Photographic journey through Arendal, Stavanger, Bergen and Hardanger

As promised, photos from our trips to Arendal, Stavanger, Bergen and Hardanger--enjoy!

Arendal

ferry from Arendal to Tromøy

Stavanger city park

Stavanger city park

Stavanger waterfront

city park

Sola strand (beach)

Sola strand

my husband in a romantic moment

the ocean was warm

beautiful Sola strand

lovely old house in Gamle Stavanger

street in Gamle Stavanger with beautifully-kept old homes

gorgeous flowers 

gorgeous garden

Stavanger city park, early evening

Bergen waterfront

sunset in Bergen

beautiful Bergen

Hardanger

Hardanger

Eidfjord

Hardangervidda

Hardangervidda

Oslo-Arendal-Stavanger-Bergen-Hardanger-Oslo

This summer, we decided to take a week’s vacation and travel around Norway; our plans were to drive from Oslo to Bergen with stops in Arendal and Stavanger, and then to return to Oslo via Hardangervidda. We’ve been to Arendal and Bergen before, but never Stavanger. The trip was about 780 miles (1255 kilometers) long. We followed the E18 highway south out of Oslo to Arendal, and then as we made our way to Stavanger and Bergen, we followed the E39 highway. On the way back to Oslo, we followed RV 7 instead of E134 that would have taken us through the Telemark region of Norway. I’ve mapped out the route we took on the map above.

We had booked hotels for one night in Arendal, two nights in Stavanger and two nights in Bergen. In this way, we didn’t have to drive too much each day, and it gave us a chance to experience each of the cities at a leisurely pace. Arendal is a small charming seaside town that is a summer destination for many Norwegians who have cottages there. However this year, the town was rather empty, strangely enough, since July is the month when most Norwegians take vacation. South Norway, in the area around Mandal (the southernmost town of Norway), is one of the most beautiful areas of the country in my opinion. I really enjoyed being in Stavanger; the city has a very open feel to it, as well as being quite pretty. Its city park is beautiful, as is its waterfront. We drove out to Sola Strand (beach) one day, a long sandy beach with dunes and beach flowers. It can be quite windy there, so it is popular with those who like to fly kites. We took a long walk along the beach, commenting on the large number of dead jellyfish that were half-buried in the sand. There is a resort hotel not far from the beach where we ate lunch--the Sola Strand Hotel (http://en.sola-strandhotel.no/?_ga=1.143502581.1544536728.1406195460); it would be a great place to stay, perhaps on a future trip to Stavanger. We also walked around Gamle Stavanger (the old part of the city) on the last evening we were there. This part of the city has lovely old white homes with picket fences and beautiful flower gardens; they are immaculately maintained for the most part.

The following day, we drove on to Bergen, which is a beautiful coastal city, but not one for timid or impatient drivers. If you want to become completely flustered, try driving in Bergen. We had problems not only localizing our hotel, but physically getting to it. Fortunately, we managed. We had a great seafood dinner one night at Bryggeloftet & Stuene located on Bryggen (the pier), and also spent time visiting the Bergen aquarium as well as an old friend who lives on the island of Sotra that is located west of Bergen. It was pleasant to walk around the city, packed with tourists, boaters, and classic car enthusiasts, quite a different atmosphere compared to Arendal. We also spent some time listening to the street musician Gee Gee Kettel and his daughter Soluna Somay.

And then it was time for our return trip over Hardangervidda. The last time we drove over this huge plateau in Hardanger was in 1991 when we attended the International Society for Analytical Cytology conference that was held in Bergen. According to Wikipedia, Hardangervidda is the largest eroded plain in Europe. I remember being fascinated by the landscape then—both hilly and flat (plateau-like), rocky terrain, stones here and there, dotted with small lakes and streams and patches of snow, and mostly treeless. I had never seen anything quite like it. At that time, I made my husband stop so I could get out of the car and walk to one of the small pools to touch the water to see how cold it was (it was cold). Hardangervidda’s somewhat forbidding landscape was used as the ice planet in the Star Wars film "The Empire Strikes Back". After having driven over the moors in northeast England last year, I realize that Hardangervidda resembles the moors in many ways. It stretches for miles, and is often closed to traffic during the winter months due to the large amounts of snow that pile up on the road. Sheep wander about, often coming up to the road or crossing it, exactly as was the case on the moors last summer when we drove over them. When we reached Geilo in Hol, we enjoyed an afternoon visit with more friends who have a cottage there. And then it was a few more hours of driving before we reached home. In my next post, I'll include some photos from our trip. 

