A Low-Kew Nordic Yule

With just two days to go, I made use of one of my few free days to go downtown and get a few supplies: gift wrapping paper, thick craft rope, glue, and a big burlap bag. I had found out what to do: instead of having someone dressed as Santa delivering gifts, I would have someone don a homemade Yule Goat costume.

Column: Nordic Heritage and Scandinavian Idyll

As my wife takes our daughter to bed for a well-deserved nap, Hanne takes her bicycle out of the shed, hands me the map, a helmet, and a bottle of water. In less time than it takes to recite the runes of the elder futhark, I am out adventuring.

Column: In Praise of Child-Rearing

Then, almost all of a sudden, the convulsions become overwhelming and a nurse helps place my wife in a sitting position, before telling her to push. It is all fused in my memory as a short and intense blurb, but it actually took a good half an hour before, from under my wife, a small, mostly hairless mammal appeared. The nurse grabbed it, showed it to me, shouted “it’s a girl!” before depositing it onto my wife’s chest.

We had just become parents. I had just become a dad.

What the actual f–k?

Column: Wyrd-Spinner

What starts as a lesson in spinning wool into yarn turns into a rumination on identity, building a life, and the goddess Frigg.