Second Night in Tromsø

Good afternoon, beloveds

I’m on the couch under a duvet. I was going to go into town and DO things (reindeer hot dog was top of the list) but after I did my stretches and washed my hair, I realized I was in a state for a quiet day. I cleared out my bags and baggage and threw away the little pieces of trash that accumulate, I made my bed (!), I stacked stackable items and put things in cupboards.

  My hair is still not dry. I forgot how this happens. I mean, I do remember, I remember the dangerously hot glow of the space heater on the back of my neck when we were little and long haired, but after all these years in New Orleans, it just began to seem improbable to me that hair would simply not dry. But indeed. It’s been four hours. It’s still wet.

  I’ve moved to plug the computer in and now I’m sitting on the floor in my long johns in front of one of the many mini heaters. It’s slightly smaller than a bread box, set into the wall about six inches from the floor. It warms the mid back charmingly.

  I’m still very tired. I also forgot how much energy it takes to be cold, how much you’re burning. It’s not a bad tired, it’s a good tired, but it takes a lot of tending to, a lot of adaptability. To say, oh, thank you so much for the offer of all the fun in the world, but today I will be cooking rice and mushrooms and garlic and eating them with a fat dollop of hummus, the slightly scary indulgence of caviar (but it was four dollars at the Eurospar grocery! we must be bold!), and the longed for sriracha, finally obtained. Yes, I do see that all the fun in the world is very appealing and I appreciate the offer, but I simply must drink four cups of tea and put on Bach’s cello suites, it is urgent, well, the opposite of urgent. It is important. All the fun in the world will have to wait patiently for me to get around to it.

  It took me a while to figure out the little stove top. Two burners and three knobs. No oven. Aaron can vouch for my, ah, inability? Lack of access is maybe a better term. My difficulty with reading signage. I don’t disparage the signs and labels, I do not mock them or speak ill of them, it simply doesn’t occur to me to read them until I get home and he points out that I have bought oysters in sweet mustard sauce. So I had to touch and turn all the knobs and slap-pat the burner surfaces like the primate that I am before I figured out that the third knob is a TIMER! Genius! The whole thing will not function but that the timer is set and running! Very very hard to burn one’s house down! But on the other hand, challenging to make a stew. How many people mourn their inability to make a stew on vacation? I cannot answer this. Some questions are beyond even me.

  In half an hour I will walk to catch the cable car up the side of the mountain. There has been a change between today and yesterday, a weather change and a light change. The sun spent much longer today behind the mountain and all the puddles froze hard. It has felt like evening all day. I’m sure this is part of why I’m tired, my circadian rhythm is desperately trying to adapt to whatever the fuck is happening out here. You took me where, Elizabeth? Somewhere that feels like 5:30 pm on Christmas day all day every day? And you want me to WHAT? Learn and grow and buy woolen goods for everyone I’ve ever met?! Yeah, alright. Uh huh. No no, we’re definitely not going back to bed. Just…gonna sit down…for a second.

  I’m going to start putting on my layers (they are many) for the half hour walk to the cable car. I want to stop and buy a bar of chocolate. I mean to stay up there for a while. The last car down is at midnight so I have time. The aurora activity forecast is medium today and the sky is wickedly clear, so it’s the best chance, I believe. And Tromsø is in the center of the Aurora’s oval so the odds here are very very good. But a person needs chocolate to sit there and sky gaze. 

All my love to all of you,

Wool-ily,

Elizabeth