Farewell, 2013

It's been a strange year. It began on an off-note, with my husband still in bed with what the Swedes call vinterkraksjuken, or "winter vomiting sickness," aka norovirus. (The Swedes are remarkably direct at times.) I tried my best to light one of those floating paper lanterns off of our balcony, the kind where you're supposed to write a wish on the inside, but it was too windy, and it didn't take off. I left it outside, and the snow and rain turned it to pulp.

At the time, I did my best to avoid the melodrama of the too-easy symbolism of my failed lantern. At least I hadn't written a wish. But it actually has turned been a year of false starts, of almost-theres, of returns, of plans on hold, of another international move, some strange health issues, and of many things just not turning out the way we'd hoped. 

It's also gone really, really quickly. My memory of fumbling behind the couch to find the big box of flattened lanterns is as vivid as my memory of running laundry this morning. I'm also not completely convinced it's not still July, and the persistent lack of rain isn't helping.

But. In the grand scheme, unlike some close friends, I have very little to truly complain about. Just a lot going on, and a lot to carry. But I'm on it. And 2013 brought some pretty amazing travel moments, second and third on the list (in no particular order) being seeing the aurora borealis in Abisko, north of the arctic circle, and going dog sledding on my own sled in that arctic wilderness. And I even got to go to Stonehenge and then watch a high school friend bring Yellow Face to the UK for the first time (number four collectively, if I'm still making a list).

The best, though. The best half day of 2013 was when I stumbled upon the Borough Market just as I was looking for lunch. I ate a sandwich made of bread, applesauce, and pork belly with chitlins. And then I went to the Globe for King Lear.

I've always wanted to see Lear staged. I don't know whether I'll ever feel the need to do so again--it was that good. It was gorgeous, awesome, and heart-breaking. Joseph Marcell as Lear was brilliant. I wandered into the Tate Modern afterwards out of a sense of duty, rode an escalator upstairs, and then rode it back down and went back outside to stare at the river. I was done. Saturated. So good.