Note: It's still snowing today, but I thought I'd spare you more weather whine. Instead, I'm going a bit preachy on y'all, as I've been psyching myself up to leave Norway and return to Canada. So without further ado...I give you my "Ode To Canada."
Babies are born colourblind. They do not distinguish between blue or brown eyes. A white face or a black one.
Babies love whoever loves them back.
As they grow, children begin to look for more than just baby lovin', but they're still making friendships based on personality traits. They remain unmoved by externals such as skin colour, gender, size or grooming for a long time. Two kids who like to talk will naturally gravitate towards each other, as will those who prefer to run and jump.
Oh, to be wise like a child again!
Children's International Summer Villages (CISV) is an organization that sends children at age 11 to camps all over the world for a month. The organization, which celebrated 50 years in 2007, was conceived by a child psychologist after the devastations of World War II.
The intent behind CISV is building peace through friendship, and its central idea is that this must begin with the younger generation.
While they are still colourblind.
I was lucky enough to go to a CISV camp in Brazil as an 11 year old girl, along with three other kids from my country. The impact this experience had on me cannot be exaggerated, as it allowed me to make friends with children whose backgrounds couldn’t have been more different from my own.
And the single most important lesson I learnt that summer was that behind those external differences, we were really all the same.
But my children are even luckier than I am. They don’t need to go to a camp half around the world – they live this reality every day in their very own community in Canada.
My boys have grown up with friends and neighbours who have different traditions, religions (occasionally wearing different clothing in deference to these religions) and skin colour, often speaking more than one language at home.
Mike and I like to refer to the children’s school as a "mini UN", filled by kids who hail from countries all around the planet. Lunchtime is a sight to see. Out come the naan and curries, the rice and the noodles, the burgers and fries, the croissants and cheese. It is a veritable feast of world cuisine.
Through school and play dates, our children and their friends take bits and pieces from their individual backgrounds, and create a brand new value system that is much more international than anything I had a chance to experience in just one month in Brazil.
We now celebrate holidays I had never heard of before, we eat foods my parents would gawk at, and we have fun doing it!
Imagine how the world would look if today's world leaders had gone to a CISV camp or grown up in a community such as ours in Canada. Would we still have all these conflicts based on either religion or a fight for wealth?
Perhaps I am naïve, but it seems to me that many of the problems in the world today are caused by fear. Fear of the unknown and fear of having things taken away (sadly, we don’t become better at sharing as we age – quite the contrary).
And as we grow older, the instinct to surround ourselves with what is familiar - and therefore less challenging - appears to become more ingrained.
We gradually become less open, less colourblind.
That's why CISV has it right – it is important to start with the younger generation.
Or better yet, grow up in a place where everyone is different. Because if different is what you are used to, what’s familiar to you – then it’s not really different at all. Or scary.
As great as Norway is - for us it has been absolutely wonderful this year – I think the future of the world relies on inter-marriage, figuratively and literally. And in that respect, Canada is light-years ahead.
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
15 Apr 2008
24 Jan 2008
Neverland
Sometimes I feel as if Norwegians live in a different world than the rest of us. A nicer, gentler world, where everyone is safe, and where terrorism is still unheard of.
Today, we went down to renew the boys' Norwegian passports. Not only were we in-and-out of the passport office in less than 20 minutes, but the entire process was so simple.
In today's world of fear rhetorics, homeland security departments and coloured threat levels, I'm no longer used to anything connected with international travel being simple.
Which is why this was so refreshing.
The passport form was half a page long and 2 minutes of effort. There were no guarantor, birth certificate or ID requirements. All we needed to bring were the boys' old passports.
It made me wish that it could be so simple again everywhere. That the people of the world would come together, and the fear and mistrust so rampant at the moment could be put to the wayside.
That we could all live in Neverland.
Today, we went down to renew the boys' Norwegian passports. Not only were we in-and-out of the passport office in less than 20 minutes, but the entire process was so simple.
In today's world of fear rhetorics, homeland security departments and coloured threat levels, I'm no longer used to anything connected with international travel being simple.
Which is why this was so refreshing.
