Lest anyone think we’re independently wealthy and that’s how we travel the world, two things:
- International travel is not much more expensive than travel within the USA. In fact, I honestly think it could be less, depending on the country. Food and lodging can be pretty cheap in some parts of the world.
- Each of my children received some money from my mother’s estate in the same way her mother gave money to each of her grandchildren. My money from my grandmother was used to purchase my first car – a 1970 VW bug. Some of my children used their money towards a car, too. Mary and Karl both expressed a desire to travel.
Why Norway? I asked Karl on our way home. Norway wasn’t on my radar at all.
If someone asked me, I would say Israel — but that’s not a trip that can be safely done on a whim. It’s my dream, though, to go to Jerusalem. I want to pray with my hands on the Western Wall. I’d like to go to the Temple Mount, the Mount of Olives, the Garden Tomb. I want to visit Yad Vashem and I want to eat fish on the shore of the Sea of Galilee.
Instead I ate fish soup on the wharf in Bryggen. (It was amazing.)
Karl’s reason? “The pictures looked cool.”
I guess that’s reason enough.
In retrospect I can see how much I needed Norway.
My father’s world shrank significantly while I was away. He’s afraid to go into rooms, and when he enters, the door must be closed behind him. He throws his hands up in fear or anxiety when I open the door to leave.
“Sally! Don’t DO that!” and he grabs my arm if I’m close enough. “Don’t go out there! You don’t understand!”
He’s right. I don’t understand.
And he can’t explain it.
So we stay in stuffy rooms watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.
And I think about the vistas of Norway.
The mind can be so fragile. While I was gone, the fragile balance was upset, and I don’t know how to put it back.
So I think about the piles of rocks I saw along the river, and the raging waters that were so close, and how we all teeter at times.
I drove in Norway — not something I recommend. The roads can be narrow and winding. My father would have remarked on the switchbacks that we saw from the train.
When I drove, I was too busy worrying about running into another car to try to imagine the switchbacks. I drove roads barely wide enough for the VW Golf I rented, and would come around the corner and meet another car going in the opposite direction.
I quickly learned to throw the car into reverse and back up to a broader area where the other car could get past me.
Or be grateful when the other car did that for me.
Life has been like that for me, too. I can’t see what’s ahead and I don’t have much wiggle room.
But I have Norway, and it was beautiful.
So I’ll cautiously proceed.
When my father tells another switchback story, I’ll have some of my own now.