Mar 26, 2017

Spring-winter, a Swedish love affair

- Only a Swede does that.

It is Jannie helping me up on Saturday morning. The March sun is shining and I am mentioning I would love to sit outside this weekend, the forecast looks very promising. They say afternoon temperatures around 46°F (8°C).

Jannie is shaking her head. "Only a Swede does that". Jannie is Danish and came here by accident. She has lived in Turkey too. She likes it here, she does, but Swedes do things which are hard even for a Dane to grasp. Like wanting to sit outside in the sun at those temperatures.

But then you haven’t understood the beauty of the March sun on the 64th latitude.

March is what we call spring-winter. It is still winter in terms of snow and temperatures, even though it’s milder than January and February of course. But it’s the light. The light is back. We have just passed spring equinox, the day is finally longer than the night and today we switched to savings time, hallelujah! And the quality of the light… in combination with the snow… it’s a love affair.

March and April is when Swedes pilgrimage to the mountains close to the Norwegian border. To spend the days downhill in the slope or on a mountain lake cross country skiing. And an important ingredient on those days is to dig yourself down in the snow, make yourself comfortable on a sleeping mat or a rain deer skin, have hot chocolate and oranges and turn your face to the sun. Breath out. Close your eyes. Heart beat slows down. And you just love life.

You actually don’t even have to go to the mountains. You can do this on your own back yard. Which I wanted to this morning. I can’t sit in the snow on the ground of course, but I was thinking I could actually be in my sun chair against the west wall. Although there is snow there so…

I texted Magnus. Magnus is my dear neighbor at the beginning of the road. He is just the sweetest and he is the one who has been shoveling the snow for me this winter. I am so grateful to him. So right now, was he at the house? Could he possibly come over? Yes of course!

He was here in a few and so was his darling son Loke, 8. Together they made a path in the snow to the west wall for me, grabbed my sun chair in the baker’s cottage and put it in place next to the wall. I tucked myself in in my long thick fur coat and lay down in the chair. Facing the sun. Closed my eyes. Breath out. Heart beat slows down. It’s March 25 and I am actually siting outside in the snow and sun.

Every Swedish child with access to snow and nature grew up with spring-winter experiences like mine. It’s in our DNA. We crave this through our lives.There is no way a Dane can understand this. A child from Syria, Kurdistan or Afghanistan starting their Swedish life in the inlands of northern Sweden might though.

The March light lures us outside. It cries for you. It’s like a siren you just can’t resist.

Jannie was the one helping me buy the sun chair last May. She can’t understand why Swedes dress themselves in heavy winter clothes and choose to sit outside when it’s still cold, but she is the one making it possible for me. Thank you Jannie and thank you Magnus and Loke! 

Mar 19, 2017

I think I am getting stupider. Is that even a word? Yeah, you see…

I think it started already many years ago when I had to give up the main daily Swedish newspaper Dagens Nyheter as they stopped distributing the weekend edition outside Umeå. That’s when I didn’t have endless access to long in depths articles waiting for me on my kitchen table anymore.

The next step I would say was when I had to move my dinners from my kitchen to my couch. In my former life I always listened to Swedish National Radio while preparing dinner. Often I enjoyed music while eating, but a lot of times I got caught up in some interesting public service program and just stayed with it. At the same time I had to give up driving my car, and so my other slot for radio listening disappeared.

For a while now I have reluctantly noticed how I shy away from lengthy mind challenging texts in my local newspaper. Västerbottens Kuriren have the most amazing  editor for cultural arts. Sara Meidell is as sharp as a swordfish and her articles are always interesting and defiant. It used to be that I read everything, even if the subject wasn’t quiet my area of interest. Today I find myself selecting only the ones I feel connected to. And same goes for the op.ed. Ola Nordebro, also a bright mind and an excellent writer.

As company for my couch dinners I am choosing comfort TV. I first got aquatinted with Grey’s Anatomy during the season premiere season in Seattle September 2012. My Queen Anne penthouse city view identical to the one on the TV screen next to it. It was the season beginning with the horrible plain crash when Marc Sloan and Lexie Grey died. Back in Sweden I started following the series and have since then.

