I was away - on a circumnavigation of Newfoundland, stopping most significantly art L'Anse aux Meadows, where Leif (the Lucky, son of Eirik the Red) visited but didn't settle some four centuries before Columbus bumped into North America on his way to the Orient. I thought I was searching out, because of my Viking ancestry , a sense of - what? Not of where I came from, didn't come from there, nor from Iceland. I guess I wanted to experience the closest thing we have today to a time machine, going back in the past by osmosis, as it were, by being there, on site. Did it work? Not sure yet. I'm here now, back home, that is, where I live now. I have a feeling, not yet fully realized and certainly not expressed, that the questions I've been asking more and more are rising up more insistently, bringing others with them, silly questions, not only why am I here but also how did I get here, where do I go from here and, of course, who cares?