Home Again
It’s always something of a letdown to come home after traveling abroad — especially when my dog is staying with my parents. Intellectually, I know he’s having a much better time with them than he’d have boarding at his vet’s (though he actually seems to like his vet quite a lot), but it’s harder on me because I usually have to wait until the weekend to pick him up, rather than collecting him immediately upon my return. Plus, as much as I like Atlanta, and particularly my neighborhood therein, it just doesn’t compare with London . . . or Stockholm.
There are several impressions about Swedish society, or at least Stockholm society, I want to record, particularly about environmentalism and parenting, but they need a bit more mulling over before I’m ready to commit them to the ether. In the meantime, and as I cull through my film and digital photography for posting on Flickr, I leave you with my favorite Stockholm photograph: the sunset on my final day there, a view from Gamla Stan over Södermalm:
Breathes there the man
with soul so dead
that he never to himself hath said
when returning from a foreign strand
“This is my own, my native land”?
Sir Walter Scott. Or maybe Robert Louis Stevenson. I get them confused.
November 30th, 2006 | #
That’s because “Ivanhoe” and “Kidnapped” have a similar flavor. Makes it confusing.
December 3rd, 2006 | #