News of Norway

Is it me? Is it Norway?

It's probably a bit of both.

Happy Saturday! I'm reading the English language translation of Bergens Tidende, the local newspaper and finding all of the weird parts. There's an opinion piece about some new development on a spit of land that's about half a mile from the place where my grandmother was born. The author seems miffed that the developer is mimicking the shape and color of historic buildings. Around here, ersatz historic buildings are considered somewhat sensitive to the local aesthetic. I used to call them Fictorians, but I've gotten used to them.

Anyhoo -- I'm reading the article and minding my own business, navigating the ads for athletic shoes that keep popping up, when I see it:

I write to my friend and ask "Is this a Norwegian idiom?" I mean, I get it but who expects to read the words "butt" and "taste" in the same sentence over their morning coffee. I told mrguy and he says it is now his favorite saying and will use it all the time.

Then I'm reading an article with the headline "They were waiting to die. Then came the miracle drug." As the wife of a man with a terminal illness, I am drawn to miracle cures of a Western medicine sort. The story starts out as one of testicular cancer in Norway, which in the 1970s metastasized rapidly in patients. Then there was nothing that could be done to help. Then a scientist discovered that bacteria stopped dividing when current was run through it using platinum electrodes. It was the platinum, which was spreading platinum compounds into the bacteria solution. They tested the platinum stuff on animals and people. So was born Cisplatin. Men with testicular cancer were saved by this treatment. My man, also, has been saved by this treatment. Also, if he ever had ball cancer, he's probably cured of that.

Also, this is the only article I've ever read in which a cancer doctor advises a patient to continue smoking.

A Heckava Sunday

I ordered two tickets to Syttende Mai luncheon at the club, hoping that a friend would join. And she did! We met a while back as members of the club and we should do a better job of keeping in touch because she spends half of the year in Norway. We're just catching up and she's about to head to her cabin in a few weeks.

So I went over to her place and she drove this time. May 17th is Norwegian Constitution day, so people who gather put on their traditional garb and gather to celebrate. This year May 17th was also the day of our local wacky foot race in which people wear all kine nonsense and parade about. The route goes directly in front of the Club.

We had a fantastic time catching up on our ride. I got to hear about new windows in the cabin, and she got to hear the latest about mrguy. We took the back way, so to speak, and it was unspeakably lovely -- the kind of day that makes tourists decide to move here and regret it their first summer. It was so sunny that I barely recognized my city. 

We left two hours early because of the ratfuckery of the foot race. And yet our trip was so smooth. Certain roads were still re-routed, so we saw parts of the city that we'd never seen before. We found a nearby parking space, and there we were an hour early. My friend mentioned that she'd done a Club work day when she gardened with other members. She wanted to take a picture of their garden work. She was turned toward me with her back to the crosswalk behind us so she could not see the entirely naked man heading our way. I turned to her and said "Wait for a sec...........NOW!!" She took the photo not exactly knowing what she was capturing.

It was this:

We were already having a good day, and then she takes this perfect photo of naked man in front of the newly planted garden with Norwegian flags.

Across form the Club, people were out enjoying the park in their banana and Cheeto package outfits. There was an entire marching band playing. It was delightful. We took a park bench and gabbed for a while. I took some time to program my hat to say Syttende Mai, and then we headed back toward the Club. Managed to see the naked man again and capture a distant photo of him from the front for the amusement of mrguy, who stayed home.

The doors opened at 3. Snacks were in the bar. We had lovely conversations with various ladies and waited and waited for the dinner bell to ring. Dinner at the club is beyond random. In this case we had one of our better chefs. And the salad was beyond. Beyond!! The entree, however, was tragic. Salmon sat on a delicious sauce of stewed leeks and fennel, in a further puddle of ginger carrot nage. But -- no starch. We're Norwegian, for cryin' out loud! Then the salmon was entirely confusing. It was translucent. It was room temperature. It looked as if it had been taken out of the refrigerator and put in a sunny window to warm up. I ate the sauce from under the salmon.

Some people were wearing their traditional bunads. The adorable married couple next to me were wearing alternative bunads. They'd just graduated from college and were moving to Norway, which I think is a smart choice. They were trans. This is not a safe place to be gender non-conforming.