An all-encompassing rage

I haven’t wanted to comment the downing of Malaysia Airlines flight MH17 last week that killed 298 people before now, mostly because the news is filled with reports about the plane, the crash site, the bodies decomposing in the sun waiting to be transported for autopsy, the search for the black boxes, the confusion about whether the crash site has been tampered with—all those things. It is unrelenting coverage, as well it should be. But I have thought about it every day since it happened. And instead of my rage against the perpetrators of this atrocity abating as time passes, it has only increased as I read about the horrors that this flight and its passengers must have endured, and what family members and loved ones are enduring as they wait for information about when the bodies will be transported home to the Netherlands and to other countries. I need only read about the type of missile that was allegedly used to take down the plane, one that explodes under the plane, facilitating the destruction of the plane via shrapnel that pierces the plane’s skin in multiple places, causing the plane to shear apart, and my rage intensifies. I realize that this tragedy, like the destruction of the Twin Towers in Manhattan on September 11, 2001 that killed almost 3000 people, and the murders of 92 people on the island of Utøya and in Oslo by the Norwegian terrorist Anders Behring Breivik three years ago today, are versions of hell that are beyond our most horrific nightmares and imaginings. Hell exists, make no mistake about it. Unfortunately, it seems as innocent people are the ones who experience this hell on earth, not the evildoers who rightly deserve it. 

There is a lot of evil in the world. We cannot close our eyes to it. We cannot pretend that it does not exist. Endless dialogue and peace conferences are not enough to convert evildoers to good people. That’s a fantasy. Evildoers must be punished. To ignore the existence of evil, to explain it away, or to feel sorry for the evildoers only allows for more of it. The downing of a civilian plane is an act of war; the perpetrators need to be brought to trial in an international court of law, found guilty, and sentenced. Whether or not that sentence is life in prison or death does not bother me. When you drag 298 innocent people into your war, you may pay with your life. That is justifiable, in my book. If you live by the sword, you die by the sword. I don’t know how this particular case will be handled. I only know that there has to be swift and hard retribution so that the families and loved ones of those who died get justice.

But what does one do with the rage that one feels when faced with dealing and absorbing the impact of these events? I did not know anyone personally who died in any of these terrorist attacks, and yet, I have a rage inside of me that scares me. I don’t know what to do with it. It is an all-encompassing rage, an absolute rage, a rage that desires annihilation of the evildoers. It is a rage without end; years can pass, and suddenly I can watch a TV report about 9/11 or read an article about it, and the rage returns. If I have this kind of rage, what do those who lost family members and loved ones in these attacks feel? If they feel rage like this, how do they deal with it? I don’t consider myself an evil person, but certainly some of my thoughts are evil, in terms of the afflictions I hope the perpetrators of all these attacks will eventually suffer.

Taking on the challenge of doing push-ups for one hundred days

I quit going to the gym a few years ago. I could never get motivated enough to get there more than once a week, and I ended up spending a lot of money on a membership I seldom used. I liked the cross elliptical trainers best; those are the machines that work your legs and your arms (in a cross-country skiing way). But they were always in use, so that you ended up having to wait to use them. So, I'm now biking and walking as much as I can, having integrated those exercises into my daily life and routines--walking to and from work, biking to and from work, biking instead of taking the bus, walking instead of taking the car or the bus--those kinds of things. That's what works for me. I realize that I don't miss the gym at all. In fact, I wouldn't go back, because I realize that I enjoy being outdoors while I'm walking and biking. I missed being out in nature.

I decided recently that in addition to these activities, I wanted to strengthen my arms since I've never had much arm strength. Serendipitously, I came across a video and a website link that inspired me to start doing push-ups. Normally, I am a bit skeptical when it comes to books or shows that promise that after 30 days, you'll be in great shape, for example. But I decided to start doing push-ups. Over one month later, I actually do have muscles in my upper arms that weren't there before I started the push-ups. I can tell you that push-ups do work to build up arm muscles and to make your arms stronger. I don't know that I'll get to the point that the young lady got to in the video after 100 days of push-ups (I'd like to), but after one month, I have muscles that I never thought I'd have. She did it as part of the Give It 100 movement (https://giveit100.com/), and documented her progress on video each day. I'm challenging myself without documenting my progress each day. I'll keep on going, because I got results, and because I want to see how far I can actually go.

