My Norwegian cousins have now left the country, leaving their gifts of books, maps, flags, wool mittens, pewter pins, cheese -- and the best cheese slicer in existence. Looking through a book on Trondheim, I found myself sensing once again that the Norwegian mind was basically of a practical bent, of having an empirical tendency, a grounded way of thinking.
Grounded is the wrong word for a country of mariners, but nonetheless, besides ships on the seas and fish in the markets, I think of high mountain pastures, carded wool, knitted socks.
No reason to think this way especially. The arts are always emphasized, and sometimes I do think of Edvard Grieg, Henrik Ipsen, Edvard Munch. It's just that in matters of fact and value, I think of my own ancestors as more focused on facts.
When it comes to speculation and fantasy, I harbor the notion that it was those souls captured from the Middle East, Asia, and elsewhere -- the unfortunates hauled back by the Vikings -- who shaped the more romantic influences of the culture on the rocky coasts of Norway. Did not the Vikings bring back something besides loot?
This is all based on the fact that my second toe is shorter than my big toe. Certain genes crossing the Hellespont and all that.
