The Three Aspects: Verncaular/Modern/Fehn
This month I spent assimilating to the customs of the Norway, settling into my place and beginning to collect data. The three fronts I am working on are the vernacular building traditions, the development of Norwegian modern architecture and the buildings of Sverre Fehn. My interest in Fehn is in his use and understanding of traditional building techniques. My thesis is that by understanding the principles and ideas of vernacular building we can build contemporary buildings in a way that will allows us to dwell with a more conscious appreciation of the environment we inhabit.
Vernacular Building:
The Folk Museum in Oslo was my first stop. Since I live here figure this can be like a laboratory for me to visit and test ideas. The museum was founded by Hans Aall in 1894 as a reaction to the growing industrialization of rural Norway. In addition to a collection of arts and crafts and items of everyday use from Norway’s past, the museum has transplanted more then 150 traditional buildings from all over the country. These are grouped by region and the buildings, all though transplanted from their original siting, are arranged as they were on the farmstead. In addition to the regional variation evident in the individual farmsteads, the buildings themselves were built over a period of time. There are examples of buildings from the 11th through the 19th century.
A farmstead from Hordland in Western Norway.
This is the storehouse for grains. Like most storehouses, it is raised off the ground to prevent vermin from infesting the food stores. This farm was built in the mid 1700s.
This is a renters farm from Trøndelag in the center of Norway. The Cotter's rented from the landowner instead fo owning the land themselves.
This is their cottage. This farm was built in the early 19th century.
There are three general types of vernacular building, the domestic dwelling, the ceremonial construction and the industrial building. The Folk Museum is a good place to start of the domestic architecture. And where they do have a few examples of ceremonial and industrial architecture, there will be more examples in the countryside.
An example of a sawmill that is at the Folk Museum in Oslo. It was built in 1700.
This stavechurch was built in 1200. It was moved from it's original home in Gol, in central Norway, when the Folk Museum was established.
This is the third church to occupied this site in Kaupanger. The first church was rebuilt when it's staves rotted (a common occurence). The second was razed after a tribal war in the 10th century. The staves and interior walls of this church are original, but it has been renovated and the outside was completly resided.
The stave church at Borgund is the most complete stave church in Norway. It has stood unchanged since the middle ages.
Development of modern Norwegian architecture
At the turn of the 20th century, Norway was searching for an identity. In 1904 it finally won its independence and this spurred an awareness of the influence of foreign ideas on Norway’s cultural identify. Architecture becomes a visible means by which a new Norwegian identity can be understood, and the architects of the time sought to develop an architecture the was Norwegian. Holm Munthe and Henrik Bull are two pivotal architects at the beginning of the 20th century.
Holm Munthe uses a borrowed style, the Swiss chalet, which was popular in the second half of the 19th century, to create a sense of Norwegian identity. He does this though the application of traditional dragonheads, to the eaves. This becomes known and the “Dragon Style” and is the first step towards defining Norwegian culture through architecture. Below is the Frognerseteren restaurant built in 1864.
Henrik Bull is a leader of the Jugend style (Norwegian art nouveau) in Norway through the later half of the 19th century. But his ideas shift to the National Romantic and his is the earliest work that seeks to penetrate Norwegian identity through architecture. Below are shown his National Theater of 1890, an example of the late Jugend style, and the Historic Museum of 1901-02, his first National Romantic effort.
National Theater
Historic Museum
Sverre Fehn (1924 – present)
Sverre Fehn studied architecture under Arne Korsmo and his poetic functionalism in the late 40. He has become one of the most significant Norwegian architects of the 20th century. He continues to design buildings at 82, and currently his design for the new Architecture Museum in Oslo is being constructed.
I visited the following Fehn buildings this month;
Bøler Community Center
Fehn spent 8 years in the design and development stage of this community center. Several ideas were put forth, mulled over and rejected for various reasons ranging from budget to aesthetics. The final design was developed in 1970 and called for 3 buildings that would make up the center: the Library, the multi functional space, and the swimming pool. Of these, only the multifunctional space and the library were completed at this time. The swimming pool was completed later.
Glacier Museum
Fehn suggests that this building is like a ship washed ashore and stranded at the base of the mountains. It is dwarfed as it sits in the middle of a valley at the foot of the Jostedal glacier in Fjærland. It was commissioned privately as an informational stop for tourists on their way to explore the glacier. As well as a museum and information center there is a cafe for weary hikers returning from their geological explorations.