Here is the website link to Womanitely: 7 Exercises that will transform your body---http://womanitely.com/exercises-transform-your-body/. I'm doing some of the other recommended exercises as well. I can do them at home, whenever I want, and there's no pressure. Just do a few of them once a day. You'll see a difference after one month.

And here's the video that originally inspired me to try doing push-ups:

What Georges Bernanos said

Faith is not a thing which one 'loses,' we merely cease to shape our lives by it.

Hope is a risk that must be run.

It's a fine thing to rise above pride, but you must have pride in order to do so.

No one ever discovers the depths of his own loneliness.

The wish to pray is a prayer in itself. God can ask no more than that of us.

Hell, madam, is to love no longer.

It is the perpetual dread of fear, the fear of fear, that shapes the face of a brave man.

Truth is meant to save you first, and the comfort comes afterward.

Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.

The first sign of corruption in a society that is still alive is that the end justifies the means.
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Georges Bernanos wrote a wonderful book, Diary of a Country Priest, that I read many years ago, but stumbled upon again recently. First published in 1937, it is the story of an unassuming parish priest, who tries his best to serve his people. His trials and tribulations, his poor health and his feelings of inferiority are really what the novel is about—how he tries to be a good and humble priest, a good man and a good Catholic. Well worth reading. 

What I did before my summer vacation (one hectic month in the life of an academic researcher)

Academia is an unpredictable profession at best; for the most part, one never knows from year to year how much funding one will have to design and implement research projects, how many students one will have responsibility for, how many grant proposals one will write, or even how many papers one will write and send for publication. The unpredictability of the profession stems from the unpredictability associated with grant funding: is a researcher’s proposal good enough; will it get into the top ten percent; will it get funded, and if so, how much will the researcher get; will he or she get support for students and lab consumables or just consumables; and what happens if he or she doesn’t get funding. The list of worries is potentially a long one.

December and June are always busy and hectic months in academia, mostly because researchers rush to finish experiments and to send out their articles before the Christmas holidays and summer vacation, respectively. They are stressful months that have to be confronted and tackled before one can take vacation in good conscience. The odd thing is that the pace of academia is so erratic; during the other months, there are often lulls when one wishes one was busier. Personally, I would prefer if the pace was more even and thus less stressful during the entire academic year, such that the amount of work was spread out more evenly.

So what did I do from mid-May until now, before my summer vacation? I am co-adviser for a PhD student who has to deliver her thesis by the end of July, plus send her last article for publication so that she can write in her thesis that it has been submitted for publication. I am senior author on that paper, so I have read through and edited the paper several times during the month of June. Additionally, I have read through and edited her thesis for both scientific and grammatical accuracy several times. Most Norwegian students write their theses in English. I believe it is now a requirement, whereas their defense can be in Norwegian, although many choose to defend in English. Most Norwegians speak English well, especially the younger ones who have grown up watching American TV programs and movies, surfing the internet/social media, and listening to music. So it is not a major problem to edit a thesis for correct English usage; it just takes time. But this is what a senior scientist does—it’s part of the job. 

I also wrote a grant proposal that I submitted to the Cancer Society in early June. I spent more than a month reading background articles and writing the proposal, which had to do with treating gastrointestinal cancers with drugs that drive them into a senescent (non-proliferating) state. I was a peer reviewer for an article about treating colorectal cancer with a combination of natural compounds that led to effective tumor kill without killing normal cells, a win-win situation for patients. I was also an external grant reviewer for another country; this is often done—that granting agencies send out grant proposals for external review outside their own country. In this case, I learned a lot about treatment of colorectal cancer with adoptive cell transfer using tumor-infiltrating lymphocytes. This is a field I knew only a bit about, but about which I know quite a lot more at this point after having read the proposal and a number of review articles that helped me to understand it so that I could review it properly. I also read and edited an article written by two of my colleagues who asked me to check their review article for correct English usage and grammar. I also read some background articles about ionizing radiation and how it is used in cancer treatment; this was information I found on the American Cancer Society website. I am impressed with the information that is available there to patients and their families, and impressed with the writers who create these articles and brochures. Finally, I printed out a number of review articles about mass spectrometry imaging of tissue samples; this is a cutting-edge technology that has a bright future not only in cancer research, but in pathology generally, as well as in disease treatment, pharmacology and toxicology. I need to learn as much about it as possible in case I travel to visit a medical center in the States that uses this technology successfully in their research projects.

