Woohoo! Party!

Today I was talking to the landlord. He asked me if we would go to the "village" julebord (aka, Christmas dinner party).

"Sure," I said. "Are you going?"

"No, I don't think so. My wife likes to use these weekends to spend time with the children."

I pause for a second. "But...won't the julebord be like a great family activity?"

He gave me an honest-to-God sideways glance and said, "Aaah, no. The people here like to party, and this will be a lot of alcohol, party party party. There will be no children there."

"Really?" I gasped.

At long last, I have found my people.

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PART II

Sverre read this post and said:

I know how this works. I've been to a Norwegian Christmas party before. Everyone is going to get shitfaced, someone is going to get caught in the bathroom with someone else's wife, all hell is going to break loose and there will be a fight, and then it will all be over. This is how it works.

So, I'm thinking it should be:

Julebord: Just like a stereotypical office Christmas party, but for people with ja, god morgen, ja! accents.

IKEA and more.

I passed my Norsk 2 muntlig (spoken) test!

Absolutely amazing, considering I was completely wiped out and my brain was not functioning when I took it. Well, considering how I over think everything, this may have actually been to my advantage. Just waiting to hear from the skriftlig (written) portion.

Man, I'm beat.

Today we went to IKEA to find...all sorts of stuff. You name it, we need it. When you go from a 40 square meter apartment with no real kitchen to a 100+ square meter house with a big kitchen....you realize how little you actually have. Our plan is to have furniture and entire household kit bought by January (which is why you haven't seen many pictures of the inside of the house).

Anyway, the point is...I'm not an IKEA shopper. The layout of IKEA perplexes me, exhausts me, and overwhelms me. I don't like the fact that I have to decide on what I want RIGHT NOW or I can't go back. And if I do go back, I'll be irrevocably lost in the maze that is IKEA's circular and strange layout.

I am, if anything, a true product of my upbringing. My family doesn't decide and buy in one trip. We stalk sales, we go back and forth from store to store, we bring samples to check against...we are frugal and we take forever to decide on a purchase. (Ask my parents how long it took them to find their bedroom set...the impetuous among you will be shocked.)

The "put the bits together yourself" sections scare the bajeezus out of me. I can't visualize a finished room in my head, I like to build slowly. Walking into a giant area housing dismembered pieces of kitchens or bathrooms makes my stomach churn. I turn into a fuzzy blank...a wandering zombie.

After battling my way through these sections, finally I get to what I came for. Kitchen gadgets, plates, glasses, decorative lamps, rugs, curtains...all the little things. I am able to function through rugs and curtains, bathroom accessories and dinnerware, but by the time we get to household accessories my brain has thrown in the towel. Done. I wander around the candles and pictures, gathering candle plates, assorted scented candles, candle sticks and tea lights. This is exactly what IKEA wants. They aim for customers at this point to be walking, cart-stuffing automatrons. But, taking into account the way I was raised, this backfires. I make it to a few feet from the cart before my brain kicks into, "You really don't need this crap" and I dump it in random piles on displays. This exercise is repeated a few times before Sverre calmly asks, "Are you ready, sweetie?"

"Yes, let's get the hell out of here."

By now I'm impervious. I'm not tempted by the 100 for 20 kroner napkins! Or the large glasses, 9 kroner per piece! Or the Christmas ornaments only 100 kroner per box! I'm tired, I'm cranky, and I just want to go somewhere not here.

Thankfully, tomorrow is furniture and lamp shopping in stores with a sane layout. I'm just glad I survived today!

A Showing

Some people might wonder, Why would anyone move from one of Europe's capital cities to a horse farm in the middle of nowhere?

Here's why.


A home from the 1740's to die for.


A view to die for.


Horses! (The Arab in foreground, the pony in the back, and two of the youngsters rather interested in my dog. It had been raining all day and they were standing in the best place to get sun and dry off.)


A farm!

Great post-rain walks....







