Jan 27, 2013

Speaking up for difference / part 2


It didn’t work. It didn’t work at all. The Minister of Social Security felt personally offended and the booking agency probably won’t hire me again.

I am talking about the conference on the subject The Swedish Welfare State last week where I was asked giving my point of view on the theme, looking through my Swedish American eyes but also telling my personal story from within the welfare system. And to some parts without the system.

Now, I am not concerned about having offended a minister within the Swedish government. But I do feel bad about the booking agency. For my sake and their. I don’t want them to loose a client because of me. So, what happened?

Well, back in September when they contacted me I asked up about the fact that my name was under the paragraph “entertainment” in the program. I communicated that my message wouldn’t be entertaining in that sense; my personal story wasn’t a rosy one. They told me not to worry about it; “entertainment” was just a mark for something different in the program. So I trusted their word.

-       Why what happened, Sweden has always been the land of our dreams?

That was the start of my story (a quote from a Seattle friend), and the start of the short draft they requested and bought, back then. In my mind that very sentence made it pretty cleat that my story would contend some criticism about the development of the route Sweden has chosen. And a couple of weeks before the conference I was in contact with the organizer at The Social Insurance Agency (Försäkringskassan), we emailed my draft script back and forth and agreed on the big lines of it. I felt safe about my message. Yet, something went wrong.

- We had requested entertainment: you delivered a piece of opinion.

One thing is clear. The program handed out at the conference still addressed me as entertainment. And if you are expecting a stand up, line dance or an up lifting success story, not only will you be disappointed, but upset. The expectations wrong, the message wrong and I will be wrong.

My first, second and third reaction to this disaster was terrible. Absolutely terrible. I had felt safe in my communication with the booking agency and their client. I was positive we had an understanding and an agreement. And it turned out we didn’t.

Also. I felt terrible when it came to my own intentions for this day. I wanted to tell my story in the way that it would be received well. Not only out of respect for my own story, but for the importance of the message. This was a chance to reach people who in their everyday work are handling people who have been struck by life misfortunes: illness, loss of job, workplace, colleagues, context, meaning, identification, money, simply loss of what makes you a person in this society. And it was also a chance to reach researchers in this field and politicians who make the decisions about the structures for our lives.

I failed. I thought I did it so well. Starting by praising Sweden (from my heart!), ending by praising Sweden (from my heart!). But in between I spoke my mind. I delivered a piece of opinion, that’s true. Out of my own experience from a country that from my view has changed for the worse when it comes to welfare. The welfare that has been the trademark of Sweden. And by speaking up I closed down the communication between the auditorium and me. All the nice (and true!) things I said about Sweden weren’t received. And that remembered was me addressing the Minister of Social Security himself. Which, turned out wasn’t allowed.

I knew I was walking a fine line here, right at the middle of my speech. Preparing it I was debating sending the full script to the organizer, to get a green light. To be safe. But then again, something stopped me. It didn’t feel right. Having being asked to talk at a conference arranged by The Swedish Social Insurance Agency and the Swedish Pensions Agency, other speakers all academic researchers, civil servants and politicians, this was the heart of the Swedish welfare democracy. It felt very wrong to have my story checked before going on stage.

I would have been stopped. Would I have wanted that? Well, I do feel really bad for the booking agency, although the entertainment failure has to be on their account. And it was self-sabotage when it comes to my hypothetic future storytelling in public matters. But, what feels like a complete failure at first, second and third might not be in a larger perspective.

So, why did my story close down the communication between the auditorium and me? Well, maybe because it actually did hurt. And when things hurt, there is always the option of shutting down. I know I had their attention. Everyone in that room watching me while speaking. People looking up from their computers. The governor (landshövding) stopped Facebooking. Only Ulf Kristersson (Moderate), the Minister of Social Security looking away, half smiling. I think I had him too.

