Chapter 13

Stoney's turn:

I married into a magic carpet ride.

Last summer's foray into Norway to meet Johanna's great uncle and benefactor gave us some tendrils embedded into the classical music scene there, mainly through the expedient of bumping into a bunch of street musicians from the university one Saturday afternoon in Oslo.

I remember us making multiple promises to return. Great-uncle Lars, of course. Great old man, doting on the children he never had. Promised us a summer cottage overlooking a fjord, and in that fjord, a very seaworthy Norse fishing boat converted to a neat little power cruiser. That appealed to me. Something about getting that red-headed girl on the water...

On the other hand, Johanna promised that she would return with her flute, a promise made to brilliant young musicians who played, like her, for the joy of making music.

I thought it was going to be two weeks. It's a month.

"Oh, Stoney, you KNOW you wanna spend a week on that boat. And we BOTH love the music. You can come back to Alabama and engineer your sweet butt off while I play the rest of the summer," Jo told me.

Jo could have told me, 'Strip down to your skivvies, soak 'em in gasoline, and run barefoot down the main street of Hell, ' and I'd've done it. Of course, when I popped that one on her during a discussion, she simply smiled and said, "Hell, Norway, is ten miles east of Trondheim."

Losing the argument fast, I said, "No, the other one..." and got rolled over onto my back and had my pants removed. Good way to lose an argument.

So we're in Norway and we're having fun and I'm REALLY enjoying it. Uncle Lars's cabin is private, remote, a detail that means I get to see Johanna naked outdoors which means that Stoney is naked and outdoors as well. Often. She's more beautiful than ever, red hair, alabaster skin, naked against a background of greens and greys and browns of a Norwegian mountainside forest.

I marvel at the miracle that makes us belong together. Among the musical group, she's lively, young, bright, and she drags me right in among them.

Yes, I've shown up on stage to render my banjo version of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp. The appearance of an American with a banjo is enough of a novelty that I had to endure (Endure! I tell you!) requests for bluegrass favorites.

And you know that my Johanna loves me. We showed up on the musical stage set for a recital in a beautiful church. The pews were filled with music lovers. Johanna and her friends perform masterfully, even with me sitting there running Mozart's notes through my banjo, Johanna playing flute in a manner that silences the choirs of heaven so they can listen.

I'm thinking that when my part's over, I can escape the stage and sit and enjoy the remainder of the concert.

I would be wrong.

A lithe, brunette Norwegian thing shows up at the microphone. For a minute she speaks in animated tones, a lot faster than I can decipher with my meager (but growing) understanding of the language. I do catch 'American' and 'banjo'.

Johanna motions me out from the wing of the stage. "Stoney, Margit Voll is the regular harpist for this church and its ensemble. She says that you, an American with a banjo, have invaded her place and she has challenged you to a fight to the death..."

"Wha..."

"Dueling Banjos. Stoney Jackson on banjo versus Margit Voll on harp."

Girl can PLAY a harp, but as they say, it might be HER turf but it's MY weapon. We beat each other mercilessly. I can roll with the best of 'em. Johanna has forced me to elevate my Earl Scruggs bluegrass banjo style to another level, adding Mozartian arpeggios and scales, and Miss Margit, I find later, is renowned as a concert harpist.

Finally her eyes flashed at me and I ended my battle with a flourish.

Did you ever hear the comment 'and the crowd went wild'? You don't usually get that from a classical music recital, especially not in a three-century-old church in Norway, but I heard THIS and it will forever be my 'and the crowd went wild' moment.

I couldn't move. I struggled to stand, bowed deeply. Margit walked over to stand beside me, grasped my hand, we bowed together. She turned and kissed my cheek. I turned and saw fire in the eyes of Johanna, her hair taking a fiery glow. Noted.

Afterward. "If she'd have kissed you one more time, there would've been a REAL fight to the death, Stoney..."

"Do you seriously think that I would toy with a random harpist when I have Johanna, flute-player to the gods themselves? We're going up the fjord tomorrow, Johanna Elise, and I have designs on you. And I do not wish to be dumped overboard."

"Very good answer, my love," she said. "Now tell me, did we surprise you too much?"

"You have a lot of confidence in my poise and music abilities, my dear."

"Only because I've seen you do it on two continents now."

In the late evening, under a sun that sets oh, so late in summertime Norway, we both rendered the music of the mountains, my banjo from the Appalachians, her flute, in the land of Grieg.

I didn't look forward to the flight back to the States. Too many hours on an airplane that I WASN'T flying. Yes, we can cough up the cost for First Class, but it's still a long flight.

"You know, redhead, I almost toy with the idea of a deepwater trawler. We could make this trip ourselves, on the water..."

"Hey, you," she smiled. "I'm the one with the Norwegian blood." She smiled. My heart melts. "Intrigue me some more."