The passport form was half a page long and 2 minutes of effort. There were no guarantor, birth certificate or ID requirements. All we needed to bring were the boys' old passports.
It made me wish that it could be so simple again everywhere. That the people of the world would come together, and the fear and mistrust so rampant at the moment could be put to the wayside.
That we could all live in Neverland.
13 Nov 2007
Broken Dreams
I have very few friends from my childhood, which I mostly blame on my family's frequent moves, combined with an underdeveloped desire to write letters as a teenager.
One of my oldest friends is an American girl I met in high school, who eventually settled in Norway. Throughout my time abroad, we've stayed in regular contact, and I'd counted on seeing her frequently during my year here. But after a month of visitors in August, followed by slightly stressful weeks of helping the boys settle into Norwegian school and life, time just passed by without me picking up the phone to reconnect.
Then I began to feel awkward about calling her, unsure of how to explain why I hadn't called sooner. More time passed, laced with more guilt and anguish. Eventually, I pushed my guilt to the back of my mind, and tried to ignore the occasional nagging.
Wait a minute...[thinking, thinking...]. Let's start this post over again:
I only have a few friends from childhood, because I do a crappy job of staying in touch with them. Until last Sunday when the phone rang, and a chirpy voice sounded: "Hey, chicky, where've you been?"
There's a good friend for you! Ingrid finally made the decision for me, without any harsh words about my utter pathetic-ness. We ended up spending a lovely afternoon and evening together yesterday, languishing for hours over plates of steaming noodles and curried mushrooms, catching up on what was new in each other's lives. She hadn't seen our boys for a few years and was politely impressed by their growth. Which just goes to show what a kind heart she has, since B boy is, well, vertically challenged.
But mostly, we talked about Ingrid's job. She works for the municipality of Drammen as a social worker in a daycare with a high percentage of foreigners. The demographics in this daycare make her job both rewarding and extremely difficult, since children of new immigrants and refugees are often lost in their own little worlds as they try to adjust to a Norwegian daycare miles away from what they've been used to. Everything from the games that are played, to the food that's eaten, to the language spoken is new for them.
Their own families are under extreme pressure as they try to establish a new life with very little money and a non-existent social network, juggling new societal expectations with values from their homeland. Sometimes a parent has been left behind, occasionally with unknown whereabouts. In other cases, one or both parents struggle with mental illnesses caused by horrific experiences in the country they came from.
And out from these families, and into Ingrid's daycare, come new little boys and girls on a daily basis, trying to cope as only children can.
My friend's job consists of identifying children with special needs within the daycare, and instructing and aiding employees in their care of these children. Given the population makeup, the percentage of special needs cases in her daycare is much higher than what you'd see elsewhere. And while her success stories are beautiful to hear, she has tales that will keep you up at night with an aching heart.
Like the one about the 3-year-old boy who started at the daycare a year ago, joining his 4-year-old brother. The older brother had already been pegged as a troublemaker who'd get into physical altercations with other children, but once his little brother joined him, these sessions turned into outright group bully behaviour against other children. On more than one occasion, they were caught standing on either side of a playmate, kicking that child as hard as they could.
I can't imagine a 3 or 4-year-old with that much rage in his heart.
The older brother left to start school this fall, leaving the youngster alone at the daycare. A few weeks ago, the boy asked the one daycare teacher whom he'd grown ever so slightly attached to, and who also had a son at the centre, if she ever hit her child,
"Like my dad hits me?"
After replying that she did not, she noticed an immediate and striking change in his attitude, as if she no longer warranted his respect.
"You can just leave. I don't want you here."
Only a few days later, Ingrid played a linguistic game with the boy to improve his weak language skills. This particular exercise consisted of picking out matching cards, such as a doll and a stroller, or a ball and a net. As he picked out the bucket and spade cards, Ingrid, in an attempt to promote more advanced language usage, asked if he could use the spade with something else as well.
"I can use it to throw sand in other kids' eyes."
She prodded him, asking why he'd want to do such a thing.
"To make them cry."
And the reason he wanted the kids to cry?
"So they'll be afraid of me."
