Sharon Welcomes You
With her Spotbottom showgirl flair.

Ring in the New Year with Sharon, Flippist Fridays
Used by permission
With her Spotbottom showgirl flair.
Hindsight is 20-20, or so it is said. Thinking about this past year at FITK, I wonder (often) if what I produce here is worth anything. This year saw me scale back on posting to three times a week, with Sharon Spotbottom (bless her inscrutable heart) visiting every Friday. But actually looking at and re-reading the posts done over the last 12 months is somewhat heartening.
Snowman standing in the night
Nornabúðin was a shop in Reykjavík from 2005 to 2008, specializing in items associated with witchcraft, pagan religion, and natural healing. Amulets, tea, herbs, and various witchcraft related items were sold there. The shop was decorated with gnarled branches, animal hides and antlers, and other artifacts from around the world: It was owned and operated by Eva Hauksdóttir, a practicing witch (Norn, in Icelandic), social critic and conceptual artist. She offered rune-reading, and dispensed practical wisdom along with her wares. The shop had tables for tea and social gatherings:
A new meditation on Halldór Laxness' charming and insightful The Fish Can Sing has been posted at the Laxness in Translation site. First posted on wdvalgardson's kaffihus, this extended piece looks at the book from a number of angles, and even shows its relevance to contemporary events.
The road out to Gray Skull Wharf, where everything ends, is a long one. With many twists and turns and cul-de-sacs, it passes through a thousand-year-old city.
We are in no hurry, and on this belated journey we will not take things like chronology and causality too seriously either. We feel just like children playing in the twilight, who are reluctant to go home to bed as long as there is still light in the sky and the beautiful day is not entirely over. And the old boatman, sitting in his ferry and waiting at the end of the world, is a wise man, after all. He knows the whims and caprices of the human heart, and its untimely yearning for the unreachable. He will surely grant us a reprieve for a little longer. You'll see– he has probably lit his pipe and is sitting there in his gray wolfskin enjoying himself as he gazes out over the deep with experienced seaman's eyes, to where the beginning and the end meet and shake hands with each other, as the darkness falls.