powder

And then again, this is bliss, listening to Massive Attack, playing solitaire, looking at the pink-lit blue fading sky as the children water-ski across the calm bay, picking at cold bits of cauliflower from the pan, my flip-flopped feet on the table, Salinger near by, hoots eminating from the quiet sea, and knowing that the sounds are of pleasure and that the sounds come from my family. All the bloody weather forecasts were wrong - USA Today, Google, Yahoo, Wunderground, weather.com, Aftenposten, Tonsberg's Blad - today, finally, was the greatest day we've had yet with blown-out blue skies, poodle clouds and a big, blue, blissfully chilly sea which I dived into only after fifteen minutes of what I thought was quite inspired procrastination. I understand now why people love Salinger so. I understand it and I'm somewhat jealous of it and jealous that Wes Anderson stole this Glass family, but thrilled too, for finding it, for loving it, for letting it unfold on a perfect day by the Oslo fjord, even if we had to have smoked pork chops yet again, but this time with garlicky spinach.

The girls and I have found bikes for the morning. 150 kroner for the day as long as they are back by ten. Havna was full of nouveau riche tourists with large penis-shaped boats and a hankering for Henning Olsen ice cream. Mini-golf was full swing if you'll excuse the pun. The girls had soft ice rolled in chocolate powder as a tribute to Lindsay Lohan I thought (the powder, not the ice cream). "I won't set foot in that place" said J, terrifically venomously I thought. It's a harmless vanilla little harbor with a very bad and expensive restaurant. "I'd be embarrassed to put "chef" on my cv had I worked here" said my brother. But still it's the bloody tradition, isn't it? They (the children) will do anything for their greasy chicken in the basket or microwaved baked potato with corn and ham because they've been going there since they were a year old. We decided to forego the restaurant today and I thought the ice cream choice a marvelous one.

It's 10:29 and despite the sound of the waterski boat and the whoops of the children, I must to bed. Adieu, adieu.