The Reykjavik airport, where there is an extremely large puffin bursting through the ceiling.
An Icelandic selfie.
They visited the Museum of Sorcery, as one does.
“…some weird things from the Icelandic Museum of Sorcery. Apparently, if you skin a dead man from the waist down, and you had his permission before he died, and you wear this skin as “necropants,” and then you steal a coin from a poor widow (but it has to be stolen on Christmas, Easter, or Whitsunday), and you put that coin in the dead man’s scrotum, then there will always be a coin there when you need one, and you can be rich. But don’t die while wearing the necropants, or very bad things happen to you.” My son, the indefatigable fact-gatherer.
Elder Son and GF called this afternoon. We all had a good time talking about how the spells for raising the dead that he learned at the museum could be extremely useful in his professional life as a physician. Smokey suggested that perhaps the time he spent learning them could count as as continuing professional education. ES commented that the spell was an opportunity for do-over, something that is rare in medicine.
Yes, we do all have a rather warped sense of humor ’round here…
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