work world when I retired at the end of August. Liberated is a perfect way to describe the feeling of being free from the expectations of an employer, and a perfect way to describe the feeling of being free from the constraints of workplaces defined by trendy buzzwords, concepts, unnecessary changes and a host of other factors that in the long run did nothing but irritate me. Retirement is liberation from one type of life and a liberation into another kind of life--one of one's choosing. The feeling of freedom is inviting after over forty years of following the wishes, plans, and strategies of others. There is nothing wrong with the latter, but at some point it's nice to be able to freely choose to follow your own wishes, dreams, ideas and plans. 

A Christmas wish--I Wish You Christmas

We watched the Christmas concert from the Royal Albert Hall in London earlier this evening, hosted by Katherine Jenkins who is a wonderful operatic singer. She sang many of the songs during the one hour concert, accompanied by guest performers. One of the songs she sang toward the end was called I Wish You Christmas. The song is beautiful--the lyrics alone are also: 

I Wish You Christmas      (songwriter: John Rutter)

I wish you starlight on fields of snow,
The winter's morning light and evening's glow;
I wish you candles that shine from every tree,
So all the world can see
The light that there could be.

I wish you music, I wish you song,
With voices echoing, Joyous and strong;
I wish you church bells, ringing true and clear;
I wish you Christmas, a merry Christmas,
A merry Christmas to remember all the year.

Old friends smiling,
Thinking of times gone by;
Young friends laughing:
Christmas is here,
Spirits are bright,
And hopes are high.

I wish you loved ones around your fire;
May Christmas bring you all your heart's desire.
I wish you children to make the season new,
With dreams you help come true,
Just like it was for you.

I wish you blessings, I wish you love,
The sound of angel choirs from high above;
I wish you laughter, happiness and cheer:
I wish you Christmas, a merry Christmas,
And may its joy and peace be with you through the year.

I wish you music, I wish you song;
I wish you harmony your whole life long;
The warmth of memories that long remain:
I wish you Christmas, a merry Christmas,

And may God bless you till we all shall meet again.

Christmas 2021--random thoughts

It's been an odd year, but a good one in many ways. There was a time for sorrow, but also for joy. There was a short period of real freedom after what many experienced as a prison of isolation and loneliness, of personal trials. There will be joy again once society opens up. With each closure of society, we learn perhaps not to take our personal freedoms for granted. One can only hope.  

Within that time window of real freedom, I managed a long sought-after trip to New York to visit loved ones. I knew that I would not make it through another winter without having seen them. Each trip to New York fills up my heart and soul with memories. I have those memories to live on during the long cold winters. They keep me warm because they're made of love. 

Our personal freedoms come and came with a cost. Some families experienced that cost more intimately and more seriously than others. This past year it seemed to me that suddenly I knew more people who got Covid, as well as people who knew people that got Covid. One of those who got sick died recently and he was in his 50s with no underlying health issues. 

Some people, no matter what evidence they are given, will continue to deny the existence of a virus and of the value of a vaccine against that virus. Some people will always attempt to put themselves first, no matter the cost, instead of putting the good of society first. I imagine FDR faced the same problems trying to get the USA back on track after the Great Depression. Some people always know what's best for others, and even when it's not, they insist that it is. Some people are hypocrites; they tell their followers not to take the vaccine because to do so would take away their personal freedom, but they themselves have taken the vaccine. 

I thought I could never again be surprised by the antics of Donald Trump. But there he was on television, interviewed by Candace Owens, pushing others to take the vaccine. For once I agreed with him. For once I thought, he makes sense. Many of his 'followers' booed him. But let's see. Perhaps in six months he'll be saying that his interview with Candace Owens was fake news. You never know with him. 

Here in Norway, the results of grant applications to the major granting agencies were divulged. For the most part, the same people who always get money, got more money in order to grow their already large research groups even larger. But there was one conspicuous absence that made me happy to see. That person, who shall remain unnamed, deserves to experience what many other good (unfunded) scientists have experienced for a decade or more, that no matter how hard they tried, they did not get funding. This particular scientist has always dissed those unfunded scientists as dead weight. He never thought twice about publicly humiliating them. And now perhaps he is dead weight himself. I have two thoughts about this--there is a God (thank you, God), and karma is a bitch. It may be unkind of me, but he has caused untold suffering to others. He deserves what he gets. 

