The Mad Men of Immigration were mostly Beautiful Norwegian Women
I was up at 4:30 in the ah em this morning. It seems my mind and body are locked in a battle over what the appropriate times for sleeping and waking are. Currently my body is winning because having spent a lot of time with my mind I know for a fact there is no way on God’s green acre that he’d want to get up at 4:30am, ever.
Yesterday was Immigration day! That is the day I checked in with the feds and let them know where I was at and such. It was three hours of standing around for a sticker in my passport. But now I have it. So I’m legal for nine months.
The foreign delegate
After this was over I walked down to the Rådhus to take those photos I missed the other day. Here are a few of them:
And this is the Oslo Fjord:
I then walked part way to the Vigelands Sculpture Park. However, after a beautiful morning, the rain came in again, just as hard and the day before. So I headed back home instead. Vigelands for another day. I found a park along the way home to walk through. There are actually parks all over so this isn’t really surprising. This one is called St. Handhaugen. But here’s the thing, I am walking through this park, it’s pleasant, on a granite ridge and I spy up ahead a fenced off play are with a building, something like a daycare. And as I get closer I notice that there is a host of baby carriages in the yard. Like twenty, twenty-five baby carriages all parked under the trees. Then I notice that there are bunches parked under a small shed. And one of these baby carriages has a child standing up in it. He had pushed himself up through the plastic rain protection and was just, you know, doing some child investigation of the world. I’m walking past the place now and I see that the at least two other carriages contain babies; I can hear them and see their feet kicking at the sides of the prisons. And the thing of it is, there were no adults around, none. 25 baby carriages filled with babies sitting under the trees in the rain and no adults around at all. It was disturbing because where were all the mothers? Who was in charge? Certainly not the one brilliant barn that had crawled out or his confinement, smart as he obviously was. I took up station by a tree and watched. I stood there fifteen twenty minutes. The little tyke just looking around, playing some unfathomable game with the zipper on his buggy. But no one came, no mother, no trouble. I left. The strangeness of it suggested everything was fine. If it had been one or two buggies’s parked haphazardly I’d have been more worried. But twenty-five suggest an operation of some sort. Strange.
Yesterday was Immigration day! That is the day I checked in with the feds and let them know where I was at and such. It was three hours of standing around for a sticker in my passport. But now I have it. So I’m legal for nine months.
After this was over I walked down to the Rådhus to take those photos I missed the other day. Here are a few of them:
And this is the Oslo Fjord:
I then walked part way to the Vigelands Sculpture Park. However, after a beautiful morning, the rain came in again, just as hard and the day before. So I headed back home instead. Vigelands for another day. I found a park along the way home to walk through. There are actually parks all over so this isn’t really surprising. This one is called St. Handhaugen. But here’s the thing, I am walking through this park, it’s pleasant, on a granite ridge and I spy up ahead a fenced off play are with a building, something like a daycare. And as I get closer I notice that there is a host of baby carriages in the yard. Like twenty, twenty-five baby carriages all parked under the trees. Then I notice that there are bunches parked under a small shed. And one of these baby carriages has a child standing up in it. He had pushed himself up through the plastic rain protection and was just, you know, doing some child investigation of the world. I’m walking past the place now and I see that the at least two other carriages contain babies; I can hear them and see their feet kicking at the sides of the prisons. And the thing of it is, there were no adults around, none. 25 baby carriages filled with babies sitting under the trees in the rain and no adults around at all. It was disturbing because where were all the mothers? Who was in charge? Certainly not the one brilliant barn that had crawled out or his confinement, smart as he obviously was. I took up station by a tree and watched. I stood there fifteen twenty minutes. The little tyke just looking around, playing some unfathomable game with the zipper on his buggy. But no one came, no mother, no trouble. I left. The strangeness of it suggested everything was fine. If it had been one or two buggies’s parked haphazardly I’d have been more worried. But twenty-five suggest an operation of some sort. Strange.
posted by jeffrey ottem at 7:21 AM
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