Traveling the nearby coast in April.
How to get ready?
What is needed? What
can be left in the closet?
I would like to leave the scars at home. The tough skin designed to protect from further damage can get very heavy. Not possible. The scars travel with me. I can leave false friendships. That will certainly lighten the load. I have to take love but that won’t be easy to carry. It’s so very fragile, so prone to fading and fraying. I must be cautious. Luckily, memories are stowed in the mind and, though weighty to someone like me who has lived decades, they travel compactly. I will take the self-confident look, the friendly smile, the understanding that comes from long life. Although anxiety and sadness and fear are coming, I am packing them in travel size bottles that meet Transportation Security Administration requirements.
Time cannot be perceived. It must be reconstructed by the brain. So, the perception of time is subjective and variable. There are some psychologists who believe that you can describe personalities by the way time is perceived.
In a faraway time, I traveled with my mother, father and sister to Europe. I was 8 years old. The plane ride took forever but, eventually, we did land—in Oslo, a magical city where colors were brighter, buildings had sharper corners, cars were square and the sun gave off light that bent at odd angles. From Oslo, we traveled north by boat. I felt feverish as we glided past massive mountains that jutted into the sky and held fishing villages at their green bases. Fifty miles within the Aortic Circle, we arrived at my father’s childhood home.
I couldn’t communicate with my grandparents who spoke only Norwegian. My ability with the language was childhood basic. My father preferred to speak in Norwegian although most of my other relatives spoke English. I was jettisoned into a “children are seen but not heard” mode which suited me fine. I was left free to take in all that was around me with no distractions.
My father had timed our arrival to coincide with the first day of summer and so we all trooped out at midnight to view the Midnight Sun. The light was eerie—like mesh filtered it and I looked directly at the sun which was preposterously high in the sky. It, too, was covered in a soft haze that made it viewable without pain. The mountains were lit in a gun metal gray and the fjord was a yellow and blue fluid. More magic.