Aukrust Museum
This museum holds the drawings of Norwegian artist Kjell Aukrust. Similar to the Glacier museum, it sits in a vast open field and is characterized by an elongated path along which various experiences occur. A central concrete wall divides the space into two sides: the public/exhibit side and the administration/function side. Both spaces stretch the length of the building. The exterior wall on the function side appears to lean against this central wall. Fehn explains “The diagonal wall is as simple as leaning fence poles against a barn.”
Vernacular Building:
The Folk Museum in Oslo was my first stop. Since I live here figure this can be like a laboratory for me to visit and test ideas. The museum was founded by Hans Aall in 1894 as a reaction to the growing industrialization of rural Norway. In addition to a collection of arts and crafts and items of everyday use from Norway’s past, the museum has transplanted more then 150 traditional buildings from all over the country. These are grouped by region and the buildings, all though transplanted from their original siting, are arranged as they were on the farmstead. In addition to the regional variation evident in the individual farmsteads, the buildings themselves were built over a period of time. There are examples of buildings from the 11th through the 19th century.
A farmstead from Hordland in Western Norway.
This is the storehouse for grains. Like most storehouses, it is raised off the ground to prevent vermin from infesting the food stores. This farm was built in the mid 1700s.
This is a renters farm from Trøndelag in the center of Norway. The Cotter's rented from the landowner instead fo owning the land themselves.
This is their cottage. This farm was built in the early 19th century.
There are three general types of vernacular building, the domestic dwelling, the ceremonial construction and the industrial building. The Folk Museum is a good place to start of the domestic architecture. And where they do have a few examples of ceremonial and industrial architecture, there will be more examples in the countryside.
An example of a sawmill that is at the Folk Museum in Oslo. It was built in 1700.
This stavechurch was built in 1200. It was moved from it's original home in Gol, in central Norway, when the Folk Museum was established.
This is the third church to occupied this site in Kaupanger. The first church was rebuilt when it's staves rotted (a common occurence). The second was razed after a tribal war in the 10th century. The staves and interior walls of this church are original, but it has been renovated and the outside was completly resided.
The stave church at Borgund is the most complete stave church in Norway. It has stood unchanged since the middle ages.
Development of modern Norwegian architecture
At the turn of the 20th century, Norway was searching for an identity. In 1904 it finally won its independence and this spurred an awareness of the influence of foreign ideas on Norway’s cultural identify. Architecture becomes a visible means by which a new Norwegian identity can be understood, and the architects of the time sought to develop an architecture the was Norwegian. Holm Munthe and Henrik Bull are two pivotal architects at the beginning of the 20th century.
Holm Munthe uses a borrowed style, the Swiss chalet, which was popular in the second half of the 19th century, to create a sense of Norwegian identity. He does this though the application of traditional dragonheads, to the eaves. This becomes known and the “Dragon Style” and is the first step towards defining Norwegian culture through architecture. Below is the Frognerseteren restaurant built in 1864.
Henrik Bull is a leader of the Jugend style (Norwegian art nouveau) in Norway through the later half of the 19th century. But his ideas shift to the National Romantic and his is the earliest work that seeks to penetrate Norwegian identity through architecture. Below are shown his National Theater of 1890, an example of the late Jugend style, and the Historic Museum of 1901-02, his first National Romantic effort.
National Theater
Historic Museum
Sverre Fehn (1924 – present)
Sverre Fehn studied architecture under Arne Korsmo and his poetic functionalism in the late 40. He has become one of the most significant Norwegian architects of the 20th century. He continues to design buildings at 82, and currently his design for the new Architecture Museum in Oslo is being constructed.
I visited the following Fehn buildings this month;
Bøler Community Center
Fehn spent 8 years in the design and development stage of this community center. Several ideas were put forth, mulled over and rejected for various reasons ranging from budget to aesthetics. The final design was developed in 1970 and called for 3 buildings that would make up the center: the Library, the multi functional space, and the swimming pool. Of these, only the multifunctional space and the library were completed at this time. The swimming pool was completed later.
Glacier Museum
Fehn suggests that this building is like a ship washed ashore and stranded at the base of the mountains. It is dwarfed as it sits in the middle of a valley at the foot of the Jostedal glacier in Fjærland. It was commissioned privately as an informational stop for tourists on their way to explore the glacier. As well as a museum and information center there is a cafe for weary hikers returning from their geological explorations.