The boy came to Norway with his family from a war-torn country, and the father has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. The mother looks like she is about to fall apart from exhaustion every time she drops off or picks up her children. And every day, her son - her baby boy - desperately tries to cope with his own fears by transferring them onto others.
Ingrid told me that Children's Aid have been notified, and that the children will likely be removed from the family. My heart breaks for these boys, who are seething with anger at the world. I wonder what foster care can do for them. What foster care might do to them.
But my heart also aches for their parents. For what they've become, and for all those broken dreams.
One of my oldest friends is an American girl I met in high school, who eventually settled in Norway. Throughout my time abroad, we've stayed in regular contact, and I'd counted on seeing her frequently during my year here. But after a month of visitors in August, followed by slightly stressful weeks of helping the boys settle into Norwegian school and life, time just passed by without me picking up the phone to reconnect.
Then I began to feel awkward about calling her, unsure of how to explain why I hadn't called sooner. More time passed, laced with more guilt and anguish. Eventually, I pushed my guilt to the back of my mind, and tried to ignore the occasional nagging.
Wait a minute...[thinking, thinking...]. Let's start this post over again:
I only have a few friends from childhood, because I do a crappy job of staying in touch with them. Until last Sunday when the phone rang, and a chirpy voice sounded: "Hey, chicky, where've you been?"
There's a good friend for you! Ingrid finally made the decision for me, without any harsh words about my utter pathetic-ness. We ended up spending a lovely afternoon and evening together yesterday, languishing for hours over plates of steaming noodles and curried mushrooms, catching up on what was new in each other's lives. She hadn't seen our boys for a few years and was politely impressed by their growth. Which just goes to show what a kind heart she has, since B boy is, well, vertically challenged.
But mostly, we talked about Ingrid's job. She works for the municipality of Drammen as a social worker in a daycare with a high percentage of foreigners. The demographics in this daycare make her job both rewarding and extremely difficult, since children of new immigrants and refugees are often lost in their own little worlds as they try to adjust to a Norwegian daycare miles away from what they've been used to. Everything from the games that are played, to the food that's eaten, to the language spoken is new for them.
Their own families are under extreme pressure as they try to establish a new life with very little money and a non-existent social network, juggling new societal expectations with values from their homeland. Sometimes a parent has been left behind, occasionally with unknown whereabouts. In other cases, one or both parents struggle with mental illnesses caused by horrific experiences in the country they came from.
And out from these families, and into Ingrid's daycare, come new little boys and girls on a daily basis, trying to cope as only children can.
My friend's job consists of identifying children with special needs within the daycare, and instructing and aiding employees in their care of these children. Given the population makeup, the percentage of special needs cases in her daycare is much higher than what you'd see elsewhere. And while her success stories are beautiful to hear, she has tales that will keep you up at night with an aching heart.
Like the one about the 3-year-old boy who started at the daycare a year ago, joining his 4-year-old brother. The older brother had already been pegged as a troublemaker who'd get into physical altercations with other children, but once his little brother joined him, these sessions turned into outright group bully behaviour against other children. On more than one occasion, they were caught standing on either side of a playmate, kicking that child as hard as they could.
I can't imagine a 3 or 4-year-old with that much rage in his heart.
The older brother left to start school this fall, leaving the youngster alone at the daycare. A few weeks ago, the boy asked the one daycare teacher whom he'd grown ever so slightly attached to, and who also had a son at the centre, if she ever hit her child,
"Like my dad hits me?"
After replying that she did not, she noticed an immediate and striking change in his attitude, as if she no longer warranted his respect.
"You can just leave. I don't want you here."
Only a few days later, Ingrid played a linguistic game with the boy to improve his weak language skills. This particular exercise consisted of picking out matching cards, such as a doll and a stroller, or a ball and a net. As he picked out the bucket and spade cards, Ingrid, in an attempt to promote more advanced language usage, asked if he could use the spade with something else as well.
"I can use it to throw sand in other kids' eyes."
She prodded him, asking why he'd want to do such a thing.
"To make them cry."
And the reason he wanted the kids to cry?
"So they'll be afraid of me."
The boy came to Norway with his family from a war-torn country, and the father has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. The mother looks like she is about to fall apart from exhaustion every time she drops off or picks up her children. And every day, her son - her baby boy - desperately tries to cope with his own fears by transferring them onto others.
