One of the things I love about Norway most is how intimate even the most popular tourist attractions can feel. There have been many times when we have visited a place buzzing with people and still been able to get a chance to get to THE photo opportunity of the place. People here are great about sharing the view. Nature belongs to everyone, you know. More times than not though, the places we want to see have few or even no people there. Timing can mean a great deal, and if you can drag yourself out on a Sunday morning, you are almost sure to have the place to yourself. Our latest adventure took us to a place called the Ice Church. Honestly, with all the trouble I have walking around here, you'd think an icy wonderland would be the last place he would want to adventure with me. However, I survived without a fall, and this truly turned out to be a hidden gem that is about a two hour drive from home. I might mention, before we set off for the trip, NBF decided even our driveway was an unsafe place for me to be turned loose. He wouldn't even let me come outside before he spread the sand! Driving north, we got to see ever deepening snow and were treated to a beautifully scenic drive. We've been this path a few times before and in different seasons, but I still love it up here. The fjords were partially to completely, in some places, frozen over. I envied the people out on the ice as I have never walked on ice over water deeper than a puddle. It amazes me when I see the footprint tracks right out to the middle. I am sure I could have asked to have gone ice fishing and NBF would have arranged it, but I did not. Something about sitting out on the ice, even with the promises of hot cocoa, is less than appealing when it is -15 C. And in the back of my mind, I can't help but think about how when I arrived I tried to always say yes. Watch your step, Nellie. Once we arrive at the parking area, there is supposed to be about a twenty minute walk to the ice church. It is "fresh" and snowy out, so I pull on my gloves and tighten my laces for the walk. The path starts wide enough for us to hold hands and chat but soon narrows so that NBF has to choose between walking in front to illustrate the right path up the slick slopes or walking behind and taking in the show as I step hesitantly on the ice stomped paths of his fellow Norwegian mountain goats. Even given his precautions of the morning and knowing we were going to the ICE Church, I didn't buckle on my spikes. Heaven help me thinking I can get around like a Norwegian. Watch your step, Nellie. Along the way, we could see the path of the ice covered river and evidence of all the water running in the hillside now suspended in time as icicles. Some of the icicles were as long as I am tall, and they were clear like thick spikes of glass. We only met one family as we walked, and indeed when we arrived, we had the place all to ourselves. Now, down at the bottom, we can see that the river is still flowing under deep layers of ice and snow. At places it gurgles and glides along under the ice. There are footpaths across the river and to the "church" which is a frozen waterfall at the head of the small valley we are in. There is a break in the ice that makes a perfect entrance to see the hidden gems inside, and I watch NBF walk up and in. Of course, attempting the same path, I slide, slip, and stop frozen in my tracks afraid to even move my feet because as I was reminded earlier, the worst that could happen is that I will fall into the river! Before just reaching out, NBF asks if I need help which serves to remind me how much he respects and acknowledges my independence and stubborn nature. My positive response to his offer of help is answered with him walking ON THE SLIPPERY PART of the ice around me to come lead me to safety. I know he was born into this but holy shit! Guess I should busy myself watching my own step and not his. Inside the blue monolith-esque structure, we could see where water had tried to seep through the rocks only to be stunted by the cold. The compression of the ice was obvious in its clarity and color. Simply breathtaking. We even joked about this being a church we would be willing to be married inside. Our families could stand outside while we stood at the entrance. When I wondered aloud how my family would fair on the icy river, his eyes gleamed when he said he would be willing to help a couple of them out. On our hike out, we saw two large groups of visitors. Their boisterous excitement reminded us of our great timing. For those few minutes, the church was all ours. On our walk back and ride home, we talked through a lot of issues in our minds. Recently, we had come to a big issue and my response was to pull into myself and process leaving him outside of my thoughts in the silence. I know I have a sharp tongue and the wounds words leave are worse than physical wounds in my experience. He, of course, would rather just face whatever it is and is confident he can separate what is real from what is just anger and feelings talking. "Besides," he tells me, "maybe I needed my ass chewed." Perhaps he is right about the ass chewing. I think we all deserve it sometimes. And I do realize that I have relied on old