Something Different about our Car

Notice anything different about our car?

Are you sure?
Look very carefully.

Here's the big hint:

That's right.  It's actually ours now.  See how the blue seems a bit more vibrant?  Do the small scratches not just fade away?  Does the chrome not sparkle with accomplishment?  

I feel especially now that I have celebrated my thirtieth in the best possible manner, paying off a car loan and playing skee-ball, before sitting down to a Reese's ice cream cake.  Thanks to everyone for their well-wishes!

#winning #adulting #ILikeToUseHashtagsIronically

Mandatory Birthday Reflection

I can never seem to decide whether birthdays are or are not a big deal.  I look forward to a reason to celebrate, carrying over a lot of good nostalgia for birthday feelings from the past.  Yet, I agree wholly that no one really knows what you're supposed to do while people sing "Happy Birthday" to you.  And there is this additional idea, too, that as you get older you're supposed to switch from enjoyment to dread or at least be ashamed of how old you are.  

See, I am just grateful to make it to thirty.  I'm happy to be here a little while longer.  There were a few places there where we weren't sure I was going to make it past twelve or twenty-five.  I do not understand this concept that anything above twenty-nine is embarrassing--age just is.  

But maybe that's because we're going to go play Skee-ball for my birthday.  Skee-ball is the best.

What Norway is "Like"

Upon returning to the country, I've been asked a couple of times what Norway was "like."  It strikes me both now how common this question it is at the same time it strikes me how impossible it is to answer.  I thought maybe I could start with using the United States as an example, but I know that the world is far more complex and people far too diverse to wrap in a cute little package.  That being said, here are some snapshots of what we encountered, lens of color that overlap and at least give an impression of Norway.  

Andy had a conversation with a young man (younger than us but out of high school) on our plane flight to Tromsø.  At one point, the man said that he was happy to pay a little more in taxes if that meant someone else could get the healthcare he or she needed.  I agree most emphatically.

Another conversation on that vein mentioned confusion regarding why our country had such difficulties figuring out healthcare.  When Andy revealed that I had been on a medication that cost 28K a pop (needed every eight weeks, then every six), his response was pure astonishment--this kind of money spent on individual healthcare is absurd to Scandinavians.  Our healthcare costs in this country are NOT normal.

In interactions with people in restaurants, we always tried to order or at least start these conversations in Norwegian.  Once or twice, we were even mistaken as locals, so we much have sounded at least passable or what Norwegian sounds like with a weird head-cold.  When we later were asked where we were from, that we were Americans that had bothered to learn at least some of the language garnered a confused "but you speak Norwegian?" more than once.  All were very pleasant about switching to English when our Norwegian ran out and were otherwise encouraging in our attempt (though still recognizing sometimes that it was just faster if they switched to English for us, particularly when giving instructions in a busy place).

While this did not happen over the course of our trip, it is not a rude question in Norway to ask someone what they make.  In fact, this information is openly available.  What this transparency means is that the gender wage gap is non-existent (could never get away with it) and going up for your next promotion has you ready with evidence on maybe what your new salary should be.  Certainly makes me question why culturally we think this is a rude question--was this a tactic devised to keep wages low, out of ignorance?

People did not start conversations with strangers; no idle chit-chat at the bus stop with people you didn't already know.  However, if you asked someone for help, they would go out of their way to be friendly and helpful.

In Norway, you can climb every mountain and ford every stream, without getting permission to cross over into someone's land.  Here's the catch, though:  if you break yourself or die, no, you don't get to sue them.  The choice was yours to make and so are the repercussions.

There is a saying in Norwegian that translates to "There is no such thing as bad weather; only bad clothing."  This one is two-fold.  Firstly, you know the weather is the weather and you should plan accordingly for different possibilities (personal culpability again).  Secondly, there is no reason not to go outside and experience the natural beauty that Norway has to offer.

Seeing La Cenerentola at the Olso Opera House was such a treat.  Andy insisted that we buy a program for 50 kroner (about $7), and I passed him the cash.  We flipped through the pages and found all kinds of pictures and articles about the production, different events going on at the theater, the cast...and not thirty pages of advertisements.  They FUND THEIR ARTS and don't have to get sponsors for each performance.

Particularly the further north we went, we found more doors left unlocked.  For example, we walked right into the narthex of a Methodist church in Tromsø (talk about "open hearts, open doors") even though no one was there.  All of the office doors were locked, sure, but you could warm up a bit and pick up a tract.  

