In the beginning, I thought it was going to be just a sweet story of a child on a trip “back home” with his father. It is this and so much more. Next, I decided it would be perfect in a school library for middle school children. It is also that.
I let myself settle in on a cold weekend and become an invisible family member as the author, on the trip of a lifetime with his aging parent, hands the microphone to his father, Trygve to tell the story of living in Norway with his maternal grandmother, mother, and siblings on the west coast of Norway in Norway. And what a story it is!
Rich with descriptions and locations and family life, it also has danger and intrigue through the eyes of a Norwegian youth in Germany’s early occupation of a neutral country. While neither a boy nor Norwegian, I quickly found myself becoming a shadowy partner to his life and antics.
It takes the reader through peacetime, the war and the ultimate goal of rejoining his father in America
A well-written and engaging book for readers of all ages! I found myself drifting back in time to another place, another life, filled with adventure!
The morning begins with a heavy fog blanket, and a warm beginning to a Texas Christmas. The grey cloud that has shrouded my spirit is lifted. Our Christmas tree shimmers with fiber optics sending colors racing around the darkened room.My coffee cup is warm and full, as is my heart. All is calm, all is right. The soft blue glow of our Nativity a reminder of the reason we celebrate this occasion. May the Peace that enveloped Bethlehem also surround this Earth with peace today.
December 14, 1971 found me in the midst of holiday planning, tree decorating and cookie making.
Big plans for later that day reinforced my need to finish what I could. My three year old son was anxious to help and we merrily rolled peanut butter cookies into balls to be baked as the next batch signalled it was done! His excitement was as real as mine! His blue eyes sparkled in the blinking Christmas tree. By noon we were ready as that was our deadline.
My husband arrived at the appointed hour.It was pre-arranged and several weeks early.Today our new baby would arrive in the chilly early Kansas evening.
This day a son was born to a little family. His arrival would forever change our lives.
Happy birthday, my son, Michael!You light up our lives!
Wash from waving dunes to undulating
Whispering” come follow”…
Tracing ancient, ageless paths
across the empty beach.
Under a silent silver sky,
I stoop to scoop a single shell,
The broken and the whole.
The wind and sand polish my cheeks soft.
70 years of living
Smoothed to satin, again
Reborn of the wind…
Following timeless ripples to the sea.
Port Aransas, TX
The sun melts down
On another autumn good night
This red sky at night…
©Nancilynn Saylor 29September 2018
It’s strange how you can remember where you were who you were with and the smallest details of seminal events that color our history.
Twenty- five years ago today, I was standing in my kitchen covered up to my elbows in jerky marinade as I was attempting to make the treat homemade. Although labor intensive it seemed to be well within my skill set and I was anxious to use my new dehydrator.
When the phone rang, I picked it up as my husband was outdoors doing yard work. I heard in single words: accident, Emergency Room, air flight. Come now!
I called frantically to my husband to come NOW, at the same time ripping my marinade spattered blouse off replacing with a clean shirt.
It was a short ten mile drive to the hospital but a university football game traffic slowed the frantic drive.
Family filled the sidewalk in front of the hospital doors. Inside, my daughter in law sat, her face ashen.
Her mother came to meet us. The tragic story almost too sad to comprehend.
In time, an ER Nurse came to get the two grandmothers. We were led down a darkened narrow corridor to see our youngest grandchild. To say goodbye.
Nothing could have prepared us for the sight of our precious boy with a a row of angry metal staples holding his small head together. In the background, the woosh of life-support equipment. This.was not to save his life but his viable transplantable organs.
The transplant team, chaplains and nurses had taken me aside beforehand with the grim frankness of the prognosis. The request of me to convince his mother to let him go.
The day was one of the saddest of my life. Phone calls to great grandparents; a phone call to my son, his father, who was in prison. The rest of the day and following week unfolded in black and white like a silent movie.
I remember other events that marked time on my life but none like the death of baby Joshua, that burned grief indelibly ony heart.
© Nancilynn Saylor