Ingrid told me that Children's Aid have been notified, and that the children will likely be removed from the family. My heart breaks for these boys, who are seething with anger at the world. I wonder what foster care can do for them. What foster care might do to them.
But my heart also aches for their parents. For what they've become, and for all those broken dreams.
5 Nov 2007
The Bachelor - Part II
So maybe I knew that posting those pictures wasn't the nice thing to do. That they would be a little, teeny, tiny bit humiliating for the Norwegian Bachelor. I couldn't resist - I couldn't get over how different the two guys were.
It was meant as a simple spoof - but your comments made me think. And so, having started down this road, I might as well go all the way, even though I'm not sure where I'm going. Especially since I don't even watch Bachelor, and only stumbled across the Norwegian version on Saturday evening, bored and waiting for the boys to return home from a soccer match.
Many of us agree that while Mr. Norway is far from the ultimate in male hotness, he seems less plastic than Mr. USA, who also does not seem to have much of a following in the blogosphere.
But shall we take a look at the ladies?
Norway
USA
Isn't it amazing how these two shows, based on the exact same premise, are worlds apart in their final presentation? The oh-so-smooth American package vs. the stark realism of the Norwegian show.
The Norwegian production may look less polished and more rough around the edges partly as a matter of cost. Little Norway, with its 4 million people, can not justify a lavish budget for a show that maybe pulls in a couple of hundred thousand people an episode. Meanwhile, according to my best friend Google, more than 10 million people watched the last episode of the Bachelor in North America. That kind of ad revenue can pay for a rose or two.
Accepting that there's money to spend, I still wonder why the American show has such a sky high polish factor and is filled with perfect human specimens, beautifully airbrushed with blindingly white teeth, who so do not resemble any of the people in my neighbourhood?
The 25 Bachelor girls look like they just stepped off the runway. They are all gorgeous. Are we really supposed to be believe that they are unable to find a date on their own, and that they're so desperate they're willing to slug it out over a single guy they don't even know? On national TV?
I think not.
I can only see one reason for these girls to be doing this in the first place -because it is filmed for everyone to see. This is a stepping stone, a way to gain exposure, perhaps to promote a modelling or fledgling...ehem...acting career. Finding love is the farthest thing from their minds. Which is why the name reality show is so hilarious. Can we get any less real here, people?
This is escapism in its purest form. A prime time soap opera with all fluff and chocolate, no substance. A beautifully designed world, full of beautiful people doing beautiful things, in the hopes of winning a beautiful price. Enjoy it, if you like, for what it is. Don't try to look for anything real, beyond the name of the designer dresses.
Which makes me wonder what exactly it is that Norwegian viewers are escaping to? A world of average-looking, middle-aged, slightly overweight women - who have all been around the block - competing for the affections of a middle-aged, chubby, dishevelled man with a fairly grumpy demeanour.
There is an element of grittiness here that gives the illusion that the programme is showing it like it really is. Except we are still watching a group of women being scrutinized, evaluated and picked off one by one by a single man. Ouch!
I also question what's in it for the Norwegian women participating on the show? They are in a different age bracket than the American Bachelor girls. These women are mature - in their 40s. Surely, this can't be much of a stepping stone for them. Could it be that they are really looking for love? Wouldn't that be awful? I honestly can't imagine anything sadder.
So, although I initially thought the other way around, I'm now thinking that the Norwegian version might be worse, precisely because it looks more real. At least the American show is so over the top, you can almost feel the participants laughing with you at themselves.
From a feminist point of view, I do worry about the subliminal messages (actually, subliminal is the wrong word - I mean blatantly obvious messages) in shows such as the Bachelor. But the truth is, I can choose not to watch, and as long as there is a market for this type of thing, I suppose I'm fine with it. There are worse things to watch on TV. Except maybe for pubescent girls...
It was meant as a simple spoof - but your comments made me think. And so, having started down this road, I might as well go all the way, even though I'm not sure where I'm going. Especially since I don't even watch Bachelor, and only stumbled across the Norwegian version on Saturday evening, bored and waiting for the boys to return home from a soccer match.
