Do I Wish I was Younger?

     Some people wish they were younger--that they could relive their lives differently.  I do not.  Don't be mistaken, I have not lived unblemished by ill-advised words, and actions.  Yet, to relive my youth differently would be to negate the lessons I've learned--the insights I've been given.
     I would return to people, to places, and to events.  Not to change them.  To celebrate them.  To honor them.  But, not to change them.  To friends, to family, you know who you are.  Words escape me.  We know what we have lived--before us is our future.
     To unlikely people my mind is drawn.  To Katie, you taught me the meaning of grace--of disgrace, her antonym, as well.  You gave me poetry--"Brazen Honesty"http://patty-pattysponderings.blogspot.com/2011/03/brazen-honesty.html--a gift I shall treasure forever.  An unlikely gift, I dare say.  A gift nonetheless.  To Janet, never before had I met, and never again will I know, a piece of work such as you are.  Into my core, "there goes another gimp," you did gore.  Yet, your words broadened my vocabulary--sharpened my ear.
     My alter egos.  Pre-school giraffe.  A ballerina.  Patrushka.  Patty Tricia.  Pat.  Ms. P.T.  Thorsen.  Zoomer.  Aunt Patty.  Roboaunt.
     To places.  Michael Dowling School for Crippled Children.  Bassetts Creek.  2625 Vale Crest Road.  Washington, D.C.  Oslo.  The College of St. Catherine.  Grand Marais.  West Publishing.  Developmental Disabilities Council.
     To events.  Teasing.  Junior high school choir class.  My first class at St. Catherine's.  Baptism.  Graduation.  Master's degree graduation.  Master's degree graduation celebration.
     Do I wish I was younger?  Do I wish my youth I could reclaim?  No.  I treasure the joys.  I honor the sorrows.  Neither joy, nor sorrow could enrich me now, if I was younger.
     Once I was asked, "If you had not been born left handed, do you think you would have been right handed?"  I was tempted to say, "If you had not been born a woman, would you have been born a man?"

Oslo...My Beloved Oslo...

     "Oslo, my beloved Oslo."
     Those were the four words that came to me the instant my cousin informed me that Oslo had been hit by an explosion.
     Twice in my life, I have had the joy of becoming acquainted with Oslo.  The summer I graduated from high school, I met Oslo for the first time.  I met her as a young tourist.  Karl Johan's Gatte was the main street of the town--the mecca for shoppers.  Then, there was the majesty of the Oslo City Hall.  Majesty is beyond the comprehension of any American, when they hear "city hall."  Yet, the murals, the marble floors, and the high ceilings may be defined no less than majestic.  Then,  Frogner Park.  Ah, Frogner Park.  Norwegian sculptor, Gustav Vigeland crafted a magnificent study of human form--human beings of all ages, in a multitude of positions.  It is a pilgrimage--an artistic pilgrimage of humanity--that any visitor to Oslo must make.  Knowing the trip might be beyond you, let Google do the walking http://images.google.com/search and enter Vigeland Park.  God was the sculptor for Oslo's other source of awe--the Sogne Fjord.  Words do not do it justice.
     In 1978, I visited Oslo as a tourist.  Little could I imagine that I would have the opportunity to return to Oslo in 2005.  I returned as a student--as a resident for a nine-day stay.  Frogner Park, and Karl Johan's Gatte were not mine to revisit.  I lived the life of a resident--the life of a student--housed in a youth hostel.  But, ah...the view.  The hostel set atop a hill overlooking the Sogne Fjord.  We ate outside and soaked up the sunshine, and the pristine air.
     Oslo is a city of hearty, gentle, peace-loving people.  Oslo is the home of the Nobel Prize.
     At the end of my nine-day visit to Oslo, I had absolutely no desire to return home.  In fact, even when I got home, I longed to return immediately.
      Oslo...my beloved Oslo...