Northern Natterings

Comfort

2012-01-21T18:58:00.003+01:00

The snow has been driving down all day. We have cleaned the entire apartment, completed a major shopping trip, broke the car (whoops), and walked the dog several times. Now we are ready to spend the evening relaxing on our comfy couch, keeping the bad weather outside where it belongs.

The Benefit of Oversleeping

2012-01-11T10:31:00.002+01:00

The benefit of oversleeping is the opportunity to greet the morning sun while we are on our walk. The fog lifted just in time for the park to seem a little bit magical.

Winter Is Here

2012-01-09T13:01:00.001+01:00

Snow is falling in fat flakes at school. Guess this is where winter has been hiding...

Crises and Honeymoons Ending

2012-01-05T20:35:00.008+01:00

“How did your mother sound when you called her,” I asked Sverre over my glass of chardonnay.

“So happy. Her voice was almost unrecognizable, she's been under so much stress. She sounds like she does when she's not worried, and that's been a long time.”

“Let's get out the idea to go to the hytta with them sometime...I'd like to meet this woman. I don't think I've ever seen your mom not in some crisis ever since I moved here nearly three and a half years ago.”

“She's been under so much stress in the past three years, it's insane.”

We're coming down from the most stressful eight weeks in our marriage yet. Not like we're not used to crisis-mode. In the past three years from the moment I moved to Norway, Sverre's uncle lost a very fast battle to cancer leaving a bereaved and shell-shocked wife and small daughter. My mother-in-law spends one day a week at her sister's, providing Sverre's aunt an evening out with her friends and some time to relax and vent to friends while she and her daughter cope with the loss of the man in their life. Shortly after his death, Sverre's grandmother, the grand matriarch that knitted this close family together, began a long, slow battle with stomach cancer that she lost in degrees. She was buried while we were in California for Christmas last year.

It seemed that this year was the time for grieving, for remembering that bright, blue-eyed, solid woman who was a grandmotherly anchor always prepared with good coffee, Belgian chocolates, and cream cakes whilst never tolerating a non-intelligent, close-minded perspective in her home. Sverre's grandmother was a civil-rights minded liberal before the idea permeated popular culture. This year was our time to acknowledge her passing, to come to grips with the changed lives of Sverre's aunt and cousin, and to come together again as a family.

And then we went to Spain in October.

When I flew home from our trip to Spain, I left Sverre behind. The original purpose of the trip was a for work meetings (cough, boondoggle) with clients. We went a few days early to have some down time together. When I came home, Sverre's sister started sending me messages. When is Sverre coming home? What time? What day?

Christ, I thought, is it really so bad? Why is she bugging me?

Sverre came home at five o'clock on a Sunday. His sister called at 5:10.

Norwegian child protective services had been to their home and under suspicion of physical abuse on the part of my brother-in-law, my niece had been removed. My sister-in-law had been taken with her for a short time, before being released, though not allowed to return home,and my niece was being placed in emergency foster care.

And thus, the bell tolled on the end of a generation's youth in this family.

Norway has a lot of good things going for it. It's hard to turn your nose up to excellent maternity care, maternity and paternity leave, free health care, unemployment benefits, and an economy with around 3% unemployment. But there is a dark side to the “nanny state.” It is the state that feels that, in the best interest of its youngest citizens, any and all actions are excusable on the slightest of pretenses.

Norwegian child services does its job all too well. The scope of their power, and the weight they have in the legal arena is frightening. My in-laws had recently moved to a small town. Child care is subsidized by the state, but Norway doesn't do too well keeping up with the boom of children this generation is delivering with adequate kindergartens. Waiting times are long, and my niece waited almost six months to enter a kindergarten. On her first day, she began to tell stories, and messages of concern were sent to child services. These had to do with “Daddy is mean,” “Daddy and mommy fight,” and the child care workers asked my niece about a mark her mother has over her eye. “Yes, mommy has a bruise over her eye,” she said. They never asked my sister-in-law, if they'd had, they would have found out that mark is a large birthmark she's had since birth.

In short, a lack of communication and a misuse of power led to a near three month struggle to get my niece home. It took us two weeks of arguing for appointments and inspections of our home to get our niece into our custody—conveniently labeled “voluntary.” I have to come to realize that in the Norwegian legal system, “volunteer” means the same thing it does in the United States military.

“I didn't volunteer, I was voluntold.”

“Voluntary” covers a range of sins. We never received support as a “foster family” because we volunteered to take custody, although returning our niece to our family would spell immediate removal and placement in the official foster system. My sister-in-law “volunteered” to go to a women's crisis center because to say no would mean her child being removed from her, which happened in the end.

When our niece was transferred to us, after weeks of fighting, she was delivered by her emergency foster family. This had me on edge for several issues, mostly because I think it's not necessary for a foster family to meet immediate members of a child's family. Frankly, it's none of their damn business. But this happened, and we were too afraid to object. The foster family immediately launched into how they felt the transfer happened too fast, that they'd grown close to her in the time she'd been with her. Sverre looked at the “foster father” making these claims and coolly answered, “You feel it's too fast...we feel we've waited too long.”

They asked permission of the child protective services to come visit her on her birthday, the following Sunday. Permission is granted, and we were informed after the fact. That morning, before the family party, my hands shook as a I chopped food and later tried to get her clothes over her head. They had asked to meet my niece's mother and were granted permission to do so, and we were informed after the fact. My sister-in-law paced the living room like a caged animal when she wasn't playing dolls on the floor. “I can't meet these people,” she breathed in English, her worried eyes flashing over her daughter's head, between expertly answering excited questions with a mother's attentiveness.

“I know,” I said. “I know, but we have to. I can't do anything about it.”

They came, they gave her clothes (immediately thrown to the side) and a toy. When it was time to leave, she leaned over my niece's head, brushed aside her bangs, kissed her forehead and cooed, “Oh, my poor little girl, who is going to kiss your forehead before you go to sleep now?”

If looks could talk, the Fuck you, lady would have shaken the rafters.

Forced smiles, an icy goodbye, and then me running down the stairs with a forgotten bag two seconds later with a, “Thank you for what you've done. Goodbye.”

My mom always taught me to be polite, I think she would be proud of me. Before they made it to the front door my sister-in-law and I were on the veranda, clutching cigarettes and fuming in mutters before we had to go in, all smiles and excitement for the Birthday Girl, before Sverre's mother and brother arrived for the party.

There's also that saying, “Looking at a situation with tunnel vision.” It's so easy to get caught up in the drama and enter preconceptions and look for answers, and dig for answers, and try to find the answers you want based on the questions you ask. This has also been a problem we've run into. This entire situation was blown out of proportion, accusations made, and when those accusations proved baseless, the great C(over) Y(our) A(ss) game began. Statements by unqualified individuals about a person's psychological state and fitness abounded, lawyers bumbled ineffectively with documents, hobbled by their ignorance of the people involved and a lack of interest in investing themselves to seeking solutions.

For eight weeks, my niece has lived in my home. My sister-in-law has made grueling treks several times a week to watch over her and visit while I am at school, or just to spend quality mom-daughter time with her. It is hard to have a four-year old in your home, 24-hours a day, in a small city apartment. Tempers frayed on her end, and mine. Tantrums flared, and then when I was recovering she'd get angry, too. We did the best we could, and tried to explain to a very upset little girl why she couldn't go home right now, right now. Why she couldn't play with her cats, and why Daddy couldn't come visit. The adults became impatient with one another, fortunately an evening with Karla over a few beers helped me re-adjust my Judgy McJudgy pants. We toed the line of becoming too close to this charming little girl, and in the end recovered in time to let her go gracefully and gratefully.

This afternoon Sverre and I and my in-laws were called into a meeting. After several feints, we had proved strong and solid. They were backed against a wall, and they knew it. Smiles and good wishes for the New Year ushered us into the room. The general tone was, “Oh, it's so wonderful to have this situation solved!” This ended quickly. We made it clear, with Sverre leading expertly, that while we were not making judgments about the people involved, the processes and powers of this situation were so out of hand that long-term impacts have been made on this family that cannot be erased. For better or worse, we have all been effected; from our niece first and foremost, the catalyst of this, to her parents, to Sverre and me, to the grandparents, down to the other children who have sensed something is not quite right. We enter 2012 a family shaken, yet firm; knitting ourselves together after yet another crisis.

All of the accusations initially made against my brother-in-law had been proven baseless and unfounded. The regime of fear, of threats, of forcing Sverre's family to “voluntarily” give up custody of their daughter, to concede, to scrabble together their wits and hang on to the frayed threads of family has failed. We have stood together. While Sverre handled diplomacy and dealt out criticism, my sister-in-law carried herself like a queen, my brother-in-law handled himself like a man wronged who maintained his dignity. He is a man whose reputation has been irreparably tarnished in his small community after word of the case leaked into the public, but he gave no indication of this. The case workers gushed their admiration for how my in-laws have handled their situation. Polite smiles were returned.

Throughout this process, people have praised Sverre and me, praised us taking in our niece into our home, for changing our lives radically to accommodate her. “It's amazing what you're doing. There's not many who would do such a thing.” I am genuinely baffled by this, it is my opinion that doing what your have to do for your family goes without saying.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not some fucking Mother-Theresa-saint type, after all. But I come from a close-knit family, and so does Sverre. Putting up with stress and inconvenience for the sake of a child is part and parcel of what adults--of what families--do. I do think we've graduated from being called “kids” or “young'uns.” I think I'm finally earning my stripes.

Today, when the meeting was over, we drove over to my brother-in-law's mother's home. My sister-in-law told my niece, “You're going home.”

“Am I going home,” She asked, referring to our apartment, “or am I going to my home?”

“Your going to your home,” my sister-in-law smiled, “to your room and to your cats.”

Her eyes lit up, she hugged herself, and breathed out an excited laugh. We loaded into the car and drove the short distance to my in-laws' house. She giggled as we got out of the car, and ran into the hallways when the door opened, shrieking excitedly when she saw her cats. “Kattene mine!” She crowed, and then inspected every room, noting changes as she went. She barreled up the stairs to her room, and all five of us crammed inside as she inventoried her toys, bed, cat, rugs, chairs, table, CD-player, commenting the entire time. When she became engrossed in a game with her father, we excused ourselves and left. We called everyone in the family and exchanged relieved sighs all around, my mother-in-law was overjoyed.

I would like to meet my mother-in-law without the weight of the world on her shoulders. Worrying not only about her sister, her niece, her mother, her granddaughter, her daughter, her son-in-law, her son, her son's American wife...but happy and relaxed. I look forward to some down time, if we're granted that.

The apartment is rather quiet now, the pink Princess castle-tent looking a little forlorn without its resident. The stick horse stares blankly at the ceiling, its marble eye reflecting the overhead light. A glass of cheap Chardonnay sits on the living room table while Sverre holds his beer, talking to his sister on the phone.

“She's asked after us,” he says after he's hung up. “She says she misses us, and wants to know when we'll come to visit. On Saturday, when we deliver her toys, I said. I miss her, too.”

“Me too,” I say.

“But I'm glad she's home.”

“Yes.”

God Jul!

2011-12-25T20:22:00.002+01:00

Merry Christmas, everyone!

As I've said before, the big celebrations in Norway are on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day is for relaxing with family and spending time together. We've spent the day at Sverre's mother's, and now after a good dinner and riskrem for dessert, we're set up to relax and spend the evening watching movies.

We hope you are all having a good Christmas, however you choose to celebrate it.

Office Christmas Gifts

2011-12-22T19:34:00.007+01:00

The last few years Sverre's take home gifts from the office have been rather sub-par. You see, companies tend to go all out with Christmas gifts for their employees round these parts. The last couple of years, there have been a few chicken breasts, shrimp, pickled herring... The, Gee thanks, when are we going to eat this? gifts. (Answer: If you're a really traditional Norwegian you'd love that stuff.)

This year, his office went all out. A few bottles of local brewery Christmas beer, and a box of:

salmon pâté
two types of smoked salmon
three types of gourmet caviar
two bottles of wine
a jar of shrimp (can't escape that)
a tin of anchovies (gag, but Norwegians love that)
cured slices of lamb
cured duck breast
two gourmet chicken breasts and a thigh piece
duck sausages
a large reindeer tenderloin (!)
good balsalmic vinegar
a beautiful bottle of olive oil
two vanilla pods (mmm)
three plates of delicious chocolate
and a partridge in a pear--no, actually a jar of fig jam. No poultry there.

Quite the come through, right? And then, to top it all off, Sverre came home this evening with yet another gift, this time from Spanish associates:

'Tis the season for culinary jolliness...

American companies, consider the gauntlet thrown.

Ordentlig* Jul Glede

2011-12-21T20:01:00.003+01:00

The Christmas tree is up! We managed to get it into the corner of our hallway. The door it is in front of is already blocked on the other side by our closet (we have another door into the kitchen, so no worries). Our Very Excited Helper made the chain, or julelinker, with me today. We're ready for Christmas festivities to kick off!

*I hate the word "ordentlig" because everyone pronounces it "onkelig," which is terribly confusing. Well, it could be worse, it could be Danish....

Tree Hunt

2011-12-19T17:44:00.007+01:00

Sverre and our niece are out on the hunt for a Christmas tree, one that will somehow manage to convey Christmas cheer while simultaneously limiting its size to the constraints of our hallway. The living room was scrutinized closely, but with a daybed, sofa, TV, doors, fireplace and bookshelves, adding a tree into the mix would likely induce claustrophobia.

I've remained behind to finish clearing away space and fetching the tree decorations from the basement. Hopefully the two hunters will return with a full (by Norwegian standards, they like the spaced branches), lovely little tree. Unlike two years ago....

(Insert flashback sound effects here.)

In 2009 we were still out at the farm. We were busy with the horses, celebrating Christmas with family, and Sverre was working over the holidays. It wasn't until the day of Christmas (the 25th, Norwegians count Christmas as starting on the 24th, or even 23rd...after three Christmases here the concept is still shaky for me) that we realized we hadn't set up a tree. The Christmas before there had been no space in our first apartment, and in this new house there was no excuse. We found an axe, dressed in our warmest clothes and took Max with us on a trek across the pastures and into the forests surrounding the farm.

That year the snow had fallen so deeply by Christmas that Sverre had to break trail in front of us. Max's short legs had him at a disadvantage, and he followed closely on our heels. Literally. Every few steps one would feel his small, though not insubstantial, body smack into calves and boots as he hopped from foot track to track. We floundered around in the forest through the deep drifts until we finally found it: a little beauty frosted in snow.

Max and I caught our breath while Sverre dug out the trunk as deep as he could manage, and then set to hacking with a will. He paused, rested back on his heels and said, "This is going to be really heavy to carry home." We assured him we would help. He reached down, grasped the tree firmly around the trunk, pulled...

...And nearly fell over as the skinny, pathetic twig of a tree sprang out from its covering of snow. Our glorious, wondrous find turned out to be a weedy little thing. We stared at it as Sverre held it aloft over his head, in a parody of victory.

Damn.

It wasn't like we could throw it away, this Saddest of Christmas Trees, so we walked back to the house with it slung over Sverre's shoulder. I had received all the Christmas ornaments my aunts and uncles had gifted me over the years from my mother in California. We crammed every single ornament we could on it, grabbed our coffees and leftover brioche, and settled back to look at our achievement. Our very first Christmas tree in Norway.

Some of us didn't even want to acknowledge its existence, and went downstairs to occupy ourselves with other things that didn't remotely resemble trees.

Flash-forward to the present and the searchers have returned with a perfect tree. We have set it up and decorated it with the help of a very enthusiastic four-year-old. All of the ornaments are hung in clumps,with gold spindles on one side of the tree and red on the other. It will take much head scratching and a beer or two to figure out how to rearrange the thing into a presentable tree without making it totally obvious that I've redone all her work.

But for now, it stands and shines in the hallway; signaling yet another year, yet another Christmas.

At least this year we have it set up before Christmas Eve.

En Samtale -- A Conversation

2011-12-17T20:21:00.003+01:00

"Tante?"
"Ja?"
"Du...du er kongen. Du er sjefen. Og jeg...jeg er prinsessen."
"Oh, yeah? Det stemmer, jeg er kongen."
"Ja, du er kongen, jeg er prinsessen og du, Onkel?"
"Ja?"
"Du...du er gak gak."

"Auntie?"
"Yes?"
"You..you are the king. You are the boss. And I...I am the princess."
"Oh, yeah? That's right, I'm the king."
"Yes, you are the king, I am the princess, and you, Uncle?"
"Yes?"
"You...you are a quack-quack (duck)."

It's good to see Lille Frøken (Little Miss) knows how the system works around here.

Vintermørket

2011-12-15T18:53:00.003+01:00

The winter darkness is closing in, each day the sun rises just a little bit later, and sets just a little bit earlier. This afternoon during an exam I gazed out the window, collecting my thoughts, and watched the sun sink below hills at a little after three o'clock. Contemplating the sunset distracted my mind from the post-iceberg-smashed Titanic of my exam. About halfway through all of the lifeboats were deployed, and the orchestra played on to the very last bubbly gasps as I tried to make some desperate effort to save my short essays.

I mean, if the exam had been in anything other than statistics--say, bad metaphors--I would have been in business.

But, anyway, that's over. Yesterday's exam was much better, and started at 9 a.m. My friend and I arrived at the school at eight, and I was struck by the gleaming windows in all of the buildings as exams were started or prepped.

The lack of snow makes the nights and early mornings pitch-black. The contrast when snow falls is stunning, but I rather like the sight of windows glowing yellow in the night.

A Bedtime Conversation

2011-12-10T21:41:00.005+01:00

"Auntie? Why is it dark? Why is it light? Why is it cold? Why is it warm?"