It’s the reruns which are on in time for my dinners. By now, I have watched all seasons many times, but as they are so many, when they start all over again at season 1, it feels like long time no see George and Izzy who are also long dead and gone. Old friends who I have been missing. So I am in this loop which I have a hard time leaving. Not that it’s bad for me. But I can’t say it’s moving me forward making my mind sharper.

I haven’t really experienced my brain being soggy until this winter though. I think it has been a slow insidious process sneaking up on me. So what has changed recently?

It comes down to two words. Donald Trump.

As I have mentioned before I have been watching CNN most every weekday since the election. The purpose has been to keep track of the spider in the room. I am not a big consumer. 30 minutes a day, before the 7.30 PM Swedish National Television news. So I say.

The fact is those 30 minutes are often extended. Sometimes to a full hour. Frequently to a full hour I have to admit. Which means I am dropping the Swedish lo key sensible resonating view of the news world for Sean Spicer. Yeah.

Every day I am promising myself a more healthy diet, but I just can’t help myself! I mean, Wolf Blitzer announcing a press briefing will be coming up soon, there is no way I can not wait for that one! Even worse is that it’s hardly news anymore, it’s plain freaking entertainment!

I don't blame CNN, not at all. They are doing a good job, especially considering the circumstances. It’s not CNN’s fault that my brain has turned into a slow dough mixer. No, it’s the fact that the reporting has it’s core in a president who’s vocabulary is (according to language experts) at the level of a 9-year old. And his capacity for thinking in consequences has to be even lower on the scale. Analyzes, does he even know that word? And telling truth from lies?

This week a reporter asked Sean Spicer during a briefing if the they could trust the president. Is he telling the truth? Sean Spicer turned into Melissa McCarthy and screamed repeatedly OF COURSE HE DOES!!! UNLESS HE ISN’T JOKING!

Come on, there is no way I could trade a Swedish union leader for a moment like that! Let’s face it, this White House has really turned into a comedy TV series and I don’t want to miss a single episode. It becomes very clear though, as Angela Merkel stands beside Donald Trump for the press conference on Friday, that this is for real. And that, is both frightening and embarrassing.

Zapping back to Swedish TV after my daily CNN (half) hour I feel like I have been in a candy store to long. A little bit sick. Craving carrots.

So is there anything good for me coming out of this media diet? Well, I feel like I am more connected to the English language than I have been for a while. As I haven’ been back in Seattle for many years and I am not educated by my very articulate and verbally talented friends there any more, I can tell my English is turning poor. But in spite of Donald Trump and Sean Spicer I feel a slight improvement. For which I have to thank Wolf Blitzer, his panel and their engaged analyzes.

So what can I do about my soggy brain? Well I have decided on reading Sara Meidell’s and Ola Nordebro’s lengthy texts in my local news paper even when I feel a slight resistance. And there are days when I can definitely squeeze in the afternoon Swedish National Radio before the Grey’s Anatomy reruns. That’s a start. Let’s see what it brings.

Mar 12, 2017

Chatting with Lisabeta!

-Hello Lisabeta! How are you today?

Through Daniel who has been one of my home care people this winter I have learned her name is Lisabeta, not Elisabeta which my Swedish ear first heard. As I have mentioned before Lisabeta is the Romani woman earning her living outside my grocery store. We have met twice a week for 1,5 year now. Before Daniel came into my life I mostly bought her a grilled chicken, since that was what she asked for. Sometimes fruit.

It was really frustrating to me that I couldn’t communicate with Lisabeta. She knows a few words in English and three Swedish. And of course I don’t know any Rumanian. But then life brought me an interpreter! Daniel who himself comes from Rumania and has been here for about two years. His Swedish is impeccable, that young man really has a good ear for language!

So, I got to know Lisabeta lost her husband early. Her elderly mother is back in Bucharest while Lisabeta’s two children in their early twenties are here In Umeå with her, as well as her three young grandchildren. Daniel tells me it is rare for a Romani woman only having two children, which would be explained by her husbands death.