It occurred to me today that I could work as an editor of a scientific journal, as a senior adviser for any number of scientific/political organizations, and as a scientific writer. I do all these things in my job as an academic research scientist, in addition to planning research projects and figuring out how to implement them. One must also figure out how to do all these things on a limited budget if such is the case. Academia is really a creative profession, in more ways than one. 

Learning by living

Eleanor Roosevelt was married to Franklin D. Roosevelt, the 32nd President of the United States, and served as First Lady during his three terms--from 1933 until 1945. Her husband died in 1945. When she married him, she found herself thrust into the limelight of politics and political society, which at first made her uncomfortable, but which she learned to master with time and experience. I recently finished her amazing book You Learn by Living: Eleven Keys for a More Fulfilling Life, first published in 1960 when she was seventy-six years old. She writes from the heart, in an candid and straightforward way, about the following: • Learning to Learn • Fear—the Great Enemy • The Uses of Time • The Difficult Art of Maturity • Readjustment is Endless • Learning to Be Useful• The Right to Be an Individual • How to Get the Best Out of People •Facing Responsibility • How Everyone Can Take Part in Politics • Learning to Be a Public Servant.

The first thing that struck me was that her wisdom and advice are every bit as good as, if not better than, most of the advice proffered by self-help books authored by psychologists or psychiatrists with years in their respective fields. Why? Because she not only talks about the fears and lack of self-confidence that she had to overcome in order to become a public person, she says flat-out that we must do that which we think we cannot do. We must face our fears if we are to grow and evolve as human beings, if we are to live an honest life. She also talks about the importance of being useful and embracing politics and public life. She stresses that we must take an interest in politics as the citizens of a democratic nation; that is our responsibility as free people. We must not stoop to cynicism and negativity when we talk about politics and politicians; they are important for the future of a free country.  She is a wonderful role model for a successful and honest life, for both women and men. Her advice is relevant for both genders. But I would absolutely encourage young women to read her book, especially in this age that defines a person’s worth mostly by whether they are good-looking or not. Eleanor Roosevelt said about herself that she knew that she was not the most attractive woman in her family already when she was a child; it never stopped her. Young women especially need to hear this, because there is too much emphasis in today’s world on having the perfect face and figure, often at the expense of cultivating one’s intelligence, wit, and talents.    

Eleanor Roosevelt was an honest, intelligent, introspective, persevering, patient and empathetic woman, who made a real success of her life in spite of the many difficulties she faced. I found her advice quite straightforward, no-nonsense, honest and helpful. She really did 'learn by living', and that is the message her book imparts. It's possible to grow and change with experience, if you tackle the challenges that life tosses you rather than evade them. She was way ahead of her time in terms of how she lived her life and how she looked at her life as a woman. I recommend this book if you want wisdom that will actually help you as you make your way in this life.

USA advances in the World Cup

Loved this tweet from Razzle on Twitter with the accompanying photo of Bill Cosby! It pretty much sums up exactly my own understanding (or lack thereof) of the World Cup rules, but hey--the USA team advanced tonight despite their loss to Germany. So they 'won' even though they lost. Go figure. They're a good team so it's fun to cheer them on.

I think I finally understand why I don't watch sports very often or follow my favorite teams--it's way too stressful. I end up screaming at the TV like my father and brother did years ago when they watched football, and like my husband sometimes does when he watches soccer (with him however it's mostly running commentary). The screaming at the TV is not good for the blood pressure!
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This is me still trying to understand the FIFA rules. #USAvsGermany pic.twitter.com/2xb472yf8h

— Razzle (@MyNameisRazzle2) June 26, 2014

Travels through Italy

I've been thinking about the different countries I've traveled to since I moved to Norway in 1989. After so many years living in Europe, the countries add up; besides traveling around Norway, I've been to Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Germany, Austria, Italy, France, Czech Republic, Hungary, Netherlands, Belgium, England, Scotland, and Ireland--in some cases several times to a few countries (France, Italy, Denmark, England). Hopefully I'll get to Spain and Portugal in a few years; I especially want to visit Spain because I took six years of Spanish (high school and college) and I'd like to have the chance to use this beautiful language after all these years. Australia and New Zealand are also on my bucket list, as well as a few countries in South America. I also want to do a cross-country trip across the United States, most likely in a few years.

