Fickle April

How did April creep up like that? Maybe it’s the snow still lying on the ground – retreating with so much sun (15.5 hrs/day) and temperatures finally above freezing, but still hanging in there – that made me think it was still March, or at least still winter. But now there’s just a week left in this month, and after Vappu (April 30, the Finnish version of Walpurgis) I sense that it’s a downhill race to summer. However, with any luck, there won’t be enough snow left for it to be a race by downhill ski.

I don’t really have a theme to this post. I’ve felt I had to have one up till now, but this will simply be a check-in, partly motivated by the fact that I will be going “home” (where IS home, by the way?) for a brief visit in a week. People will ask how Finland is/was. What will I say?

1. The jury is out. Definitely out. I thought by now I’d know for sure whether Finland was my new destiny, the homeland that’s always been waiting for me, or a huge mistake, a well-intentioned but ultimately foolish detour from what I should really be doing. But I am nowhere closer to knowing the answer to that question than I was in August. Of course, I told everyone I would give it a year, and it’s only been 8.5 months. Surely I will know in the next three months…I think…

2. Life in Finland has been healthier. I don’t own a car, so all my local transportation has been by bike, by foot or by bus (and taxi or car trips that I can count on both hands). I feel fitter, less sedentary. The air is very clean. Apart from my own self-imposed work stress, people are much more relaxed about getting things done. Health care is free. Health care is free. (That one counts twice.)

3. Loneliness is more palpable. Most of my colleagues live two hours away, and this makes weekends very quiet. I’m used to at least having Sunday dinners with my friend Cynthia. We’ve been Skyping instead, but it’s still too quiet. And my language abilities aren’t yet good enough to scour the papers for local activities – and I don’t have the money to participate in them anyway. I guess I didn’t realize that all those evening committee meetings in Eugene were serving a social function as well as my need to save the world.

4. It all feels so temporary. I live in an apartment with hardly anything on the walls, with mismatched furniture and a crappy bed. I have a very small, low shelf as my only bookcase. I have no garden. Most of the apartment seems like vast, echoing space. Maybe this is what pioneering is about. But it makes me feel like everything is on hold until I fish or cut bait and either sell my house in Oregon to buy something here or give up and go back to the US.

5. The Finnish language is hard. I’ve always known this. It’s been a struggle since trying to get my dad to give me a vocabulary word each day. I’ve made progress, but I still worry that I will say something terribly obscene by not remembering the right combination of double/single consonants. And teaching English means I don’t get the immersion experience that would boost my Finnish into more fluency. Plus I have a Canadian colleague whose Finnish is so much better and he always goes around apologizing for it. This doesn’t exactly instill confidence. And trying to translate my Finnish friends’/ colleagues’ Finnish from Facebook? Forget it. It’s dialect. So learning Finnish may not help anyway.

6. It’s so awesome being able to get to Europe so quickly. Since arriving here, I have made three trips to Europe (as opposed to the Scandinavian peninsula). That sounds so extravagant in the US. How amazing is it to be able to travel in so many other countries without vast outlays of money or time? And having Erik in Switzerland – what a wonderful coincidence. If I weren’t living here, I wouldn’t get to see any of his performances.

7. The perks of my job are substantial. I’m not getting paid as much as I thought I would. Finnish taxes are high, and there are several other deductions from my wages I hadn’t counted on, including union dues. However, I get to work in a modern, private office with a very good computer. I get to choose my own hours. My classes only meet once a week. usually for two hours. A class hour is 45 minutes. My largest class was 19 students, but most are more like 10. My students are highly motivated, polite, obedient, interested in what I tell them. The library system works well. You get extra vacation pay. There is a bistro just downstairs, and most people take an afternoon coffee break. You get funding for two conference trips per year, and you have the chance to do an Erasmus teacher exchange. What this means in my case is that I will go to Brno in the Czech Republic and Torun, Poland, each for one week. Paid. You can also get discount coupons for the local swimming pool.

Oh, and this job is permanent.

8. I get to eat weird and sometimes good foods. Yesterday I had a glass of ‘sima’ (fermented beverage with raisins made only this time of year, something like mead) together with a reindeer sandwich. This morning I had yoghurt with apple and cloudberries for breakfast (the yoghurt actually came with the cloudberries). I still adore Karjalan piirakoita, though I have stopped buying them every time I shop. I’ve learned to like what amounts to hamburgers with chopped-up beets in them. I am constantly aware that I’m living in a foreign country and get to have these interesting, if not always successful, culinary experiences.