But except for the vice chairman of the Committee for Social Insurance in the Swedish Parliament, Tomas Eneroth (Social Democrat), who applauded my performance with an excited hand shake, business card and a “I will contact you!”, I wasn’t inspiring and uplifting within that auditorium comfort zone.

Maybe it wasn’t all bad though? Maybe making the Minister of Social Security personally offended is an accomplishment? Maybe some little piece from my story found it’s way through the auditorium shield? A tiny needle poking around in the body? One word sticking uncomfortably in the mind? An annoying splinter glued to the soul? Making a teeny bit of difference after all?


Jan 20, 2013

Speaking up for difference


-       I am sorry Mr. Minister for Social Security, but that’s about the most cynical I have ever heard.

I am right at the middle of my speech, and I could here a pin drop if there was one, and feel the organizers and the booking agency arranging the conference stop breathing.

I am referring to a Question & Answer with the Minister for Finance, Anders Borg, in the public radio some years ago. A cancer sick woman was concerned about her financial situation after the government cut in the sick leave benefits. Anders Borg’s response was:

-       So, when are you planning on being back at work?

That, Mr. Minister, was the most cynical I have ever heard.

The occasion is a conference on the theme The Swedish Welfare State, and I have been invited to talk on the subject. It’s not that I am an expert in these matters, but they were interested in my American and Swedish perspective, and then of course, I have my story. The view from my couch in between the walker and the dumbbells.

Preparing this speech, I knew I would be talking to people handling people like me. The Social Insurance Agency, The Swedish Pensions Agency. But also academic researchers and politicians. A bit impressed by the company I felt this was my chance to make a little bit of difference.

The invitation came in September when I was stuck in front of the TV with my back out in Seattle. And watching The Republican and Democratic National Conventions gave me aha-experiences when it came to Swedish politics that made me stunned.

I realized that the rhetoric of the American Republicans wasn’t as far from the Swedish Moderates (our right wing) as they were in my mind. As the Moderates has been in government for six years now and realized their politics it has become our everyday life, and we have gotten used to their mantras. And what scared me was how the Republican speeches weren’t as foreign to me as they used to be.

Now, to be clear: The Right in the US is yet far away from the Right in Sweden. In fact, over the years I have always expressed the Swedish Right a lot more liberal than the American Democrats. And that’s what makes watching the Democratic Convention an eye opener to me.

Because listening to those speeches felt like…home. Or, should I say, like home used to be. It felt like listening to the Swedish Social Democrats, and I would say a lot of those speeches would fit right in to one of their conventions. And I found myself with the surprising and slightly uncomfortable feeling of “I want that for Sweden too!” Holy cow, was that a somersault of my mind…

So, this was where I was at preparing for that speech. Now, to get someone of a different opinion to listen is a fine art. Also, going on stage right after the governor (landshövding), the Minister of Social Security and the Director of the Swedish Pensions Agency felt somewhat intimidating. A bit like walking into the lion’s den. In addition, I was addressed as entertainment…

I can assure you, writing that speech I didn’t feel entertaining at all. And I had no intention to be. Engaging though. Passionate and heartfelt. And very clear. But to get people to listen it’s a good idea starting making them safe. Which wasn’t hard at all. And I could still be true to myself.

Americans in general don’t know a lot about Sweden (why should they, what do we know about the different states of the US?), but the Swedish welfare system seems to be as well known as ABBA and the Nobel Price. And back in the nineties it made me very proud to answer all the interested questions and hear the amazed reactions about what our famous taxes provided us. Not so much any more though.

And it’s when the speech turns to my story about cancer and disabling back problems in a country where I feel illness has become a dirty word, working is the only reason for human value and people who are struck by life’s misfortunes such as illness or the loss of job are treated as untouchables. And I am addressing the Minister of Social Insurance Ulf Kristersson himself who is sitting on the front row right beneath me saying:

-   I am sorry Mr. Minister for Social Security, but that’s about the most cynical I have ever heard.

