first day here

July 18, 2007
It's three o'clock in the morning and the wind is whistling in the wooden eves. The clouds are blowing north and the crack in my curtains has become a picture show of mythical shapes in grey on grey-a picador, a Chinese temple dragon, a witch, a poodle float by. Yesterday was our first on this little island in the Oslo fjord and it rained for most of the day and now we pray for a glimpse of sunny weather to come.

N was really happy last night. He was laughing and unguarded and funny as we played silly games in the howling wind. It was lovely to see him that way.

Jumby and I share two small single beds that have been pushed together. One or both of us is destined to drop through the crack. It's only a matter of time.

Yesterday was so cold that I could hardly bring myself to walk outside and down the steps to the shower even with its promise of warmth. I wore two sweatshirts and a t-shirt and a wool hat. "It's not winter, you know," said Oystein but it felt like it to my thin, tired skin.

I have finished The Memory Keeper's Daughter and I agree that it is a beautiful book but I don't seem to be as over the moon with it as everyone else who has read it. It's a NYT bestseller and apparently a "must for summer reading" from the ever reliable Richard and Judy in England, but I found it just a little arduous and not as mesmerizing as I would like.

There's a faintly pink glow on the horizon which fills me with hope and optimism for the day's weather forecast. Here, I don't wake up feeling grumpy. Why do blue skies bring so much promise?

Here, I miss Jack. The brown slug population, which I'm told by the ever brilliant Oystein was only introduced to Norway twelve years ago, carried by accident in eastern europe produce, have multiplied so much that they have overtaken the black slugs, a rather more elegant breed, in southern Norway. They are quite literally everywhere. I am tempted to walk down the road with a bag of salt to sprinkle over them and watch them sizzle. It's good that their brains aren't just slightly bigger or they'd be running the country, I'm sure. But these slugs and the rain remind me of Jack when he stayed here with us, and made us laugh through all the bad weather. I miss him. I miss the way he would make everything better with his sarcastic wit and easy manner and how he could make J laugh and the children relax through the tense family arguments.