9. Starting over is a privilege/punishment. Sometimes I believe this 'redo' is a privilege, sometimes I think it’s a cruel joke. At times I’m in awe that I get to be in this new country, and I could go back to my own country anytime I want to – especially when I see the Somali women in skirts and veils that can’t possibly be protecting them from the cold. Unlike me, they can’t go back. At other times, I wonder what I did to be punished by this exile when friends are winding down their careers and talking about cool things they’ll do with their husbands in retirement.

I think I’ve covered a lot of my rumination tracks, though I know there are more. The weather continues to fascinate me. The ice is melting in the river though there’s still snow on the lake. The sun comes up at 5:15 a.m. and sets at 8:45 p.m. Nothing is blossoming or leafing out yet. I have a feeling that when spring comes, it will be fast and furious, and then it will be summer. This combination is so odd. I think I understand the Saami calendar better – this must be winter-spring. The weather, then, is of two minds, just as I am about Finland.

Marching on

These past few days, I’ve had fleeting thoughts that I’m really over the hump. They’ve remained unarticulated, until now. I haven’t wanted to jinx anything. But my teaching schedule is getting lighter. So is the sky. And, best of all, February is over (see my previous post). I’ve scheduled a trip to Switzerland and Germany for spring break (barely scraped up the money, but I managed!), so the prospect of seeing my son and dear friends in Saarland surely lifts my heart.

Of course, the temperature is not 'over the hump'. It’s gotten colder. I walked to the train station yesterday, and back again after another trip to Tampere, and it was -18 C. This is not comfortable weather for walking, no matter what you are wearing. Those few days of plus degrees may have had me fooled. But seriously, it can’t stay this cold forever. So I’m trying to focus on how beautiful the ice and snow look with this much sunshine. On the train yesterday I was fascinated by how the forest looked like it was covered in glitter, and I was dazzled by the orange disk of the setting sun (at 6 p.m.!) as it was reflected on the snowy fields. This beauty will disappear once everything starts to melt and the ‘ugly’ season starts.

I’m also coming to terms with moving on in my life. I’ve held on to the idea of living in my house in Eugene – now far too big for just one lone woman – for so long. I’ve pictured myself puttering in the garden as an 80-year-old. I’ve seen imaginary grandchildren tossing the Legos I’ve saved into the air, crowing, while their parents tell them their memories of the house and point out the height marks on the doorpost in the kitchen. I’ve savored the idea of relaxing on the deck in that delicious scent of fir and roses with Eugene friends, and of finally inviting them to dinner there after years of stressed-out, single-mom life. I’ve thought about my pets aging and, reluctantly, imagined their burials along with the other pets in the backyard.

Friends from Germany visiting in Eugene

Those are a lot of things to give up. But I think I am getting closer to doing just that. The ability to do so turns on a realization I had: I can either live in that house, waiting for those occasions when my busy children will have the time and money to come visit, or I can sell that house, move into something smaller (perhaps in Finland?), and use the money to actually go see them. And there is also the socio-political issue of fairness: is it right to hold on to so much space that should be full of new tenants, not my memories?

Having this realization has also made my mood shift. Once you pull yourself out of one track full of unquestioned assumptions and pictures, I think it makes it easier for you to examine other things as well. What are the other ways I have reacted instead of acted in my life? It’s heady stuff to contemplate. It makes the world grow suddenly bigger, expands my spirit and makes me almost giddy considering the new possibilities.

For now, the possibility of putting my winter gear in storage, the prospect of a two-day teaching week, and the promise of spring break are euphoria enough. That and reminding myself how glad I am it isn’t February anymore.

Blame February

Everyone says that February is the worst month. I guess it’s a good thing it’s also the shortest. But given what this short month has been like so far, I have to agree: February is nobody’s favorite, and definitely not mine.

This is the fourth month there’s been snow on the ground, and apparently we have three to go. Three more months. Three. Before I can smell flowers, see some green grass, walk around in normal footware? Before I can fly around on my bike again? I have to believe the melt will happen in stages, but still – the prospect of even more winter isn’t very appealing. To be fair, it’s getting lighter, too. But that apparently doesn’t make it warmer. 

Weather is the least noxious of February’s ‘gifts’.

I had my first real serious bout of illness this month. In retrospect, I could have probably been more careful and not travelled around so much, and rested more, and covered my face while out in the cold sea air of Vaasa. But I came down with bronchitis. I’ll reserve my praise for the Finnish medical care system for a post where I am not so determined to complain. But being sick and alone in a foreign country has got to be a special circle of Dante’s hell. Reality shifts when you’re disoriented, feverish and cut off from usual points of reference. You focus on survival: how to get to the bus stop without falling over so you can get to the doctor so you can get antibiotics. How and where to kill time downtown while waiting for another bus to take you home. How to get a trip to the store for food in there, especially when you aren’t hungry at all, and when walking around looking at unappetizing food seems like an outing you can forego. These things seem so minor when you’re well, but when you’re feeling like death warmed over, they take on terrifyingly forbidding contours.

