Today was absolutely lovely. Monday as Monday should be. I walked to the Rema at Wergeland to buy groceries. I spent a while in the store, memorizing the kosher list a bit more. Exciting discoveries: I found a brand of canned kidney beans that are okay; that bread that I’ve been eating regularly actually has some chemical that’s not (oops); there are three different kosher kinds of butter for my consumer pleasure. I bought rømme for the first time. I don’t know what it is, or what to eat it with, but am sure I will figure it out. It was pleasant to pass the lakes both ways, the ruffly black water cold and sharp in the wind while I trudged past with groceries on my back.
A friend and I met at the Israeli-owned coffee shop near the Bergen Museum for hot chocolate in the afternoon. We sat on stools looking out the window, and every so often someone came in and a cold gust of air blew over our hot chocolate, making the candle flames waver. We talked about where we want to travel to, and our classes, and nationality stereotypes, and Bergen culture. She’s a very restful person, smart and excited about life but not gushing.
Back home, I finished grading my high schoolers’ journals. By the twentieth repetition of the same thing, I was clenching my teeth trying to remain as objectively interested as I was for the first. However did my teachers manage it? Still, the second-to-last, one of the Saras (is it bad that I’m still not sure which?), managed to delight me by picturing dramatic situations in which a lack of English would prove utterly disastrous. Perhaps that is how my teachers did it: by waiting for the gem in the pile of dross.
Now the homey smell of frying onions has filled my apartment. Onion soup for dinner. With rømme? We’ll see.