Back home again and the lilacs are in full force. ❤ Like most trips, this one was long and strange. The flight was normal for a transatlantic flight; the big difference was that it was half as long as most I have experienced, but none the less grueling. Still, I think of the people about whom I’m writing with their three+ month voyages, death, disease and disaster and I think I don’t have any room to complain.
The dogs are fine. Mindy stayed with Lois’ husband and their three dogs. Dusty and Bear stayed in a nice kennel. Bear was definitely relieved when I picked her up from the kennel and Dusty was ecstatic and told me all his stories from the two weeks. Bear and Dusty are tired still this morning, but I know that by tomorrow they — and I — will be “normal” (for us!) again.
Summer arrived in the San Luis Valley while I was gone — not my favorite season since I hate yard work (I do like gardening) and I vastly prefer cold weather, but we’ll get used to it and be sorry to see it leave when fall comes.
Humans are strange that way.
Iceland was very good for me as a writer and artist. The weather was abysmal while we were in the Snaefellsjokul National Park — a park that circles a huge, sleeping volcano covered with a glacier. Because of the storm that settled on the peninsula while we were there, we didn’t see any of this until we were in the air flying away from Iceland on the one clear day we had during our adventure. It was magnificent. I loved both countries I visited and was sorry to leave both of them, Switzerland because it feels like home to me and Iceland because it remains a provocative mystery, even more tantalizing because of what I did see.
I love Icelandic sagas, so, for me, the fact that Icelanders seem to love them too and will talk about them was great. While they were digging a foundation for a building in downtown Reykjavik some years ago, they happened on the ruins of a Viking turf long house and so, instead of building THAT building, they built the most amazing museum to house the ruins. There I heard a docent — a young woman — telling another tourist about a funny saga and I wanted to know more. When, later, I asked her, she was so happy to talk about it and she and her assistant found a paper about this saga and printed it out for me. I cannot imagine such a conversation or experience here, but, then, I know that Americans generally don’t go around reading Icelandic sagas for fun. I find this strange because they are way more interesting that Game of Thrones.
Everywhere we went, in fact, the sagas were part of the landscape and I think it’s beautiful that 1) the sagas were written down, 2) they are still valued and loved. They are truly the story of Iceland’s settlement and make, for Iceland, a historical record that does not hide or gloss over or sugarcoat or pervert anything.