Now, I wanted to find out how to communicate the most basic with Lisabeta. Daniel became my teacher, and I learned Rumanian is a mix of latin base language, slavic and also some rests from old Daccia, the original Rumania. This was so exciting!

As I am a little bit familiar with Italian I jumped on everything that was related to that language, it was easy to learn, and fun, I loved it!. But the slavic heritage… I just can’t wrap my head around it! It’s interesting how difficult a word can be when you can’t connect it to anything at all, no matter how bad you want to learn it. Thanks for example, I just had to drop that one. Lisabeta knows thank you in Swedish though, so it isn’t the end of the world.

Lisabeta's and mine twice a week dates now are so much fun. And this is how are conversations goes, in Rumanian:

-Hello Lisabeta!
-Hello Maria!
-How are you doing today?
-Good. (Or sometimes not good). How are you doing?
-Not good (way to often). What do you want today?
-Meat. Or fish. Or potatoes and oil. Or baguette and butter. Or eggs. Or fruit. Once pizza

I pick up my groceries as well as her’s and handing them over afterwords I say:

-There you go (which is with pleasure)
-Thank you Maria (which she says in Swedish)
-Stay well!
-Thank you. Stay well you too
-Bye bye! (which is until we see each other again, like Italian)

I don’t think I have bought Lisabeta chicken since she was able to tell me what she really wants.  Chicken was probably the only word she could express in English. And of course I feel ashamed about responding to her “How are you doing” with “Not good”. At least I am not on my knees on a purple cushion in a cold and dark country far away from home. But I consider us friends and I can’t lie to a friend.

Did I mention we are laughing a lot? So happy to chat with each other even though quite restricted. And Daniel complimented my pronunciation the other day saying “Now you don’t need me any more” But of course I do, I want to learn more!


Mar 5, 2017

…then I will never ever complain again

When I discovered a tumor in my breast (it was a November Saturday morning 2008) I went back to bed. And in a nameless fear I promised my ceiling, the naked trees outside my window and myself that if I survived this I would never ever complain about anything in life. The negotiating phase. That didn’t last of course.

I survived. I got lucky in life’s lottery. And during what I call my year of reclaiming life l did not complain. I was filled with that life-enhanced feeling only experienced by people who have stared death in it’s eyes.

I don’t think it is possible though to stay in that feeling. Not because we forget how bad it was and that the ending could have been different, but because everyday life is just that and suddenly a back out or a dead car is a major obstacle we are not only complaining about but cursing. I don’t think human beings are built to be any other way.

My back problems are severe. But the situation and pain varies. Worst case scenario is excruciating pain from knifes running through my pelvis and sacrum, leaving me totally immobilized and terrified. In those moments I am promising myself (and my ceiling and the trees outside my window) to never ever complain about anything if it would just go away. I will be fully happy and satisfied with my life just lying on my couch in a more regular pain - which is still handicapping and weighty. I will be fully content as long as I don’t need to be terrified out of pain, surviving minute by minute!

Tomorrow it’s a month since my first acute situation this period. They have been about twice a week leaving me paralyzed and petrified. Friday morning I woke up lying on my left side. When turning over on my back there was a shooting in my left lower back. I hadn’t even gotten out of bed. And so Friday I was more or less apathetic from the worst muscle cramp I’ve had in a couple of years, and those knifes just waiting for me to make the wrong move, stabbing me. I would say my brain focus on my back was at 99% on the scale. And the negotiating starts. If only… 

So why is it that as soon I am feeling just a little bit better I want more? Why am I not satisfied with just not being terrified - as I promised? My trees and everything.

Is it in the human nature to always strive forward? Develop? To not rest in place? The will-power to kick in and do it’s job? I am thinking it is. A survivor default. I know it is certainly true for me.

 I have a friend and a relative who are struggling with cancer and chemo right now.  I don’t have an illness. I don't see myself as sick. I know what sick is. I have been sick.

This is not being sick. But for now I am trapped in this vicious circle of excruciating pain-paralyzing fear- and twice a week treatments. I am telling my now white snow covered trees every morning how healthy I am. I am perfectly healthy I am telling them. And myself. It’s just, sometimes it’s really hard to take that in. To believe my own words. Sometimes I still want something more.