These are all stalling tactics in my four-year-old niece's campaign against sleeping at bedtime.

"Well, let me see your kitty and your car key..."

This is plastic, brand new, and therefore must be slept with; my brother used to sleep with balloons tied to his wrist or with brand new shoes on, so I don't judge.

"See, if your kitty's paw is the sun, and your car key is the Earth, the Earth goes around the sun in a circle, like this. It takes one year to do this. While the Earth goes around the sun, it spins. When Norway (which is here) faces the sun it is day, and when it turns away it is night. Okay, so, the Earth is kind of crooked (for brevity's sake I left out the whole 23.5 degrees from perihelion nonsense...plus, I can't say that in Norwegian). When the Earth is here, Norway is away, which is winter. Like now. When the Earth is here, Norway is closer to the sun, which is summer. Do you understand?"

"Haaaeee?"

"More questions?"

She shakes her head, looking at me like I'm a lunatic.

"Okay, then, goodnight!"

Kid: 2,000,000. Me: 1 ½*.

* ½ is my taking credit for teaching her to use "okay" as a question, or as a statement of cheerful compliance, resignation, irritation or excitement, etc.

Work in Progress

2011-12-09T23:02:00.003+01:00

Today I took my niece with me on a marathon shopping trip (still finishing Christmas shopping for family, I hope they get these gifts at Christmas and not for New Year's!). We finished the day by getting a cup of hot chocolate with a friend of mine, and then heading back to the apartment to work on Christmas gifts for her grandmas and grandpas. I haven't crafted in ages, and I was reminded of how much fun it is to play with paints and glue.

For one four-year-old and two adults, we didn't do too shabby of a job. We still have a lot to do, but we all have the same attention span and called it quits before we glued on all the stars and glitter. Next week promises lots of rainy days, so it's good we have a project to work on!

First Snow Day

2011-12-07T22:48:00.002+01:00

Last night we got our first snow! It's supposed to melt this weekend and then freeze again, but for now we can enjoy the lovely pure whiteness. These are photos I snapped this morning at school.

And from the train ride home. This photo was taken close to 3:00 P.M., when is the sun setting where you are..?

Serious case of the blahs.

2011-12-06T09:41:00.004+01:00

I'm working on a 48-hour take-home exam. As you can see, my motivation level is sky high. Jezebel is a perfectly good resource for development aid and politics, isn't it?

Yeah. I'm not feeling this semester. Halfway through my friends and I started calling this one the Lost Semester. There's so much administrative tomfoolery going on with my classes it has made my head spin. But you know what? My motivation for finishing is that it's almost Christmas (and I haven't sent my Christmas package to the States yet, is it time to start hyperventilating?), and my last exam is next week. There will be lots of studying in my immediate future, but after that I have one semester to go before I have done gradjiated...well, completed my bachelor's, at least. From what I understand there is no grand hoopla for bachelor's students.

The best part about next summer will be my parents visiting. This is in the works right now, but I am looking at it is a perfect post-bachelor's vacation. Somewhere warm and sunny where we can relax...ah, just think of it!

Goal 1: ~~Finish bache~~ Finish take-home exam and other exams
Goal 2: Finish next semester intact
Goal 3: Finish degree!

Anderson's Adventures

2011-12-03T21:56:00.002+01:00

One of my old military buddies travels a lot. She has a friend who comes along with her. You might recognize him. The Silver Fox himself, Mr Anderson Cooper.

Well, an incarnation of him, at least.

Anderson's Adventures

(Personal claim to fame: That's my hand holding him up next to the beer in the Oslo photos! At least, if I remember most of that night, it should be me.)

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas....

2011-12-03T20:44:00.002+01:00

Especially in my living room!

Taco Friday

2011-12-02T17:05:00.005+01:00

Tacos on Friday is a contemporary Weegie tradition. It involves, generally, buying pre-made fixin's and throwing everything together per box instructions. I've co-opted bits of this to make "Lazy Californian Mexican." Really the only constants are taco shells, ground beef and shredded white Norvegia cheese and sour cream.

But instead of a spice packet I rummage through my cabinet for chili powder, cumin, thyme, garlic, and oregano. Throw in onion and chopped bell pepper as the ground beef finishes cooking and suddenly there's some good taste! My salsa is straight-up ganked from my best friend's in-laws, a secret recipe that makes this white girl feel pretty damn smug (although, sadly, the heat has to be toned down to accomadate a Norwegian palate, we'll get there someday...). The pièce de résistance this go-around was the guac.... God damn, this time I nailed it. Timed my avocados and tomato just right so they were perfectly ripe. Karla tipped me off about using garlic powder instead of minced garlic, throw in some lime juice and red onion and....nom nom.

(We've also figured out that eating taco shells taco style is messy. Tostada style? Much nicer!)

Sunset

2011-11-24T20:29:00.001+01:00

From the front steps of my building at school; sunset at 3:22 PM!

View

2011-11-21T16:34:00.001+01:00

Grey skies or no, my mother-in-law has the best office view over Oslo!

Saturday Candy

2011-11-19T16:44:00.001+01:00

My niece is visiting so I'm learning how it is to be a kid in Norway. One of the most important things is candy on Saturday, to eat while watching the Saturday cartoons after dinner. As you can see, someone has figured out Uncle is a bit of a pushover....

New Toy

2011-11-19T15:42:00.002+01:00

I picked up a Samsung Galaxy today and I think... I think I'm in love....

If only i could figure out the images....

Interlude

2011-11-03T10:12:00.006+01:00

The weather has been looking like this since we came home from Spain.

Ew.

But hey, at least it's not snowing like this time last year. Remember that? The snow came in late October and didn't leave until March. We should be content with our 12C wet grayness!

Instead, I find myself pining for the sun we left behind. Here's a picture of some ridiculously gorgeous tall man unlocking the door to the pension where we stayed in the old town of Alicante. (Pen-si-OWN, not Pen-SHUN. Although with all the retirees down there, the second pronunciation is applicable in all sorts of other contexts.)

I enjoyed our little pension. There were about six rooms, and the owner greeted everyone by name. They also had a giant basket full of sunscreen in the little lobby for anyone who wanted to use it, which was a lifesaver for me. It wasn't a four-star hotel by any means, but the warm, homey atmosphere made it worthwhile. And it didn't hurt that the moment we stepped from the doors we were in the middle of most of the restaurants and cultural attractions. We were also one tiny block away from a gelato shop. Ah, gelato....

But now we're home, and waxing lyrical about gelato will only earn me skeptical glances from those who were not privileged to join us....

Edited to add: I've read that my errors on my main page can be due to HTML errors in posts. I think I've found the guilty culprit, but the error on the main page still exists. Does this really mean I have to go through the whole archive and find posts with HTML errors? God save me if this is true.

Help!

2011-10-30T12:28:00.003+01:00

I have no idea what is going on with the right column of this blog. Everything looks correct in my layout settings. When I click on an individual post, everything is where it should be. And yet, when I go back to the main page, everything from the right column is below the most recent posts.... What's going on here?!

A very good day

2011-10-23T17:31:00.004+02:00

I should probably be worrying over my blog, and horrors the new layout system is inflicting on it. Instead, I choose to read outside where it's warm!

The Weatherman Strikes Out Again

2011-10-22T16:33:00.009+02:00

Today it was supposed to be rainy and gross. Instead, the sun has been shining, and we have been walking all over town. Shopping, looking at boats, eating, drinking, and shopping.

This morning we had breakfast on the beach before we went to look at hte boats for the Volvo Ocean Race 2011-2012. I'm not much of a boat person, so I wondered why all this hoopla was going on for one stinking race. Turns out it's not just a race in Alicante, as I thought, but a round the world race.

The race lasts for eight months and stops in ten countries and it all starts here. The Puma racing team (like the shoe brand...shoes!) has obviously dumped a ton of money in this thing as there are billboards, clothing stands, and advertisements everywhere.

The teams are made up of the best sailors in the world, and I have no idea why they do what they do, because this is no pleasure cruise. The sail 24 hours a day until they reach their next ports, sailing through extreme conditions whilst eating rehydrated rations and sleeping on canvas bunks all in the name of saving weight.

Sverre is a boat person. He can wander a marina for hours just looking at sailboats. I hope he'll have is own one day. I'm, as you know, more interested in horses and other land based activities, but I like boats and could learn to sail with him. Looking at the competition boats today was just as exciting for him as a Grand Prix horse show is for me.

We did some shopping after vising the harbor, and stopped to have a beer or two (or three, we're on vacation, who's counting?) in the sun. We're now pleasently sun burned and tipsy enough not to feel it. I've determined that after this blogging siesta it's time for gelato before doing it all over again....

Alicante, Day 2

2011-10-21T23:12:00.009+02:00

Today we took it rather easy. This is because a) we chose the wrong shoes and b) we stayed out 'til 2 a.m. the night before, hitting the clubs and dancing. Yes, you read that right, dancing. It seems clubbing really is for the young and dumb, because I just can't handle that shit anymore, especially the day after.

We woke late and wandered down to a cafe for tostadas and coffee. Now, when you say tostada, I think, well, tostada. You know, open tortillas piled high with all sorts of taco fillings. Here, tostadas are pieces of bread with olive oil and tomato or ham. This is at least what the menu tells me, it may all be a conspiracy to make tourists think toast is called tostada, and then everyone laughs behind their hands....

After breakfast we headed down to the beach and got on the Hop On, Hop Off bus. We wound our way through Alicante, the taped guide was slightly off so everyone was actually Ooohing and Aahing at the local hospital instead of the Museum of Architecture. Seriously, you'd think the ambulances lined up in front of the building would give it away, but no, people were snapping pictures and pointing. The local old fogies getting their pacemakers tinkered with are probably used to being gawked at by foreign tourists by now.

The bus climbed the hill that overlooks the city and the beach, belching us out at the Castille Santa Barbara. Built by the Moors in the 9th century (or so the tape told us), it was taken by the Spanish in 1240. There's a lot of room to run around and poke about, a cafeteria, and even a few stalls selling trinkets to tourists.

One of our most important transactions thus far (other than shoes for me, shoes!) has been the acquisition of sunglasses. Not just any sunglasses, no, obnoxiously obvious rip off sunglasses! Sverre is in love with his Rey Beri glasses, and has stated he only wants Rey Beris from this point on. My plastic faux-Armanis (Fauxmanis?) feel quite indestructable. Best few Euro spent so far!

Not much food porn today. We managed to strike out big time with lunch, this food was so horrible I actually got queasy! But, after a long day of recouperating, a bedtime snack of hot chocolate and churros cured the Bad Tapas Blues. Tomorrow starts a brand new day of lookin' at stuff. The Volvo Ocean Race will start from Alicante next week, and we'll head out to the marina to look at all the boats.

Sunny, Sunny Spain

2011-10-20T17:56:00.013+02:00

So, here we are in Alicante, Spain. Currently we're enjoying siesta after a long, late lunch. There's something to be said for eating nearly your own weight in olive oil. How are these people not all giant butter balls.

But, before the food porn, we need to show some of the good stuff....

See? We actually did something today, and we're not even finished! But yes, I know what you're here for. Without furtho ado, our food porn.

In Spain you can get what they call ¨Menu del dia,¨ the menu of the day. It consists of a three course meal that costs anywhere from €5-€20. Here's what we had today:

First course: Corinne, salad of tomatos drenched in olive oil with tuna. Sverre, a pastry with salmon.

Second course, mushroom risotto and spaghetti primavera:

Dessert: Fruit salad and vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce. (Obviously, Sverre did a better job of picking the yummy stuff, although that risotto was delicious!)

Now it's time to leave the hotel for round two.... Buenos dias, everyone

2011-10-14T11:05:00.003+02:00

Today I had to bust out my new mittens and hat.

Yes, it's finally getting wintery here. Fortunately the cold held off just long enough to celebrate my thirtieth birthday in style*. The dropping temperatures are harbingers of mid-terms, impending Norwegian exams, and frantic exam preparation. They also promise November, when I will decide which supervisor I would like to write my bachelor's thesis for in the coming spring.

I have no clue what I am going to do for my thesis. The current fad among my fellow schoolmates is to attach themselves to resilience thinking, which I admit is totally cool, but I don't know if I want to elbow my way through a bunch of over-eager undergrads and get lost in the mix. At this point in time, there seems to be only one professor supervising work with resilience in my department, and the competition amongst his adoring followers is quite high. I was, however, very much impressed with my agriculture and development class last semester, and if I have an opportunity to work with the people associated with that course I will jump on it. (Although what a plant biologist would want to do with a social sciences student remains to be seen. Ah, the beauty of an interdisciplinary degree!)

It is a riddle, one I am quite content to lay aside until the very last minute whilst I concentrate on other things. Mostly, this has been my Norwegian course and learning how to do statistics in Excel (hate, hate, hate!). I take my Norwegian exam in a little under two weeks. I feel confident, but mostly I am grateful I will be finished with the exam before the heat turns on to finish my university school work and prepare for exams. This has been a bit chaotic, as one of my instructors has had to go on sick leave for the rest of the semester, leaving the fate of the class and 10 critical units (one third of the semester load) up in the air. The scramble to find a solution has resulted in the course's term paper deadline pushed up, and the exam changed from an oral exam to a take-home exam.

I should probably start working on that instead of mindlessly blogging....

Anyhow, it's been an interesting semester. The struggle goes on with the US Veterans Affairs office in the attempt to get my university approved for the Montgomery G.I. Bill. We had turned in the application in August of last year, and the lack of reply never worried me until the following summer. You see, anything that requires VA work takes a long time. An excruciatingly long time, in fact. If you ever need anything from the VA, consider starting the paperwork before any evidence of need appears. Then you may get what you want sometime before the window of opportunity closes.

No, that's not a snarky aside, that's the plain-speaking truth.

Turns out the application sent by my university never made it to Buffalo, NY. I spent about an hour on the phone with the VA representatives figuring this out, and then many more hours at the student services center helping my representative write a new application. A lot of this time was spent explaining, "No, you need to write exactly what they wrote in the instructions. This is a government bureaucracy, you need to do the thinking for them. No, they won't understand that, you have to spell it out for them." This all makes the VA sound like a gaggle of idiots, which I don't think they really are, they're just...hidebound. And once you get that, a whole new world of understanding opens up.

So, the application has been sent in digitally and by post. By sometime next semester we'll have answer as to whether or not I can get my grubby little hands on my money. Hopefully, the answer is yes.

Until then it's back to the books and waiting for the first snow to fall.

*Style: (n.) 1. The state of being too drunk to remember exactly how a bowl full of puke-bathed brownies appears on the kitchen counter the next morning, just basic memories of free shots, good friends, beer, chili, Red Velvet cupcakes, and more free shots. 2. The way in which something is done, expressed, or performed.

CaliforniCancerCation

2011-10-05T08:11:00.002+02:00

So, I read the news on Facebook this morning that one of the girls I went to school with has luekemia. She is in need of a bone marrow donor, and has sent out the call for people to sign up as donors, as she needs a perfect 10 match and there is currently no one in the registry who can donate marrow for her. She has been blogging ever since she received her diagnosis, and you can find her here:

CaliforniCancerCation

Those of us who live outside of the US cannot donate to the US bone marrow donor registry. But we can sign up to donate in the countries we live in, if we meet the criteria (so you may look into registering there!).

Even if you can't help Kia, you may be able to help someone.

Long Days

2011-09-22T22:38:00.004+02:00

Who would have thought there would be long days in fall? Okay, so my days are no longer long in the sense that the sun is around for twenty three hours. They are busy.

Today I left the house at 8:30 to get on the bus to go to school (God, I sound like a little kid). After classes at university, and then evening class at norskkurs, I finally made it home at 9:15 pm. Nearly thirteen hours is a long time to go between doggie cuddles!

During this first month of school, things are a little hectic. We're setting into norskkurs, and have gotten into a rhythm of doing classwork and presentations. I was the first to present this semester, and I spent nearly half an hour this evening discussing my time on Okinawa. It was a lot of fun, in fact. My class is a group of very relaxed people, so the stress level is much lower than having to do a presentation-come-tap dance before a panel of very grumpy colonels or generals (that has happened to me before, several times, and it is the measurement I use to compare all other presentations). The best compliment I received was, "You sound just like a Norwegian!" My teacher wanted to know how often, and how much, I read in Norwegian, and was rather taken aback when I told her, "Jeg leser ikke på norsk." Not one little bit. I enjoy reading, and I read very quickly. I devour novels like a fat kid on cupcakes--oops, sorry not too PC, like, um, a dog on a bone. I don't have the patience to read in Norwegian beyond the odd newspaper article. I deeply dislike struggling over language while I am trying to enjoy a story.

After a good evening at norskkurs I rushed home to switch out my backpack and fetch my little dog. I had arranged earlier in the day to meet a first-year student in order to loan him my ecology book from the year before. Ive decided I don't want to part with it for now, and loaning it out makes more sense than letting it sit on the shelf collecting dust. Plus, this particular ecology books runs a cool 1,200 NOK (that's $200!!) at the university book store. I got a good deal on mine on Amazon, and I couldn't imagine making someone shell out that much dough for a book. A book!

Anyway, here's the lesson learned for today: If a Kiwi tells you he will give you beer if you loan him your book, he will make good on it. I met the Kiwi at tram station between our two apartments and we made the switch (which, in all honesty, I had completely forgotten about). I crammed the beers in my backpack and continued home with my dog.

Have I told you I live a little ways from Akerselva, the river that runs through Oslo? Well, I do. Please don't stalk me.