In 2005, my husband and I decided to visit Italy. My paternal grandparents were born in southern Italy--Caserta and Ischia to be exact--and our plans were to meet my sister and her husband on Ischia and to explore the island and experience the land of our ancestors. Our first stop was Venice, where we stayed at a Victorian-style bed and breakfast establishment on the Lido for one night. I don't remember the name of place, but it was beautiful. We took the canal boat along the Grand Canal, and I took a lot of photos from the boat, many of which came out quite well. We walked a lot around the city, and it struck me how easy it was to lose your sense of direction while walking around. The city was also a bit eerie in the evening; I was reminded of the film with Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie, called 'Don't Look Now'--a brilliant yet creepy film in many respects, especially the scenes where Donald Sutherland wanders around Venice in the evening following someone he thinks is his (dead) daughter. We enjoyed a good dinner at one of the many restaurants that line the side streets, and then listened to some really good jazz at one of the outdoor restaurants on St. Mark's Square. The following day, we drove further to Perugia to visit Loretta, a colleague and friend who works at the University there; we spent several days with her and her family. We managed a trip to Assisi together and a visit to the Papal Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi. We then made our way further south and west to Caserta, where my grandmother was born and where we stayed for two nights. We visited the Reggia--the Royal Palace of Caserta that was built during the 18th century. It was a lovely place with gardens that seemed to stretch for miles; we walked the length of them and I took some nice photos of the statues and waterfall. The luxury of the Reggia and its gardens stood in stark contrast to the rest of Caserta, which I would not describe as luxurious. Its inhabitants were friendly and hospitable and I was glad to have seen it, to have seen where my grandmother grew up before she left her country behind for the United States. We took the car ferry from Naples to Ischia, and drove to the Hotel Pithaecusa in Casamicciola Terme (northern part of the island) where we stayed for several nights. My sister and her husband arrived the day after we did, and we met up with them at their hotel on the southern part of the island, close to Barano, the town where my grandfather was born. We spent two days exploring the island, eating very good meals, swimming in the warm ocean, and drinking wine in the evenings. We did not have the time to delve into our family history or to track down family records. It was enough to have seen where our grandparents came from; it made me understand why they left Italy in the early 1900s for a new (and presumably better, at least financially) life in the States. There were not many opportunities for them at that time--my grandfather could have become a fisherman or a sailor. He did become a sailor, but studied to become a pharmacist once he arrived in the States, and that is what he worked as for the rest of his life until he lost his drug store in the Great Depression.

Time moves on; it's been nine years since we visited Italy for the first time. We were back in Italy in 2008, this time in Rome, and that was also a pleasant visit. However that trip was somewhat marred by the theft of my computer, camera, wallet and passport on the train that took us from Budapest Hungary (where we had been to a scientific conference) to Rome. So I have no photos from that trip to Rome, unfortunately. We stayed at a hotel outside of Rome, on the beach, and commuted into and out of Rome during our stay there. We visited the Vatican, the Colosseum, the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill, and the Trevi Fountain and ate some wonderful meals. I would like to visit Rome again, this time without the stress of having to rush to the American Embassy to obtain a temporary passport, and without the horrible feeling of knowing that my personal possessions were in the hands of thieves. I do not want to visit Budapest or Hungary again; while I harbor no resentment toward the thieves, that experience made me feel vulnerable and less safe, and took away my desire to travel there.