The bishops in the Lutheran church here in Norway criticized the government for the tight restrictions on how many people could attend church services during Christmas, particularly in light of the fact that the shopping centers were not fettered with such restrictions. They have a point. All of the churches here have limitations on how many people could attend services; they've been in place for a month or more. Christmas is not just about buying gifts for others, as nice as that is. It is also about allowing people to worship God and honor their faith. I applaud the churches here for the job they have done in terms of following the government regulations and instituting hygienic practices. They cannot be criticized at all for this. 

In the midst of the chaos that is society at present, I have felt peace and joy. I retired this year in order to honor the dreams I have of pursuing my writing and publishing what I write. I want to finish what I've started. Retiring has brought me peace--peace of mind and peace of soul. I am grateful that I was able to do it now, without having to worry about not being able to afford to do so. My husband and I are blessed and I am reminded of that every day. I am grateful. We have a granddaughter who is two years old and a joy to be with. She is a reminder that life continues to move forward and that there is trust in the future. 

What will this century bring? I think about what the twentieth century brought us in the way of new technologies. Many of them were predicted in the sci-fi novels that I love, the ones that I read already as a young adult. I wonder if this century will figure out time travel? Will wormholes play a role in that? Or will something else that has not yet been discovered?

Life is about learning throughout one's life. We learn something new every day. It sounds banal when people say it, but it's not at all a banal experience. Our brains are miracles of nature. The study of the brain must be fascinating, the last great frontier of science, one I want to read more about. When it comes to learning, I still have a sense of awe in the face of all there is to learn, and in the face of wondrous things a sense of magic. 

Nature continues to call to me each day, continues to remind me that beauty is all around us, in the simplest and tiniest of things. I pick up a fistful of earth, and as it runs through my fingers I wonder, what is earth? What is it made of, this substance that nurtures life? Nature is a miracle, the way it incorporates life and death in an almost cyclical fashion. Dead plants become earth and nurture new life. A garden has taught me that. In that way one could almost say that there is no death, only different forms of life. I have so many questions. I doubt that there will be fewer as I get older. Nature co-exists with us, most times peacefully, other times not. We cannot control it; we have learned to tame parts of it, those parts that give us food and shelter. But we live on a planet in a solar system in a universe. It strikes me as it does many others, just how unbelievable it is that our planet sustains life, whereas the others do not, at least not in the same way as ours does. We are particular, special, singled out. Why? Random particularity, or does God have a hand in it? Some of my recent reading (Carlo Rovelli's The Order of Time, which I can highly recommend) discusses some of these aspects, providing some answers but mostly generating more questions. Man's search for meaning--who am I and why am I here? How did the earth as we know it come to be? Is there a God who stands behind it all? These are questions that occupy both scientists and the faithful. Rovelli's book asks 'What is time', among other questions. He discusses spacetime and gravity, order, blurring, and entropy. He dismantles 'time' as we know it and then builds it up again. But he, like so many other physicists, doesn't have the answers. That's fine, I don't need him to provide them. I reflect on his viewpoints and on what he's written. It expands my views of the world and of faith. 

Science and faith go hand in hand for me. They complement each other. There are bridges between them and as time goes on, the number of bridges will likely increase, not decrease. If the new James Webb space telescope can eventually see out to the far ends of the universe, back to our origin, back to the Big Bang, what then? What is beyond that? Indeed, what and/or who exists there? I have a feeling that our language will fall short when that time comes. 

The roots are down there riotous--Rumi

Apropos my earlier post about the beauty of frost in a winter garden--I wrote that there's a lot going on under the soil in a winter garden. I found this today in my wanderings online..... 

Winter solstice

This is a poem I wrote in 2013 that later became a part of a poetry collection--Remnants of the Spirit World--that I published in 2014. The collection is available for purchase here: Remnants of the Spirit World: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781495376450: Amazon.com: Books

Solstice

Mid-winter night of nights

The shortest day of days

Walk into darkness’ might

And leave behind the light

Darkness falls upon the land

A weary world adrift in dream

Awaits return of sunshine’s hand

That stays its course upon the stream

What shadows lie in wait

For simple souls who traipse

Into their world of hate

Locked beyond the gate

Gather round the blazing fire

Hands clasped against the gloom

Fear of what events transpire

Chanting as dark shadows loom

And so the shadows lie

Cast doubt upon fair souls

Where shadows do not tread

Just souls have found their stead

Gather round the blazing fire

That warms dark frozen souls

Gather round the cleansing pyre

That burns to make them whole

The longest night of nights

Turns slowly toward the sun

Moving on to longer days

In the end the battle won

O’er darkness and the shadow life

Creatures retreat behind the gate

The cracks filled in with blessed light

Sealed against the wall of hate

Copyright 2013 Paula Mary De Angelis 

The beauty of frost in my garden

Winter has its own charm and beauty. I need only go to my garden to experience it. Some people would say they only see a dead garden, which is partially true. On the surface, most (not all) of the plants appear to be withered and dead. But there is a lot going on underground in a garden and other places where there is plant life, during the wintertime ( In the dead of winter, plants are already starting to prepare for spring — underground | The World from PRX). 