That’s when the room stops breathing for a moment.

Then I am giving them the happy ending that they need. I am telling them the beautiful story about Ida and Peter, the two home care angels who landed at my doorstep taking care of me, making me safe. I am telling them that Sweden works, after all. And I am still true to myself.

Writing that speech I was hoping there would be someone in the auditorium for whom it would fully work. Who would recognize it as true. And it did! I got a big hand from the vice chairman of the Committee for Social Insurance in the Swedish Parliament, Tomas Eneroth (Social Democrat), who told me how he repeatedly was trying to address these matters within the Committee, but didn’t quite get through.

Now, watching the Minister for Social Security, Ulf Kristersson (Moderate), carefully while I was speaking, I can report that he was not looking at me. And his face was expressing slight amusement. I am hoping though, that some little piece from my story found it’s way through his shield. A tiny needle poking in his body. One word sticking uncomfortably to his mind. An annoying splinter glued in his soul. Making a little bit of difference.


Jan 13, 2013

Lady Cora of the woods


It’s connected to Alida, and that’s kind of magical. I will tell you the story.

About Ida and Peter, two persons crucial to my life right now. I am doing better. I am doing slightly better, Ida and Peter are a big part of that, and I am becoming Lady Cora.

Four weeks in to my bedridden late fall, 33 different persons from the city home care had come and gone in my house. My relief was exchanged for exhaustion. Most everyday Matilda wrote me on Facebook: “Maria, call Peter!”

Matilda is Alida’s granddaughter. Alida is my beloved 95-year old neighbor. And Peter is Matilda’s boyfriend.

Peter is a very interesting young man. At 25 he started a home care service business. Yes. While other 25-year-olds are in computers, reality TV or traveling the world, Peter’s mission is to make a safe and warm life for elderly and people like me, finding themselves in vulnerable situations.

Peter’s business idea for his company Civil Care http://www.umea.se/umeakommun/omsorgochhjalp/hjalpihemmet/hemtjanst/civilcare.4.4166f9b6137178df873b934.html, is to provide a safe environment only meeting 1-2 persons, depending on how much help you need. His catchwords are respect, dignity, gentleness, kindness and making people feel safe.

When I first met Peter, as Matilda’s boyfriend, I instinctively liked him. And I was proven right. Matilda’s repeated Faecbooks notes, now with many exclamation marks, finally made me call Peter. By then he had already taken action and asked Ida if she wanted to take care of me. And she would. And she did.

Ida’s first day was Friday before Christmas. Finishing up my shower in the morning (I got to shower!) I was very close to fainting. Back in my bed again I could feel a months severe tension dissolve. The release made my blood pressure drop. All that day I was like unconscious from fatigue, but wonderfully relaxed and relieved. I felt like coming out of a really bad relationship, and it’s almost scary how we can get used to conditions eating us away, thinking; this works. Combined with knowing that, in this case, I should be grateful too.

Then came Christmas and all the kids, so it’s not until this week Ida and I have started our everyday life. And it’s wonderful. She makes me nice food and she cleans up my house. She changes my bed and washes up my wool sweaters. Together we set the beautiful dinner table for the Lobster Club, and she takes me to my treatments and appointments so that I won’t have to call half the county to get where I need to go. And she brings her little Maltese dog Leo who wants to make friends with my sweet brushy cat Sorella. And when Ida needs to be off, Peter comes here.

I sleep all night now. I feel calm. I feel safe. I have started to take short strolls supported on my old down hill poles while Ida is preparing my meals in my kitchen. And I was even attending the spring up start rehearsal with my choir this Wednesday, Peter taking me home late in the evening! This is my everyday life now and it’s a good life.

When Peter and I first talked I told him when I am at my worst a home care girl or lady won’t do. When I need to be lifted or carried, there is only Trouble 1 who can do it - as Trouble 2 is in Paris. Peter looked at me and firmly said: “then you call me. Any time. 24-7.” I nearly started to cry.