Here are some photos from Venice, Caserta and Ischia:

Venice 

beautiful building on the Grand Canal

a canal in Venice

another canal in Venice

our hotel on the Lido in Venice

The Royal Palace of Caserta--the Reggia

Trond in the Reggia gardens

waterfall at end of Reggia gardens

sculptures in the Reggia gardens

Ischia

hills of Ischia

Parrot eating a grape outside a shop in Casamicciola Terme

Reflections on and some quotes about cynicism

It might be my imagination, but it seems that there is a lot more cynicism in society now than ever before. How is cynicism defined? The online dictionary defines it as ‘an attitude of scornful or jaded negativity, especially a general distrust of the integrity or professed motives of others’. Another definition is ‘the beliefs of a cynic, a person who believes all people are motivated by selfishness or whose outlook is scornfully and often habitually negative’. It manifests itself in the snappy retorts I often get when I comment (infrequently) about some good thing that a politician or a large company has said or done—for example, comments like 'so-and-so is an idiot and a jerk', or 'that company is corrupt and worthless'. For example, in today’s news, it was reported that Starbucks will pay for its employees to get an online college degree at Arizona State University. (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/06/15/starbucks-online-college-arizona-state_n_5497622.html). There are no strings attached—employees can work at Starbucks, study whatever they like, and are free to leave the company when they have achieved their goal. If you ask me, this is a positive gesture on the part of a large corporation that has a lot of money, one that looks ahead and has understood that the middle class is having a difficult time paying for college education and making ends meet. They are trying to meet the needs of the future. I read the newspaper article about this and then the reader comments that accompanied it. At least half of the comments were blatantly cynical. It struck me that it is nearly impossible to be taken seriously these days, whether you are an individual or a large company interested in trying to do the right thing. You will meet the cynics, the negative people, and the attackers—no matter what good thing you do or try to do. I say, do it anyway and let the cynics and all the other negative people wallow in the mud of their negativity. It will not do any of us any good to become like them. Each time we respond cynically to a particular event, we undo ourselves; we dismantle our own belief systems. We essentially say that there is no reason to believe in anyone or to believe that anything good ever happens in the world, that there is no altruism, and that all people have ulterior motives and are ultimately selfish. In other words, there is no such thing as a good deed.

I’m not advocating naivete, ignorance or stupidity about what goes on in the world. There are enough societal problems to solve that will keep us busy for many years to come. But I am an advocate of accepting the goodness in others when they do a good deed and of taking things at face value if someone does you a good turn. I’m an advocate of kindness, civility, and respect toward oneself and others. If we respond cynically to everything around us, we disrespect and destroy ourselves and others, we disrespect and destroy our relationships, and ultimately we disrespect and destroy the societies we live in. Cynicism negates gratitude; in a cynic’s world, there is no need for gratitude, because there is nothing to really be grateful for. Living in a world full of cynics is about the closest thing to hell on earth that I can imagine.

Here are some quotes about cynicism:

• A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing. ― Oscar Wilde
• Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist. ― George Carlin
• Remember, you cannot be both young and wise. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don’t learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no. But saying “yes” begins things. Saying “yes” is how things grow. Saying “yes” leads to knowledge. “Yes” is for young people. So for as long as you have the strength to, say “yes'.― Stephen Colbert
• Life is not an easy matter…. You cannot live through it without falling into frustration and cynicism unless you have before you a great idea which raises you above personal misery, above weakness, above all kinds of perfidy and baseness. ― Leon Trotsky, Trotsky's Diary in Exile, 1935
• Cynicism was a one-way path, and once taken the way back was lost forever. ― Chris Wooding, Poison
• Cynicism is when a small mind and a hurt heart reject the hope, love, and truth of a big and caring God.― Jayce O'Neal
• I fight cynicism. It`s too easy. It`s really boring. It`s much harder to be positive and see the wonder of everything. Cynicism is a bunch of people who aren`t as talented as other people, knocking them because they make them feel even more untalented. ― Ewan McGregor
• To be cynical is to be distant. While offering a false intimacy of being "in the know," cynicism actually destroys intimacy. It leads to a creeping bitterness that can deaden and even destroy the spirit...A praying life is just the opposite. …..Prayer is feisty. Cynicism, on the other hand, merely critiques. It is passive, cocooning itself from the passions of the great cosmic battle we are engaged in. It is without hope. ― Paul E. Miller, A Praying Life: Connecting with God in a Distracting World

On Father’s Day, remembering my father and my mother

There was little in the way of material wealth in the family in which I grew up. My parents were not rich nor were they particularly preoccupied with accumulating wealth in their lifetimes. Sometimes I wish they had been better at financial planning or at saving for retirement, but they weren’t. We had the things we needed, but no more. When times were financially difficult in our family, we felt it. My parents made mistakes in that regard in terms of saving money for uncertain times, and my father would have been the first one to admit that. But by the time he understood that, his health was poor and there was little he could have done to reverse the course of things. We managed, but there was never really enough left over to secure a comfortable future for them when they got older. As fate would have it, my father passed away in his late 60s, leaving my mother alone for what should have been their retirement years spent doing enjoyable things together. But that was not to be.