Tonight was Elvavandring, River Wandering. Every year the bydeler, or city neighborhoods/areas, that border the river set up a night's entertainment along the river walk. Everything begins after 8:00 pm, and it seems the entire city turns out to enjoy the offerings. Max and I wound our way slowly home along the river, stopping to listen to a few bands. There were jazz players; a group of older guys banging away on banjo, bass, guitar and violin singing roughly about the joys of living in Oslo; a karate club giving demonstrations; light displays casting color over the water and trees; food stalls and who knows what else. Max proved a little too small and a little too dark in the crush of people. We found open areas where we could to watch the entertainment. It was a gorgeous night to be outside, not too cold with just the right amount of crisp, tangy fall air. We turned for home in order to top off the evening with a cold beer and the chance to relax. Thank Goodness tomorrow is Friday!

Reflections

2011-09-09T19:27:00.002+02:00

This Sunday is the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001. Where were you? Most of us can answer that question. A startling number of young people cannot remember, they were likely too young to remember exactly what they were doing and what those smoking towers meant to the rest of us. I remember where I was, I was a new airman stationed in Aviano AB, Italy, looking forward to a peace time career and the benefits of serving overseas. My memories of 9/11 are a little chaotic, and filled with the opinions and worthless whining befitting any nineteen year old. I remember being righteously angry, and a little confused about exactly what we were talking about when it came to Taliban, Afghanistan, Islamic extremism...technical school in intelligence did not put much emphasis on unconventional warfare at that time.

The day we bombed Afghanistan was my twentieth birthday. I remember being called in to work for a night shift because a co-worker was sick, and dragging my feet. I had just made the world's deadliest margarita (you can drink in Italy at 18, so yes, it was legal!), and hated the thought of going in for yet another twelve hour shift. I thought what we were doing in Afghanistan was right, righteous, and beyond reproach. Even as the War on Terror extended beyond Afghanistan's borders--as the Patriot Act was passed and the Iraq war started--I believed we were doing the right thing.

Ten years provides a lot of perspective. When I celebrate my thirtieth birthday we will have officially been at war with the Taliban for a decade. How do I feel about that? I don't know, in all honesty. I sit in the aftermath of Anders Behring Brievik's attack on Oslo and wonder. What could have been different? Could our reaction have been moderated, even in the face of such an audacious attack? What have we given up in the name of security? These are all questions I cannot answer; though I feel now, later, I am better prepared and informed to consider them honestly.

My superintendent from that time has written an article for a Las Vegas online magazine. He is much better at encapsulating what we felt at that time. When I was a relative child, a petulant airman with my finger up my nose, more concerned with boys and parties than other things, he was in the midst of what was happening at Aviano. I recommend reading his article, which is called Rage Without Resolution. Reading this article, I go back to those times: the highly guarded base, the long nights, the endless frustration. It also makes me think about how we as a society have become wiser about the effects of war, not just the changes in warfare itself.

Cannot Wait!

2011-08-31T19:53:00.002+02:00

We've finally done it.

We're getting new internet.

At the last house we were too far out in the boonies to have regular internet. We started using satellite internet which is slow, slow, slooooooooow. (It took me almost a minute to open this window.) We were still under our year contract when we moved into town, but now we're free!

The internet guy comes next week to install our new broadband. We'll have a much, much faster connection, and now I'll be able to cruise YouTube to my heart's content.

Oh yeah, and blog!

Back to the Norsk Books

2011-08-24T20:57:00.005+02:00

After almost a year of goofing off, and learning Norwegian from middle-aged Osloites or thirteen-year-old country girls, I finally made it back to real Norwegian classes. I wrote my own death sentence when I mouthed off to the counselor at the head office who controlled my norsk destiny. So, I wasn't surprised when I was placed in a level-3 class, albeit a level where the pace was slow and the other students had not nearly the same level of slang and sloppy Hurum landet-girl grammar (think part Valley Girl, part hick) I possess. My teacher was at once very concerned, and told me she thought I needed to be moved into another class.

This happened to me last time. Two years ago, when I first joined Norwegian classes, my teacher was convinced there was no way I had tested into level-2 and completely bypassed the rudimentary classes. I managed to convince her to let me stay for a week, and then judge where I should stay. Haha, I stayed in the class and passed the level-2 test two months later. Wait, let me do it again.

Haha.

Two years later, that still feels good.

Anyway, as soon as my new teacher last night told me she wanted to put me in another class, a deep sense of terror fell over me. "Jeg klarte norsk prøve 2, jeg burde være her," I told her adamantly. I passed, I'm supposed to be here. She told me we would take a few reading comprehension tests in the first half of class, and also write an essay about ourselves--nothing personal, now!--in order to show our comprehension of written Norwegian. I finished first and turned in two pages of essay while the others...well, not nearly as much. Surely, I thought, they won't push me down into the lower classes now.

All of my worrying and defensive protests were for naught, a teacher who runs the fast-track level-3 found me in the hallway and told me to join her class after the break. Happily, I had found a fellow hasher while on break, and he informed me that we were now in the same class, with an excellent teacher. I collected my things and moved to my new classroom.

In my past experience I found Norwegian class a little boring. The pace was so slow, and I never felt challenged. I think this class will be different. As soon as I sat down the teacher started belting into grammar rules, proper tonal cadences, and actual...linguistic stuff. She even began explaining the differences in pronunciation between dialects of Bokmål, and whether or not these differences in pronunciation would be appropriate for those of us who live in Oslo. I like being challenged, and having to juggle not only the daily lesson--either-or, neither-nor for yesterday--but the intricacies that also surround the vocabulary and grammar of the examples we use with the lesson will definitely kick the old gray matter into fourth gear.

This is the kind of class change I can get behind. I was also pleasantly surprised to find out my teacher is flexible regarding my commute between university and Oslo. I think I will enjoy these classes, but at the same time I look forward to being finished in October!

Shout-out Time

2011-08-16T09:41:00.003+02:00

Okay, okay, I have been a horrible person.

A friend of mine has decided to bugger off work for a year and travel the world. She started this oddessy in June, and only now have I caught up with her blog, which is amazing.

nomader what

(Haha, I just got the punnyness of that title. Yes, I'm a bit slow.)

Who knows, out of all us blogging biatches, maybe this one has a shot at getting The Book Deal. Which is why we have to share her adventures with everyone!

From Zero to Hectic in...soon!

2011-08-14T11:32:00.006+02:00

My summer idyll is coming to a close. These last few weeks have been spent walking the dog, hiking, hashing (Yes, I managed to hit trail again! Oh, joy of joys!), and laying my towel out in various parks in order to soak up the sun while reading a book. Currently I am lounging my way through Kushiel's Legacy, by Jacqueline Carey, a series of books which happen to be my favorite epic fantasy novels of all time. Of. All. Time. If you manage to pick up Kushiel's Dart, I promise most will fall in love with Phèdre, Joscelin, and Imriel. They are perfect summer reads, but also smart and far beyond the common canon of fantasy literature.

Right now I am finishing the second book, and hope I have enough time to finish the third (for like the millionth time, my hardback book is actually starting to come apart--I told you, I like these books) before things get crazy.

When we first moved out to the farm, I had intended on continuing my Norwegian classes in my new district. However, with all the constraints that living out in the country entailed, I didn't have the time or the available transportation to make it into Drammen every day, keep up with the animals, and go to university on the other side of the fjord. So, Norwegian classes got cut.

Now, here's the thing. If you come to Norway on a family reunification visa, like mine, you are required to take classes in Norwegian language and society in order to qualify for permanent residency. You also must maintain temporary residency for three years before you are able to apply for permanent residency. Well, my three years will be finished at the end of this year. If I were unable to finish my classes before the three years is up, I would not be punished, but must instead wait until my classes were complete before applying for permanent residency, which is like 1,200 (Norwegian) smackers a year. I'd rather just get it done now.

I hauled myself down to Helsfyr and signed up to resume my Norwegian classes. Sverre thinks I was placed in a Norwegian Level 3 (you have to pass Level 3, or acquire a requisite amount of hours to be considered "complete" for the language portion) classes instead of being given a free pass because I mouthed off to the counselor. If you are able to demonstrate your command of Norwegian is sufficient to pass Level 3 then you are not required to take the language classes. At least, that's what they've told me.

I didn't really mean to get rude with the counselor, but he kind of deserved it. You see, every July there is fellesferie, which is when nearly everyone takes vacation. And the adult learning office, which runs Norwegian courses, decided to close for the whole month of July, when the semester starts in August. Therefore, on August first, the registration office was crammed full of people.

"It is crazy today," the counselor told me in Norwegian, "there are so many people here. It is because we are open again after a month."

"I see that," I responded, full of pompous self-righteousness after three hours of waiting to visit three desks. "It's pretty stupid to close for an entire month before semester starts, shouldn't someone have realized that would create huge problems for everyone? Incredibly stupid."

The counselor just started shuffling papers and tapping into his computer.

I should think that being able to criticize bureaucrats for dumb moves in their own tongue would show I have fair grasp of vocabulary and grammar. Sverre doesn't agree. I know, I was an ass, but who thinks shutting down a very busy office for a full month is a good idea? Who? They deserved it, I tell you.

So, the outcome is that I will be starting language classes next Tuesday. I'll be in class twice a week in Oslo from 5:30 to 8:50. The first time I saw class times like this, I was pretty confused, but there is a reason. They consider a class hour to be 45 minutes, so with breaks this actually turns into four class hours per day. Anyway, this is fine and dandy except...I have class at university this semester until 4:oo on Tuesdays and Thursdays! Because my university is outside of Oslo, I will have to leave class a little early on these days in order to make it back to Oslo and get to Norwegian classes with a time pad for train and bus delays. Fortunately, the instructors and professors at my university are generally very nice people, who will understand why I'll need to leave ten minutes early from their classes. And it's only my Tuesdays and Thursdays that will be like this, my other days are pretty relaxed. The Norwegian classes are only for three months as well, and the exam is well before my finals are scheduled at university. There are myriad small blessings here.

In the mean time, I need to get back to reading my fun books, before I have to return to using my brain for learning stuff.

Relaxation

2011-08-06T20:56:00.002+02:00

After a week of working hard (uh, that would be Sverre), it's always nice to slip away from the city streets and relax.

Today has been one of those perfect relaxing Saturdays. We slept in late, made breakfast when we felt the urge, and lazed about our weekend chores. Finally, the groceries were tucked away into the cabinets and fridge, and the floors were vacuumed free of a legion of dog hair. We packed our food, soda and blankets into the car and drove to Sognsvann.

Sognsvann is a popular small lake just on the outskirts of the city. People walk or run the perimeter, cyclists are banned to the outer loops that in winter turn into cross-country ski trails. On a good summer day the lake is packed with families, couples, and groups of friends enjoying the lake waters and sunny banks. It can be difficult to find a suitable spot, but eventually we found a piece of grass large enough to hold us and allow Max to roam to the end of his leash without bothering other people.

We lay in the sun; reading, sipping soda, and cooking on a disposable grill. Max snuffled around, rolling in the grass or wading in the shallows of the lake as the mood took him. Small children and adults alike splashed in the water, shrieking as warm skin touched mountain run-off. Gradually, the clouds began to build and cast chilly shadows over us. We packed our blankets and books, gathered the dog, and slowly made our way back to the car.

It's days like these that make the rat-race worthwhile.

Whew

2011-07-31T12:58:00.002+02:00

I gathered my courage in my gut and both hands last night and tried Croatian homemade liquor. Let me tell you, sljivovica feels lovely going down, but it's kind of evil. Well, anything that gives you a time-delay hangover is evil. Fortunately I had already crossed paths with Tennessee moonshine years earlier, so I knew to take it easy and not toss back shots like some sort of raging party girl.

So here I sit, inside on a lovely Sunday, curled on the couch with my book and laptop. And I am perfectly content with this. When my husband comes home from work this afternoon I may try to convince him that greasy french fries are a perfectly acceptable dinner. How could they not be?

Drunken Thoughts While Viewing Jane Austen Films

2011-07-29T00:05:00.004+02:00

"I prefer to be unsociable and taciturn."

Who the fuck writes this, when taken into consideration that future generations and readers/viewers may be drunk?

A terrible miscalculation, me thinks.

(BTDubs, it only took 5 re-writes before I joined my husband and my doggie. )

Link Sharing

2011-07-28T10:02:00.004+02:00

This is by far the best blog post I've read about the bombing and shooting last Friday. Audrey is a wicked awesome writer, and a new expat to Oslo, and if you haven't read her yet you should.

Defiant Peacefulness

(Also, Audrey, dude. Your comments are busted, I think, I can't see your captcha. E-mail me at the address on the sidebar, if you'd like!)

Flowers Everywhere

2011-07-27T09:07:00.003+02:00

This Indonesian (uh, that's her web handle, not me saying "some random Indonesian person!") posted a link on Facebook showing the flowers all over Oslo. Last night Sverre and Iwent walking through Youngstorget and tried to capture all the memorials that have sprung up on our own camera. Our pictures can't come close to expressing the impact of all the flowers around Oslo. Roses have been threaded through everything and anything that will hold them.

The link is here... Markering Oslo 25 Juli

Yesterday Evening

2011-07-26T12:51:00.006+02:00

Yesterday evening over 150,000 Norwegians (other reports say 200,000) took to the streets of Oslo, bearing roses to remember those slain in Oslo and on Utoeya.

Photo from The Globe and Mail

Photo from Reuters UK

The Crown Prince, the Prime Minister, and other members of the government (particularly Arbeiderpartiet) gave speeches memorializing those lost, and those still missing.

The Norwegian response to these dreadful attacks is a model for other nations to follow. Most notably, even though the Royal Family and government officials have been present at this large vigil, and have presided over a national moment of silence, their security remains minimal and discreet...just as before. Jens Stoltenberg, the Prime Minister said at the memorial service, "Our answer is more democracy, more openness, and more humanity but never naivete."

Oslo is being taken back. As the glass and debris are cleared away, stores reopen down town. People are unafraid to sit outside at a pub and have a beer, if not a bit soberly. The crowds around the Dome Church continue to add to to the ever expanding flower-and-candle shrine at the church's doorstep. Flowers and candles dot street corners and other church doorways.

Sverre and I have gone out the past few evenings to walk around town. Oslo is more subdued than normal, but there are people outside. Police tape is being taken down, and cordoned off areas are shrinking. In defiance of a madman trying to change this society, its people are working to return to normal.

Bombings in Oslo

2011-07-22T21:14:00.003+02:00

First, let me say that we're all okay. We heard the news of the explosion while we were driving to my mother-in-law's cabin an hour north of Oslo. Fortunately, my mother-in-law is on vacation...she works in the area where the explosions occured. Everyone we know is safe and well. One friend of mine was downtown when the explosions happened, and was hit by glass blown out by windows. She only has a few scratches, and is not seriously injured.

Norway, I can say, is in shock. This is like 9/11 for them, especially since at least 30 young people have been killed at an island north of Oslo where they were at a summer camp for the Labor Party. The pictures of bodies floating in the water are horrendous.

Now the questions are starting to come. Why did we deserve this? What has Norway done? What have these children done, and the peaceful people enjoying their Friday afternoon?

But that's the thing about terrorism. It's about fear. Boil down the myriad definitions of terrorism and it basically comes down to this: The point of terrorism is to instill fear in a population, for reasons political and ideological. Information is still flowing in, and the Norwegian press is searching for witnesses and information about what happened today. The words on everyone's lips are, "Dette er uvirkelig -- This is surreal."

Yes, it is. Our apartment is about 2 km from the city center, and we are glad we are not there now. The Norwegian media is telling everyone to stay at home and not come out.

This is, sadly, innocence lost. Norway will not be the same, not for a long time, if ever. I hope that if this was an attack by Muslim extremists that people in Oslo will not take out fear and hatred upon those who peaceful Muslims who are part of Norwegian society. The next question is, how will Norway handle the aftermath?

Deserts

2011-07-20T12:26:00.002+02:00

Seeing the forecast for this weekend (rain, rain, and some more rain to top it all off) makes me miss the desert. Here are a couple of random samplings!

Nevada sunset captured while driving

A tree at the Grand Canyon

Gives you a nice dry feeling, doesn't it?

Hmmm

2011-07-19T09:32:00.002+02:00

It's seven weeks 'til school starts, and rainy as all-get-out. I don't quite know what to do with myself.

See, here's the thing. I like to be busy, but I'm terrible at finding things to do. There's only so much laundry to go around, and I hate cleaning floors (which badly need it, grr). I get to the point where I'm lolling on the couch, whining to myself about how bored I am. There's only so much internetting (yes, I did just turn that into a verb) I can do before I'm super way bored and reading the same page over, and over, and over.

The weather has been such that it gets gorgeous right around the time Sverre gets home. Yesterday we went out to the Bygdy peninsula and walked the trails around Oscarshallen before coming home and having a beer outside at our favorite pub. There's plenty of stuff to do around Oslo when the weather is nice, but on rainy days like today...bleh.

I suppose I could actually start doing the things I said I would do during this time off. Like putting together a closet (we're still living out of boxes in our bedroom, sheesh!). Or putting together a memory-trip book from our road trip. Blogging about said road trip. Going through stuff and throwing out papers and unnecessary things. Hmmm, motivation. Now where have I misplaced that?

Beach Time

2011-07-14T11:40:00.005+02:00

My friend was married in mid-June in the Paso Robles wine country. Paso has exploded with wineries in the past ten years or so, what used to be a gas-stop on the way to the coast, devoid of multiple lanes on the highways or decent radio reception, has grown into a sprawling oenophile-on-a-budget's paradise. Vineyard upon vineyard line the highway into town, with big sellers like Tobin James, Meridian or Firestone luring in the masses for a taste, smaller wineries crammed cheek by jowl between them.

When we head to the Paso Robles/San Luis Obispo area we tend to stay with friends on the beach (the whole point of having friends is to borrow their families' beach houses, isn't it? .... No?). The views over the water to Morro Rock are gorgeous.