Aukrust Museum
This museum holds the drawings of Norwegian artist Kjell Aukrust. Similar to the Glacier museum, it sits in a vast open field and is characterized by an elongated path along which various experiences occur. A central concrete wall divides the space into two sides: the public/exhibit side and the administration/function side. Both spaces stretch the length of the building. The exterior wall on the function side appears to lean against this central wall. Fehn explains “The diagonal wall is as simple as leaning fence poles against a barn.”
posted by jeffrey ottem at 18:49
8 Comments:
Jeff,
Wow! What great pictures!
You have often argued about the relationship between your English degree and architecture. The idea of a vernacular architecture seems to reinforce this (but it may just be an accident of the language). If this correspondence holds up (and I think it does) what is Norwegian archotecture trying to "say"? Or can that be translated into language?
When you refer to the stavechurches, are the staves an interior or an exterior feature? Or are they an interior feature that gets extended to the exterior?
All that,
Maureen
Maureen:
You are correct, there is connection between the vernacular, or my interest in the vernacular, and the language I use as a writer. In a way I think it's a search for a vocabulary of architecture.
But there is also a fascination on my part with the anthropological concepts of vernacular as well. I am trying to understand the principles and ideas that go into vernacular construction and how that is useful in contemporary architecture.
As to what is Norwegian architecture trying to "say", that is an awesome question. I think there are two fronts in terms of the "language" of architecture. The first is the unintentional transmission of cultural symbols we see in the vernacular buildings (any vernacular buildings). A house is a house because of its form and position on the farmstead, this holds a certain set of regional and cultural identifiers, it “means” certain things with in the community. Just as the storage loft has a certain place in the community. And then the Tun itself holds a meaning and says something to the people who use it everyday. Because these are types, and because vernacular architecture is a set of construction norms past from crafts person to craftsperson, the meaning, or what this type of architecture is trying to “say” is really an unconscious process. There is, however, the idea of decoration. The adornment of the interior of the stue, or cottage, was of major importance in the lives of the Norwegians. This was accomplished in carving and painting and other crafts. It served to warm the interior during the long haul of winter. Thus, individual expression was applied to the collective vocabulary of the community.
This is set against the intentional transmission of idea in the unique building designed by an individual. Throughout history these are the monumental and civic structures which all have an agenda when it comes to “saying” something. The Cathedral, the Courthouse, The Palace, these were all designed not as simple environments, but as symbols to reinforce ideas, usually of power. In the 20th century that individual expression was more and more sought after by the common folks. The expression of individuality moved from being applied to the building to the being the actual building.
In all of this I might be worthwhile to separate the idea that the architecture as a tool for conveying a message and the architecture having something to say. Because I think there is an intentional and an unconscious transmission of idea. The vernacular construction contains an unconscious transmission of idea while the designed architecture, the cathedral for instance, is very much intentional in its ideas and messages.
Anyway, that is a first shot across the bow of that question. I probably have more to say on that find it a fascinating side note to the work I’m doing. [Thanks Maureen, even across years and oceans we can still have great conversations.]
As to the “stave” in the stave church, these are actually large masts on the interior that create the major structure of the building. To be more precise (and this is perhaps the nexus between the vernacular construction and the designed architecture as far as either of them having something to say) stav in Norwegian, refers to one of the 4 corner posts. It was said that as long as the four corner posts stood the ground was still consecrated. If a single post fell then they ground was no longer consecrated. They also took on an association with the four gospels. The construction techniques come from earlier hall construction and these ideas of representation may have come from some earlier pagan understanding of these structural elements.
Yes, I would argue that there is some pretty strong similarities between the codified knowledge embedded in architecture and that embedded in language. This is interesting to write about just now as I am in a forgiven country surrounded by a language that, in some sense, leads to different understanding of the environment, and I’ve been thinking some about the way language forms worldview. In the abstract I have been contemplating the system by which an “idea” that seems obvious to one language is beyond another language system. An example would be the concept of zero. Something our language can explain and describe quite easily. But there are people for which the concept of zero does not exist. It is beyond there language to describe it. And although the absence of a quantifiable amount of something does exist, I wonder how they deal with it in their language, or if they don’t deal with it at all. And although this seams strange to me, it also works the other way. I can no more give up my concept of zero and accept their worldview then they can mine. I think in some sense this is a direct reflection of the language by which our understanding is created.