My parents were preoccupied with other things than money and career—books mostly, during their lives. They loved to read, and they shared their thoughts about what they read with us. My father especially was an avid reader, and he and I would often walk together on summer evenings when I was a teenager and discuss books and life in general. He and my mother also enjoyed classical music and shared that with us as well. They read newspapers and we discussed politics and current events at the dinner table. We did not get together often with extended family, but our friends were always welcome, and in that regard, the door to our house was always open. It never seemed as though we lacked for much, and I did not compare what we had to what our friends had. I was never particularly interested in doing that. It always seemed to me that some people had more money and material things, and some people didn’t. That was just the way life was; I rarely pondered it when I was a child or teenager. But the difficult times in our family, e.g., when my father was unemployed for nearly two years and his subsequent gradual decline in health, taught me to be independent and to not rely on other to support me financially. So the hard times did have an influence on my adult career choices, and I do feel that I made the right decisions when it came to pursuing a career. 

On Father’s Day, I cannot remember my father without remembering my mother, who passed away sixteen years after he did. During her life, my mother did what she needed to do for herself and for my father; she did it without much fuss or talk. She was a doer, not a talker. She took good care of my father and of us, but his cardiovascular disease had its roots already in his late teens as a result of a ruptured appendix that nearly killed him. His illness manifested itself in his early 50s, with his first heart attack at the age of 52. In response to this, my mother prepared low-fat meals which we all ate. We mostly ate lean baked chicken, lean cuts of beef, and fish. Sometimes she would make pork chops or tuna casserole. There were never heavy cream sauces or gravies to accompany the meats or fish. We rarely ate mayonnaise, ice cream or drank whole milk. My parents would drive to the local farm stands during the summer to stock up on fruits and vegetables; that was an important part of summer meals. My mother ate very little in the way of dessert and rarely snacked on junk food and there was not much of either one in our house. She did buy cookies and cupcakes for us to eat as snacks after school when we were children, but they were regulated—we were allowed one or two and that was all. We were not allowed to raid the refrigerator at will; the refrigerator was off limits once we had eaten our snacks. In that way, she controlled the amount of food we put into ourselves. Dessert after dinner on weeknights might be Jell-o with fruit, or a few cookies. On Sundays, we usually had a lemon sponge cake from the local bakery for dessert; she also made a great lemon cake drizzled with lemon juice. When I think back to the way she ate, I realize that she ate a bit of everything, but she did so in moderation. She never overate; she never overdid anything when it came to food. She was more the type to make sure that others were full before she was. But that could also have been her way of ensuring that she did not overeat. She drank a lot of water, loved her black tea, and drank a couple of cups of coffee per day. Breakfast for her was toast and tea. When she and I would go out to eat (when she was in her 70s), we usually found the local diner and ordered ourselves grilled cheese sandwiches with cole slaw on the side and a cup of tea. That was enough for the both of us.

My mother was a great walker for most of her life. She didn’t learn to drive until she was around 65 years old, and even then, when she got her license, she drove for a couple of years around town, and then gave up driving and sold her car. We often wondered why she did that; I think it was because she missed walking around town. She understood that she was onto something by walking. She didn’t turn down the offer of a ride if she had a lot of groceries to shop for, especially as she got older. But she looked forward to getting outside to walk, in all types of weather. Rain never bothered her, ditto for snow. She was in good shape for most of her life, rarely sick, not overweight (she was slender)—and she didn’t look her age. She was proud of that. When I look back at what mattered to her in the way of her personal health, I know now that my mother was interested in taking care of herself long before it became trendy to do so. She never announced it with fanfare; she was not an ardent missionary for the cause nor did she nag others to ‘see it her way’. She just did it. She would just say she was going to the supermarket to pick up a few items, and that was one of her several walks for the day. Sometimes we joined her, sometimes not. It didn’t matter to her if she walked alone; she enjoyed it. All these years later, I realize she was on the right track when it came to eating and taking care of herself. My mother was a quiet instigator of change. I appreciate her simple wisdom and ways of doing things, more and more as I get older. Her legacy lives on in the way I approach my life and in my approach to getting older. I wish my parents had lived longer. I got to know each of them first together, as my parents, and then separately as I spent time with each of them individually. I am grateful for the time I was able to spend with each of them.