Two angels have landed at my doorstep. The winter path up to my house has never in 32 years been as wide and even to walk on. The salads served to my dinners never as nice to look at and tasty to eat. I feel like Lady Cora in Downton Abbey lying on my couch here at my wooden mansion on my big property, having caring hands attending to all my needs. Only not that well dressed unfortunately!

At New Years Eve Peter had to drive me the 80 meters to Alida’s house for our celebration. On a good day now I can walk that stretch myself! My dearest Alida, you have given me so much during your long life. And now, through your granddaughter, you are giving me a chance to heal and become stronger. So that you and I might walk all the way to the creek when spring finally comes. My gratitude is immeasurable. And isn't it a bit magic?

Jan 7, 2013

Lobster love


We are only 7 days into the new year, and it has already passed, the most wonderful day of the year!

It all started with my friend Mats knowing of this lobster soup that needed one day to cook, way too long time for being only a single family thing. This soup needed company! This was back in 1994 when Mats and I were both working at Sveriges Radio, The Swedish National Radio, and my reply was: “Well, if you’ve got the soup I will get the company!”

That’s how it all began. And we had no idea we started a tradition that would be one of the most cherished. Christmas in Sweden is a two-week thing, and we picked a day that’s a little bit forgotten, the twelfth evening after Christmas, Trettondagsafton. We made it a very special evening, and that’s how Hummerklubben (The Lobster Club) was born.

Eight people is a good number at the table, and so I gathered eight people who I liked a lot and whom I thought would have a good time together. Some knew each other, some didn’t, and I was the only one who new them all. It was a very interesting way to make a party, and it worked out wonderfully!

So did the lobster soup! There is no way I can describe this soup, express the sensation of it. Let’s just say it’s so delicious it makes us speechless and it is still the lead character in the story of this evening, the story of Hummerklubben.

1995 was our first Trettondagsafton’s dinner. And as soup normally is a starter we needed an entrée and a desert too. So we threw in something that would work. Because the starter was the main thing.

And it still is! Although, over the years the menu has turned more ambitious, and the entrée is now an important part of the evening too, I think Maria B's ecological lamb made a benchmark on that subject some years ago. Also the wine for the different dishes has changed from “we need both white and red” to more or less a contest between wineries, grapes and vintage as the very same Maria is also a cupbearer (I‘m not quite sure about the vocabulary here), and the main part of the Lobster Club are connoisseurs when it comes to wine.

So, what’s on the table Trettondagsafton is a big thing. But who is around the table is as important as the lobster soup. The Lobster Club has come to be a tight knit group of dear friends who only meet once a year in that specific setting. Life can be a bumpy and winding road, a ride where we suddenly find ourselves dropped off at stops we didn’t know of. And sometimes it feels like we didn’t even buy the ticket to this journey ourselves. But whatever happens, every Trettondagsafton we are gathered around a beautifully set table in a cozy home escaping the late Christmas cold outside. Sharing our stories, having neither to way thoughts nor measure words, knowing that we are completely safe together. 

For me, Trettondagsafton is truly the happiest day of the year. A lot of difficult life changes has happened right at Christmas time and made the Holidays something I have come to dread instead of looking forward to. Some years I have been dragging myself through those weeks, minute by minute by the light of Trettondagsafton at the end of the tunnel. Finally in the arms of a friendly lobster, out of harm’s way.

It is Monday today, and my body is still filled with energy; warm and calm after Saturday, the 2013 gathering of Hummerklubben. Through those life changes our group has been smaller for quite some time, but this year we were enriched by people who were new to our little community. We got to know each other over Mats’ soup (was it the most delicious ever?), the tasty meet from the moose that Boa shot during the hunt (possibly the best entrée this far?), and the exquisite 3 piece dessert symphony that Agneta composed for us (I think 2013 will mark when stopped just throwing in a dessert, from now on that one has to be absolutely fantastic too).