My first favorite thing to do on the coast is eat. We met my bride-to-be friend, her groom, and his family for tacos a few nights before the wedding. Now you may wonder, tacos on the beach? But, let me tell you, if you are ever in Cayucos, CA you need to check out Taco Temple. The seafood tacos, burritos, and other goodies are delicious. Cayucos is a very laid back town, and my sparkly-sequined heels drew a lot of attention that night. We stopped at the grocery store to get beer, and a man complimented my shoes. Sverre was over the moon. "Your shoes were noticed by a bona fide hillbilly! He has a mullet and everything."

My second favorite thing to do on the coast is walk on the beach. Whether hunting for sand dollars in Morro Bay, poking about the tide poos in Cayucos, or taking in the surfers at Cambria, I love it. After a drive to Cambria and a delicious breakfast on Main Street, we spent most of our Friday morning before the onset of Wedding Prep watching the surfers and checking out the views. Far out on the ocean we saw a pod of dolphins swimming in circles, probably catching fish for their own brunch.

We even found some other wildlife not nearly so shy of people.

My third favorite thing to do on the coast is to drink wine. Because of all the wineries, you know. My friend was married at a winery outside Paso Robles, with a stunning view over the hills. We saw deer foraging among the oak trees, quail dashed over the roads, and California condors circled the skies. Sometimes you wonder why anyone would ever want to live in Paso Robles (it can look rather blah), but the countryside more than makes up for it. We drank wine and danced until late, then took the winding roads through the hills home. A drive which can feel a little too similar to a roller coaster for someone who's imbibed a little too much.

The morning after we drove with the friends we were staying with to Morro Bay where we breakfasted on Eggs Benedict and watched the otters and sea lions in the marina. Then we piled into the car and set out on our epic drive across the West to Ohio.

Beary Un-fun

2011-07-13T08:28:00.005+02:00

When I arrived in California in late May, my mom suggested we take a family trip to Sequoia National Park. I can't remember the last time we went as a family, just us, without visiting relatives in tow. If you're staying in the Central Valley you can catch a shuttle bus up to the park from Visalia (highly recommend!), which can potentially cut your park entrance costs, and you don't have to search for parking...since you'll take park shuttles to Moro Rock and Tharp's log anyway.

Photo From: Travel California

As it were, the snow lasted until June in the Sierras this year, with spring fully rearing its head not a few weeks before we made our trip. The bears were out, and everyone at the park was jabbering about bear sightings. We were excited, and along with all other shuttle goers we kept our eyes peeled, trying to catch sight of a black bear grazing in the meadows.

We climbed up Moro Rock and peered over the edge, attempting to spot the Valley through the haze and the hilltops. Little blue lizards scrambled over the face of the rock, hunting and sunning among the small, hardy plants clinging to cracks in the surface.

After our climb up the rock and its however many hundreds of stone steps, we decided an easy walk to Tharp's Log was just the thing to stretch our legs. Tharp's Log is, well, exactly that. A Sequoia log a dude named Tharp decided to hollow out and use as a cabin. The log is located at the end of a long meadow, a little over a mile away from the shuttle stop. We set out toward the log, joking and pausing to take family photos (sorry, the fam gets to stay anonymous) at a particularly large Sequoia.

Tharp's Log: Photo from Wikipedia

The meadow paths in the park are gorgeous. We walked along the edge of a long meadow, keeping our eyes out for any fellow visitors of the ursine variety. You see, everyone we met, even the shuttle drivers, were so psyched about bear sightings you would have thought that any bear you meet looks like this:

Photo from: Wikipedia

With this comforting thought in our minds, we weren't surprised or bothered when we spotted a rather large brown fellow grazing at the end of the meadow. We paused to watch him stride toward the tree line, well away from where we thought we were heading. Some quick calculations, and we decided that even though we could no longer see the bear, he must have made his way home to the woods after his lunch. (Did you know bears are omnivorous? They eat grasses in the meadows, nuts, berries, honey and will claw bark from trees to eat termites in addition to ambushing deer and their fawns.)

So we continued on our way. About five minutes later, as we neared the area where the bear had been, we became increasingly nervous and quiet, keeping our eyes out, just in case. There's no bear here, we assured each other, we'd have seen him by now. Until, that is, my mom (who had been ahead of us) turned around and hustled toward us, yelling, "Bear, bear!"

There he was, our bear, running down the path toward us. My dad and my brother stood their ground, waving their arms and yelling. This bear didn't look like some cuddly teddy, oh no. At that moment in time, he looked something like this:

Photo from: Pawprints.com

Between my mother letting out an earsplitting, "HEY!", my father and brother flailing and shouting, and me screaming at everyone, "Get over here! Don't run! What are you doing?!" it is likely the bear thought we were a gaggle of lunatics fresh-escaped from a sanitarium. If bears understand such things. He (or she, no one really thought to check) skidded to a halt about 70 feet from us, gave us a wicked side-eye, and turned off the trail up into the hillside.

We decided Tharp's Log would survive without us.

Really, our bear was a brown black bear, and looked like this:

Photo from: Wikipedia

Upon reflection, he was probably scared by people closer to the log and decided to run away, whereupon he met us. The lunatics. We made our way back to the shuttle stop, telling people along the way that a bear was close to the trail. No one turned back, but then, they were probably thinking they would cuddle with the thing. One lady hustled toward us while we were talking, saying, "Sounds like someone's had a bear sighting!" Er, yes, you could call it that.

At the shuttle stop we sat together, laughing and joking together, reliving our "sighting." We all agreed, there's no family bonding quite like standing in a knot and screaming your heads off.

Last Day

2011-07-10T18:38:00.005+02:00

It's our last day of our US summer vacation. I kind of don't want to go back to Norway and leave my friends and family here, but at the same time I miss my little dog desperately. And, let's face it, 105+ temperatures and sunburns are not really my friends. But pools are!

I have so much to blog about. Nearly coming face to face with a bear, our road trip across the US (well, to Ohio at least), and so much more. I think I will have my work cut out for me back home in Oslo; blogging, making memory books, and putting the final touches on the apartment.

Yesterday morning we drove up to Three Rivers, CA to have brunch at the Gateway cafe. The food is so-so, but the view is amazing. It's called the Gateway because a) it is right at the entrance to Sequoia National Park, and b) that whole "Gateway to the Sequoias" deal.

And no trip to Three Rivers is complete without a stop at Reimer's ice cream and candy shop. This place has the best homemade chocolates and ice cream you can find!

And who can say no to gourmet jerky across the street? (We could, because I have no idea if this place is ever open.)

Ah, California, I'll miss you!

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday.

2011-05-22T13:24:00.003+02:00

This is all I have to tell myself today. On Tuesday I am hopefully boarding a flight to California and leaving mountains of stress behind. My Kindle has been loaded with a biography of Secretariat (Love horse biographies!...although one reviewer said this biography has "too many facts." Hmm.), and the second book of the Hunger Games, which I knew I couldn't start until my exams were finished. These books are just too addicting, I can't put them down.

This is my plan. In case you haven't heard, even though we didn't get Raptured yesterday--at least none of my fellow heathens found the golden ticket to the heavens--a damned volcano erupted in Iceland.

Screw you, Iceland! Gaaah!

So far it looks like there are detours around Iceland for Atlantic flights and no direct flights to Iceland. I have my SMS notifications set up, but cross your fingers for me! Volcanoes, thunderstorms in Newark...I can't wait to make it to California where the weather is sane, sunny...and sane.

Speaking of sanity, mine was severely tried this morning. We have a lot of visiting students at my school, and one of my classmates is dealing with Norwegian bureaucracy, trying to get a research position in Madagascar. If she gets it she will have no where to live for the summer in Norway (because, obviously, she'll be playing with lemurs in Madagascar, the bitch), so I offered to let her store her winter stuff in our basement. She came over this morning, and we wrestled her giant suitcase down into the cellar.

Only to discover someone had broken into my storage unit.

Now, I haven't been down there in about three months, so I have no idea when this could have happened. It doesn't look like Sverre's tools are gone, and all of our barn coats are dumped out on the floor yet accounted for. And my Christmas decorations are everywhere. Because I prefer to look slightly ladylike in front of acquaintances (Ha!)--at least, when I'm not under the influence of alcohol--I managed to not curse too much. But, still. What dickhead takes it upon themselves to break into someone else's property? I remember when I was a kid we were on a road trip, and we spent one night at a hotel. Someone broke into the van and stole my sleeping bag and my dad's jacket. The general consensus was it was done by a homeless person. This time around--this time around I think the culprit was just a downright asshole.

This is all the day before my human rights exam (oh, oh, right now I am so not feeling empathy for my thief's rights to dignity, life, or freedom). And this exam will most likely be the most difficult I've had this semester. Gaaaah!

Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday.

Dear powers-that-be, please let that volcano play nice!

Sing Along

2011-05-14T20:31:00.003+02:00

I'm taking a break from exam madness to wach Eurovision tonight. Have you seen it? It is, for the Americans, like American Idol's cuter, trendier, gayer Eurotrash cousin. In other words: absolutely, camptastically awesome. Norway's representative this year was Stella Mwangi, who did not progress beyond the semi-finals. I rather liked Haba Haba, and the official story is that there were sound problems and I must say the sound didn't sound mixed correctly when it was broadcast. I hope the internet's grumblings of racism are wrong. Stella, I thought you were fabulous!

What is left is to watch tonight and see who makes it through. Will it be the retro 60's girls from Serbia? Or, Lord help us, the heavy metal Georgians?

And apparently the Irish are big favorites?

(I know, the hair. Funny story, I was out with Karla, Tressa and Karen our Blogless Scot last night and the topic of the infamous Something About Mary "hair gel" scene came up, and someone immediately mentioned these dudes. I totally get it now.)

Oh, look. Ten minutes before the show starts. (Another aside: The Germans are hosting this year and they've chosen this really creepy heart beat sound to go with their theme. They're so weird. Another reason for the camptastic-ness.) If you want to REALLY get the lowdown on Eurovision, you need to pop by the blog of its Number One Fan, Michele.

Back to studying tomorow, and if I don't post in time for Tuesday, Gratulerer Med Dagen, Norge!

Five Minute Break

2011-04-28T09:02:00.003+02:00

Whew.

Two projects down, one term paper to go and then I'll be free to....teach myself economics. Yes, it's now the breakneck last month of school for the semester. I have three finals in May, one of them (economics book, I'm thinking of you) I am not looking forward to in the slightest. I have been stapled for the past week to my computer, camping out in the kitchen where I can turn on my iPod in relative privacy. I also find I have better concentration if I sit at a desk instead of curled into our scrumptious sofa with my lappy on my knees. Whod've guessed?

My human rights class is in the midst of giving group presentations. My group went first, we had focused on CEDAW (the Convention for the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women...yeah, I still hate that acronym). We put a lot of time and effort into the paper and presentation and it showed. The group that followed us...eh. But the group who did Indigenous rights (did you know there's a UN Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples? Well, there is!) really took the cake. One of their focuses was on Native Americans. I don't think I would have been able to do that subject; I barely made it through Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee in one piece.

Today we're back at it again, printing off our monster of a paper and handing it in. This is my first time working on a group paper. Normally I've worked in groups that turn in separate papers. It's a lot of work! I was Reference List ~~Bitch~~ Extraordinaire, and let me tell you, no one ever uses the same interpretation of Harvard Referencing system. D'oh!

Okay, I'm done geeking out.

How was your Easter? Ours was pretty fabulous. The weather here has been extraordinary. Sverre pointed out an article in the paper yesterday. Norway has been on the receiving end of a warm air push from the Sahara/North Africa (he said in northern Norway people discovered fine red sand on their boats), so we're having the warmest April on record. Yummy. We went to my mother-in-law's cabin on Thursday and Good Friday. I took my computer with me to do schoolwork. But, as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Instead, I sat outside for two days with my Kindle on my lap, soaking in the rays. I am entirely unrepentant.

I would have some pictures for you, indeed I would, but there's this problem. I had been looking for my camera battery charger for weeks without success. Then, one night while Skyping my folks, my dad held up my battery charger and said, "Is this yours?" Oi. Camera in Norway, charger in California. I now have to convince Sverre his camera needs to leave his office and stay home with us, so I can take lots of photos of Norwegian spring/early summer. Can you believe the magnolias have already bloomed?

Crunch Time

2011-04-13T13:23:00.005+02:00

This semester I've impressed myself with my dedication to my studies. My usual modus operandi is to dawdle along through a semester, and start reading for an exam or test at the last possible moment. I am in many ways a perfect procrastinator, and when things are due I often feel like I'm turning in a cup of dirt....

Not this semester, no way. I am taking five classes, one of which assigns 50 to 100 pages a week for mandatory reading. This all adds to around 200 pages a week in total which is Too Much to catch up on at the end of the semester. I have managed suppress my inner procrastinator on most days.

But it seems the forces of the universe conspire against students. Suddenly, even though I have been a very good child, I have a paper due on Sunday, a friend arriving from England on Friday, and two term papers due after Easter. And a group project debate panel. And a presentation on the Convention on the Elimination of all forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW...aka, Worst Acronym Ever (WAE...also the sound the waaahmbulance makes)).

And what am I doing here? Other than teaching my computer the word "agroecosystem" and cruising facebook and looking up cute LOLcats? Why, stressing about all these deadlines while looking at LOLcats, of course.

Some people never learn....

Small Meetings

2011-04-08T17:29:00.003+02:00

Max and I have a few routes we walk in the mornings. One of our favorite spots is a park about fifteen minutes' walk from our house. This park (name withheld to protect the guilty) is a dog haven in the early morning. Max and I enjoy wandering around, sniffing (him) and seeing (me) what's happening, especially now when it's no longer butt-freezing cold.

A while ago I wrote about Norwegians, and the fact they're not easy people to get to know. Norwegians are notoriously withheld. But, as the weather thaws, so too will they.

I wonder if dog people are like parents. While the pups are playing, it doesn't feel right to stand around and not talk to each other, so banal conversation pops up. Max and I were at our favorite park today when we met a rabbit dachshund we've seen before. I let Max off his leash, and the little dachshund's owner and I walked companionably for en liten stund (a little while) talking about...the weather.

What is this about random conversations that suddenly you can tell someone, “I'm flying to visit my family today in northern Norway and it's still full winter there.”

Or:

“My family is from California and everything has been in bloom since February.”

Obviously, they aren't intimate details, but it is odd how in situations like these we can let someone peek into our lives for just a moment. Even in the most mundane of conversation it strikes me with wonder that here, across from me, is an entire full person full of experiences I will never know, and can't even imagine, whose life I've crossed for just a few minutes as our dogs play under still-naked oak trees. I take in his nice clothing and on-trend scarf and glasses and think: Why did he move to Oslo? Does he have a career here? Does he have someone he loves here? And then, does he wonder the same about me?

Just a few hundred meters and we had to part to begin our respective days. And without so much as a “See ya later,” or “Nice meeting you,” we collect and leash our dogs and head home, this brief encounter ended.

Spring Happy

2011-04-06T12:42:00.003+02:00

Where I come from we have three seasons: Hot, Not-So-Hot, and Wet Cold (aka I Can’t See Through This Fog). We Central Californians are the people who wear short sleeves through Halloween, who consider winter shoes to be something other than sandals, and whose top criteria for jackets are “cute, water proof would be a bonus.”

I encountered a slight difference in seasons when I moved to Norway.

In case you didn’t know, I think the winters here are totally harsh. I have adapted to wearing tall boots, wool longjohns, strategic layers, and have even learned how to wear my socks properly. (Did you know if you layer your socks inappropriately your feet will turn into ice blocks?) The upshot to all the snow and cold is I find myself positively giddy at the first signs of spring.

A few weeks ago I noticed a group of road workers washing down the bus stop. I frantically texted Sverre, “It’s spring! Spring is here, they’re cleaning the bus stop!”

“Aren’t you glad for Norwegian winters? Now you appreciate spring!” He answered.

Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far to say I’m glad to have Norwegian winters. But I have noticed over the past few years I’ve been in Norway that I have come to appreciate the beautiful days we have here more so than I did when I lived in California. When I first moved here, I spent the last beautiful days of summer mostly inside because…well, because I was too bored to find something to do. And I didn’t know what to do outside. Sverre urged me over and over again to take a walk, go get a coffee and sit outside, do something! “No, no,” I’d say over and over, "it’s okay, I don’t really feel like going outside.”

Now if there is a sunny day you can find me outside with the other Norwegians. Even days I would have deemed “butt freezing cold” in California are now maximized to full sunning capability. We sit outside, studying or just relaxing, our faces turned into the sun like pale, pasty flowers to catch the slightest bit of warmth. At school we throw open the classroom windows to let the fresh air inside. Today our lecture was accompanied by the chorus of songbirds who are gradually returning from their winter’s migration.

One of my new friends doesn’t quite understand why I am practically skipping to school, ecstatic over asphalt. She thinks we’re all crazy for choosing to sit outside as much as we can, when we can sit inside where it’s warmer. It can't really be spring yet, she says, the snow isn't totally gone and everything still looks dead.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Just give it a little longer, you’ll learn.”

Radio Silence

2011-04-05T11:19:00.003+02:00

Man, this popping up with "I'm so sorry I haven't been blogging" blogs is becoming a bit of a habit.

Last night we were cruising Finn (the buy anything and everything website) and looking at properties on the coast of Norway. Now, don't get all excited, it will be years and years before we are comfortably able to buy a home (especially with all these rumblings of interest rates rising). We are, however, allowed to peek and dream a little. While looking at a property with a charming little house on bajillions of acres of rocky coastline I sighed, "Oh, when I'm a famous writer someday I'll buy us one of these gorgeous places in the middle of nowhere, and then we don't have to think about jobs and stuff."