Summer's light

I love the summer's light--the way the sun shines into our apartment during mid-afternoon. Peaceful. There is a haziness to the colors of the tree and building outside--the sun is strong. There is so much light around; everything indoors and out is bathed in light. This is just one of the things I love about summer--the light that goes on and on. It can be light here in Oslo until well after midnight, not as strong as at midday, of course. As we move toward summer solstice, it will continue to get even lighter, at which point we will have the longest (and brightest) day of the year, and then the days will (very) gradually start to get shorter. 

Come summer with your gentle breeze

This is my new poem--Come summer with your gentle breeze--part of a new collection that I am working on and that I hope to publish later this year or early next year.

Come season of life-giving balm

Warmth and peacefulness

Come summer with your gentle breeze

Whispering through the trees

Children playing out of doors

Windows open to streets below

Harkens back to childhood days

Of barefoot romps and non-stop play

Come blessed season of few needs

Save sunshine and easy days

A good life without many things

To clutter peace that summer brings

A stroll along a flowing river

A pleasant walk, a cycle trip

Such are summer’s many pleasures

Such are summer’s many treasures

Copyright 2014

Paula M. De Angelis 

The Birds of Oslo

It is not my imagination; there are a multitude of birds in the city of Oslo now. This must reflect the abundance of trees and bushes—plantings that have been prioritized during the past decade’s period of urban renewal that Oslo has undergone. Sparrows, starlings, magpies, blackbirds, pigeons, doves, thrushes, crows, swallows, seagulls, mallard ducks and Canada geese—to name just a few. Not only is the city lovelier after extensive urban renewal, it is livelier in the natural sense. I can lie in bed with my eyes closed, and for a few seconds, imagine that I am not living in a city at all—because we awake to the sound of parent and baby magpies calling to each other in the tree outside our bedroom window. Sometimes when it is quiet in the evenings, you can hear the gulls and the doves calling and chirping to one another, each with their own distinctive sounds. Or when I walk along Kirkeveien road to the tram station at Ullevål Hospital in the morning, I watch the birds forage for insects and worms in the newly-mown grass of the fields that surround the hospital. They’re plucky creatures and they have a lot to teach us, if we only pay attention. The seagulls have discovered the Akerselva River, and they can be seen flying in and around the apartment developments along the river as well as hanging out on the islands of the inner Oslo fjord. Sometimes they’ve landed on the balcony outside our kitchen window, and the noise they make can be deafening. The other day we saw three of them in the road near where we live; someone had tossed a bag of half-eaten chicken onto the road. They were greedily scavenging what remained; my husband commented on the fact that they eat the remains of other birds. In one sense, we can be thankful for their scavenging traits, because they clean up the sea and now even the land. Mallards and geese live along the water, whether it is the Akerselva or the fjord. A pigeon flew into our dining room last week; the weather has been so warm and nice that all the windows in our house are open most of the time. It didn’t seem to be too scared; it flew to the top of the hutch and then out again. It was one of the ‘tagged’ pigeons—those with a small metal band around one leg. I read online that this tagging may be part of an initiative by the Norwegian Bird Association to track the movements of pigeons around the city and the Oslo area in general.

I don’t know much about the different kinds of birds, but am beginning to be inspired to learn more about them. I’d also like to get better at photographing them, but that’s going to be quite tricky. I’m on the internet a lot to search for photos of thrushes and thrashers and other birds that I know really so little about. I found this website for those of you who might be interested in learning about what birds there are to be found in Oslo; there are quite a few, which was pleasant and interesting news to me: http://avibase.bsc-eoc.org/checklist.jsp?region=noos&list=clements

Hanging out

My cactus plants, one of which I call 'cactus man'. Kind of cute, with his head slightly tilted and his lopsided arms hanging out on the edge of the pot. Interesting to watch them grow and sprout arms. Three of the four plants in this pot are clones from one plant. They do well in the warmth of the summer sunshine, like we all do.