*I don’t mean to be cryptic, I just haven’t had time to explain anything, in a long time. Or post anything. I’ve left NYC and gone “home,” to Sweden, where I grew up–a tiny island in the Stockholm archipelago called Runmaro, to be exact. Jack and Lewis (my trusted cats) ALSO moved, and the back story is a love story that stayed in the shadows for over three decades as a friendship story. That too, I will explain. Because I want to, I mean. The same way I want to share this private letter from my father, because time is running out, and words should bring hope and spark with love or not be at all. We’ve been here 4 days. The Baltic Sea is whistling in the background. This is the only place in my whole life where I ever felt truly safe. Oh! And Åke lets me pilot the motorboat now, between the islands. (After 32 years, during which, we never considered it.)
I could easily become boastful as all get out after even the slightest sea-or boat related triumph, but thank you in advance for bearing with all the strange dots of this website and its frayed editor.
And let me know how you feel about amateur boating stories?
It makes me proud and happy that someone of your high caliber can be lifted
by messages from me! I’ve long been lifted by the rainbows of postcards and
telegrams and the like from you and never moreso than right now that you’re
off onto what I regard as a brilliant and courageous adventure. Did you
ever watch goldfish sucking oxygen from the side of a tank? That’s what I
do with all your communications. My mind has already confected and
catalogued at least fifty different “pictures” and impressions of you
carrying lumber across that magic little island of yours!
Be well and let me hear from you when it’s opportune! Meanwhile, continued
good things to all of you and may the mighty Atlantic Ocean fail in its
perverse effort to keep us apart!