I talked to her of boat dreams.

"We need to do like we said," she opined. "Move our boat to Mobile..."

"Yacht movers?"

"No, Stoney. She is a sailboat. She would be so sad trucked down a highway when she can dance on the waters..."

"Galveston to Mobile's a good jaunt. One fell swoop?"

"Of course." Giggle. "Me and you, naked, the whole way."

"You're nuts, you know. D'you have any idea what manner of pain I'd have if THAT got sunburned?"

"Okay, maybe a little bit in the daytime, then ALL night..."

Erection in First Class and nothing I can do about it. Thirteen hours, Oslo to Houston, then the endurance of Customs, and then Houston traffic and finally we're back at our apartment. Now I can do something about it.

Stepping out of the cab at the apartment, I immediately want to go back to Norway. It's ninety-six degrees and the humidity is in the seventy percent range and it's miserable. Jo and I make a run for the haven of the air conditioned apartment. Yeah, we set it on eighty when we left, being ecologically responsible and all that, but now it's on seventy-two and a shower and total nudity is our defense.

Of course, while you're, you know, defending, there's nothing that says you can't have a happy little romp as the house cools down. And a shower...

And hey! The house is cool now and ... It's one of THOSE days.

We took a couple of days to rest up, visit local friends, straighten out the laundry and repack for the next adventure. Set up a UPS pickup with a big box of things that need to go to Alabama.

"Why don't we just tell 'em we bought it, Stoney?" Jo asks. She's talking about that red Pitts S-2A. We got a great deal. It turns heads. But as serious transportation, it's as practical as a rubber crutch. Still, it's fun to fly, and Johanna looks GOOD in it, and if we ever get the urge to look UP at the world, the flick of a wrist and we're inverted.

"I don't want to hear the catcalls," I answered.

"Well, I like," Jo said. "And nothing stops us from buying something practical whenever you see something that blows your skirt up. And having to refuel halfway to Alabama is okay. Gives us a chance to walk around."

"Ten pounds of baggage," I said.

"As practical as a big motorcycle," Jo countered. "Dammit, Stoney!" she said, grinning. "Call it a birthday present and quit complaining. I KNOW you like the plane. And money's no object. Besides, unless you wrap it around a pine tree, we can sell it for what we bought it for."

"What if YOU wrap it around a pine tree?" I know the answer I'm going to get, but I have to ask anyway.

"I'm the better pilot, Stoney. You know THAT, too."

So Cindy's the first one to the wing after our prop stops. Johanna's getting out. Some of that redhead to redhead telepathy going, apparently. "You bought it, didn't you?" Cindy said.

Jo nodded, Cindy's squeal signaling that she understood the answer.

Dan 1.0 had driven her to the airfield, so he noted the squeals.

"Something has made my wife happy," he said.

"I imagine Jo's told her that this is OUR plane now..."

"Kind of like buying a motorcycle before you buy a car, ain't it? And make that a sport bike, not one of those big cruisers."

"Yeah, you got me. But you know how it is. She looks good in it."

He laughed. "That's because it's the color of nail polish!"

While we were both laughing, he managed, "So when can I fly 'er?"

"You know Cindy did a couple of trips ago, don't you?"

"Yeah. Don't make me jealous of my wife."

"Why not? I'm jealous of my wife. And YOUR wife. Master's! Geez!"

"Then you missed the upcoming doctorate?"

"Oh, come on, Dan! A doctorate?"

"The physics department's pushing it."

"Crap! You and me, we just as well start poking mammoths with a pointed stick."

"Good one!" Dan laughed.

Cindy and Johanna chatted happily in the back seat on the way to the apartments. We're doing a hotel for this stay.

Engineering. I get to do some. It's surreal, though, totally in keeping with this whole 3Sigma thing. Tina brings me up to speed on her project – reworking the protective relaying for a transmission line between Georgia and South Carolina.

You know you're in an alternate universe when your lead engineer is younger than your wife. And pregnant.

No, it doesn't show, that is, unless you count a bump in the intensity level of her smiles.

That night Johanna and I have a serious conversation.

"No, it's NOT too soon, Jo," I say. "I am not going to be the one to push you. I don't need you having a baby to prove my manhood. I want us to have a baby when you are ready."

"Stoney, we've had a free and easy lifestyle. You know how this will change things."

"I know. My precious Johanna will be a mother. I will be a dad. And we have to walk carefully in the footsteps of our own parents."

"No more 'Woohoo! Let's go to Puget Sound!' at the drop of a hat."

"I get to see a redheaded Madonna."

"My mother gets her grandbaby. My dad gets to wish upon me the misery I visited upon him."

"Your parents say you were a model child..."

"Ask 'im. I had my moments."

"I've heard," I laughed. "So when?"