February 23, 2018
It was a bitter journey home, the wind finding seams in coats and gloves, ice frosting on cars and windows. When I reached the sanctuary of the porch I found, as well as a welcome glow of warmth, a package. Books, from a land much colder and windier than mine. I opened them, stamping in the hallway, my kids crowding round to see what they were. "Turd ... wang?", one of them attempted, brow creased by the typography. I tried not to laugh and showed them how to read the font: Trudvang. My...