And February – and probably illness – has colored my attitude towards Finnish society in general. It’s now in the depths of winter that I see how closed it is. People stay home. They huddle in front of the television (I assume – how would I know?) and have cozy evenings. That is all. I think they also do sports, and they probably go visit relatives, but I look for activities in the papers and don’t see much of anything. Volunteer? Where? It’s not a society where there is a strong tradition of volunteerism, unless you’re a missionary. Society works pretty well, so there isn’t a lot of impetus to improve things. I’ve tried in vain to locate a Transition Town group, for example. I suppose people go to pubs as well, but I haven’t seen a lot of activity on that front, either, and living in an area where bus service stops at 8 p.m., my curfew is early.

But I'm fully aware of my poor attitude. I'm winter-cranky, lonely and trying to slog through. There are signs of beauty out there as well. I'm noticing a lot more birds, and bird song. I love all the suet logs and birdfeeders scattered all over. And the wind-driven, partially evaporated snow creates some amazing natural artwork. February is almost over, and so is my bronchitis. And this post. March, I'm counting on you.

Wishing her a happy birthday

Today, my youngest brother and youngest sister are celebrating their birthday. I am nine years older than they are, so I remember when they were born – how snowy and sunny it was, how excited we were that it was a boy AND a girl, how I got to tell people at school that I was a big sister again. My mother was kind of overwhelmed with two little babies – the youngest of six children – and so my sister and I, as oldest and second-oldest, were each assigned care of one of the babies. She got the boy, and I got the girl.

My new little sister was the most beautiful infant girl you could imagine. She was perfectly proportioned, and she had big brown eyes and the sweetest little smile. And while her twin was curmudgeonly, plump and unsmiling, she more than made up for it with her cute little cries of “Ba! Ba!” and her happy, bouncy movements.

I won’t go into what happened during the intervening years. Partly it would take too long, partly it’s too sad, and partly I don’t want to talk about it here. But my sweet little sister is now an adult who has made too many poor choices, and she’s fallen under the yoke of several addictions.

What do you do with that? Clearly I have no clue. I used to think – naively – that you could “fix” people like her through unconditional love, tough love, providing a safe and calm space, sending them into rehab, sheer force of will, prayer or some combination of those things. I’ve tried them all, and they didn’t work. 

She lived with me for five months while I gave her room and board and she went to community college, her first experience there. I saw her making progress, doing well, having setbacks, overcoming them, eventually turning on me unexpectedly with shocking venom and hatred. She would apologize, promise to do better. She went to AA meetings, and I went with her. But behind my back she was emptying my liquor cabinet and lying about it. Eventually she called me horrible names, told my family what an awful person I was, and made me feel unsafe in my own home. I had reached my limit, and I was forced to turn her out.

I still love her, but I can’t have her near me, and this makes my heart ache. No, it’s more than an ache. She broke my heart, and my heart hasn’t been the same since. I no longer believe that love can conquer all.

I’ve learned that addicts won’t get help until they’re good and ready. It doesn’t matter if they have beautiful, deserving children who need them. It doesn’t matter if they have a loving spouse. It doesn’t matter if their family gives them a choice: either you go into rehab or we will not allow you into our homes again. It doesn’t matter if they have an elderly mother in frail health who’s worried sick about them.

They can’t hear anything except the siren call of whatever drug they crave. And that drug changes their personality, and their health, permanently.

I had a dream last night about my sister. She looked dreadful, like those ads warning you about the dangers of meth. But she was calm and listened to me as I told her about my worries for her, how I loved her, how I wanted my little sister back, the one with the sunny smile and the mischievous giggle. She listened carefully (the way she never does now) and said, “I know, Kathy. I know I’m going to die. But I just can’t help it. Thanks for loving me anyway.”

I hear little snippets about where she is and what she’s doing. None of it is good. And I’m so far away – not that it matters since I’m powerless anyway. But I can still pray for her, and I do. And that’s probably all. 

Happy Birthday, my troubled, beloved sister. Please come back someday.

Pushing through

When I was thinking about what to write about next, it occurred to me that I’m halfway through my (first) year here, since I’m planning on going back to Oregon in June. So a logical title would have been “Over the Hump”. But I’m not ‘over the hump’ in many ways. That title would have implied that ‘the rest is downhill’, ‘everything’s easy from here on out’, etc. etc. Life is much more complicated than that metaphor. Some things got easy for me right away – figuring out public transportation, for example. Other things feel more like I’m tapping around in a dark room, sometimes finding a chair but then realizing no, that’s a table … not a great metaphor, but a more apt one. In particular, I feel this way about Finnish university culture, which is still a great mystery in many ways. And a great epiphany of comprehension of the Finnish language has eluded me so far – which may be one reason why academic culture here still seems  so opaque to me.