To which Sverre responded, "You know you actually have to write something in order to be a famous writer, right?"

There goes Mr Logicpants, ruining it for everyone.

The conversation last night did get me thinking. Ever since I was young I've wanted to write. My dad has disks and disks at home loaded with a half-written novel from when I was around fourteen. There's a website I visit sprinkled with abandoned stories of mine, some of which were only mildly awful. While going through old papers during our last visit to California I found notebooks crammed full of drawings, story outlines, maps, histories and even a language I invented (these are all pre-requisites for any fantasy nerd). Where did all of this go?

I could blame life...because, well, shit happens. There's also 45 units this semester at school, that's a time-eater. And I could easily blame the internet (oh, You Tube memes, you kill me). Yet here again, Mr Logicpants cuts through the bullshit: "If you think about all the time you spend reading, you could use that writing."

Is this the form spousal support is supposed to take?

The real culprit, I suppose, is an apathy to writing which has settled in. There have been countless times over the past months I've told myself, "I should blog that." Or, "I should write that down." Or, "That was a bitching awesome dream. I should write about it right away and remember it." Maybe it's time to reevaluate? Is this just a massive case of writer's block? Or have I started to set aside this goal as a kid's dream, as I am finally starting to grow up and work towards getting a real job? Maybe I just need to light a fire under my ass. I have a sneaky feeling the answer lies in a mish-mash of all these thoughts.

Please Donate, Write In, Do What is Right.

2011-02-19T22:27:00.002+01:00

I'm following in Karla's footsteps here, as she's taken a message we've put out on Facebook and loaded it to her blog. And I think that's the right thing to do, as my blog will probably reach more than my super-duper-privacy-shielded Facebook page.

This is for the Americans who follow this blog:

Yesterday, the Republicans passed an amendment in the House of Representatives to defund Planned Parenthood. Their logic? That federal funding given to Planned Parenthood leads to a bloodbath of dead fetuses, a wild abortion spree, which is blatantly NOT TRUE.

Planned Parenthood provides an extremely valuable service to millions of women, men, and teenagers. Did you know at Planned Parenthood you can receive services for:

Cancer screening
Pre-natal care
Women's health and fertility
In/with cancer screenings: pap smears and breast examinations
STD tests and treatment, including HIV, as well as education
Men's sexual health (testicular cancer, infertility, UTI's, etc)
Birth control
Pregnancy prevention education
Sexual orientation and gender
Relationships
Oh yeah, and abortions

Abortions account for 3% of Planned Parenthood's activities. Three percent. 0.03, 3/100, 30/1,000 however you choose to manipulate the statistic the reality is there is so much more to this vital service that reaches across American society in order to provide service to Americans in need of them.

Not to mention, the anti-choice movement is exactly that: Campaigning to remove choice and a woman's right to her own body from her. Please, do not support this removal of bodily sovereignty from women.

Please, please, if you support Planned Parenthood and the services it provides to American communities, sign their online petition: www.istandwithplannedparenthood.org Sign the petition, donate, do what you feel is right. This petition will be forwarded to your member of the House who voted for the Pence Amendment, and will urge your Senator to not support it in the Senate.

Normally, I try to keep my blog as non-political as possible. But I feel this is a very important moment for American women, and we can't afford to allow further medical resources and services to be taken from us. In closing, please feel free to watch these two videos from last night's House meeting. These two representatives are far more eloquent than I:

Friday Libations

2011-02-18T09:41:00.003+01:00

An Irishwoman, Croatian, and American go to school on Friday, with only one class to attend. What's the only way for each to deal with school on Friday?

Cider.

(The alcoholic kind.)

In the cafeteria.

Before noon.

Every Friday.

Cue the amazed/disgusted/offended looks of models-of-self-restraint Scandinavians from every corner, much to the cackling delight of our three anti-heroines.

Of course, it has occurred to some of us that drinking before class is a very bad idea. Not only does the bladder protest most vehemently, but Scandinavian architects appear to be mortal enemies of proper ventilation. I only survive stuffy rooms with a pleasantly mellow voiced instructor by convincing myself I am absolutely fascinated with the topic. (Okay, okay, I admit it, I actually am. I never thought I'd be the geek who'd think learning about irrigation and soils is cool.)

What can I say? I totally cave to peer pressure.

Transition

2011-01-23T12:34:00.007+01:00

So, I've been AWOL for a while. A lot of Norway bloggers have been, and we all admitted to neglecting our blogs dreadfully at last weekend's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (but boys can come too)" meet-up at the Dubliner in Oslo, all arranged by our lovely Non-Blogger Scottish Karen. Turns out life happens to everyone.

Things have certainly been happening in our neck of the countryside. Three months ago Sverre and I gave our notice to our landlords that we would be moving back into Oslo. There were a lot of reasons for that, the largest being our commutes sucked. Sverre has to leave the house before 5:30 a.m. in order to avoid traffic, and I face a two-hour commute (one way, mind you) to university. Add in the horses, dealing with horses and farm life in winter (fuck me, if I've said it once I've said a thousand times: I hate carrying water buckets), and myriad other stress-inducing things and we were not happy campers. We took a Christmas vacation to California and didn't realized how stressed and exhausted we were until allowed uninterrupted sleep and rest. We came back to Norway refreshed, recharged and ready to start packing.

So this is what my house looks like right now. (For the record: I will keep that Tiffany's box and ribbon til the day I die, or it falls apart from age, whichever comes first. It is impossible to explain this sentiment to my husband.) Boxes and empty book shelves and frantic digging in the morning because did I pack my hair dryer without meaning to? Where did my recipe book go? Is it possible to make a chowder soup when all of your pots are boxed and buried under spoons and racks and whatever else?

I'm excited about moving back into the city and reducing my commute by half. Sverre will have the freedom to work as long as he needs to, when he needs to, without worrying about traffic blocks in Asker and Sandvika. I will be able to spend more time with this one, too:

"Stop playing with the computer and all those boxes," he says. "Play with me instead!"

Of course I'll miss the people out here on the farm, and the friends I've made among the boarders. I will miss the horses, but they can keep their water buckets, I won't miss the work. I don't know when the next Friday ride will be, but I hope it won't be too long before I'm back in the saddle.

For now it's time to turn off the computer, blast the 90's mix on the iPod, and get back to packing. Next time I write, I'll have to give you a tour of our new home.

Brrr...

2010-11-25T15:02:00.005+01:00

It's been bloody freezing lately. This morning the thermometer was at -8.7C when I pulled on my snowsuit to go down to the stable, and it's warmed to a balmy -6C. Supposedly it's going to be colder next week.

If that's true, it looks like the snow will stick around for my Term End/Thanksgiving dinner we're having next weekend. May sledding hilarity ensue.

Some of us elect to keep as warm as possible during these long winter months. A sentiment I cannot argue....

Bright Lights

2010-11-16T14:10:00.004+01:00

...Big City, baby!

I've been wondering when to break the news online, but today I've decided to say what the hell and let you all know:

These country mice are moving back into Oslo.

This is old news for a lot of people, especially family members and Facebook people, but I felt I had to hold off on announcing our decision online until everything was set in stone. So yes, as of February, we'll be back in town. I don't know if it will be for good-for good, but I hope it will at least be for a number of years. I am dreading the thought of moving an entire house worth of stuff into a city apartment (futile already, this will require a fine flea comb inventory of important things and casting off the unnecessary). It will also require a large investment in beer. How else are we going to get anyone to help Sverre get his gigantic sofa up one flight of stairs, much less up a probable four or five flights?

We originally moved out to the countryside, and to the farm, for all the right reasons. And over the course of the year, those reasons and our needs have shifted away from each other. We originally believed I would be able to commute easily from the farm to school, all the way on the other end side of the fjord...from Buskerud to the ass-end of Akershus. Not so much, I spend at least two hours traveling one way to school. I was also hoping that I would have greater flexibility in scheduling my classes. Turns out because of my university's small student population, and my small class size (for my degree the bachelor class this year is a whopping 44 students), I am set on a pre-determined schedule. I have more flexibility with my elective courses, but once again, due to small population size these classes are usually offered by one teacher, one semester a year, with one class on offer. I have to carefully juggle the courses I select with my schedule.

I'm not the only one affected. Sverre needs to be closer to work as he takes on more responsibility, takes more names, and generally kung-fus his way up the corporate ladder. Our long distance from the city limits his flexibility with work, business meetings, foo-foo fancy dinners, etc.

And so we've spent a lot of valuable time on Finn. The February openings are slowly starting to emerge, and we've been comparing previous availabilities so we know what we can expect to find within our budget. Sverre would love to live downtown, preferably in something old and classic looking. We'll see what's out there. It's a hell of a project, that's for sure. Good thing I've got January free from school this year, I'll be able to concentrate on sifting through all of our stuff before the big day. We'll also be going home to California for Christmas, so I'll be able to go through my things in storage and decide on what needs to go, and what needs to come to Norway. Hmph, yes, it seems nothing really is ever easy.

I am looking forward to cutting down my commute from two hours to a half hour. I'm also looking forward more opportunities for things to do, and a greater opportunity for Sverre and I to have a social life together (one of the major drawbacks of country life being that someone must always drive, and that someone must possess a Norwegian driver's license). Most of my friends from school live in Oslo, which will make arranging study groups a lot easier. I will miss the clean air, the horses, and the ability to walk my dog off-leash from directly out my back door. I may even miss having a back door. And a yard. There is a bittersweet tinge to this decision.

In the end, though, I think we've made the right choice. Now we just need to get lucky on our apartment hunt....

What a day!

2010-10-26T06:56:00.003+02:00

In four minutes it will be 7 A.M. on a Tuesday, and already I've made an utter idiot of myself. It takes talent to be this good.

What did I do today? Well, first I forgot to take my backpack out of Sverre's car last night. My wallet with my bus passes, train tickets and money is in Oslo while I'm an hour away at home. After scrounging through the house and coming up with 20 kroner all in 1 kroner coins, I think I'm stuck here for the day.

I managed to get only a few hours sleep last night, waking up repeatedly to stare wild-eyed at the clock. Oof, I hate those nights. In my tired, stumbley state this morning, I accidentally shut Max's nose in the door. His nose seems fine, but he has decided to spend the rest of the morning hiding under my bed giving me the Mother of All Guilt Trips. Not that I can blame him.

Tuesdays. Now it's 7:01. This day still has an opportunity to redeem itself, here's hoping!

All the Pretty Horses

2010-10-24T11:52:00.010+02:00

Last weekend I had the opportunity to spend the day at the Kingsland Oslo Horse Show. The horse show is a yearly event that showcases jumping, dressage, clinics, and amateur discipline competitions. The grand finale is the Rolex FEI Grand Prix show jumping competition. My boss/landlord's company was one of the sponsors, and they gave their extra tickets to the boarders at the stable. We packed a few cars full of horse-crazy girls of all ages, and one very understanding boyfriend.

I know I'm not a good photographer, so I'm using quite a few photos I found on the internet from the event. I've made sure to put credits for the websites I found them on. (Oh, God, please don't sue me.)

Horses, horses and more horses. And women. The vast majority of spectators were female. Dudes in Oslo, if you're wondering where all the single ladies were last weekend, they were at Telenor Arena lusting over horses worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and spending their paychecks on horse paraphernalia. Keep this in mind for next year.

dressursaklart.no

I'm not good at jumping, at all. In fact, I tried it a few times while I was riding at a stable in Okinawa. My instructor told me after a few lessons, "Maybe you should stick to dressage."

So it amazes me to see these horses fly effortlessly over fences taller than five feet, with breadths up to six feet. Most of the riders have been on horseback all of their lives, and their job is to train, train, train. They make this type of competition look so easy, you might wonder what all the fuss is about. After watching show jumping on TV during the Olympics, I can say the true skill and fearlessness of these horses and riders is something one must see in person to believe.

hest.no

oslohorseshow.no

This competition for Grand Prix jumping is the first leg of the World Cup European series. Riders from all over the world competed, attempting to clear all jumps without faults, with the fastest time. The Germans ended up craftily finding a way to cut short the course, while completing the jumps in correct order and direction and shaving off several seconds from the leading riders. The audience becomes so involved with the competition that the arena is dead-silent except for the sound of the horse's hoofbeats and the creak of leather. The audience erupted whenever a rider competed a clear round, or shouted "Nei!" or "Oi!" in unison when a pole was knocked off.

The half-time of the day was a family show. Children participated in a Shetland race, urging their tiny ponies around the arena, jumping small hedges. Girls from Denmark, Sweden and Norway competed in a Mountain Games competition, which combines speed and agility

hest.no

The highlight of the family show was a performance put on by Mario Luraschi's troupe of equestrians. This side of the show combines not just athleticism, but artwork. A beautiful sequence with an acrobat and rider, a jousting/knight show, and my favorite, a troupe of trick riders amazed everyone.

telenorarena.no

Saving the best for last, I love dressage. Maybe because it looks so easy, but is in fact very difficult. Because it requires skill, strength, agility and a lot of thought. Dressage is about precision, and like jumping it finds its roots in military cavalry exercises. The rider should move as little as possible, making it seem as though the horse is doing the maneuvers on its own. The winner, Edward Gal and his stallion Interfloor Next One trounced the competition. They were incredible.

Other standouts include a Swedish rider, a lady who is still competing at world class levels at 72. Yes, you read that right, 72 years old.

This fellow I'm including because of his music choice. His routine was a sort of elevator music Lady Gaga mix. Heh.

Though Gal and his stallion were the clear winners, the crowd favorite by far was Aat van Essen and his gelding Premier. Their joy infected the entire audience. I've included a video of their routine, which you can watch here. The music is from The Holiday, one of my favorite movies. You can tell at the end just how pleased van Essen was with his ride.

The person filming was also caught up, so the camera jostles a bit when she claps. But this film shows the athleticism of a dressage horse very well.

This was my first time at a Grand Prix horse show. I'm used to rodeos and other Western competitions, so this was an amazing opportunity to experience something new. I'm already planning to attend next year!

Freezing

2010-10-21T10:12:00.005+02:00

It was -5C this morning. I hate that. It means winter is on its way, even if this is just a brief cold snap. There's supposed to be a bit of snow this evening, too. It's all just a giant, frozen pile of yuck.

I used my brain this morning, attempting to find a long hose I could connect inside the stable and drag outside in order to fill the water buckets. A lot of cursing, a lot of fiddling with strange bobbles for connecting hoses, matching with spouts, etc., etc., and a half hour later I had a hose two meters too short spraying water all over the yard. Did you know in freezing conditions a thin layer of water will freeze like that? In mere moments? I remembered this fact when I was forced to perform a very ungraceful interpretative ice dance on the cement pad in front of the stable door. I'm sure the four-leggeds were all very impressed. It's back to carrying buckets, something of which I am not, I repeat, not a fan. There are heated buckets on order, but it's like winter knows you have a plan, and that sneaky bitch has to cut you off at the nose.

Some beasties are planning on spending the winter outside, so last night was probably a kick in the undescended nads for one little boy in particular. His mama has lived all seventeen years of her life in Norway, but if I were foal I'd probably be wondering, What the hell is all this frozen stuff? Is it going to stay this way for long?

Hate to break it to you, baby boy, but the fun's just starting. I think Max and I will spend the day inside by the kitchen fire with fresh baked goods and hot coffee to fend off the cold front. Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

Should Be

2010-10-18T10:50:00.005+02:00

I should be studying right now.

I should be doing research for my term paper. I have decided, as usual, to give myself a conker of a topic, comparing food security and environmental changes (specifically water shortages) effects upon impoverished in a developed and a developing country. Everyone back home gets three guesses as to which area in a developed country I'll be focusing on, first two don't count. I don't know if I'll be able to narrow it down to eight to ten pages. And I don't want to restart my half-hearted Google Scholar searching.

I should also be doing my extra reading for my global environment change class. Last week's lecture was on carbon sequestration, which I do not understand. I missed that lecture because I missed my bus. And I missed my bus today. I have got to find a better method for getting ready in the morning. Getting up at 5:20 am is already the limit of my abilities, I think I'm going to have to make my lunch the night before, even though the probability of greasy cheese and soggy bread will rise exponentially.

I should be reading for ecology class, but that can wait.

I should be thinking about how to write a blog about the Oslo Horse Show, and fiddling with the blurry pictures I have.

But instead, I think I may just go back to slobbering over the Best Gift Ever.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, you guys are the bestest!

(Picture from wired.com)

Collegiate Fashion

2010-09-28T17:24:00.003+02:00

Maybe I've been off in my own little world, first in our little apartment in Nordstrand and then on the farm, so I've missed the beginning of this trend.

Oh yes, my friends, they're back. The first time I was a little too young for them (though I do remember the cool kids in school layering their socks),
this time around I'm too far behind on the fashion power-curve. A very interesting interpretation of the legwarmers trend that I've seen is little shorts, tights, legwarmers, and a cute shoe. Something like this:

I mean, I can't help but look at these girls and wonder if their thighs are freezing. Maybe that's why I'm not terribly fashionable; I over-think it too much. Is this showing up in the States, too?

The things we do for love

2010-09-27T15:49:00.003+02:00

Love is when one person's happiness is more important than your own.
- H. Jackson Brown Jr.

I've reached a new level where this applies to my dog. You see, Max loves fish. The stinkier the better. In an effort to make up for our long days away, we've bought him a large bag of dried fish. The pieces look exactly like this:

And those fish stink like hell.

But, lordy lordy, how he loves them. Right now he's contently chewing his treat on the lawn, in between paroxysms of ecstasy where he rolls over on his back, panting loudly, clutching it to his chest. I can't find it in my heart to deny him.

I suppose my next labor of love will be fashioning a nose plug for Sverre.

Buckling Down

2010-09-17T10:09:00.005+02:00

Talk about busy, where was I?

