Karla Noyes' Captain's Log Series

Formal Wedding Invitation We have been invited to Kevin's brother's son's daughter's son's wedding. Very lovely invitation, professional photograph, gold-embossed on sage-green, thick and fuzzy cardstock.  There was a URL for wedding information, but the registry link didn't work. And there were instructions: cocktail dress (what?!), and don't wear white, cream, blush or sage (are you kidding me? telling me what to wear?!).  On Monday Kevin reminded me that the event is this Saturday. Today, Friday, I dug through my closest to see if I had anything "cocktailly" and found a loose, calf-length knit dress in - you guessed it: sage. Boy, that set me off on my congenital "you can't tell ME what to do!" rant. I'm going to wear it anyway. Maybe I'll apologize to the mother of the bride and make her feel guilty for being so controlling but heck, she's paying for this over-the-top event, she can request what she wants. To me it...

 Close your eyes, imagine a thin slice of whole grain bread with a smear of fresh butter topped with a scoop of sunny-yellow scrambled eggs, a twist of thin, smoked salmon and a small sprig of dill. Open your mouth, insert and partake of the textures and flavors. Norwegians know how to make a sandwich! In 1972 at 18 years old, I had the pleasure to work a summer in a small hotel/restaurant on the Hardanger Fjord in Ulvik, Norway. My Norwegian sister-in-law grew up there, had worked at the hotel and organized my visit, for the most part. I earned money for the trip by assembling bicycles at Macy's in Monterey as my bike racing boyfriend taught me the trade before he moved to Berkeley. God knows why my mother let me travel halfway across the world, by myself, fly into Frankfurt, take the train to Voss then a bus to Ulvik while not knowing a word of German or Norwegian, having no clue about money exchange or how to navigate airports and train stations. She must have been anxious to ge...