The program for the luncheon, which was now being served closer to 6pm (!) involved various toasts and songs. The first toast was in honor of the king of Norway. The second was in honor of the president of the United States, named. Our side of the table looked askance. The guy next to my friend told her "I'm a Republican, but I'm not *that* kind of Republican". I was shocked that this was the choice, not to toast the United States, which seems much more universally agreed-upon.

I texted a blow-by-blow to mrguy when things got slow. 

It was a great day. I don't really know how to help my people make a better club. I would like to help, but I don't have the free time right now. 

I have so many opinions. Basically I can't invite friends unless they understand that the food will often be super weird and nobody has mic technique when they give toasts or announcements.

"Gratulerer med dagen!"

Things Go Better With Iron, Apparently

Yesterday I got my final iron infusion. I was talking to the nurse about how my mental health seems better since I started the infusions. He said he hadn't heard that there was a connection between the two, and was curious about it based on what he knows professionally. So I tapped out a google search with my *right* hand and he and I discovered that there is totally a connection.

Iron helps you metabolize dopamine and serotonin. That's all you have to tell me. And him, too!

This has been a public service announcement by mrsguy.

Some pretty things from this week:

The last orchids from the front yard, plus some clippings of a plant whose name I do not know. I have been growing this in two big pots on the front walk, and they get shaggy and woody and I've wanted to buy more of them but don't know what they are. A month ago I experimented with rooting them and it's INSANE how quickly they root. Today I am going to try planting some in the garden to see what happens. 

The inside of a dumpster near work.

Sunset cat.

Speaking of Advertising

In a dream from the other night I was talking to Hillary Clinton about the history of pure food laws and Upton Sinclair.

And I spent time in the company of THIS GUY who I get a lot of ads about:

But Deliver Us From Evil

Somebody listened! After torturing us for 30 years, this hideous commercial is struck from local airwaves for deceptive advertising. Ahhhhhh

 

Jury Duty Update

Today I decided to search for the name of the defendant in last year's jury trial. 

As we left it, my jury pool didn't agree to convict him of spousal battery, kidnapping and the like. Only hit and run.

This, despite:

• Having a fight with his girlfriend
• Driving in anger to where his girlfriend was staying
• Driving into a pizza delivery guy's car in the parking lot because he saw his girlfriend talking to the pizza delivery guy
• Yelling "I've caught you"
• Arguing with her about whether she'd come home with him
• Picking her up, putting her in his car and driving off (battery, kidnapping, hit-and-run)

The guy totally did it, and everybody on the stand lied. The jury selectively ignored the judge's instructions. I initially thought that the state hadn't made its case. But I changed my mind.

From the time of the case, a year ago, I've regretted not finking on my fellow jury members who ignored the judge's instructions. I told them outright that I was worried that the defendant would harm his girlfriend again. I wondered how long it would take for him to break the law again.

Answer: 3 months

He and two other guys were arrested and tried for shooting three other guys out of their car window. The victims all lived.

It looks like my defendant got off with probation and anger management.

Wondering how long it will be before he acts out again. I hope never.

I Am Not My Own Grandpaw

It was right there under my nose, but I simply didn't see it.

I have been working on my mom's mom's family tree for 30 years. But only half of it, the reason being that there were some really dedicated genealogists working on my maternal grandfather's line. I figured that they had it handled.

So when DNA matching came about, I figured it was one more tool that could help tease apart the knots in the genealogy that were hard to unravel. But it also turns up some questions. I did not think that my family would be one of them, and here we are.

A woman contacted me years ago. Her own DNA test had proved that her dad wasn't her bio-dad. And she had two half-brothers who had the same bio-dad. They were related to relatives of mine, so she reached out. She thought my uncle was her dad. I told her that if we proved the relationship I was happy to tell her anything she wanted to know.

But she was a dna match of people that I expected to be related to. And I was not. It turned out that she was the daughter of a 2nd cousin of mine. But it seemed I was not related to him. 

There was another question. Also on my mom's side. A person showed up as a DNA match and I couldn't figure out how. I reached out to the person and he did not respond. I looked him up. He looks exactly like everybody on my grandmother's maternal line. Looks like my brother. Looks like my uncle, Mom's brother. We all have the same bulbous nose.

