christmas is coming

christmas is coming. and we'll spend it in the states for the first time in a decade. hard to believe it's been that long. our bags are nearly packed and the laundry is nearly done. dinners are made from what's left in the refrigerator. i'm looking very much forward to seeing the child and i think she can't wait to see us. we've found a beautiful place to spend christmas and i'm hoping we will make good memories there. loads of good food, wine, games, skiing and fun are on the agenda. i go with an open heart, together with the person who loves and supports me most in the whole world. and i am hoping for good times and laughter. and making memories that will sustain us in the years ahead. 

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an interesting take on helping ease the pain of alzheimer's

which is all-too-painfully of interest to me these days.

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need a new podcast?
you can also find one here. or here.

two grand old ladies meet

this grand lady is 27 years old. while it would be nice to be that young again from my perspective, it's pretty old for a ship, but she's in beautiful shape and carries 1800 pax daily between oslo and copenhagen. and i was standing quayside with camera in hand this beautiful winter morning in copenhagen - just a couple of grand old ladies, meeting at the docks.

swan lake

already last night, i could hear the cacophony down on the lake. tho' birds are normally quiet at night, when it's time for the migrating swans to make their yearly winter stop on our lake, they do not come quietly. i don't know if they don't fly together, so they have much to discuss when they see one another or if it's the swan equivalent of "are we there yet" from the younger, grey ones to the adults. the whole bevy of them lifted noisily off in groups as i approached with my camera and so i didn't manage to get a shot that i really liked.

there's only one first time

when i was in paris a few weeks ago, i was thinking about how you only get one first time experience of anything. it was quite remarkable, as i walked down a wide boulevard in montparnasse, to look up and see the eiffel tower glowing ahead of me (this photo above is when i got a bit closer). i had a little moment of thrill, thinking consciously, "this is my very first look at the eiffel tower." despite being late in november, it was a balmy, autumnal evening and i just kept walking towards the tower as it shone brightly above the city. finally, my feet were tired and i was hungry, so i popped into a restaurant for oysters and foie gras and a glass of sancerre. it felt suitably parisian and worthy of a first paris experience.

i had a similar moment of conscious thrill as i looked out over the cranes of what's now called remontova shipyard in gdansk, but which were surely once the cranes that the members of the solidarity movement operated as they helped bring down the iron curtain. the peaceful morning, the dusting of snow, and the cold, crisp air, filled with the musical clangs of a busy shipyard.

and at that same shipyard in poland, i stood underneath a ship for the first time. i'd been at yards before, but never down in the dock, underneath the ship itself. it happened again later in the summer in bremerhaven, but it didn't quite match the awe of that first time, standing underneath pearl in gdansk.

i'm not sure if i even know why or how the white cliffs of dover have the mystique they have, but they do. the town of dover isn't much, but the cliffs are spectacular. i saw them twice this year and they were a bit more glorious in august sunshine than they were in april, but there is still only one first time.

i went to brussels about a month after the bombing of brussels airport. the square was still filled with these tributes and i was quite overwhelming, standing there, looking at all that evidence of love and sorrow both. not a moment i will likely repeat.

so many first visits this year. gothenburg in sweden was new for me. i strolled around the port area on the gorgeous summer evening when i arrived, eventually going back to the hotel for dinner, which isn't something i normally like to do, but this was an exceptional meal. i think it was not only the delicate light flavor of perfectly cooked, lemony sole, but it was also the midsummer light. they combined to make it a memorable first experience.

i spent quite a lot of time at a shipyard in bremerhaven. we ate ate at every restaurant along the old riverfront, eventually concluding that they all shared the same kitchen. but balmy summer nights and the beauty of all those cranes, made for an experience that undoubtedly will not be duplicated.

i'd been in klaipeda before, but it felt very changed. and i'd never seen vilnius or kaunas. the weather was spectacular. i would love to go back, restore this old waterfront warehouse, opening something wonderful...restaurant, b&b, creative workspace for artists. we'd just have to leave those braces in place, because i'm fairly certain they're holding it all together.

the lovely, winding streets of tallinn old town were a first. i want to paint something that color blue. i fear a bit that my first impression of tallinn was tainted by all that i'd heard of it before i went (funny how that hadn't happened with paris), and i somehow felt a little let down. i think it's because all of the shops felt like they were filled with the same things and i had thought it would be this magical place, full of unique artisanal items. but alas, the same linen and wrought iron and knitted woolens filled every shop. the food was great and the winding streets charming.

a sunset on board a ship in the north sea. that was a first. and the best night's sleep i had all year. that's an experience i'd very much like to try again. but alas, you can only have one first time.

