Norway

My mother reports more rain has fallen in Tjome in the last forty eight hours than there has been since they started recording such things. Nothing, however, can stop the Norwegians from sailing, and the regatta for Faerdersnekker takes place each week out at Verden's Ende. She arrived yesterday at four in the afternoon to a flooded cellar, two metre high grass on the lawn, and a beautiful orange blossom bush which has taken over the path due to the weight of the rain. My aunt, in her own inimitable style asked my mother to break off the branches so that she can get through, but my mother, in hers, has decided to tie the wanton bush to a tree beside it. The house is freshly painted, white-washed over the pine for a pickled effect I believe, and she is exhausted. The good news is that she has decided to throw out her collection of catalogs from the Wine Monopoly (vinmonopolet) which dates back to 1987. She keeps them so that she can "compare prices". Just a glimpse of the sun glinting silver on that Oslo fjord makes me heady for Norway, the cold sea, the long days.