Back in time to Norway

So I left off at the day of The Party.

First of all, I apologize for jumping around in time. I am, however a stream of consciousness kind of writer. It doesn't always work for me as well as it did for Virginia Woolf, but it's what works for me.

A Norwegian Party:

We walked up the hill to the train. I was dressed except I wore my walking shoes as my dress shoes would have killed me if I tried to walk more than a few minutes. My dress shoes were safely stored in the "community" backpack that Karine so graciously packed.

It was a little less than an hour's train ride to the city, and we got to walk through the great Oslo Train Station, with shops, restaurants, banks, currency exchange offices, just about everything a person could want, including flowers, fresh fruits, and even a McDonald's. Karine most generously got the kids cheeseburger Happy Meals and they were both very happy and grateful. After the meal, we walked through the shopping area of Oslo, and passed several shoe stores. We even went into a couple of them. But I found the shoes offered to be too expensive for my American Pay Less Shoe Source mentality. The main reason I shoe shopped came due to my hostess's realization that she had not packed my shoes into the backpack. I really think it was my fault they got left behind; I didn't even notice them there on the floor in the entryway (mudroom?) as we walked out of the house. The Nordic Goddess felt so embarrassed, she offered to buy some new shoes for me. No way was I going to allow that. I figured I'd look the funky Californian with my nice blue dress and my newish cross-trainers anyway so I'd feed the stereotype of life in California. It's like a cereal: what is not fruits and nuts is flakes (from the early 80's--not very pc now, is it).

I wondered how much time it would take for the style of shoes in Norway to reach the US. I guess they are already here, and I just didn't know it. Very severely pointed toes and very, very high heels in lots of fabulous colors. Beautiful, but I don't think I'll be buying any very soon, since I have not worn heels that high since, well, let's call them my youthful days.

Enough about me. We walked through town and it began raining. We reached the Orient (K, is that close to the name of the pub?), and across the street waited our coach, with some friends already in attendance. How very organized and generous of our Hostess to have rented a coach, with bathrooms and alcohol (for drinking) plus soft drinks for the kids (all two of them) provided.

The ride seemed longer than the train ride, but we traveled through the marinas, through gorgeous hills and dales, and it was a great fun ride. K's sisters are a riot and it's easy to see how much they love their little sister.

We reached the entrance of the muddy farm, and the coach driver, who deserves applause for his expert handling of the huge vehicle, drove the narrow path to the farmhouse and shop. On one turn, we felt and heard a loud scraping noise. Evidently a tree had reached out and tried to slap the motorcoach, since the tree was not accustomed to having such large visitors.

We got to the farmhouse and the greenhouse where the party would take place, and we all had to get out of the vehicle and look at the damage. The driver had a great philosophy about it, and all the passengers seemed to enjoy the "surprise entertainment."

The party had truly begun.