citizen of the world…and I never left the country

norwegian-flag-l

My family has Norwegian roots.

I think that’s different than Norwegian Wood.

I’ve never been to Norway.

I’ve eaten a lot of lefse.

I’ve smelled my fair share of lutefisk.

But I’ve never been out of the country. I’ve never even been to Canada.

But when I’m watching the Olympics…and I see that the Norwegians are cleaning up in the medal department at the Winter Games (who saw that coming? The Norwegians! Doing well at sports involving snow! Who would have thought that would happen)…what was I saying? Oh, yeah…when I see the Norwegians dominating… well, I get all puffed up with pride and definitely claim ownership of my lineage.

“See?  Look at those totals! Look what we’re doing? See how we’re winning all those medals? Norwegians rule!!”

Of course, having some kind of strange unofficial dual citizenship brewing up in my head, when the United States moves up in the medal total, I claim that, too.

I work it from as many angles as I can imagine.

Ah, what the heck…we’re all just really citizens of the world…just ready to claim allegiance to the place we land, anyway.

Holy smokes…it’s Valentines Day!

And I got some presents for everybody and made some cards!

I managed to prepare some in spite of the snow!

Whew.

My allegiance is to my family.

That allegiance knows no borders…but the country of my family is a small and tight unit.

I’ll claim it no matter who is winning the medals.

What a mystery life is.

How we love…and who we bind ourselves to…who we claim as our “country”.

That’s a beautiful and mysterious thing.

Of course, it’s not a matter of worthiness or “being the best” that brings love to us.

We don’t stand on a podium with a medal around our neck when something miraculous happens… and we are loved by someone.

Although…I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stand on a podium and have someone place a gold medal around our neck. It would be kind of attention getting.

From my experience with my family, I get a lot more than I deserve.

I am loved even when I’m being unlovable.

I am an irritation sometimes…but even behind the irritation I manufacture, there’s love.

That’s amazing and unexpected.

So it’s Valentines Day.

We slow down a little and make extra sure that we do something that says, “I love you” today.

If things are going OK, that’s information that doesn’t really need to be underlined.

I didn’t copyright that last line, so if anyone needs to use it when they forget the card or flowers or little box of chocolates…or even the big, steaming plate of lutefisk, if that’s how you roll…if you forget the day, if you forget your place in the universe of love…you have permission to repeat it to your benefit.

Maybe it’s better to put your love in bold italics everyday.

In the meantime, while we try and figure out all this love stuff…go United ‘Wegian States of the World!

Go Love!

 

 

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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