What goes up, must come down

Several years ago, when I lived in Paris, I spent three days in Oslo, Norway. Most of that time, I spent at the Naval Museum area, where I could explore boats that were used to explore New England long before it was called New England. Thor Heyerdahls' Kon Tiki was also there. I was quite pleased that I could find my way around Oslo quite safely without speaking a word of Norwegian.
My naivete has been shattered with the bombing and then the massacre of the youth, in Norway yesterday, on an island which looks a lot like the image of Oslo here. The psychic break with reality that people can talk themselves into, which allows them to commit such crimes, is unbelievable to me. But it hasn't been so long since it happened here - Gabby Gifford's shooting most recently.

Still I have always thought of Norway as different. Perhaps because my uncle, Streeter Bass, was one of the skiers airlifted into Norway during World War II, who managed to sink the ferry carrying "heavy water" to Germany. That water would have allowed the Germans to develop an atomic bomb. The skiers were airlifted into northern Norway, and then, miraculously and only with help from the Norwegian Resistance, they were rescued by submarine after the ferry sinking.

The Norwegian criminal who committed these crimes has betrayed the Norwegians who survived that war, who lived to create the vital, multicultural community that Norway is today.

That is not the only tragedy of the moment though. Priscilla's engine has blown a gasket of some sort, and the Marina is so busy that no one has been able to look at it yet - after a week.
It has been superb sailing, too, and for the first time, I am thinking that if she were on a mooring, I could still sail her. But she's not; she's in a slip. I am quite frustrated by this, and by the rule that you can't bring in an outside mechanic into the Marina. I'm not sure whether this is part of the territoriality of fishermen, or what. But it is completely frustrating, and puts me in the position of nag as I try and get Brian, the mechanic, to hurry up on the other boat that has broken down.

In the scheme of things, I cannot help but feel frustrated - except that it dwarfs in comparison to Norway's sorrow. For now, I will put aside my simple frustration, and hope and pray that some sort of justice is brought to bear on the horribly warped man who created the tragedy in Norway.