(I took one of these pictures (the one of Sverre!), all the rest should be credited to Mr. Sverre!)

Ingratitude

-- Disdaining the soft bed of towels someone has made for you in order to sit closer to your BFF, the kitchen fire.

First Snow of Winter

It's already melting, but it was pretty this morning! The fjord looks gray and sad. Can't wait for a beautiful blue day so I can really catch how lovely our view is. (And maybe photography lessons from those awesome photo bloggers out there. You know who you are....)

Ponies

When people think of a crafty equine, they mostly think of the donkey. Burro, ass, whatever you want to call it, they have the reputation of being the smarty pants of the domesticated group of equus.

Whoever came up with this idea was had by a pony, and in denial.

Sure, ponies are cute. Especially the Shetlands--everyone wants to cuddle a teddy-bear looking pony.

Only people who spend time with them know the truth: They are wily, they are pranksters, and some are downright evil.

I was had by a pony today. Punked, even.

Here's how it happened. I always feed the horses, go back to the house for a refill on tea and to warm up while the horses finish their breakfast. After, I head down to the stable and blanket them, then let them out. It's standard practice (as far as I learned) to leave a stall door open in case of emergency. One of the worst situations I can think of is to be stuck in a closed stall with a crazed horse. That'd be minced girl in about two seconds.

The pony has been laying in wait for me. She's been taking my measure, and decided that this morning would be the day she'd take advantage of the slightest mistake. As I started brushing the sawdust off her back, she bolted for the open door.

Down the aisle she thundered, tossing her head and swiping mouthfuls of hay. I flailed behind her, wailing and grabbing the first lead rope at hand to sling around her unhaltered head.

This little pony held her head high, eying the youngsters as they stood in their stalls. The young ones (the three thoroughbreds, aged two, three and three) stood gape-jawed in amazement. Their ears pricked forward and they tossed their heads. "Dude, how'd you do that? That is so cool!" They would have said, if they could.

At the end of the aisle the pony turned deftly on her small feet and trotted cooly past me. With a flick of her tail she tucked herself into her own stall, and turned to face me, standing politely in the doorway. Smug satisfaction on her face. She was laughing at me, I tell you, laughing at my foolish human ways and errors.

Needless to say, the rest of my morning was shot. The three youngsters decided that not only was the pony's performance the best. Thing. They'd. Ever. Seen.... but that they had to copy her on their own. Each of them tried to escape. But unfortunately for them, they are much larger and much less experienced than a crafty pony. They stood no chance, and were swiftly put in their places.

But I could see the gleams in their dark eyes.

The cool bad girl has shown her rebellious streak, and now the tweenie wannabes are desperate to follow suit.

A Year? Already?

A year ago today, Sverre and I hauled bootie down to the Oslo courthouse to get hitched. It was an eleventh hour ceremony--my tourist visa would expire the day after! But we did have fun!



Has it already been a year? Math Geek got out the calculator (pulled up, actually, since it's on the PC) and figured that we've lived together 60% of our time as a couple. That our 1,000th day of knowing each other is just around the corner. That my 500th day in Norway isn't too far after that. All of these dates were jammed into Math Geek's super cool touch-screen phone.

I just sat around counting my fingers...is it really one year? Already?

But here's the thing...I am prepared! For the past two months I've been thinking:

Got to find something for the man! First First Wedding Anniversary is on Nov. 13! D'oh! The 12th, dumbass, the 12th!

And I remembered! Just a few days ago I thought, The 13th--no! the 12th! All this reminding myself means that I have not fudged the First Wedding Date around Sverre, which would have resulted in hurt feelers mixed with exasperated resignation.

Thank goodness the Second Wedding Date is firmly locked in place.

You know, as an after thought, he sure is lucky he doesn't have a too-too high maintenance wife. Could you imagine keeping up with two anniversaries if you had a wife who demanded diamonds and such? Yikes!