LOST

Sometimes I wish I could wake up one morning in 8th century Thórsholr and find that it was all a dream. One, long, traumatic, fictional dream. I don’t pretend to know why or how everything happened the way it did. But something deep down inside tells me there was a reason. That reason is simply not ready to reveal itself yet. I have learned three things the past month. 1) There is nothing more powerful—or important—than family. 2) Family is defined by more than just blood. And 3) Nothing gives me more pleasure than a big pile of French toast. Nothing.