So a winter garden may be resting, but also preparing for spring. Be that as it may, I am fascinated by what a winter garden can offer in the way of beauty. Yesterday the temperatures were in the low forties, but when I went to my garden to add some dead roses to the compost, there was frost on the ground, which I might not have expected given the temperature. Wikipedia states that "As a rule, except in conditions where supercooled droplets are present in the air, frost will form only if the deposition surface is colder than the surrounding air". So this means that the ground surface in the garden is colder than the surrounding air--very interesting.  

I captured the beauty of winter's frost in photos. Enjoy. 

The rhododendron bush is not covered in frost

The bamboo bush is also not covered in frost

Christmas tree in front of Iladalen Church

Iladalen Church (Ila Church) is located in the vicinity of where we live in Oslo. It overlooks Iladalen park to the south which has recently undergone a major facelift. The church too has undergone some changes in the past few years. Thanks to an allocation of circa 1600 USD from the Sagene district local government and the parish itself in 2016, grapes, different bushes and cherry trees were planted, as well as a herb garden. I often walk by the church garden (klosterhage in Norwegian) on my daily walks.  

Winter brings its own beauty to the church and park. There is an evergreen tree near the parking lot and entrance to the church that is decorated with lights for Christmas. I happened to be walking home during the early evening a few days ago and I saw the Christmas tree lit up in the dark. It was a pretty winter scene that I thought I'd share with you. 

Gray heron swimming in the Akerselva river

I was out for a walk today around lunchtime, and found myself walking up along the Akerselva from Sannergata/Sannerbrua. When I was crossing the footbridge that leads to Wallman's Salong, I detected movement in the water out of the corner of my eye. I stopped in the middle of the bridge (looking north) and watched to see what was moving in the water. I thought it might be a large fish, but lo and behold, it was a bird. And not just any bird, but a gray heron. When he first surfaced after diving, I thought he might be in trouble, possibly drowning, and I began to wonder how I would help him. But then he looked around him and swam across the river toward the river's edge furthest away from me, swam under the bridge, and continued swimming downstream until he came to a small waterfall, at which point he flapped his wings and 'flew' down the waterfall. I was so fascinated by him that I forgot to take a photo of him--a beautiful majestic bird--clearly quite happy in the river on a beautiful mild winter day. 

I didn't know it was a heron when I first saw it. I didn't find out what it was until I googled large gray bird with long beak. The common crane came up as did the gray heron. My sister mentioned that it could be an egret, which I remember seeing in upstate New York some years ago when she and I visited a park not far from Pine Bush. Egrets are a type of heron, usually smaller, and often white. So did I see a crane or a heron? I'm sure it was a heron because its beak was very long, which is a characteristic of herons. Gray herons are called 'gråhegre' in Norwegian. When I googled the Norwegian name, a few articles came up detailing individual sightings of gray herons in the Akerselva river during the past year. So cool. My heart was so happy to see this beautiful bird. It struck me how lucky we are to live in a city with a river that runs through it, a river that attracts so many different kinds of birds and other creatures. I hope I see the gray heron again; this time I will take photos of him. 

Here are some photos of a gray heron (perhaps my gray heron?) from two articles (in Norwegian) talking about gray heron sightings along the Akerselva river in our neck of the woods: 

Se hva vi «traff på» langs Akerselva (nab.no)

– Den kom flyvende oppover elva, og tok en hvil på en snødekt stein (nab.no)