Many of us agree that while Mr. Norway is far from the ultimate in male hotness, he seems less plastic than Mr. USA, who also does not seem to have much of a following in the blogosphere.
But shall we take a look at the ladies?
Norway
USA
Isn't it amazing how these two shows, based on the exact same premise, are worlds apart in their final presentation? The oh-so-smooth American package vs. the stark realism of the Norwegian show.
The Norwegian production may look less polished and more rough around the edges partly as a matter of cost. Little Norway, with its 4 million people, can not justify a lavish budget for a show that maybe pulls in a couple of hundred thousand people an episode. Meanwhile, according to my best friend Google, more than 10 million people watched the last episode of the Bachelor in North America. That kind of ad revenue can pay for a rose or two.
Accepting that there's money to spend, I still wonder why the American show has such a sky high polish factor and is filled with perfect human specimens, beautifully airbrushed with blindingly white teeth, who so do not resemble any of the people in my neighbourhood?
The 25 Bachelor girls look like they just stepped off the runway. They are all gorgeous. Are we really supposed to be believe that they are unable to find a date on their own, and that they're so desperate they're willing to slug it out over a single guy they don't even know? On national TV?
I think not.
I can only see one reason for these girls to be doing this in the first place -because it is filmed for everyone to see. This is a stepping stone, a way to gain exposure, perhaps to promote a modelling or fledgling...ehem...acting career. Finding love is the farthest thing from their minds. Which is why the name reality show is so hilarious. Can we get any less real here, people?
This is escapism in its purest form. A prime time soap opera with all fluff and chocolate, no substance. A beautifully designed world, full of beautiful people doing beautiful things, in the hopes of winning a beautiful price. Enjoy it, if you like, for what it is. Don't try to look for anything real, beyond the name of the designer dresses.
Which makes me wonder what exactly it is that Norwegian viewers are escaping to? A world of average-looking, middle-aged, slightly overweight women - who have all been around the block - competing for the affections of a middle-aged, chubby, dishevelled man with a fairly grumpy demeanour.
There is an element of grittiness here that gives the illusion that the programme is showing it like it really is. Except we are still watching a group of women being scrutinized, evaluated and picked off one by one by a single man. Ouch!
I also question what's in it for the Norwegian women participating on the show? They are in a different age bracket than the American Bachelor girls. These women are mature - in their 40s. Surely, this can't be much of a stepping stone for them. Could it be that they are really looking for love? Wouldn't that be awful? I honestly can't imagine anything sadder.
So, although I initially thought the other way around, I'm now thinking that the Norwegian version might be worse, precisely because it looks more real. At least the American show is so over the top, you can almost feel the participants laughing with you at themselves.
From a feminist point of view, I do worry about the subliminal messages (actually, subliminal is the wrong word - I mean blatantly obvious messages) in shows such as the Bachelor. But the truth is, I can choose not to watch, and as long as there is a market for this type of thing, I suppose I'm fine with it. There are worse things to watch on TV. Except maybe for pubescent girls...
15 Oct 2007
Breakfast by Candlelight
Monday, 7:30 am
As he stumbles out of his bedroom rubbing an eye, he looks at me, all confused; "Why did you wake me up in the middle of the night?"
Just wait, kiddo, soon it'll be dark when you leave for school, too!
*************
Growing up during the winter months in Scandinavia, my dad would always light a candle on the kitchen table before breakfast. My groggy siblings and I would sit and admire the flickering light on the walls, while we waited for our porridge to be ready. Then he'd leave for work, and as he passed by outside the kitchen window, we could barely make out his wave before he was swallowed up by the morning blackness.
I knew I'd soon have to go out into the cold winter morning, too, and walk to school, but right then and there, I felt safe, snuggly and warm inside our kitchen cocoon.
My dad is retired now, but while my mother continues to work, he still gets up first, lights a candle on the kitchen table and makes her coffee and breakfast. He does this every morning, even when she has a flight to catch and needs to be out of the door by 5 am.
As he stumbles out of his bedroom rubbing an eye, he looks at me, all confused; "Why did you wake me up in the middle of the night?"