...so the tint is on the side of rosy, but those colors are still a part of that overall picture.  We are more than willing to go back and refine that image as much as necessary.

Island Time

This last weekend I spent some quality time with my grandmother down at St. Simons Island, Georgia, staying with her while my grandfather was away on a ministry trip (or as Grandma was fond of putting it when people asked where Jerry was, "Oh, he's in prison.").  I was excited most about spending some time with my grandmother with a small side of excitement regarding fresh fish.  

And then Island Time hit me in a slow but solid wave, leaving me scuttling in my steps to find my footing, like trying to walk to your seat while the bus takes a fast corner.  The tempo was immediately different than the constant, demanding urgency I have felt for, well, the past three months.  I had to tell myself a couple of times aloud "you're not in a hurry" when that anxiety came creeping back while brushing my teeth or putting on my shoes.  Because I wasn't in a hurry.  We needed to eat at some point and run an errand or two, but time was purely ours.

Weird, right? 

Grandma and I sketched what places we might want to go to with no fixed demands.  We returned back to the house to rest before heading out again to dinner.  There were points when Grandma felt a little frustrated with herself, for getting tired or moving slowly, but that, too, was a wonderful blessing--I didn't even need to walk somewhere quickly, carrying on at a pace she was comfortable with and focusing instead on enjoying the other's company.  

Apart from the airport, all else was slow, steady, and calm. 

I found time to write a blog post and a half and read a few chapters of a book I'd been meaning to read.  Naps found me after we'd made it back to the house in the afternoon.  There were some different things to think about when I wasn't trying to focus on all of the places I needed to be or the household elements I should be addressing (sidebar:  only about six more boxes to go!).  Breathe.  Be a human being instead of a human doing. 

Like I said, weird. 

Norway had leisure time.  Returning from Norway did, too, but these were temporary, for an hour or two before moving on to the next thing, whatever that meant for that day.  The tempo of the Island, by contrast, is agonizingly slow.  I felt aware of my space in time, of my body in space, and what those quiet parts of my mind can sound like. 

Time is/was unstuck.  So was I.  So then, too, was a great deal of worry.  For me, this led to two different thoughts:  things will still be there to do when I get back, and why do I carry some of those elements in the first place?

So now, all I can really do is shrug.  While writing this, neither seemed to matter. 

Both thoughts are true in different ways, where I've already addressed a couple of those pieces (after a short stint in Delta's purgatory of cancellations) and continue to think about the latter.  But what I choose to take with me from St. Simons Island is the time I spent getting to know my grandmother better and a fraction of that particular flavor of calm.

...and maybe some poundage from Key Lime Pie.

Grounding

2017 has been an absolute whirlwind for Andy and I.  Understandably so, I was still shocked to realize that we're about a quarter of the way through the year.  

We started off by preparing for our Norway trip, compiling all of our vouchers and travel details in order of needed use.  Then, the actual trip itself took up virtually all of February, with a week or so of recovery in there.  And now, we're in the midst of wrapping up moving to our new place, successfully eating up March.

As such, I feel like I haven't stopped running for the past three months, where I'm the cartoon character taking a couple of spinning steps looking for traction forward (complete with bongo sound effects).  

Scooby-Doo et al is owned by Hanna Barbara.  Used without permission

I haven't had time to truly process anything.  And when it comes to our Norway trip, I keep trying to force some grand conclusion.  Andy and I both took a trip in college that tends to always have an applicable story and otherwise shaped us in different ways, that it represented a special, significant part of our growth.  I know that there has to be something learned from our Norway adventure, but I can't wrap it up in a neat package.  I haven't had the chance to sit and process it, since we're rolling right into our new home.  

Right now, moving has its own weights as well.  Some of these I can grasp--such as last post's revelations--but there are other pieces that I have yet to wrap my mind around, because there is simply so much to do.

One of these days, I keep thinking, the world will slow down for a moment.  But next week I'll be taking a trip to Georgia, the week after that is Easter, my birthday'll be coming up, and, well, I know that things tend to get a certain shade of busy at work once the summer hits.  

At the same time I think "Gosh, it'd be nice to answer 'Not much' when someone says 'what's new?'" part of me is enjoying the excitement.  We are in a different period of transition.  Our lives will find some stability eventually, however temporary it is.  And at some point, reflection will come.  We'll find a new normal.