A Norwegian man awoke to find a grounded cargo ship had narrowly missed his home

OSLO, Norway — A Norwegian man awoke to find that a cargo ship had run aground and narrowly missed crashing into his home along the Trondheim Fjord's coast.
Johan Helberg told Norwegian broadcaster NRK that he'd slept through the whole thing and only woke up when a neighbor started ringing his doorbell.

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Boston Globe

a day ago

• Boston Globe

Finding the right response to someone who is grieving

They left you feeling as though you've stepped on a rake, conversationally, haven't they? I've been there myself, and I sympathize. I also sympathize with the Rejectors of the Sorry. I had to revise this column, because my mother died after I submitted it. Here is what I originally wrote: 'My own mother is in hospice care in a nursing home, living with the exact kind of debilitation and dementia she dreaded her entire busy, bustling, cookie-and-tale-bearing life. My feelings when she dies, I suspect, will be extraordinarily complicated, but it's hard to imagine her actual death will bring me more sorrow than I currently have.' My suspicions were correct. It's easy to accept sympathy from family and other close friends who understood the nature of the situation. It's harder to grapple with well-meaning condolences from people who seem to want me to feel a kind of orphaned-ness that I simply don't. All that happened a long time ago for me. You see what I mean? Sometimes death isn't the worst part at all. Advertisement Even when death is the worst part, it can be discombobulating to the bereaved to be in the middle of an everyday conversation and then have to break the news and perform grief for a minute and transition back to ordinary talk. Not everyone can manage that gracefully. Your acquaintance, I bet, can't easily do an emotional quick change from Sassy Neighbor to Empathic Daughter and back again in 30 seconds. She wasn't rejecting or dismissing you so much as she was rejecting the role that the conversation was going to put her in. Advertisement Which still leaves you, perfectly nice Anonymous, feeling rhetorically bereft. But there's a fix, an easy six-word extension to your 'I'm sorry' that can solve your problem. 'That must be difficult for you,' you add. This focuses the conversation on the mourner rather than the deceased (or ailing), and thereby allows the other person to respond according to how he or she actually feels: gratitude for family chipping in, anger at the state of end-of-life care, grief at losing the person, or any of the infinite other shades of mourning. It also puts the person in a good position to respond 'It really has been' or 'It hasn't been so bad, actually' and change the subject. Those of us who have lost a loved one should try to hear and respond to the 'I'm sorrys' as though they were followed by those six words. You can be authentic about your feelings without flinging kind people's sympathy back in their faces. I've been going with 'I'm relieved her suffering is over, and my cousins have been amazing,' which is true and gives the conversation somewhere to go—we can now talk about my cousins rather than my mother and me. This response saves the other person's face and guards my heart as well. Advertisement Miss Conduct is Robin Abrahams, a writer with a PhD in psychology.

Washington Post

a day ago

• Washington Post

A chicken salad tartine with fruit and care on the side

This column comes from the Eat Voraciously newsletter. Sign up here to get one weeknight dinner recipe, tips for substitutions, techniques and more in your inbox Monday through Thursday. In the summer of 2024, I was struggling to make sense of my life as a new mother. Every day was filled with uneasy wonder: How did I get here? What was I doing, and why did this new facet of my life, this ancient human experience, seem impossible? One day, I remember putting my son in his crib for a nap and feeling so grateful that I could now, finally, lie down in bed and stare at the ceiling. I cried with relief, then guilt, then sadness. Eventually, I wiped away the tears, and, because I knew it might make me feel better, I opened a food delivery app and started to order lunch. Moments later, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, I found a blue-and-white paper plate holding an open-faced chicken salad sandwich with mango on the side. Get the recipe: Chicken Salad Tartines My dear neighbor, a mother of three, had made me lunch. The mango seemed to glow in the dim hallway light, its fragrance mingling with the smell of the pungent, herb-flecked dressing on the chicken. I brought the food back to bed and ate it in blissful silence. Then, I cried again. This time it was out of deep gratitude and love. I rummaged around for my phone to send my neighbor a thank-you note. She had texted: 'Chicken salad with lots of red onion — because I like it that way, and because when you eat a lot of raw onion people leave you the hell alone!!! ❤️ Love you!' Just as no two people are the same, no two pregnancies or birthing experiences are the same. Without sufficient support, any mother's individual experience can be extremely isolating. It was only when I started to notice the care other mothers offered to me and each other that I started to feel like maybe, just maybe, I could do this. For a lot of reasons, I never thought I would become a parent. But here I was, and here, too, I eventually discovered, was a club I now belonged to, one full of generosity and reciprocity, of unspoken care and deep love: motherhood. Inspired by my neighbor's chicken salad sandwich, here's a recipe for Chicken Salad Tartines. There's red onion and cucumber for crunch and flavor, plus tarragon and lots of lemon. Yogurt and mayonnaise keep it light and creamy. I highly recommend fresh, juicy fruit on the side for a burst of sweetness. Get the recipe: Chicken Salad Tartines

Washington Post

3 days ago

• Washington Post

A tiny church in Denmark celebrates community and coziness within 12 walls — one for each apostle

COPENHAGEN, Denmark — The latest addition to the Copenhagen skyline is a tall, 12-sided wooden building proudly bearing the sign 'Denmark's First Tiny Church .' The 76-square-meter (818-square-foot) construction was unveiled Sunday in the Nordhavn — 'North Harbor' — district on the outskirts of Copenhagen. After months of construction, it's now an outpost of the local Evangelical-Lutheran Hans Egedes Church.