potentialities

In honor of my brother's brief visit this weekend, last night we revived the tradition of the Viking bonfire. We pillaged a bottle of locally-brewed mead from the liquor store, built a fire in our backyard and, toasting each other Viking-fashion, read aloud from the text Danny selected, the Prose Edda.

Danny, who did the honor of the reading this time, was highly bemused by the prologue, which manages to combine the creation story from Genesis, a smattering of geography, a bunch of genealogy with unpronounceable names, a Trojan founding myth à la Virgil, and then, finally, the Æsir, although even familiar figures like Odin insisted on having twelve more unpronounceable names. I advised him to drink more mead and it would all make sense.

He got more into the swing of things with the the Tricking of Gylfi, which had plenty of proper Norse mythology, although also plenty of unpronounceable names, which are inevitable. The night was gorgeous and nothing like a typical Missouri July night, and much fun was had by all.

Drinc hail!

Viking night was a grand succès. Well, probably more of a petit succès, as it was attended on this inaugural occasion by myself, handynavi, my mother, my little brother, and his friend who happened to be over.

We built a bonfire in the backyard. We poured out the mead, although my brother decided that it was gross and my mother didn't finish hers either and I ended up accidentally knocking over her goblet in the dark. Danny's friend, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased to have a glass pressed upon him.

My audience elected to hear the Saga of Gunnlaug Serpent-Tongue, a young Icelandic poet who ( spoilers for a 700-year-old work which promptly spoils itself with a prophetic dream in the first section ).

I think my audience enjoyed it more than they expected. They reacted in all the right places. The Icelandic sagas are hardly boring. The mead didn't hurt, either.