Light in the December darkness

December is a dark month in Oslo. Actually it's a dark month in the whole of Norway. We're luckier here in Oslo than are those who live in Tromsø in northern Norway, where it is dark for most of the day. Tromsø gets about two to three hours of light per day during the winter (How People Stay Happy in the Norewegian Town Where the Sun Doesn't Rise - The Atlantic). I say that we're luckier in Oslo because we get more daylight; sunrise is around 9 am and sunset shortly after 3 pm. That gives us six hours of daylight. But I suppose it depends on how you look at it. When I first moved to Oslo, I found the darkness in wintertime too dark. It enveloped me like a cloud or a blanket, smothering me with its endlessness. Winters at that time were for me all about looking forward to spring and summer. Christmas 'saved' me in the sense that I had something happy to prepare for and to focus on; between working full-time, Christmas parties, social gatherings, Christmas shopping and writing Christmas cards, etc., there was plenty to take my mind off the dark days. But over the years, I've adjusted to the short winter days. That happened because I take advantage of the small amount of available light to be outdoors. And if I can't be outdoors when it's light out, I take a walk in the early evening, when it's relatively quiet. Walking in the darkness in a well-lit city is no problem. I realized recently that being outdoors at any time is a tonic for all that ails me. Just getting outdoors for a long walk soothes my soul. Even when it has snowed and the sidewalks are impassable, I still look forward to getting outdoors for my walk. I couldn't do that when I was sitting in an office all day, trapped indoors during peak daylight hours. 

Oslo sets up a Christmas market on Karl Johan street (at Spikersuppa) in mid-November that adds to the festive feeling preceding Christmas. It stays up until early January. The lights shine in the darkness, welcoming tourists and city dwellers alike. I met some friends for dinner near the beginning of December and on my way home I passed the market and took a few photos. Light in the darkness......

The darkness of December can be tackled in different ways. One of them is to surround oneself with light of all kinds. Christmas decorations and trees contribute to this. The co-op complex where we live in Oslo sets up a Christmas tree each year that is lit for most of the day. Just looking at it soothes my soul. Most of the co-op complexes set up Christmas trees and some of them have Christmas tree celebrations for the children in early January. Our co-op complex has a small tree-lighting ceremony where residents gather for fifteen or twenty minutes to watch the tree get lit and to drink gløgg (mulled wine) and eat some pepperkaker (gingerbread cookies). It's a nice gesture that was started a few years ago by the co-op board. 

People are clever about decorating their balconies with strings of white lights that light up the darkness; the balconies look beautiful and the lights create a feeling of coziness. I do this too and love looking at all the balconies when I come home in the early evening. House owners do the same, decorating their windows, balconies, and outdoor trees and bushes with string lights. City streets are decorated with hanging lights that span the width of the streets; one street in particular--Bogstadveien--has lovely bell-shaped Christmas lights.  

Indoors, tea candles are used to create light and a cozy feeling. They are placed in holders of all shapes, colors, and sizes. My favorite tea candle holder is one that looks like a stained glass window that I received as a gift many years ago from a woman with whom I worked; I'm including a photo of it here. When the candle is lit, it reflects all the colors of the holder onto the surface of the table where it is placed--quite pretty to behold.  

The candle holders I like the best at present are the translucent ones, where the light passes through the images on the holder, illuminating them in a peaceful way. These are not tea candle holders necessarily, although you can use tea candles in them. 

Flameless candles have become popular. I like them because there is little risk of fire and the LED lights last a long time (much longer than the batteries that are needed for the candle to function). 

When I first came to Norway, the most popular light decorations that people placed in their windows were called 'Adventsstake' (translated Advent candlestick--see photo below). You can still see them in some windows, but their popularity has waned. I had one for years until it fell into disrepair. 

 

Window light decorations are also popular. Hanging stars, like the one in this photo, are now in favor.  

And of course there's the snow. It doesn't snow every year in December, but the past few years we've had some snow accumulation in December. If it doesn't rain, the snow remains on the ground and lights up the darkness. It's a welcome sight, especially when it's cold outside and it first has snowed; everything seems so unspoiled, pretty and peaceful. Magical almost. 

Whenever I feel out of sorts, I try to remember all of the things about this month, about Advent, about traditions, about the true spirit of Christmas, and slowly they seep in and lift my spirit. I am reminded that the season is about kindness and patience and about bringing light to others-- humans, animals and birds. Each morning when I see the birds gathered on the fire balcony outside our kitchen window waiting for their daily dose of sunflower seeds, I realize that I am their light in the darkness. They show up when they see the lights go on in the kitchen as breakfast is being readied. They remember from year to year where to go to find sustenance. They remember those who are kind to them. 

There is grace all around us, in the simplest of things. Those things can be all of the little things that we use to create a Christmas spirit in our homes--our traditions, the Christmas tree, books, flowers, decorations and other treasured items. That is why we have accumulated them over the years--they give us joy and they give joy to others. They give light to world-weary souls.