WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER

Today a correspondence appeared that I had exchanged with a good old friend.

We were both competitive gymnasts at a relatively high level in our youth and were among those who topped the lists in Northern Norway and to some extent in the Northern Calotte which is N. Norway, N. Sweden, and N. Finland had a broad and intimate collaboration on the sports front in "the old" days.

Public communication was better across national borders in the north than it was within the countries.Coming from Harstad, which is my hometown, to Oslo was actually more than a day's journey by bus and train. The nearest airport was a 4-5 hour drive away and was also not so advisable in winter.

My good friend and occasional competitor Torstein lived in Tromsø, which meant almost a day's journey on the "Hurtigruten" (coast vessel), - to meet up and compete.

Then we grew up and disappeared into the world, and to meet many, many more years later here in Spain.

Torstein had taken the plunge and bought himself a grape plantation with a small "winery" where he produced his own, tasty wine from his own grapes.There was of course the joy of reunion with many long meals and conversations about the hard days in the time that followed.

As previously mentioned, competitive sport should be prescribed, soda pop with and without access is far preferable.

Don't get me wrong, - it's great fun while it's on, but at the age and age of the soul, you meet yourself at the door.- I can count 14 operations and I have not actually asked Torstein how many he has had over the years.

If you look at the health as such, it is absolutely excellent, - all operations are "mechanical", meaning joints and body parts that need to be replaced or repaired.

As time went by, the joy of having a vineyard gradually disappeared due to health problems, so it was eventually sold. Torstein and his wife bought themselves a substantial villa in one of the exclusive residential areas here under the palm trees.

Like me, Torstein was eventually unable to pick things up from the floor, and for both of us, a long shoe horn was the only viable tool to put on our shoes.

On the black and white photos you can see Torstein floating airily above the "horse" while I frolic in the "counter". The color photo is from the hospital where I got knee replacement no. 2, one of the 14 "overhauls" that were needed after my sports career.