Just wait, kiddo, soon it'll be dark when you leave for school, too!
*************
Growing up during the winter months in Scandinavia, my dad would always light a candle on the kitchen table before breakfast. My groggy siblings and I would sit and admire the flickering light on the walls, while we waited for our porridge to be ready. Then he'd leave for work, and as he passed by outside the kitchen window, we could barely make out his wave before he was swallowed up by the morning blackness.
I knew I'd soon have to go out into the cold winter morning, too, and walk to school, but right then and there, I felt safe, snuggly and warm inside our kitchen cocoon.
My dad is retired now, but while my mother continues to work, he still gets up first, lights a candle on the kitchen table and makes her coffee and breakfast. He does this every morning, even when she has a flight to catch and needs to be out of the door by 5 am.
14 Oct 2007
The Nobel Peace Prize
[Warning: Grap a drink and a snack before you start reading this post. You will need them to fortify yourself. This post was inspired by a conversation I had last night, and is a little more serious than normal. Regular programming will return tomorrow. I promise.]
The Nobel Peace Prize is one of five Nobel Prizes awarded annually in the name of Swedish industrialist Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite.
Following his death, Nobel left a will detailing his bequest, in which he specified that prizes for physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine, and literature were to be awarded on an annual basis by a committee appointed by the Swedish government*. The recipient of an annual peace prize, on the other hand, was to be chosen by a committee appointed by the Norwegian government.
Nobel did not explain his reasons behind this division, but since Norway was under Swedish control at the time of his death, and only had domestic rule, it has been speculated that he thought this would protect the peace prize selection process from being influenced by foreign powers.
Others believe that Nobel may have been attempting to diffuse the growing discontentment and desire for independence in Norway by giving that country the responsibility for awarding a peace prize. If that was indeed his motivation, however, his goal was not achieved. The first Nobel Prizes were awarded in 1901, but only four years later, in 1905, Norway acquired full independence from Sweden.**
The recipient(s) of the Nobel Peace Prize is announced each October, and a formal award ceremony is hosted on December 10th, the anniversary of Nobel's death, in Oslo, Norway. The relatively modest and low-key reception takes place at Oslo City Hall, attended by the Norwegian Royal Family. Unlike the Swedish ceremony in which the Swedish King presents the laureates with their medals, the Peace Prize is awarded by the Chairman of the Norwegian Nobel Committee. The ceremony is followed by a torch procession by locals and visitors towards Grand Hotel to honour the Nobel Peace Laureate, who usually comes out to acknowledge the well-wishers.
Over the years, the Nobel Peace Prize has probably become the most famous, and, at times, the most controversial of the Nobel prizes. Clearly, picking the person who has "done the most or the best work for fraternity between the nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses"*** can not be done without a certain amount of subjectivity and politics playing a role.
As announced by the Norwegian Nobel Committee earlier this month, this year's recipients of the Nobel Peace Prize are former Vice-President Al Gore and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), "for their efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change, and to lay the foundations for the measures that are needed to counteract such change".
As in years past, controversy has been quick to follow. Some argue that the committee is completely off-track, awarding a peace prize to an environmentalist.**** They question whether this was what Nobel had in mind when he set up his bequest more than a century ago. Environmental issues were hardly on the agenda in the day, so this is probably not something Nobel could have envisioned. Nevertheless, I feel that the award captures the spirit of Nobel's wishes. Global environmental changes running amok could foreseeably become a massive destabilizing force threatening not just all human beings, but all living beings on our planet. Thus, in my opinion, this is also peace-promoting work, albeit on a different level.
Of course, the appropriateness of this year's winners presupposes the notion that climate changes are happening. Not everyone accepts this. Some dispute the entire notion of global warming, while others agree that the Earth is heating up, but argue that this is part of a natural cycle in which humans play little or no role. Others still believe that people are in fact causing climate changes, but that these are not as serious or happening as quickly as "doomsayers" will have us believe.
This year's Peace Prize recipients have presented compelling evidence that changes are happening on a large scale across the planet, as well as laid out the groundwork for safeguards we need to implement to counteract these changes.