My yellow kitchen got to be the host this year, and it was filled with pots and pans, dressed up men and women, stories, laughter, thoughtful silence, curiosity, interesting discussions and through it all a warmth that’s very rare and special. For a Swede the word love is a big word. It’s a word we use with great care. But I would say what’s happening around that table, over that soup, is love. Year after year. And I am so grateful. And I can’t wait for it to happen again.


Jan 1, 2013

In the shadow of the fireworks


I don’t like odd numbers. They feel sharp and edgy. They make me tense. And I don’t like writing the number three. I can’t make it look good. I am sloppy with the details in this sense and most of the time 3 looks like a backwards C. So entering the year 2103 basically doesn’t feel good. On the other hand, the numbers 0123 is a neat and relaxing combination. They’ve just been up in the air and came down a bit shaken. So I think I will work on finding out a new way of writing the number 3. Make it pretty instead of sloppy. And maybe the new year will turn out okay after all.

Thousands of people gathered at the Umeå waterfront yesterday to watch the fire works over the river. As people did in Seattle for the Space Needle spectacle showing off in the winter sky. Here in Umeå I can feel the city inhaling with quite a bit of anxiety entering 2013. Because it means that it’s only one year left until everything has to be done. All set. A year from now we are only weeks from the opening of 2014, Umeå European Capital of Culture. The building cranes are stretching for the sky as the city is, and every time I pass the Umeå River half lying in the car having a ride for one of my back treatments I watch downtown Umeå change before my eyes. A tall building – a new hotel – has popped up right in the city center, in Broparken (The Bridge Park) the new Parkour park is in the works, the first one in Sweden. And at the waterfront it’s busy as Kulturväven, the building for cultural arts is happening inside a gigantic lit up plastic cover.

I feel the loud voices about all the changes have died down a bit. Or it might just be the winter making the opinions going into hibernation. In Seattle though the developing at South Lake Union is stirring things up. Mayor McGinn wants to allow 33 new towers rising up to 40 stories, that is 400 feet (122 meter). The South Lake Union Coalition that wants to preserve the low character at the south end of the lake, stresses that the mayor’s proposal is totally out of scale for the area and will dwarf nearby buildings and ruin the neighborhoods connection to the lake. As always, I am kind of amazed about the discussions when it comes to city planning being so similar in Seattle and in Umeå. The arguments for the pros and the cons very much the same. They are only on different scales.

As for my own new year’s celebration there weren’t any big fireworks. But a warm and friendly evening at my dearest neighbor Alida, her granddaughter and boyfriend. Alida is 95 years old and as always this time of year we wonder if there will be one more Holiday with this very special lady who has been there all our lives, no matter which generation we belong to. I had a ride there, was served rainbow trout (or is it salmon trout?), we had sparkling wine and I got to lie down on their couch instead of mine. It was the perfect New Years Eve for me this year.

I feel a bit sad though that life has taught me not to be happy about a new year starting. Not to have any expectations. On the one side of my couch is the walker, which I need to get myself up and down from my couch camp-office. On the other side my dumbbells lined up waiting for the real Maria. The Maria that takes 1-hour power walks and does three heavy work outs at the gym every week. The Maria that shovels snow and puts on the winter tires. The Maria that loves grabbing the saw and the hammer and get things done! That won’t ever happen again though, I am very sure. I feel like I am walking on a long staircase downwards, and every time my back crashes I take one more step down and my life gets a bit more limited. And entering 2013 I have no idea of when I am going to get out of this couch and what my body will allow my life to be in the future.

But as long as I am not putting away those dumbbells there is still the hope. The hope that I again can walk the 80 meters to visit Alida. And maybe all the way to the creek when spring sets off the locked up water. And pick up the dumbbells and feel the power returning to my body. The fireworks of life released in my frozen person. Now only in the shadow of my existence.