School's going well. I realized I had to start dusting off the old gray matter and get it working again in my Global Environment Change class. My professor was explaining the nitrogen cycle and asked if anyone could explain it. Student after student started talking about ammonium, and nitrous oxide, and nitrous dioxide, and...needless to say I was lost. The last time I took anything chemistry related I was a junior in high school. That was a while ago. Fortunately, there's a lot of social science dweebs like me in the class, and the main text is more basic than the level of the lectures. This means we can read and clarify and then go over the lecture again.

I received a letter from the school last week. They've accepted all of my applicable transfer units, and now I'm relieved of my social science mandatory courses. Hurray! Every single sociology course was accepted, so now I can buckle down and focus on the science aspect of my course. Which, as mentioned above, needs a bit of work.

It's starting to get cold. The leaves are turning to all sorts of gold and red and orange. I like the crispness and the fallen leaves on the road. I feel more energy while Max and I are out for our walks. The horses still on pasture are developing thick coats and are staying down near the water tubs where I can see them. The grass on the pastures is fast losing its nutritive value, and they are being supplemented with delicious hay silage. I want to tell them to enjoy their last few days on the large pastures before they move to the smaller paddocks and start standing inside overnight.

A few days ago Sverre called for me to come outside. A flock of geese was flying southward in a ragged V over the farm. We watched as their formation broke: the leading fulcrum dissolved, the formation pulled into a line, and then reformed back into their V, with the former leaders now riding the air draft created by the birds ahead. Such a highly choreographed moment is fascinating to watch. These days are perfect for long walks, driving with my neighbor in her two-seat carriage, playing over the closed pastures with Max, and hot cups of chocolate on rainy days.

But for now, it's back to the books.

I Swear, I'm Not Dead Yet!

2010-09-12T18:49:00.003+02:00

Oh my God, you might say, Corinne made it back to her blog! What earth-shattering event has happened? Is there something exciting and new in the works that will leave me enthralled?

No, not really. I just really, really do not want to do my writing class assignment. It's an exercise in clarity, and if you've read this blog, you know clarity-in-writing is not my strong suit. I'm much too wandery and spacey for that.

Oh, hey, how are you?

Long time no blog!

I'm a little afraid to check and see when I posted last. I realized I was getting really far behind when meeting fellow bloggers at Renny's Oslo Blog Gathering and people asked, hey, what's going on? Why aren't you blogging? And then I started getting a serious case of the guilties when my dad asked if I'd blocked my blog or set it to private. I had to sheepishly admit I was just being lazy. So, um, yeah.

Summer's been pretty wild around here. First, as you guys know, my parents came out to visit. We had an awesome time. We mostly stuck around Oslo, visiting museums and cultural sites. There was also a lot of wine and beer and fabulous dinners out on our back porch. One of the high points of the trip was a lunch/picnic we had with Sverre's entire family. We barbecued, played bocce ball on the lawn, and enjoyed ourselves immensely.

After their visit, Sverre went back to work and I...well, I enjoyed the rest of my summer free from responsibility.

School started in August. The way my university works has been a revelation. We had a one month course in August, and then the normal semester began the first week of September. My degree is...well, I have a good idea of where I want to go, but the route there is interesting. Right now I'm taking a science based load with ecology and global environmental change comprising my lecture courses. I also am taking two seminars, one for writing (in English, God I hope my transfer credits get through soon because if I have to essentially redo my English Comp and Logic course I'm going to pull my hair out....) and one relating to global development.

My classes are very interesting. All of my professors are active researchers, who essentially open a course saying, "I'm on a break from field work so I'm lecturing this semester, but I spend most of my time in [whichever country]...." This may not seem so fancy to a lot of people, but it's a new experience for me.

The interesting thing about taking these classes--such as ecology and environmental change--is they attract a wide-ranging group of students. Trust me, we have it all in my class. One of my favorite discussions last week was a group of students arguing the only way to break the neo-liberal system of economics was to abolish money. What would we use instead? Bartering. And what happens when bartering plain goods gets too ponderous? "Well, you could assign numbers. And people would receive units for their labor, and it would all be held in an account, and your number would reflect the work you've done, and what you can purchase."

I couldn't help but blurt out, "Dude, that's online banking."

And then there's the cabal of students convinced globalization is the End Of The World, and we should all be growing our own food on our rooftops. I swear, I am not making this shit up, couldn't if I tried. It does mean, however, our lectures get quite lively.

Also in August: Renny's Oslo Blog Gathering. I ended up joining on the last day, and accompanied Karen The Blogless Scot, DianeCA, Maria from Ibiza, and Lele from Perola de Cultura and her husband to Oscarsborgfestning. You can hit Renny's blog for a great post about that trip, I'll just chime in to say we had an awesome time.

Afterward we met Renny, TorAa, and the LifeCruisers at Oslo Medieval Park for champagne. That was pretty awesome, too. I drank a lot of champagne.

So much so, in fact, that when we trouped over to the Dubliner to meet with Beaverboosh, Michele, Karla, Caroline and the respective spousal units present...man, was I cooked. I distinctly remember being passionately inflamed about my degree and the path I wanted to follow, cornering poor BB, and expounding forever, and ever, and ever, and eventually losing my sentences. I also adopted Karla. If you ever get to meet these guys in real life, yes, they are all awesome. All told, I was having so much fun. Guys, we need to do these things more often. Seriously.

When Sverre came to pick me up, I think everyone had broken for a smoke break. He asked me if I was ready to leave, and at that moment I experienced a moment of shining clarity. If I can only focus on him through one eye, it's probably time to go. So, everyone, sorry if I didn't say goodbye. Rest assured, it was awesome meeting you all. Karen, get thee a blog.

Anyway, to wrap up, we're trying to settle into our new schedules at the farm, and we're hitting a few snags. Another reason for my long break from blogging. We're tired. With my small class size, I am not able to create my own schedule of classes, so I'm traveling two hours plus every day to just get to school, and Sverre drives me home most days. We're ending up in a huge rush every day, and that's no good. So we've sat down with the farm owners and talked. And...well. We'll figure out how things go from here. Expect further announcements down the line.

Speaking of which, time to rush off the feed the horses. And then maybe I'll get around to that writing assignment. Clarity. Clarity....

Rainy Days Indoors

2010-07-03T10:42:00.005+02:00

You never know how long summer will be. This is the motto of Norwegian summertime. Fortunately this summer has been fantastic, broken only by a few rainy days. But, what does one do when touring Oslo and the rain starts pouring down?

You could suck it up and carry on with the outdoor activities. Or you could scoot indoors to the museums on the peninsula of Bygdøy. There are six museums there, though the three I will cover in this post will fill a day nicely without sending you into information overload.

The Viking Ship Museum.

Three ships from the Viking era, in fair to excellent condition. All three ships were used for burials, and the clay they were buried in preserved much of the structures. The most beautiful was not a full sea-faring vessel, but instead a pleasure craft that became a coffin for a Viking queen. This museum has full Norwegian-English-German translations available. The ships are gorgeous, and the back wing of the museum holds finds from the burial sites.

This was the museum where we experienced the longest lines. But bless those little Norwegians and their little efficient hearts, we were through and in the exhibit area in just a few minutes.

The FRAM Museum

I guess it's only natural that a country with a huge amount of coastline has lots of museums about boats. The FRAM museum (also known as the polar ship museum) was built over and around the original ship. Meaning forward in Norwegian, FRAM was built specifically to withstand polar ice drift. Designed for Norwegian hero Fridtjof Nansen, she was sailed into the northern ice floes, was purposefully frozen in the ice, and floated with the drift for three years. (And this is like, all in 1893 and stuff. Before satellite internet and iTunes and YouTube and DVDs. I swear I would never survive.) Nansen originally hoped to float over the North Pole, and when that was deemed impossible he set off on foot with his pal Hjalmar Johansen. They had to turn back before reaching the Pole and were picked up the next spring by a British expedition.

The FRAM was used in subsequent polar missions, and was the ship that carried Roald Amundsen to Antarctica for his "race" to the South Pole against the doomed Scott.

There's an awful lot of stuff at this museum--not just the ship. You can go aboard the FRAM and check out what it would have been like to live for three years on a ship. Items used aboard ship--from everyday cutlery to scientific equipment--and artifacts acquired during the expeditions line the walls. There are also detailed maps and displays about each of FRAM's expeditions, and sections devoted to her most famous explorers.

The Kon-Tiki Museum

We really thought the Kon-Tiki Museum would only hold a wooden raft. Well, in fact, it holds two. Thor Heyerdahl believed travel from South America to Polynesia was possible without "modern" transportation. So he had the Kon-Tiki built, and in 1947 succeeded in sailing it from Peru to South Pacific islands. The museum also holds the Ra-II, which was used to demonstrate that ancient mariners would have been able to cross the Atlantic.

The Kon-Tiki museum would be a cool family spot to visit. The exhibits are colorful and fun. There's, of course, the two sea-faring "rafts." You can check out all of Heyerdahl's missions, and his work around the Pacific. Right now a side exhibit features the Plastiki; an environmental awareness voyage underway at this time with two of Heyerdahl's grandchildren listed as crew members.

(Uh, this is the Ra-II, and not the Plastiki. Which is made of plastic. Get it, get it?!)

There's not much by way of eating around any of these three museums other than kiosks selling over-priced hot dogs. I would definitely suggest packing a cooler if you're going by car, or carrying something to snack on. Unless, of course, over-priced hot dogs are your kind of thing.

For the History Buffs

2010-07-02T12:41:00.009+02:00

It's been an exciting two weeks of touring, museums, lunches, dinners, barbecues and sun. Now my parents are safely back home in California--with one very relieved son and an even happier dog--and we three Norway-dwellers are missing them and the vacation inspired activity.

I think Sverre and I saw more of the Oslo fjord and its attractions in those two weeks than we had in the entire year we lived in the city. We started out in our local area, and then gradually worked our way inward.*

Our first day was spent not in Oslo, but on the fjord itself in the vacation town of Drøbak. My dad is a great World War II buff, so Oscarsborg festning was a must. The fortress of Oscarsborg lies on a small island in the narrowest part of the Oslo fjord. Early on April 9th, 1940 a group of German war craft sailed on dark waters toward the capital. They were intent on capturing the city, and forcing the king and the government to surrender to the fuhrer. So sure were they of their goal, and the strength of their mighty heavy cruiser Blücher, the Nazi commander kept his armament aimed forward and aft. He was certain that if any Norwegian resistance was met, it would be easily countered. The gigantic ship sailed up to the fortress in Drøbak sound (manned by nearly fifty year old guns and a limited number of trained gunners) with every intention of passing by.

At 4:21 am, when the ship was a mile distant on the water (point-blank range for large weaponry), the Norwegians opened fire. They hit the money spot on the giant Blücher, igniting a large fire that impeded operation of the ship's large guns. The large ship sailed past the guns into the narrowest part of the sound. The Nazis had no idea the Norwegians had installed torpedo batteries in 1901. Two torpedoes sealed Blücher's fate, and she was abandoned and sank three hours after the first hits were made. The rest of the Nazi flotilla had abandoned her as well, turning back at the sight of the torpedo explosions. The sinking of the Blücher bought the Norwegian king and the government enough time to escape Oslo, and allowed for the gold reserve to be emptied so the Norwegian government could carry out their war effort from overseas.

Needless to say, Norwegians are pretty proud of this battle.

If you decide to go to Oscarsborg festning, you can catch a ferry from Drøbak out to the island. You can clamber around among the guns and ramparts, stay at a hotel or spa, have lunch, attend concerts at the old fortress, go the museum and galleries...you're only limited by your own schedule (and maybe the ferry's). My only gripe was that while the museum has an excellent exhibition, little of the Norwegian text is translated to English. If you're really into history and you don't speak Norwegian, and don't have a handy-dandy Norwegian speaker at your disposal, it may be a good idea to contract an English speaking guide. I did not keep my eyes out for an audio-guide, so I do not know if that is available.

Anyway, while you're in Drøbak, be sure to have lunch. Skipperstua is a tad on the expensive side, but my God the food is great. The gravet ørret, or aged trout, is scrumptious--and I'm not even a huge fan of the aged raw stuff.

If you like your fish even more, ahem, "aged," be sure to visit the lutefisk museum. Yes, you read that right. Or take a walk around the old part of town and visit the Christmas store.

*My parents have decided to retain their internet anonymity, which eliminates most of our pictures from being published on the blog.

Whirlwind

2010-06-22T13:46:00.007+02:00

As many people know (especially those poor souls subjected to my status updates on Facebook), my parents have arrived in Norway for their first visit. Our goal from the outset was to experience Oslo and the areas surrounding the farm. For the past six days we have been all go with little rest.

But before I start logging in our adventures around the Oslo fjord, I must indulge in some advertisement.

In August there will be a blog gathering in Oslo. Renny has been planning this gathering for months, and you can read all about it at his blog. Anyone is invited, y'hear? So if you're in Oslo, somewhere around Norway, or somewhere around the world, please visit his page and reserve a place with us!

The folks at VisitOslo were very kind to hand out Oslo Passes to all of us attending the Oslo Blog Gathering planning meetings. These few days we've put that puppy through its paces.

An Oslo Pass will get you:

Free admission into any participating museum (which is like, almost all of them)
Free municipal parking (making Sverre very, very happy)
Free public transportation for the length of the ticket's validation (72 hours in our case)

My mom was the lucky pass user, and at every museum we've visited she's flashed her pass and sailed inside while the rest of us line up to hand over our money. The average museum cost in Oslo is 60,-NOK, so if you're planning on visiting Oslo and going museum and transportation heavy the Pass is a great deal, and I would highly recommend it.

Oh, and did I mention? If you join us for the Oslo Blog Gathering, an Oslo Pass will be included.

Oh, Baby!

2010-06-22T10:27:00.004+02:00

Remember how I said a foal will show up when you least expect it? Well, not to sound pompous or anything, but I was right.

The latest addition to the farm made his appearance Thursday evening. The foal alarm never made a sound. Our girl was discovered in labor by her owner taking one last peek at her for the evening, and the family rushed down to the stable. His first handler mistook him for a filly, so poor little guy was called "her" for his first day.

He's already standing out on the field with his mamma for a few hours every day. Hopefully when he's stronger they'll be able to stay outside. Right now those pins are a bit wobbly, and he's happy to bobble in circles while his mother keeps a close eye on him.

Flags and Bunad Everywhere!

2010-05-18T10:49:00.013+02:00

Yesterday was Norway's national day. In the back of my mind it is "Happy Birthday Norway day." Gratulerer med dagen (literally, "congratulations with the day") is the greeting for the day, the "Happy 17th of May!" It is also used as happy birthday, so there you have it. The 17th of May marks the signing of Norway's constitution in 1814. This being my first 17th of May in Norway, Sverre made sure we did it right by going to the parade in Oslo.

(You'll be glad to know this pic of Sverre is my one photographic contribution. No more crooked castles.)
The 17th of May is celebrated with children's parades throughout Norway. In Oslo, all of the schools in the city take part, beginning their march at the bottom of Karl Johansgate and ending at the palace. There the royal family stand on the balcony overlooking the city and wave...and wave...and wave.

(You know, we were held up on our drive into Oslo. The entire freeway was shut down for the Crown Prince's motorcade. Generally I might start muttering darkly about classism, but considering the entire family had to stand at that balcony to wave and smile for two hours, perhaps they deserve the perk.)

If you mosey on down to the Storting, the President of the Parliament has his own window balcony to wave from. The Prime Minister flew to Afghanistan to celebrate with Norwegian troops stationed there.

The traditions of the 17th of May are best left to a Norwegian who can explain them properly. If you're interested in Norway's National Day, you can read about it at Renny's always informative blog.

I love the pageantry of it all. Everyone in Norway dresses in their best, and turns out on the streets to wave the kids on; hotdogs and flags in hand. Traditional, colorful bunad; red, white, and blue flags; and dazed, exhausted, or hungover russ kids are everywhere. (If you google "norway russ" you'll find explanations of this coming of age transition from the benign "kids and their fun" to the morally outraged. I imagine the truth of russ' outrageousness runs down the middle.) The city is crammed with people, the air is saturated with festive spirit. Gratulerer med dagen, Norge!

Saturday's Lesson (A Smilebox Trial)

2010-05-09T19:52:00.004+02:00

I figured I would give Smilebox a try after making an e-card for my Mom.

Now that spring is here, we're heading outside to enjoy lovely weather! Every weekend a riding instructor comes to the farm and gives private lessons. I learned how to ride Western as a kid, and made the change to English as an adult. I like both styles very much, and English riding makes me think. Not only think about how I am riding, but the lessons are conducted entirely in Norwegian, and I take pleasure in finally being able to understand what the instructor is trying to get across.

I feel my riding skills are improving. Maybe it's the extra brain power I need to take ridetimer på norsk... no, more likely the instructor is that good. Our instructor is seventeen years old, and she can make me understand concepts more than any other instructor I've been with. I am in awe of those people who are natural teachers.

The horse I ride for my lessons is a warmblood trotter (or an American Standardbred) who originally trained for harness racing. He doesn't know too much about dressage, and neither do I, so we are learning together!

Create your own picture collage

A Whimsy-Dependent Question

2010-05-09T19:35:00.002+02:00

Are they olives...or eyeballs?

Warning

2010-05-07T20:14:00.002+02:00

If you decide to instant message me on a Friday evening, you take your sanity in your own hands:

Megan: Hey you

Sent at 8:09 PM on Friday

me: Hey you!

So do you have your camera yet?

Because then we can skype

And I am drinking

And Sverre is making beer

And I'm reading something on Daily Beast that is anti-babies but the comments are not making much sense right now

Sverre is making dinner. Not beer.