I hired an Ancestry.com genealogist to figure out the two mysteries. Who is this first cousin of mine, and where is the break in my mom's paternal line? I had so many theories. The truth blew me away.

The first cousin is, in fact, my uncle's son. Not a huge surprise. And the break in the family line? My grandfather is not my mom's bio-dad. More mystifying is that she and her brother have the same bio-dad. He just doesn't happen to be my grandfather. My siblings, who loved him deeply, would be horrified and I don't plan to tell them.

I sat with that non-grandpaternity information for a few days and hired Ancestry again. It's expensive, but I need to know. Unlike other parts of my family, where there was a bit of lore to go on, here I have nothing. Even with the Irish side of my family I had a (very common) surname. I just hammered at the research for a decade and found the answer. I have more money than time these days, so I hope to get some answers that will let me dig in to another family tree and do research on some new topics.

More as I know it.

20 Minutes

I remember exactly the moment in which I last pruned the wisteria. I was listening to an audiobook and decided not to continue it. What a great revelation. My first entry into audiobook spurning. Life is too short, people! Listen to something that doesn't bug you!

This past year the rain was plentiful and the wisteria responded by PROLIFERATING!! And covering about a quarter of the window in the aku room. It was bugging both of us and we responded by (drum roll) not discussing it with each other. Then we did, and I suggested a time limit of 30 minutes. We forgot how easy this task is -- how tender the shoots and the way that you can simply follow last year's cuts to prune the new growth. It was unbelievably satisfying. After 20 minutes we felt satisfied with our work.

Before:

After:

:

Ahhh

A Saturday in April

It is a magnificent grey day here in the big brown box. We had a good coffee time convo this morning, with the brilliant mrguy realizing that if our insurance doesn't pay for the PET scan we want, we could totally pay for it ourselves and make it happen. This is exactly what money is for. For saving your life. Yay!

Yesterday we talked to the oncologist and our oncology nurse navigator. The onco doctor has referred mrguy to a radiologist, and now is suggesting that because we think there aren't any mets, radiation could just zap that little effer and get rid of it. Radiation is not a groovy time. He'd switch to carbo/taxol as his chemo, and for 5 weeks he'd get zapped 5 days a week. Both the carbo and the radiation are cumulatively awful. That's why we'd want to get a PET sooner than later. a) are there any metastases and b) is the kanjinti already beating the cancer back by itself? If b, why worry about radiation? It was doing so well before. Or can he have kanjinti instead of switching up his chemo while he's doing radiation? Our nurse navigator is hoping for kanjinti rather than radiation. Anyhoo, mrguy is doing his research.

Today's The Kentucky Derby. It's my sister's favorite thing, and it always reminds me of her. It used to fall on the same weekend as Norway Day, which was our sister thing we did together. But we'd always need to find a spot nearby to watch it. Apparently I wrote this up in mrsguy and don't have to retell that story! But today my sister reminded me of a different story that she was telling to some friends over coffee this morning:

My brother-in-law, her husband, used to go to the races on Fridays with his friend Junior. One of those Fridays was the day before the Derby, so my sister gave her husband a tenner and asked him to put it on Giacomo to win the Derby. She wanted Giacomo specifically because that was her husband's grandfather's name. Next day they were watching the Derby and Giacomo won!!! It was at this point that her husband confessed that he hadn't placed the bet because he thought it was such a bad bet. Yeah, he was wrong. It paid out 50-1. A $2 bet paid out $800, and her ten bucks would have been many times more than that. Sis told this story to her feisty 90-year-old friend this morning over coffee and her friend said "And he's still alive?!" Funny. And Giacomo the horse is still alive, apparently, living the stud life.

Because it is Derby day today I went to the Derby website to look at the horses. I don't believe in racing, but this was in solidarity with my sister. There was a grey horse who was sooo pretty. Then I remembered that my grandparents owned a grey race horse at one point. Her name was Eleanor Grey. Not sure what the nomenclature was, but she was a harness race horse, and a pacer. She did some racing in the early 1950s. So like my granny to want a race horse.

Before signing off, here are some of yesterdays colors.