memories to guide me through a new place. In the past, I have stood fast in confrontation, and I simply don't have the stomach for it anymore. This isn't to say I don't still run off at my mouth or face conflict, but the threshhold for what warrants a visceral reaction is much higher. Unfortunately, I learned this wait and think approach was much more hurtful to him, excruciatingly painful. I apologize for again expecting him to again pay the price that someone else established. In this moment, he stops me and reminds me that he signed up for this reassuring me that I am worth that price, many times over even. "These aren't Nellie problems, they are Tony and Nellie problems. We will work together on solutions. I love you." Even if in my most damaged places, I doubt his words, this is the same man that drives full circle in a roundabout to find a place to park to satisfy my pleading that "I see a silver something can we go back??". I notice his smile as he grabs his camera when I squeal in delight like a five year old at the site of a giant silver mammoth skull, and I just know he is my person. At least here when I am not watching my steps and stomp on toes, I have someone to love and laugh with. I just need to trust that. We continue reflecting bouncing, between fits of giggles and puddles of tears...for me at least. Only thing dryer than a Norwegian's sense of humor is their eyes. While I know he is joking about giving my family a nudge on the ice by the river, I can see that he really cannot comprehend my relationship with my sister. Prompted by the death of my mother, she had reached out through a relative. While I have long since put the relationships with my sisters in perspective, I decided I could at least hear her thoughts. It started out well enough with both of us agreeing that we have not spoken in a meaningful way for many years and her admitting she has trouble with holding grudges. It didn't take long for old thinking to emerge and dominate the conversation.
Many times taking the high road means simply remaining silent because calling out a person's bullshit will not accomplish anything. For the most part, I have taken that route with my sister. I've never reminded her that I bought a kitchen's worth of dishes and traveled to Colorado to move her away from an abusive boyfriend. I have never told her that one of the reasons my mom and I stopped talking at one point was because I wouldn't listen to my mom speak in such a derogatory manner about my sister when she was trying and really didn't know any better and that another time was because as a required reporter, I had informed my mom I would report my sister for abandoning her daughter with my mom. I have never told my sister how deeply hurt I was when she was claiming to have given birth to a stillborn baby as a ploy to gain sympathy from friends. She didn't escape the cycle, she was completely and utterly swept up into it, and she really knows no better. But, she didn't come at me directly, she used my son. So, while the past is one thing, I simply could not ignore the fact that even in my mother's obituary, my sister took an opportunity to weaponize her grief and direct it at me. I told her I was angry that she had doubled down on listing my dead son, her nephew, after my mom's dog. She had the audacity to tell me that she and mom had spoken on several occasions about this and mom had not only made her wishes known to my sister but other family members. WOW, just wow. Let me get this straight...our mother hated me so much and carried so much anger toward me that she wanted her obituary to reflect it?! Not only were my sons and I listed last in the obituary, ignoring the accepted protocols of obituaries, but her first grandson was unnamed and listed after a dog. My mother had a lot of issues with me, but I refuse to believe she told multiple family members that this was how I should be treated when she died. Even though she didn't love me how I needed, she loved me the best she could. Of that I have no doubt. Questioning my sister on this point resulted in me being told I was horrible for a lot of reasons. But her true colors finally shone when she declared she wrote the obituary and was proud that she had followed her dying mother's wishes. Not only that she insisted, but in the end, no one, including my mom, wanted me to visit the hospital or to attend the funeral. This saddens but doesn't shock me. I learned a long time ago to watch my step around much of my family. They, unlike NBF, aren't joking when they talk about shoving someone in the river. In the coming months, the snow will begin to melt and refreeze giving me an opportunity to slog through the slushy muck and glide as gracefully as a newborn giraffe on the ice making it all the more important to make good decisions and be decisive. Soon enough I will face myriad situations where I need to watch my step. But when he comes around the car to grab my hand and walk me inside, I know that at least here, with him, I can skip, slide, stomp, and stumble to my heart's content.
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Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
April 2024
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