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i forgot to tell you about totally lost. 

check out my albanian bunkers, but do stay and poke around a bit.

they say we need to speak it out loud

i didn't realize it, but the signs were already there two years ago. my mother's obsession with the notion that someone would steal her purse was a sign. i remember how utterly bewildered i felt. here was my mother, who drove me and my horses on threadbare tires all over a 7-state region, by herself, walking a mile once in the dark beside a pitch black interstate to get help when something broke down, leaving her sleeping children in the back of the pickup and the horses stomping in the trailer, munching on hay as she set off into the starlit night, semi trailers lumbering past, shaking the whole vehicle. and she came back with help and we were on our merry way, none the wiser to the stop in the night. that fearless, fierce woman, suddenly afraid the aggressively perfect (and quite attractive) danish father, leaning on his volvo in his mads nørgaard clothes, waiting for his 12-year-old and her friends to leave the one direction concert, was going to reach in the window and steal her over-stuffed with snacks and kleenex bulging no-brand midwestern purse. um, what? i was confused. frustrated. and a little bit pissy.

the way she kept getting lost in our house. seriously. it's one story, it's the shape of an H and we're honestly only using the middle and the right half of it, it's not difficult. the way she wandered away in the middle of the party, missing all of the toasts and speeches. i thought she was just badly-indoctrinated into the social mores i had taken to me like water to a sponge. or perhaps that she had just been badly raised and i never noticed. (watching americans eat, all fork and no knife, can make you think that.)

i don't know why i didn't realize it then. her mother had alzheimer's as well. but it didn't really occur to me at the time. i chalked it up to the ridiculousness of the morning news in the us...click-bait headlines about the latest scams and calamities that make you tune in again after the commercial. that could make anyone fearful.

and i felt sad that the woman who i felt taught me my very fearlessness (which is one of my biggest sources of pride) had become some inexplicably fearful. how could this happen? and seriously, who thinks that someone will steal their purse on a plane? where would they go with it, honestly? but i know now that it was a sign. it was the big a, the scarlet letter, of a much more sinister sort. she will eventually be stripped of everything she once was...fearless, funny, active. she, who got her motorcycle driver's license at 60, and began pistol shooting lessons at 70, will lose everything of who she was.

and i don't know what to do or think or feel. the whole gamut of emotions courses through me...sadness, impatience, anger, and yes, fear...what if it happens to me? can i do anything to prevent it. i'm terrible at names, is that a sign? i occasionally struggle to find a word...is that a sign? i switch subjects and can be moody...are they signs? is it all downhill from here for me as well? will i recognize it, if it is? she doesn't, which is both a source of frustration and a blessing. but how can you not? when you are a navel gazer like me, don't you know? is she really hiding from herself at that level?

i fear that maybe she is. i don't know where i got it, but my notion that an unexamined life is not worth living clearly did not come from my mother. i fear i may have actually gotten it from madonna. which is surely the stuff of a separate blog post.

does she know deep down? does she feel the fog descending? does she understand? or is she really blissfully unaware? is that one of the symptoms? so many questions. and we are only just beginning to look for answers.

happy would-have-been-83rd birthday, dad

my dad would have been 83 today if he hadn't left us a little over two years ago. there's still a big ralph-sized hole in our lives. i would love to have talked to him about the recent election. i would love for him to be there for the child to get to know better as she spends what seems to be a rocky year in a poisoned trump-infested atmosphere in my little hometown. i would like to discuss the changing seasons in the garden with him. and i would like to consult him about the road we are facing ahead with mom. i feel a little bit abandoned by him, if i'm honest. and i kind of would like to yell at him about that.

he would be glad mom sold her horses and has gotten rid of all those cats. but he wouldn't be happy about the signs of her decline and they probably started even before he was gone. and i suppose there's nothing he could do about it, any more than than there's anything we can do about it, aside from watch it happen.

i'd like to think he would approve of the solution we've arrived at for christmas - renting a cabin (that's really more of a huge house) in the black hills, to gather together, no internet, and try to have a last, good christmas together. one with plenty of good food, games and laughter. hopefully also some sledding and snowboarding and skiing. and plenty of cocktails and wine. i suspect we're going to need the cocktails and wine.

and speaking of cocktails, here's to dad's birthday. we miss you, dad, more than we can say.

peak cuteness

we've had a lot of cute kittens around here, but this batch is exceptional. charlie has really outdone herself. i'm doing my best to enjoy every second with them. especially that little miniature polar bear there guarding my iPad. he's a real corker.

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this gives me hope.

tho' i still find twitter pretty unbearable these days.

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and this less so.

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still thinking about memory.