So ‘pushing through’ doesn’t imply success or failure, difficulty or ease – just movement forward, sometimes impeded by what’s surrounding me. At least I hope it’s forward. And it is in terms of time, in any case.

One of the biggest personal ‘push-through’s’ was Christmas. I stressed about it so much I almost made myself sick. Would I have enough money to get my daughter over to Switzerland? Would I then have enough money to get myself there? And to feed us while there? Would my son be OK with having us so close in for several days? What about tree/decorations/gifts? Thanks to some serious austerity, I was able to buy the plane tickets and to have enough money for us to have one nice lunch at a fondue restaurant (although as a kind of cosmic joke, the waiter came running after us after we left – he had mixed up our bills and ours was higher than the one I had just paid – so I had to worry about the card going through twice!). My son’s friends allowed us to stay in their apartment as long as we took care of their little kitten, so there was no hotel expense. We did mega-shopping for our meals, and my son paid for it all. He also cooked an elegant Christmas dinner and my daughter did a lot of the baking. My suggestion that we devote ourselves to no stress was welcomed, and we did just that. We walked around Zurich and saw the Chagall stained glass in the Fraumuenster Cathedral, went to the opera (Erik performed in ‘Tosca’), attended midnight service at the Schlieren church, exchanged gifts and sipped coffee, had martinis in the bar atop the tallest building in Zurich, took the tram to the Uetliberg and hiked up to the top for amazing sunset views of the Alps and bad hot cocoa afterwards. I can’t remember hurrying anywhere at any time. Christmas was delightful; it simply flew by too quickly. And it definitely didn’t feel like a ‘push-through’ while I was there. In retrospect, I really didn't need to stress about it quite as much as I did.

Not remembering that I am no longer in my 20s, I planned too much traveling after Christmas. I loved seeing my friends, but didn’t like how tired I felt. I visited a friend I hadn’t seen for ages who now lives on an island in Denmark. It took about three and a half hours to get to her beautiful thatched-roof cottage from Copenhagen. 

We had a terrific, low-key visit, complete with delicious Danish food, marathons of television watching (a Ken Follett movie and “Casino Royale”) and talking about the intervening years, her work as an elections observer in the Ukraine, why the educational system in the US  is in trouble. After that I went to Lund, Sweden, to see dear friends I had missed during my last Swedish sojourn. They too are terrific cooks and made delicious, elaborate meals every evening, including New Year’s Eve. We took a walk through Lund and I reminisced about my student days there. We got to see the official standard measurement for ‘lagom’, just right, which stands on the university property. 

On my way to and from the Helsinki Airport, I visited my friend Nina, and we got to have a longer visit this time. She took me to the National Opera to see ‘La Traviata’. She too is a great cook. It’s a wonder I can wear anything I used to wear last year. Talk about ‘pushing through’!

By the time I got home, I had one day to get ready for the new term’s classes. Probably because I had travelled so much and was so tired, I had a bad case of not wanting to go back to school. And included in that was a deep-seated feeling that I am a charlatan. It’s true, on the eve of every new semester, no matter where I am or what I’m teaching, an inner voice will start sounding in my ear: “I am the world's biggest charlatan. I know nothing. The students will have heard everything I have to say and will stay seated only out of politeness or pity.” But this time it was more pronounced. I had severe trouble sitting down and putting together the next day’s classes. And I felt petulant, a little like a small friend of mine, Frans, who did not feel like saying “thank you” at the dinner table when I was visiting. I knew I had to do it, and I knew I was losing precious time by procrastinating, but I was angry. Angry! Finally I pushed through the anger and petulance and procrastination and put together two imperfect but acceptable first classes. And I didn’t feel the students were staying there out of pity or politeness.

The last ‘push-through’ I’ll talk about is the sun. There is more of it every day. I’m now noticing it, seeing how the dusk lingers longer (past 4 p.m. now) and how the sunlight seems stronger, coming from higher up. So light has pushed through the darkness, and I’m told that by April, I will need to wear a blindfold to be able to sleep. In just two months, the day will be six hours longer. I’m looking forward to it, but I have to say that living through a winter here has shown me how exquisitely beautiful snow and ice can be, and how different nature looks at different times. 

 I no longer think it’s odd that the Inuit have so many words for snow. That being said, I have to admit that I sometimes fantasize about walking through a forest in Oregon taking in that sweet smell of heated fir, wearing a sleeveless shirt, skirt and sandals, feeling sun on my skin. Winter is lovely, but I will be happy when I’ve pushed through it and into the season when I can pack away pounds and pounds of cold-weather gear.