In the past, architecture acted in a similar fashion. I’ll borrow an example from a classmate, Danielle Rawson, whose thesis involved civic architecture. But before I get into that idea, I need to talk about the idea of modernity a little bit. Because I think in a sense, modernity, and its entire bastard offspring, have changed things in terms of architecture. (I am not fully convinced of this idea; I think we, as architects, are still searching for meaning and communication in our forms and functions. What follows is a line of thought, not an absolute.) Where once the meaning of a building was quite clear. The palace, the ceremonial building, the house, all these had clear functions and clear presence in the community and a clear relationship to each other. This clarity can be understood in the use of architectural details, forms, organizations, etc. that are specific to a certain building type. Of course there is variation, both temporal and regional, but the understanding within a single community that describes and separates these architectures was clear. In modernity, I believe that this clarity began to slip away. Not in a bad way necessarily, and certainly not all at once or all together. But what modernity introduces is the function of uniqueness on a wholesale level. Everything has the opportunity to have a unique expression, to be an architecture apart. The reason maybe laid at the foot of industry, at the advent of new technology, the ease with which this uniqueness become available is trumpeted by the architectural community and so finds its way into the mainstream. This I believe was a good thing for architecture in general, a bad thing for the codified understanding of architecture by everyone.
The example of civic architecture here is good. There was a time when you could show up in a town and know exactly which building was the courthouse. Or the Library. Or the general store. It was clear, based on the architecture, what the function of a building was. Today, however, because of the uniqueness of the architecture, it is not as easy to understand the function of any particular building.
This seems to lead to the second and third questions. Because there is a definite change to all types of architecture through time and across space. This has always been the case to a greater or lesser degree. In the past the changes may be subtle. Some invention of a craftsman that begins to work its way into the common consumption. (Here I’m speaking of the common architecture, not the monumental, which I believe was also changed, but was more akin to modern architecture in its ability for uniqueness.) For example a house is built in a certain way for hundreds of years. There is no enclosed porch, for instance. Just a door and a room or space where one transitions into the living quarters. And one day a craftsmen decides to build a house and remove the transition room to the outside of the house, there by creating more space in the interior and providing the same set of functions that the transition room provided on the inside. It’s a simple matter of extending the roof, building out the floor, etc. The idea is hugely functional and the next house the craftsman’s buddy is involved in has a porch. This gets carried on through a region. It may also get carried to other regions through trade routes and travel. These changes may come from other industries, like the maritime building, but they are transitioned into the community in subtle ways, subsumed into the existing forms and types. And in this way (or similar ways) architectural language changes through time and space. In the same way regional and temporal distance can affect language.
It could be argued that the craftsman who develops the porch is revolutionary. But I would say that that may be a suggestion of the example and not a fact of the craftsman. For the most part these changes occur in a subtle way, over vast stretches of time and are more community based then the term “revolutionary” implies. In this realm, that of the past, it is the masterbuilders who are revolutionary. Imhotep, the great architect of Egypt said to have designed the step pyramid of King Zoser was a revolutionary. Not solely for his form, but for his use of cut stone. The leap from wood and brick to cut stone is a revolution of technology and opens up the form and function of architecture. The flying buttress is a revolutionary advancement that allows the cathedral to be built high and reach the belly of God. In Modernity everyone is trying to be revolutionary. Everyone has an idea, a concept that they are pursuing. Whether this is actually revolutionary or not, I think, is not the concern. It is the personal perception of the architect that drives the search. Frank Wright was revolutionary because he not only understood architecture, but he was also an artist. Anyone can understand and use the surface principles of modern architecture. But the mere use of a concept, say “Form follows function.” will lead not to buildings that are as expressive and searching as Wright’s (Louis Sullivan adopts the phrase “Form follows function” as a way to proceed into modernity and Wright was an assistant of Sullivan’s.). It is Frank’s artistry that leads to his architecture. That said, the revolution is also about material and function and form and detail and all of these things must be considered when making architecture. And all of these things are sitting in a milieu of the past and the present. Reinterpretation, invention, contemplation and consideration. These are all the domain of the architect. In this time of uniqueness, the architect is a revolutionary by nature. Always searching for a new way of understanding. A new way of describing the world with architecture. Those that are called out are simply particularly good at the aesthetic nature of it. But we all want to make beautiful good solid buildings. At least at the beginning.
