A Norwegian Prayer

viking family

I grew up in a very Norwegian family of eleven, and some of my earliest memories are of my grandmother Olga, born in 1898 and matriarch of the clan, pedaling away on the old Singer sewing machine as she sang old songs and stories from her youth. How I wish now that I had taken the time to learn them! There is the Norwegian Table Prayer, however, that I will never forget as us kids had to recite it in Norske in unison before every meal. It goes like this:

I Jesu navn går vi til bords

Og spiser, drikker på ditt ord

Deg, Gud, til aere, oss til gavn

Så får vi mat i Jesu navn.



The translation is:


In Jesus’ name we go to the table

To eat and drink according to his word.

To God, the honor, to us the gain,

So we have food in Jesus’ name.



I truly miss Olga and her stern ways. She would never let me rest while I churned butter, and I thought her mean at the time. Now I know she was firm with me because she wanted firm butter. Have a great day!


life in the forest


i follow deer trails through the forest

they always find the easiest routes

the ravens in the tall white pines

start their morning jamboree

as i slip easily beneath

the great canopy

of needles


these trees

and birds and deer

and all life in the forest

pulses with that same cell

splitting apparatus that i have

we share the double helix of dna

the forest is very alive and i can feel it


knoll of grass

as winter shed her overcast

the sun began to show

and suddenly a knoll of grass

appeared amid the snow

the withered blades lay all askew

like soldiers in defeat

but as the yellow army grew

the snow began retreat

winter’s legions left the land

and rushed down to the shore

and even snowmen turned and ran

for spring had won the war


(repost from 2/17)

happy place

happy place

as of late

i meditate

when life

becomes a mess

i close my eyes

and visualize

the road

to happiness

to play this game

i have to name

the hills

i come upon

and then i try

to rectify

the problem

and move on

and when at last

all hills are passed

and i have found

my way

sometimes i find

a little sign


write a poem today

Crying Icicles


Wet icicles drip steadily

Outside my bay window,

Yet they bring to mind

no apt metaphor today.

drip, drip

My calendar says that

My soulmate passed on

Seven years ago today,

But I’m over it…sort of.

drip, drip

Damn you icicles!

May the north wind

freeze you solid again!

Please stop dripping.

Please stop.