I am drinking beer.

God, I wish Sverre could make beer.

It's a dugnad!

2010-04-23T20:55:00.001+02:00

When I was in the military, one of the major consideration factors for awards and end-of-year performance reviews was community service. How did you volunteer this quarter, this year? The weight of community service was such that we had a joke: "I didn't volunteer, I was voluntold."

I think--Mr B, if you're reading this, feel free to correct me--that as communities grow, society pressure to volunteer lessens direct impact. One of the major reasons is infrastructure. Seriously, when was the last time you willingly went out and picked up trash along the highway? That's what prisoners are for, right?

In small communities the only resource is...you.

There's a word in Norwegian: dugnad. A dugnad is a community project. It's a measure of Norwegian psyche, I think, that this word is used for any sort of group effort. At the stables we plan dugnads for cleaning the paddocks, or even washing down the inside of the stables. Dugnads include coffee and cakes at the end, or some sort of festivity.

A larger example? Okay.

A few weeks ago, I got a flyer in the mail. Rekefest!, it trumpeted. Shrimp festival! Show up at 7:00 pm, and bring your 175 kroner! Scribbled in handwriting along the top: Dugnad, møtes klokken ti! Dugnad, meet at 10 o'clock! I tucked that flyer...somewhere...told Sverre, and promptly forgot about it.

Today. We're driving home from the store. Sverre has bought a new car, and it will be ready for pick up tomorrow morning at ten. We plan on swooping up some friends, if we can, and booking to Sweden so we can enjoy our new car (i.e., Sverre can show off) and get meat! Meat!

"Oh, shit," I said as I looked out the window at the beaches. "There's a dugnad tomorrow at ten."

Cue explosion, cursing, etc.

See, here's the thing. When you live in an everybody-knows-everybody-and-their-mother's-name kind of place, these festivals are optional. The dugnads, however, are not. Community opinion of you in its entirety can shift with one "Oh, well, we had errands to run." Our town is so small we don't even warrant an official blue sign, marking us on the map. We don't even have a store. Much less a stop sign. (More than one horse, ironically.) Which means that we're entirely DIY.

So I've been messaging on Facebook and via cell phone that we need to cancel our Sweden trip. Tomorrow we'll be down on the beach (need to remember gloves) ready to pick up a winter's worth of junk. With smiles on our faces. Because we're good citizens, damn it, and that's how it is, and we have no desire to have opinion turn against us.

I'm happy to do my bit, I just think that it's amazing to stop and think for a second. We really are pack animals, aren't we? We do what we have to keep in the group's good graces, and secure our place. The ties that bind....

Apple + Volcano x Sexy Jensy = Marketing!

2010-04-17T11:07:00.005+02:00

Apparently it's news when Norway's Prime Minister communicates by iPad with his peeps in Oslo, while stranded in New York because of Iceland's volcano.

(Hey, that rhymed a bit!)

Another day, another marketing opportunity for Apple (you're welcome!), another opportunity to ogle Jens.

Image from CNN, via Norwegian press, I think. Thanks!

Springtime Silence

2010-04-13T11:45:00.003+02:00

Have you noticed that it's pretty quiet amongst the Norway blogs?

Warmth!

It's because it's sunny out! And warm! And we have no bloody clue how long it will last. Once I finish lunch and posting this, I'll be running back outside.

(The picture is from last summer. I just can't wait until the grass is green again, it's on its way!)

HOLY MOLY!*

2010-04-09T20:12:00.003+02:00

Excuse my French, but holy fuck, I've been accepted to an actual, real, honest-to-God, no kidding university!

Halleluia, Praise Be, Jumpin' Jesus Jehoshaphat (...don't ask me, spellchek said it's spelled that way), I did it!

Only like, ten years behind the curve who cares??

The real crisis is that Sverre only bought six beers today, and the stores are already closed.

*(Title change because the F-bomb is a little un-family friendly for some of my followers to broadcast on their blogroll...I'm thinkin' of you, dudes.)

What The?

2010-04-09T19:39:00.003+02:00

Holy bajeebus, it's April!

Where does the time go?

A whole lot of nowhere, that's the answer, when you live out in the country. It's easy to get lost in the rhythm of life out here; get up, do chores: house chores, garden chores, horse chores, etc. ad naseum. My friends and I used to give each other shit about becoming "Suzy Homemaker," and sloppily over a bottle(bottles, in reality) of wine we'd promise we'd never go there.

My, my. How things have changed.

In all seriousness, life has been pretty slow after our return from Rome. And that's okay, actually. I have been waiting anxiously for spring, and it's finally started to starting to show.

This morning on my way to the stable three deer bolted from the stream and streaked up the summer pasture. It was foggy out, and I could only make out the white flashes of their tails. Then, while filling the water buckets in the paddocks, a pair of swans low-leveled over me. Not danger close, but I could hear the flapping of their wings between their honks. Swans are so gorgeous on the water, but in the air they look like white rubber chickens with broader wing spans.

The sun came out, I ran around in a t-shirt and jeans (finally, finally!), and we stripped the horses of their rain blankets. They were gloriously naked outside for the first time in months. Naturally, they repaid our thoughtfulness by indulging in long rolls in the mud. I imagine I understand how parents feel when their kids roll in the mud; you really wish they wouldn't, but they're so ecstatically happy you can't bring yourself to stop them. And--call me a sentimental fool--I go all mushy inside when a horse allows me to stroke my hand over its soft eyelid to remove some caked-on mud.

Hmm, that's my April so far. Expect raptures when the first leaves and wildflowers start peeking out of the ground.

Lookin' at Crap

2010-03-27T19:57:00.001+01:00

Today we decided, hey, let's go see some crap.

So we did. We drove for seven hours, just enjoying the company and the wind in our faces.

First, we went and saw some natural crap.

This beach area is named "Verdens Ende," or The End of the World. Sverre says Denmark is directly south of The End of the World. I don't know what that says about Denmark.

This is a old-style lighthouse. They would lower the basket and build a fire in it, then hoist it over the house. Can you imagine being on duty out there without your iPod?

For the curious, there is a restaurant at The End of the World. I could kick myself for not going in and asking if the cows offer table-side cut selections.

And there is a stable there! Do you think this is where the keep the steeds of the Four Horsemen?

Then we went and saw some old crap.

Stave churches are an interesting piece of Norwegian culture. The one we visited was Høyjord church.

Then we went and looked at some vintage crap. Here's Sverre standing outside the base he was stationed at during his time in the military. The exercise ranges have been opened for sillyvilians... I mean, civilians, and it was interesting to hear his stories as we trudged through the hillsides.

This is Sverre's old barracks. Six dudes to a room, with a living room separating them from another room of six dudes. And I complained about sharing a bathroom when I was in the military. It's all about perspective.

What a way to spend Earth Hour Day; driving for seven hours! Sorry, planet. Well, okay, I'm not terribly sorry because it was awesome!

(By the way, remember to light your candles at 8:30 p.m., local time!)

The Good Photos

2010-03-26T14:47:00.006+01:00

Here are the "Sverre Approved" photos from Rome. Finally!

These are all from the Vatican. What a mind blowing place.

Awesomeness

2010-03-16T16:05:00.003+01:00

...is an afternoon viewing the world from atop a horse.

Last Week's Project: Eating

2010-03-14T10:58:00.005+01:00

Sverre and I needed a break.

So we headed down to Rome for five days. We walked, we ate, we toured antiquities, we ate, we toured churches with gaping jaws, we ate, we drank a lot of beer, we ate, we drank a lot of wine, and we ate.

Some examples? Certainly.

One of Rome's best pizza places.

Angry fish is angry because I will eat him.

Breakfast. This is the only place we returned to, as the selection of morning "crostini" and sandwiches were so good, and it was only 10 Euro for the both of us to eat and have a coffee. Mmm, mmmm.

One needs to fill up on bruschetta and beer after spending three hours in St. Peter's basilica.

And one certainly needs pizza, a bottle of wine, and a delicious cake for dessert after three hours in the Vatican museums.

After such good food, one tends to feel a bit like this:

But in a good way, of course!

The Butterfly Effect

2010-03-01T21:21:00.005+01:00

Sverre and I watched The Butterfly Effect, and even if the story is weird it makes you think: What could have been?

The first experience I had with "The Butterfly Effect" beyond "if a butterfly flaps its wings, blah blah blah," was in the military. The commander of the squadron I worked in walked by me on a smoke break and handed me a piece of paper. It contained mathematical notation for chaos theory, and he asked me, "What do you think?"

I still have no idea what he was talking about.

Sometimes I take "slow" to its lowest level. Was he talking about things I'd done in the squadron, professional or personal? Was he making a point about life? Did he just think it was cool? I still have no idea why a colonel would pull over a lil sarge like me and hand me that.

I should also confess now that mathematics have never been my strong point, and my passing Statistics with an A only came through hard work and memorization... not absolute understanding. Advanced math like physics is beyond my understanding.

Moving forward: How did we become the people we are?

It's so easy to look back and link random, simple decisions to our futures.

For example, if I had never accepted an invitation to an AOL chatroom for my hometown's teens (this was back, back in the day before internet chatrooms became really scary), I would have never have met my first boyfriend. And through him--though he was, and still is, a nice dude--I wouldn't have left my good friends and ran with a looser crowd. I probably would not have rebelled as much as a teenager, to the point of ditching enough class for the school to formally ask me to leave.

And I never would have been kicked out of my house.

And I never would have realized that life was going in the wrong direction.

And I never would have ended up in a Burger King, sitting across a booth from a friend, picking over mini-cinnamon buns saying, "I've got to get the hell out of here, or I'm going to end up pregnant with a baby like all our other friends and never graduating."

And I never would have been standing an hour later outside the Air Force recruiting office, ready to sign, right then and there.

And I never would have hopped over the world, gotten into half the trouble I did, made the lasting friends I had, nor would I have been in just the right time and place to meet Sverre as a single person, looking for that new life post-military.

What could have been? Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I would have gone straight to college and met some boy. Perhaps I would have cured cancer, perhaps the next week I could have been in a car crash and smooshed like a bug.

The bitch about chaos, or existentialism, or any of that cockamamie bullshit, is that we're not given to know.

But it's weird to think about.

Random Bits

2010-02-13T11:10:00.004+01:00

Today I feel like being a bit random. Maybe because it's a Saturday, and I'm at loose ends for the moment.

I went all-out yesterday at the book store. One of the local chains, Ark, has a permanent 3-for-2 offer for all books in English. I bought six yesterday. Who cares that all of my thick wool socks have heel-sized holes in them, or that my sweaters are getting pilled, I needed something to read. It's a veritable orgy of literature on my coffee table.

After the book spending spree, Sverre and I drove to a scenic lookout over the fjord. You have to go through this crazy tunnel to get there, but the view is spectacular. We forgot the cameras, of course. After we finished walking though the (closed for winter) outdoor museum and we decided to head home, we found ourselves in quite the line waiting for the tunnel door to open. (Think large garage door.) We wait, we wait, we wait, people from inside the tunnel start coming through the pedestrian/emergency exit wondering what the hell is going on. Turns out a coupling on the chain to lift the door is broken.

Here's the difference between Americans and Norwegians, I think. I can imagine that we Americans would sit complaining, wringing our hands, and barking on the cell phones at the police, the park rangers, whoever is in charge to get their butts over to fix the problem. The Norwegians do all that, then throw their hands in the air and before you know it people are running around with boards and 2x4s and manually lifting the door and propping it in place. It's too cold a country to wait around for someone else, I reckon.

My house is so dirty. And I don't want to do anything about it right now. Maybe tomorrow while Sverre is at work.

Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Since it's my little brother's birthday (happy birthday, yo), I'm not hopelessly obsessed with the material or sentimental side of it. It's his day, you know? But I think I've found a recipe for some baked goods (top secret for now) that will pleasantly surprise Sverre. Cross your fingers for me. Did you know the Norwegian Mother's Day is the same day as Valentine's this year? That was odd, buying Valentine's cards and Mother's Day cards in the same go.

Ooh, it's been twenty minutes since I've been reading, time to get back.

Happy 101

2010-01-27T10:36:00.007+01:00

I never get awards. I think I'm plugged into the wrong blogging circles...either that or lost in my own orbit of oddness. But I got one, I got one!

Emma at Pink Bliss tagged me in an awards meme. What I have to do is list ten things that make me happy, and then tag ten other bloggers. So, here goes:

1) These two goobers. Why else would I live in Norway, or be happy if it weren't for them? Even if Sverre has banned Max from the bed (a rule conveniently discarded when he's at work), and from the couch (which Max ignores on his own), they both like me an awful lot, and I kinda feel the same way about them.

2) An honest to God house. The whole upstairs-to-the-living-room thing is weird, but a great butt workout because I'm always forgetting something. I miss the coziness of the old apartment, but not so much that I regret having crash space for guests, room for a real couch (goodbye, fugster), a REAL kitchen, and a big bathroom. And the whole farmhouse from 1740 thing isn't too bad either. Only downside is that it's a rental.... But it still makes me happy!

3) The horses. They're flighty, silly, some are downright stupid, and the pony is crafty enough to keep us all spinning in circles. But nothing beats a warm nose and hay breath in the morning, or a forehead being presented for a rub. They've always been an excellent workout program, as I've gone down another pants size or two just trying to keep up with all the work they provide. (Example below: when finished rolling, guess who gets to knock the mud off those blankets?)

4) Books. Oh, I'm such a bookaholic. I have been savoring this one, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, as it is one of those great books you pick up because hey, it's 3-for-2 again at Ark. And then you realize it's a Pulitzer winner and you think, bor-ing, but this one grabs you right away. Love it. Anyway, I'm a compulsive book shopper. If there's money in my pocket I'll skip all the clothing places and walk straight into a book store, only to return with pockets empty and a bag full of reading material.

5) Coffee. I traded my cigarette addiction for the java, and now I'm a three-cup-a-day, full-blown addict.

6) History. I can wander through a museum for hours. I liked my history classes, and still pick up books covering just about anything. But especially Islamic and Native American (weird mix) cultures. (By the way, if you're having a bad day, don't read Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee. Save that one for some other time.)

7) Taking walks with my two goobers. There's nothing better than quality time with these two!

8) Hugs. C'mon, you gotta be crazy if hugs don't make you happy.

9) Hanging out with friends. It's so much fun to meet up with people and just let go and relax. Not to mention a shameless plug for Renny's Oslo Blog Gathering.

10) Being present. I'm happiest when I'm not worrying over the past or the future, but just enjoying myself in the now with friends, family, husband and animals. Sometimes it's hard to catch those moments, but when I do, I can't help but feel fulfilled.

And now to pick ten people to pass this on to:

You know, I can't pick ten people because I'm an idiot and always start feeling guilty that someone will feel left out. Which is totally lame, but still. So, if you'd like to accept this award, follow the rules above, and just take it! Except for:

WOMYN (I shall make you do this or I shall beat you with wet noodles, gaaaah! And because it is my goal to distract you from your studying.)

Dear Frances

2010-01-22T21:59:00.005+01:00

Dear Frances,

You're gone now, and I think that may be a good thing. I think you have finally found peace, but I just wanted to write to you, and let others know, through this letter, how I feel about you.

You were my grandmother. Not through any biological lines. My grandparents left too early, and you filled their place for me. My last grandmother left me at seven, so you were the one who went to Grandparent's Day with me at school.

I remember sitting next to you at church. I remember your smell, like a warm kitchen and love. I remember the pasta that came out every Easter and Christmas. I followed you through the kitchen, plaguing you, and was herded out to sit with Guido in the living room. But you loved us kids still, and would always have a hug and kiss and a welcoming that is uniquely Italian-American. As kids we would wander in the garden, through the tomatoes and play in the backyard.

Later on in life you would include me in that female domesticity in the kitchen, trying to extend your knowledge of food and family to me. I wish I had listened at that age. I wish I had the knowledge and reflection that I have now. I hope memory will suffice.

Christmases would always be gingerbread men from Bathof's Bakery. We would eat those gingerbread men feet first on the car ride home. Because Christmas wasn't Christmas without Frances and Guido. Your home was a testament to your family, to your children, and to your grandchildren.

I want to thank you for being a mother to my mother and my father. They lost their parents early, and you filled a place for them that not many could. You were not only a friend, you and Guido were the parents they didn't have in a new state, in a new home. Because even grown adults, with children of their own, still need a mother. As an adult now, I can recognize the role you played for them, and I thank you so much. They loved you, and still love you, so very much.

As the Alzheimer's progressed, you would tell my mother that I was going to nursing school and marrying the man who lived in the house behind you. I think that this was not just the disease, but your hope of happy endings bleeding through the cloud of that wretched disease. I have found my happy ending, Frances, and I am sad that you never were able to meet Sverre. I think that it was best I never saw you in the old folk's home you were finally admitted to, but at the same time I feel a bit childish. I want to hold the memory of the Frances I know, and not think about the stories that repeated every few minutes as the degeneration progressed. I want to remember how you wanted to join the WAC as a young woman, and the stories about your children, and the people you helped. Because your life was always about helping others. Even if today you are a shining example that goes beyond religious affiliation. You were love, personified.

And that's what it really is about.

So I am thankful that you were granted a passing in your sleep. I am thankful that you left a legacy of love, and joy, and a community that will remember your help for the elderly, for the ill, and for those in pain. Your example of volunteerism through the hospital and through the Church should be a standard for all of us.

God Speed.
Find Peace.

Love,
Corinne

Oslo Blog Gathering -- August 2010.

2010-01-21T21:27:00.003+01:00

Hey guys, August 2010 is like, this year. And just eight (almost seven since this is the last part of January?) months away!

Oslo Blog Gathering: August 18-22!