Because the revolution, then, is driven by the artist and inventor and visionary, and because these are few and far between, it becomes a sort of punctuated evolution. The new astounding thing comes from a coalescing of technology and artistry. For instance the steal frame allows for revolution in the structure of buildings. The use of a computer allows Frank Gerry to distort the steel frame to provide revolutionary form to buildings. Tomorrow, new technologies and visionaries will take today’s understanding and twist them into something new. But in between each step there is a period of, not stagnation exactly; maybe searching with blind eyes is more apt. Small steps taken in an effort to feel around for the great emancipating idea.
Jeff,
I am intrigued by all this but particularly by the statement that architects are creating a vision of the world in their buildings.
Certainly, I understand the connection between language and worldview and have bought into the whole idea that you only "know" what you can "say." But unlike language (and this could just be my narrow understanding of it) doesn't architecture have a few empirical "givens?"
Let me explain.
For me, the first revolutionary idea (which was not new to the world but was new to me and so revolutionary for me)was Saussere's idea that there is no necessary connection between signifier (the word) and signified (the thing the word talks about) and that we only come to understand language as we develop familiarity with the conventions of the constructions we use. In English we learn to call it "table" but in Spanish it is "mesa" and in French it is something else and in any language it could be anuthing: "neflarg." But it is only through the social construction of language--ie tacit agreement and socialization to tacit agreement that "table" equals table--that we can use it to express meaning and the language that we are socialized to limits and determines the meanings (ie worldview) that we can express.
But in architecture aren't there certain "real world" (ha! ha! I live in the George Bush era where this must always be in quotation marks)constraints on and connections between what you say and what you mean. That is, shouldn't there always be some weight carrying structure if you plan to have a roof. And whether you call it "a weight carrying member" or a "neflarg" there is still a necessary connection between what it is and what it does. And to use the phrase "Form follows function" can't we assume that a building will always have weight carrying member if it has a roof, whereas we can not--to use your example again--assume a concept of zero.
Suddenly I feel that this is not at all clear--my meaning not my contention. It's the problem of talking about language using language.
Maureen
Well let’s test the metaphor: Architecture is language. That’s what we're talking about, right? That there is a set of meanings that accompany sounds, these sounds develop relationships that define the worldviews, that each individual carries a bag full of sounds and uses them to describe the worldview, or to come to some agreement about the real world (no quotations, it’s all real whether it exists as phantom, phenomena or physical entity, it is all still real.)? Architecture, too, has a set of relationships. Both ascribed - the meaning of the church - and inherent - the roof is held up by structure. We could here discuss the nature of possibilities. I would argue that there are technologies out there that will, in the future, allow us to have a roof with no structure. Antigravitics, for instance, where we would use a force to hold up the roof instead of a member. Or we could question the nature of roof all together. As an example I offer the Blur Building (http://www.archidose.org/writings/blur.html). But instead I’ll stick with the roof needing structure because I want to see if this next statement has merit. That is, that there are certain things in both language and architecture that exist, regardless of where they are. In architecture one given is that if there is a roof then there are load-bearing members. In language there is a similar set of underlying principles that govern spoken communication - the sounds (phonemes, morphemes). All languages consist of these discrete elements to convey meaning. And the meaning is ascribed after the sound is agreed upon. (For the moment I am foregoing the inclusion of nonvocal communication, finger languages, Semaphore, etc.) The structure of the language, although not universal, is similar to the structure of a building. The phonemes and morphemes that compose any given language are like the columns of any given architecture. In architecture a load can be carried on many things. Traditionally these things were dictated by the environment. This is because the environment dictated what materials were available to the builder. So in Norway, for example, the abundance of wood leads to the wooden column, which leads to the stave. In contrast, in Egypt, the stone culture provides the structure to hold up the roof. The stave and the stone block both provide the same function, to hold up the roof, but they carry different meanings for different cultures. Because wood was not foreign to Egypt and stone was not unknown in Norway, the choice to use one over the other sets up a series of choices that describe the world, through the architecture, in a different ways. To put it more succinctly, the expression of architecture is not in the fact that something has to hold up the roof, but in the way that the roof is held up. Just as the expression of language is not in the fact that something needs to be said, but in the way that it is said. The communication comes after the statement and is judged by its merits. Because like a poorly constructed sentence, the meaning of a building can get lost in the execution.
