Picnic in Denmark

Do you ever find yourself driving the car on automatic pilot? You go the same route every day, then on Saturday you find yourself turning onto the freeway as if going to work, when you really intended to stop at the neighborhood supermarket.

While you may not remember brushing your teeth this morning, you have, locked in memory, certain events which are part of your past but which may not have meaning to anyone else.

Days that I remember include big events: graduating from college, birth of my first child, the day John and I were married. For me the most poignant memories are of ordinary days which turned into something special: John inviting me to tea at the Ritz-Carleton in Chicago and an unexpected opportunity to hear a Dvorak opera in the ornate opera house in Prague. One of the best days was a picnic with Wally in Denmark.

After the philatelic exhibition closed, we stayed at a bed and breakfast in Copenhagen. One day we lingered over a breakfast of Danish pastries and coffee before leaving for an all-day excursion to the north of the island of Zealand.

About noon Wally parked the car on the street across from Fredicksborg Castle, King Christian IV’s summer palace. I walked across the street and into a small shop where I faced a delectable assortment of small sandwiches and delicate pastries. I could not resist filling a large box with treats, which I carried back to Wally.

Under the shade of large trees, we sat facing the palace, rising before us like a castle in book of fairy tales, especially when right in front of us two white swans came floating slowly in the moat.

Wally was in a good mood. This complicated man, very intelligent and well-read, hiding a basic insecurity, always on guard to cover up his poor background. His mother spent her early childhood in Chicago in the Danish orphanage, like something out of Oliver Twist. After the third grade, Jeannette was forced to quit school and go to work in a boarding house. She had boarding house manners and the outlook of the underprivileged. She knew no better.

Wally was the first of his family to go to college, the first to have a “white collar” job. As an adult he learned manners and how to dress and conduct himself as a young executive. He never seemed truly comfortable except when we were alone.

In Denmark Wally returned to his roots. He relaxed as we sat on the grass nibbling on little open-faced sandwiches. What were they made of? Can’t remember. Probably pate and/or shrimp, surely some delicious Danish cheese, each garnished with a bit of olive or cucumber or something pretty.

We tossed our crumbs to the swans before starting on the pastries, little tarts filled with fruit and whipped cream, maybe little eclairs or creme puffs. That’s when the swans decided they wanted to share our feast. They came up out of the water and waddled across the grass, honking and pecking at us, demanding more food. That’s when I jumped up and headed for the car.

But it had been a magic half-hour when the swans were still in the water, and Wally and I enjoyed our picnic together, sitting on the grass in that dream-like setting in front of a fairy-tale castle.

After the swans, deprived of any more treats, swam languidly away, we crossed the marble bridge with statues on the balustrade and entered the castle, where another interesting encounter awaited us.