RennyBA’s Terella

Official Program Site

Tonight I met with Renny and many other Norwegian (and the Writer, our temporary Denmark expat) bloggers for a wonderful meeting conducted over tapas and drinks. Let me just say, this party is starting to look like a lot of fun.

We met at the First Hotel Millennium in downtown Oslo. The hotel staff is helpful, and very excited about the prospects of this gathering. Our tour included the rooms (nice, lovely, holy crap the balconies for the single Superiors!) and gathering areas. With their cozy restaurant and separate mingling area, we have a perfect location for information sharing and gathering.

VisitOslo was also represented, and lemme tell you, the Oslo Pass is pretty swanky. Included in the registration fee, if you join us you will be able to travel all over Oslo on this pass. It includes public transportation (vital! Vital!) and admission to just about every museum in Oslo.

I really like how this is taking shape. You can keep track of events on Renny's OsloBG page. But the basic gist is this: We want people to enjoy Oslo. So you'll get Oslo By Fire Hose the first day, with a guided tour by VisitOslo, ending with a meeting with the mayor at Oslo's spectacular City Hall. The next days will be filled with events you will be able to pick from, a kind of "build your own" experience of Oslo. It's really cool.

Another important note: If you are a Norwegian, a Norwegian blogger, or a blogger in Norway, this event is not closed to anyone! We would love to have a real mix of not only international bloggers, but native Weegies as well. If you would like to help out, contact Renny!

Nervous

2010-01-17T15:13:00.002+01:00

So today I'm getting together all my transcripts---okay, the one transcript that I've received from the three schools I've attended--, my nifty little A.A. certificate (Associate of Arts, not the sober crowd), and the evidence I have that the government of Norway is aware that I'm still in their country and they are, in fact, hopefully doing something about that. I'm hoping to take a degree with an agricultural flavor. I'm tired of having my butt stapled to an office chair, and I loved my last job which had me driving up and down the county. Reimbursed gas mileage is awesome. Back on point....

I turned in my residency paperwork over a month before it was due. The holidays, and the Norwegian love of time off, meant that I received a "We're working on that" letter in the mail this week. My residency permit expires on the 31st of January.

My deadline for applying for school is 1st February.

I'm really, really hoping that a certified copy of the "We're working on that" letter and a copy of my old permit will satisfy the university.

In a perfect example of counting my chickens before they hatch*, I checked the bus tables. It takes two hours to get to the university. And the fact that the bus runs down our road about...oh, every two hours, this means I must have the horses fed, turned out, have myself scrubbed and fed and standing at the bus stop by 7:15 a.m.

If I get into the university.

I have no idea how I'll get home. It looks like, depending on (if I am accepted)my schedule I'll be looking at a ten hour day. Yeesh.

And then I'd still have to muck out my stalls, feed the horses, bed them down, and go home and get cracking on dinner. And homework, and all that other stuff.

Oh, and have I mentioned that Sverre is looking into going back to school, too?

If our cards line up correctly, we could have a very interesting next few years.

* In Norway, the corresponding colloquialism is "Don't sell the skin before you shoot the bear." Or something like that.

Camera Cord Thingamabobbie: Found

2010-01-12T15:29:00.007+01:00

Aha! Finally found the camera cord in one of the yet-to-be-unpacked boxes labeled "Sverre stuff." Hahahahahaaa!

I took these photos after Christmas when we got a meter of snow!

Of course, all this cold weather lately means we have to wear more clothes. I call this the "Flying Nun Get Up." As you can see, she (one of our Thoroughbreds on the farm)is absolutely thrilled to wear it!

I have turned into the She-Lawrence of Scandinavia, as I tell Sverre, with my ear-warmers, hat, gloves, sweaters, scarves, coats, jeans, long underwear, and polar suit. Sometimes I feel like a burka is sexier than what I end up in.

(Some dude stole my glove...I can't remember why. Buttface.)

Our view after Christmas.

And Santa Paws was very good to Max, sending him all sorts of lovely things from California. A homemade bed, toy, a new squeaky friend (sadly beheaded before the week was out), and rawhide bones. Lucky dog. Thank You, Santa!

And we'll leave you with some pictures Sverre took with his camera--much better than mine, of course. He managed to catch three of the boarders heading out for a cold day's ride in the corner....

Can you see our youngest Thoroughbred racing her shadow?

Letting Off Some Steam

2010-01-10T01:33:00.003+01:00

So one of the girls at the stable had a birthday party tonight. This, after nearly a year and a half in Norway, marks my first outing in a non-family environment. And it was fabulous. (Not to say that my family outings are not fabulous, since my sister-in-law throws a mean party.)

I can report, that a Norwegian birthday part is nowhere near as onerous as the Danish. See the Danish expat blogs for reference. There's not a lot of formality, and the only singing is the Norwegian birthday song. Which, after lots of alcohol, involves thirty something people singing, "Hardi hardiharhar flabidiblagflab Gratulerer!"

That's what I got from it.

But the real business got done after the cake was served.

See, the problem at the stable is that no one really understands the chain of command.

Enter, from stage left, the Sergeant.

I know the chain of command. I also know that the boarders at the stable are clients, not employees. A fine point that has passed entirely over the stable owner's head.

So my next plan of action will be to accept the owners' gracious invite for a dinner, and turn it into a tactical environment. I will need to establish that the owner can bring his problems to me, and I will disseminate his orders, de-screamed, down to the troops--I mean, boarders.

And, in turn, they need to bring their issues to me, and I will pass them on to the owner.

Because that's how it works, yo. It doesn't bother me if the owner yells at me, because after having the hardest TI at basic (admittedly, Air Force basic, so a cake-walk compared to the other branches), I'm not impressed with yelling until the spittle hits me in the eye. I know how to take responsibility for the actions of others, and I don't think he knows that. I don't think the boarders understand that I'm not an outside entity to take their concerns around. If we can establish this chain, life will be so much easier for all of us. Most especially because the owner has not figured out the delicate balance between client and a person who is subordinate to your orders. No, not at all.

Left, right, left mofo's. Sergeant Corinne is ready to take the Con.

We'll see how this all plays out when I'm sober.

Is it Saturday yet?

2010-01-08T09:41:00.002+01:00

Oh, man. It's one of those weeks. One of those days.

I'm sure if you're a Norway-expat blog hopper you've noticed the running theme this week is the cold. And for a good reason. It's -13F (-25C) at my house right now. The water is frozen in the stable. The owner keeps giving me fucking science lessons over the phone about the heaters. Yes, I know heat rises. Yes, I know those heaters are set on a timer. I really don't give a shit dude, what I'm telling you is that the water is frozen and leaving the horses inside isn't going to do a damn lot of good. And you have to fix it. Not me.

This whole "divert responsibility by blustering on through tangents" thing is really starting to piss me off. Because it happens all the time. All the time.

Seriously.

So I haven't blogged in a while, and it's because of the busy-busy with the horses and with the holidays and getting our house guest ready. Soon, my dears, soon we'll be ready to actually entertain people because we'll finally have sufficient parking spots for rear ends and crash space. I can't wait!

And I've taken lots of pictures showing the loveliness of our house in winter. This is all forthcoming.

But in the meantime, the stress from all the cold-related BS has manifested in a massive crick in my neck. And I've had no coffee. I just want to cuddle with my puppy and my wool blanket and a coffee IV drip and watch movies all day. But, no. Must deal with the stable owner.

Whom, it must be said, so far has only dealt with Laid Back, Happy, "Sure, No Problem" Corinne. That version of me fled overnight with the incipient neck pain.

Poor bastard has no idea what he's in for.

Dinner for One

2009-12-23T21:51:00.003+01:00

This short movie, Dinner for One has been shown in Norway every Lille Julaften or the night before Christmas Eve since 1980.

Enjoy!

(Best viewed in HQ with fullscreen.)

Oh, and a very Merry Christmas from us to you!

So Much for the Weather

2009-12-20T19:19:00.004+01:00

The forecast for today was overcast with no chance of snow. My favorite thing about Norwegian weather pukes is that they stand by their forecasts, even when they're completely wrong. I know that main weather hubs are operating 24/7, so really, the Weegies have no excuse. Because it's been snowing all day.

Which is lovely, we're going to have a perfectly sparkly new-snow White Christmas.

Kjempe deilig.

There's a new addition down at the stable. An older lady, a hunter-jumper so big my eyes boggled when she stuck her enormous head through the stall window. Her feet are so huge that my arms grew tired holding up a front foot so I could knock the ice out of her shoes this afternoon. But she is sweet and gentle. She's gone blind in her right eye--I don't know what from, though it doesn't look like an injury caused it--so one must chatter away while working with her so she can keep you in her bearings.

I decided to go for a ride this afternoon, so we could get to know one another properly.

I'm used to smaller horses (as evinced by the struggle to get into the saddle), and uneasy with my English seat. So a broad backed lady is just what the doctor ordered. She's like the horse equivalent of an Escalade. Big, powerful, smooth, and responsive. Usually the English saddle feels like I've been perched on a fence post with my knees drawn into my chin. Not this horse, oh no. What a relief it is to not feel like I'm going to pop off the saddle like a bouncy ball at the first jarring step.

We toured the arena for a few rounds to get used to each other--for her to learn that I have a tendency to neck rein before remembering to correct myself, for me to learn how she compensates for her reduced eye sight. Then we headed off for a slow walk in the hills.

All of the roads are perfectly white. The snow was falling thickly, clearing any imperfections from those who passed before. We walked along the tractor roads, her huge strides eating ground lazily. She would swing her heavy head from side to side, taking in all of the scenery with that liquid ink eye. Her long fuzzy ears rotated on pivots, pricking first to examine whatever seemed interesting in the fields, than swiveling back to pay attention to me. The pristine white flakes melted into the warm strong column of her neck.

Were it not for the cracking of gunshots deep in the forests--the end of hunting season for deer draws nigh--I imagine I would have wanted to stay out all day. Instead we turned at the top of the road and headed back down to the farm. I let her choose her way down the slippery hill and contented myself to listen to her heavy footfalls and the sound of her breathing amongst the stillness.

If this is what an idyllic Christmas season is supposed to be like, consider me sold, forecast right or wrong!

Gaah!

2009-12-15T20:28:00.002+01:00

I'm filling out my application for a Norwegian university. Naturally they want transcripts. Naturally, every college I have attended has online transcript ordering.

And, naturally, one of them has absolutely no interest in making my ordering easy. Since I attended the college in Europe--through the Armed Forces--I have to go through the ringer to click the right button at the right time in the right sequence on the web site to sucessfully order from the right department. Now they keep telling me that I need some obscure login and password that I've never used. So I send a note to the Help Desk along the lines of, "Hey, a-holes, you never sent me a login or password so gimme gimme gimme another way to get my transcripts."

Okay, so I didn't say a-holes or anything similar. In fact I was very polite and professional.

But why would I call them by a potty name? Because the automatic kick-back email I receive is: We're sorry, we're having trouble processing your request to our help center. If you could please provide your user login and password we will be happy to assist, blah, blah, blah.

Assholes.

Why, oh why is everything harder in this day in age? I thought this whole paperless revolution was going to make us stronger, faster, smarter? And instead I'll probably be requesting an email PDF of a hand-written transcript request that in the end I'll just print off and mail in?

But I am very happy with the other two colleges I attended, they've at least cost me a grand total of $2.50 to send four official transcripts halfway across the globe. There's that at least.

The Tragically Missed Best Bit of Obama's Oslo Trip

2009-12-14T19:05:00.003+01:00

So you can probably skip around all the expat Norway blogs and read about Obama's Nobel Prize. I've already stated my opinion on it, so I won't go into detail.

I will say that I was unable to make it into Oslo on Thursday, so Sverre and I crashed Ms. Typ0's pad to watch the Peace Concert on TV. At about wine bottle number three(for all, not just me!), I think I fuzzily realized that we'd forgotten to turn the TV on. On well.

But hey, did you guys see Obama's press conference? More specifically, did you see Sexy Jens' portion?

See, Sverre told me he doesn't realize why I'd leave him in a heartbeat for Sexy Jens. (A joke, a joke!) "I can speak English ten times better than he can."

And I say, "Who cares about that, have you heard him speak English? That accent? That voice? It's sex on a stick, dude. Fwawawaaah."

And then my husband gets all huffy and pouty and mad at me, and I have no idea why he doesn't get the joke.

Oh well.

Jensy baby, you know you just have to call.

A Bus Ride

2009-12-09T15:22:00.002+01:00

Today I took the bus into town. Dawn was turning the bellies on the gray clouds shades of rose and salmon. Even though dawn in my neck of the wood shows up around nine in the morning, it is still lovely. I will take my belated sunrises over an absence of sunlight--as those up north get to experience for a few months--any day.

After I paid for my ticket I sat in a window seat where I could look over the fjord. Hot air pumped from the heaters near the floor of the bus. I leaned my forehead against the cold glass. The water on the fjord was still and clear, the overcast day giving the water a smoky tinge. The hills that plunge into the water, dotted with barren trees, leave stark, mirror-perfect reflections. Large blue and red tubs acting as floats on homemade docks are the only pops of color present.

There's still some snow on the rocky ridge line that fences in this little fjord. Clusters of homes on the other side seem gingerbread villages in the wan light, a few still have golden glows in their windows. Swans and ducks bob on the waters, abruptly turning themselves upside down, feathered butts in the air as they search for fish. There have been reports of moose and roe deer to be seen in the early mornings, if you care to be up before the rest of humanity.

I share the bus with a few older folks, probably also on their way to town for Christmas shopping. Who knows? This community is small. There are houses scattered throughout the many, many hytter that line the banks and the road. Privately, I am glad that this is a summer place, and the hordes that will surely come with the sun have left us in peace. I feel a brief childish possessiveness of this little place, as though it is my very own secret.

Dear Santa Paws

2009-12-03T19:56:00.003+01:00

Dear Santa Paws,

I know you live in California (and not in Norway), because if you did I would write to Julenissen, and I wouldn't write in English.

I wanted to let you know that I have been a very good dog this year. I have done a few bad things, but I am young.

These are the bad things I've done, that I can remember.

Ate Mom's favorite going-out shoes. (This was bad.)
Ate the bottom off of one of Mom's shoes that she got married in. (She didn't like that either.)
Ate at least five pairs of Mom's underwear.
Chewed holes in more pairs of Dad's underwear.
Ate the toes out of Dad's favorite socks.
Ate the leather pieces off of Dad's slippers. (Dad was really mad about this, because when it came out in my poo it got stuck and he had to pull it out of me, and he said a lot of naughty things in Norwegian.)
Ripped open the special glove for moving logs around in the fireplace.
Chewed open Mom's favorite leather gloves.
Got into the trash can (I can't remember how many times I've done that).
Ate the cord for the internets.
Ate the receipt for the curtains that Mom and Dad were going to return to the store. (But maybe that was a good thing, because now they've decided they like them.)
Ate Dad's phone charger. Twice.
Ate a very dirty baby diaper.
Puked up the baby diaper in Dad's car. Twice.

But even if I've done bad things this year, Santa Paws, I have been a very good dog, too. Here's the good things I've done this year.

Ate the receipt for the curtains. (As I said above, they like them now.)
Let everyone know when a cat, bird, or person comes into our yard.
Let everyone know when the cats trespass on my property and walk on my roof in the middle of the night.
Chased deer deep into the woods so they stay away from my Mom and Dad (even if they have to come looking for me.)
Let everyone know when the mice in the walls are too loud in the middle of the night.
I don't allow the man Mom calls the landlord to walk around the yard around my house, because it is mine and not his, though Mom says that's not true.
I am very good at giving snuggles.
I warm Mom's feet every morning before she gets out of bed.
I keep Dad company when Mom is away.
I keep the floors clean of all crumbs.
I work very hard to make sure the fire doesn't go out by watching it every day.
I've stopped going potty inside the house.

So you see, Santa Paws, the good things I have done this year clearly outweigh the bad. I think it is very hard to expect a young dachshund to be perfect. I wanted to make sure you knew that even if you have these things on your naughty list, it's not too bad. I also wanted to let you know that my address has changed, though Mom says she is sure you will still find our house.

Love,
Your best friend,

Max.

You Have GOT To Be Kidding Me

2009-11-30T13:38:00.003+01:00

"

Believe it or not, it's already been six months since we helped you plan your dream wedding!

Did you know that our family of websites also includes two of the top pregnancy and parenting resources on the web?
"

So here's the deal, I used theknot.com for their excellent wedding planning checklists and some ideas. The bad part about The Knot is the buttloads of spam you'll receive from their associate sites. Usually it's about the wedding, then The Nest for young couples, but now I have The Bump sending me emails.

By the way, it's harder than hell to get off these lists because all of these sites run different lists. It's not as bad as David's (evil, large scale wedding dress sc/pam artists), but...my God.

Seriously, though. "It's been six months! Time to start thinking about that baby, ha ha haaa!"

No.

And no.

And did I say no, yet?

There are some times I have to lash out against the greater mores of society, and this is one of them. What is this expectation of wedding-house-baby? Is it because most people do it, so it's just an assumption that these are my goals, too? American society is so very misleading. On the one hand, we young women are supposed to be confidant, kick-ass, own-destiny-taking power bitches. And on the other hand, we're still supposed to be getting knocked up after that gold ball n' chain is slapped on our finger. What gives, people?

It's subtle pressure like this that makes books like Revolutionary Road still as relevant today as it was when published in the 1960's.

Oh, oh, and get this! The Knot (Nest, Bump, whatever it is in this email) wants me to know, it's okay if I'm not thinking of kids:

"If babies aren't on your brain right now, forward this email to a friend -- she'll thank you for it later!"

This is marketing, for you. This is consumerism pressure. This makes me want to forward this email to all my other non-kidded friends as a gag. Though I think they'd get as wound up as me.