And I believe that in all case, the architect is attempting to communicate with and about his world. A building describes environment. It codifies experience. It defines space. And maybe to call architecture language can go no farther then the metaphor. In the real world architecture is not language. But it does communicate experience and space and environment in both positive and negative ways. And it is not just the aural interception towards understanding, but a complete sensory involvement on the part of the user of the building. The smells of the off-gassing carpet newly installed, the pleasant warmth of the sun through a well placed window, the noise of the neighbors humping through the shoddy material of the wall, the beauty of a well thought out detail, the taste of, in the case of Willy Wonka, the wall paper (The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!)…well maybe here it breaks down. But architecture is a communication of the architect’s ideas into the very being of the people who use the building.
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Jeff,
Sorry about the time lag, just couldn't get to school to use the computer.
I am finding this whole discussion fascinating and have now been forced by circumstances (and the desire to keep up my end) to divide my comments into sections, like an outline.
So...
I. In the fall, I took a great Anthropology class on globalization, and we read a fine book by James Scott (an anthropologist and a political scientist) called Seeing like a State. This book narrated the story of the ordering of the state in terms of boundaries--the creation of land surveys for example--and the creation of a certain type of "modern" city. These organizational and essentially architectural structures coincided to allow for better control of the citizen through naming and locating. I was pretty excited about this expression of political postmodernism in geographic terms. Now I think that perhaps this empirical (buildings are pretty 'real world' as are streets, parks, sewers, etc.) extension in fact intersects with language through the discussion we have been having about the vernacular.
I would make the argument this way:
1) The production of order takes place through both language and architecture. The plan of the city and the rhetoric of politics run parallel and reinforce each other.
I would guess this is not news to you.
2) The response, according to postmoderns, to the co-optation and corruption of language by these same structures of order is silence. Anything we say can be similarly subverted by the structures of order in the production of order
This is also not new.
3)BUT there are certain ways of speaking that by their nature oppose the structures of order. One of these ways of speaking is poetry, particularly (maybe) vernacular poetry (if such a thing can be defined)that opposes the constructions imposed by the structures of order with its own constrtuctions of its own experience. This is the difference between being called a "welfare mother" so that you can be dealt with as a "problem" for the "system" and can eventually be "reformed" and Audre Lorde's essay "The Use of the Erotic," or indeed anything written by Audre Lorde.
4)Here the relationship between the vernacular and the formal (?) in magugae is clear. Does a similar relationship between vernauclar and formal (?) architecture exist? Can the vernacular be used to subvert the formal? And how does that relate to the idea of "revolutionary?" {I really liked what you said about FLW--I saw some of his Oak Park Work when I was younger so I always think of him first in discussions of architecture.}
II. I was rereading Muriel Rukeyser's The Orgy and came across this most relevant quote:
"European man declares his deceit and snobbery in his houses, their arrangement and decorations. Their fronts are often artistically decorated whilst the backs are barbaric. Take a walk down your back lanes and look at you houses from the rear and you will be looking into the European soul" (Orgy 101).
How would you answer these two questions in light of that comment:
First, is it still true. The psychologist or whatever this quote is taken from is writing over 50 years ago. A lot has changed, right? Are rears of houses still "barbaric?" Have you seen any rears of houses where you are? In suburbia, or at least in that model, there is no way to get to the backs of houses--peoples' back yards butt up against each other. In town, and in honor of my question I took a walk down some alleys to look at things from the back, the model is a little different. Back yards are protected from the gaze of the passer-by with cinder block walls or tall wooden fences. What this might say about the American soul is that it seeks to build privacy, to isolate part of itself from view by its fellow citizens.
Second, in the farmstead does it even make sense to talk about the "backs" of things since there seems--from your pictures--to be so much space "around?" How does what this author says characterize the condition of the rear (perhaps non-public) portions of other farm buildings? Are they also prettier from the front that they are from the "back?"
I was actually just danged excited to run across such an architectural refence in what I was reading. Synchronicity. You know?
Hugs and kisses
Maureen
P.S.
What was in the comment you deleted? I didn't get there in time to see it?
Maureen
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