God tur!

Today, I was having Easter dinner at my church. About a million people asked me about my Fulbright: When I was leaving, where and what I would be studying, how to pronounce their boyfriend's Norwegian last name ... We were discussing what the skiing was like in Norway when the guy across from me said, "I'll bet you're already planning all kinds of little side trips in your head." Actually, I haven't really thought about the other towns in Norway I'd like to visit. Except Bergen. And the Lofoten Islands. And maybe Svalbard if Simon gives me some tips on handling the polar bears (hehe!). Really the one place I keep thinking about is right here.

It's only open from 12-4 on Sunday afternoons, and I think it changed my life. I guess it's morbid to spend decades painting the murals for your own mausoleum, but there's also something beautiful about making a concerted effort to leave behind your personal view of the world in a simple yet moving way, about letting the images make their own argument about the interdependent relationship between all life and passion and death on earth. Putting it in words diminishes the impact--let's just say, I've been planning this trip in my head since the minute I walked out the door. It will be the completion of a very satisfying circle to be able to stand in this room again.