Spring fever, Finnish style

At the conference I attended last weekend, Finnish author Rosa Liksom struggled to find an English equivalent for a ‘meänkieli’ phrase that she eventually rendered as ‘Arctic hysteria’. Her fellow authors from Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Iceland nodded in agreement. Something happens to people born near the Arctic Circle around this time of the year, after months of darkness and ice and heavy clothing and slippery paths and cold, cold, cold. And it’s akin to hysteria.

Here in Joensuu, hysteria isn’t terribly apparent yet. I was gone in the US for 10 days and things don’t look very much different than they did April 25. Most of the snow is gone, but there are a few stubborn patches, hiding under grit, and the lakeshores still have some ice. I saw a few leaves braving their way out of their buds, and three different kinds of flowers that I cannot yet name. Some purple ones struggling out from beneath a thatch of last year’s grass looked a lot like crocuses, and some yellow ones looked a little like dandelions – but the leaves were wrong, the stem too thick and the petals too regular.

But of course my little solipsistic glimpse of the world can be missing something. Vappu came and went while I was gone, Walpurgis/Beltane/May Day, and all kinds of hysteria could have broken loose under people’s scarves and puffy jackets. Judging by an obscene picture reminiscent of “Girls Gone Wild on Spring Break” video ads in the States, on page 2 of the school paper, this holiday is all about bacchanalian hysteria of the rawest kind. The school buildings are noticeably emptier now that classes are over – are the students all still out partying in the woods? Midsummer is several weeks away, and it’s possible that this will be the height of hysteria. But it’s also entirely possible that people are experiencing their private hysterias/ecstasies/euphorias and that it is not a collective national affliction -- or blessing -- in the way you might have imagined had you listened to the authors’ panel.

I’m not experiencing hysteria – yet – but I am heaving a sigh of relief. I made it. Winter is definitely gone. I biked to the store today without a coat (though my sweater was warm), without boots, without gloves and without a cap under my helmet. I’m practically rubbing my hands together imagining packing away all the paraphernalia, including the little reflectors that help people steer clear of you as you walk home in the dark. 

However, I should probably not have made a trip back to Oregon at this time of year. I have a severe case of garden envy. I visited a new friend who cut a beautiful, whole cauliflower from his garden and prepared it for dinner, adding onions, garlic and broccoli shoots he had harvested shortly before. I miss that immediacy, that ability to walk out and fetch dinner from the earth. I was able to visit my house, where another friend has been caring for the beds there, and I saw the small potato leaves starting to unfurl here and there. Is there such a thing as soil hysteria? If so, I am feeling it with nearly every fiber of my body. And I wonder if it is a genetic disposition – if it’s my peasant stock claiming its own. As if I can’t go for more than nine months without digging my hands into a pile of dirt.

I am most confused now. I should have hung in there for the entire cycle of Finnish weather, perhaps entered into hysteria with my new compatriots, not ‘gone home’ for a breather before coming back and finishing the year. Do I stay? Do I go? Do I commute? How does one make the decision where to hang one’s hat? The friend with the cauliflower had a very wise suggestion: decide where you want to wake up every morning. I’ve been thinking about that. And I think it doesn’t matter as long as I can walk out into a landscape with a steaming mug of coffee, looking at how far along the living creatures have come since last I looked. Can I do this in a greenhouse in mid-winter? Can I walk out on a frozen dock and feel the same satisfaction as I look at the ice? Is it the traces in nature I want to see, or is it vegetable matter that matters?

And there’s the issue of impact. I’ve always wanted to be where I’ll be of most use. I know I’m doing some good here, but I felt that way in Eugene as well, and across a broader spectrum. I know, the sages will say that you can make an impact no matter where you are. Is it more meaningful to give back to the culture that raised you? Less meaningful to educate the privileged? Am I arguing about angels on pinheads here? At least I’m not hysterical about this – simply thoughtful and curious about how it will all turn out.

Now I’m headed for another three weeks away from Finland. Things are sure to be far advanced by the time I get back. Hopefully I’ll get to experience a taste of hysteria when I return – or at least some measured cavorting in someone’s backyard.

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.