Gore's own Oscar-winning documentary "An Inconvenient Truth" effectively states his belief that the time to make broad global changes is now. He has even coined a new saying, based on the African proverb 'If you want to go quick, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.' His version: "We have to go far quickly."
For a layperson, it can be difficult to choose what to believe. There are layers upon layers of information to sort through, some of which is contradictory, much of it emotional, and all of it political. Personally, I find it hard to believe that years of excessive consumption, industrialized pollution and exploitation of our planet's resources, combined with an ever-growing population, have not somehow affected our planet's ecosystem.
It's the extent to which our planet is being affected that I am not sure of. And, frankly, the daily overload of information on the topic is not making that any easier for me to figure out.
In fact, on the very same day that Al Gore was named co-recipient of the Peace Prize, a British court ruled against "The Inconvenient Truth", stating that the film is a political work that promotes only one side of the argument, and further that eleven inaccuracies have to be specifically drawn to the attention of school children watching this movie in Britain.
I try to be cognizant of the fact that everyone can only speak to their own opinion and assessment of issues, and that certainly also pertains to Al Gore. His personal motivations - and possible, albeit unlikely, political aspirations - must have influenced his presentation.
But does that make everything in the documentary wrong? I don't believe so.
Furthermore, the ICPP, as a panel established by the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) and the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), is open to all members of the UN and WMO, which certainly takes it beyond the ambitions of a single man.
Perhaps the Norwegian Nobel Committee chose Al Gore and the ICPP as co-recipients partly as an attempt to deflect the inevitable questions about Al Gore's personal motivations?
And in the process bring the focus back onto our planet as a place we need to protect for the generations coming after us.
* A prize in economics was introduced later by the Swedish Central Bank in Nobel's memory.
** Having said that, the separation from Sweden was exceedingly peaceful, all things considered, so perhaps a goal was reached anyway?
***From the will of Alfred Nobel.
****Al Gore is not the first environmentalist to win the Peace Prize. The prize was given to Wangari Maathai, a Kenyan campaigner for sustainable development, three years ago.
The Nobel Peace Prize is one of five Nobel Prizes awarded annually in the name of Swedish industrialist Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite.
Following his death, Nobel left a will detailing his bequest, in which he specified that prizes for physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine, and literature were to be awarded on an annual basis by a committee appointed by the Swedish government*. The recipient of an annual peace prize, on the other hand, was to be chosen by a committee appointed by the Norwegian government.
Nobel did not explain his reasons behind this division, but since Norway was under Swedish control at the time of his death, and only had domestic rule, it has been speculated that he thought this would protect the peace prize selection process from being influenced by foreign powers.
Others believe that Nobel may have been attempting to diffuse the growing discontentment and desire for independence in Norway by giving that country the responsibility for awarding a peace prize. If that was indeed his motivation, however, his goal was not achieved. The first Nobel Prizes were awarded in 1901, but only four years later, in 1905, Norway acquired full independence from Sweden.**
The recipient(s) of the Nobel Peace Prize is announced each October, and a formal award ceremony is hosted on December 10th, the anniversary of Nobel's death, in Oslo, Norway. The relatively modest and low-key reception takes place at Oslo City Hall, attended by the Norwegian Royal Family. Unlike the Swedish ceremony in which the Swedish King presents the laureates with their medals, the Peace Prize is awarded by the Chairman of the Norwegian Nobel Committee. The ceremony is followed by a torch procession by locals and visitors towards Grand Hotel to honour the Nobel Peace Laureate, who usually comes out to acknowledge the well-wishers.
Over the years, the Nobel Peace Prize has probably become the most famous, and, at times, the most controversial of the Nobel prizes. Clearly, picking the person who has "done the most or the best work for fraternity between the nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses"*** can not be done without a certain amount of subjectivity and politics playing a role.
As announced by the Norwegian Nobel Committee earlier this month, this year's recipients of the Nobel Peace Prize are former Vice-President Al Gore and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), "for their efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change, and to lay the foundations for the measures that are needed to counteract such change".
As in years past, controversy has been quick to follow. Some argue that the committee is completely off-track, awarding a peace prize to an environmentalist.**** They question whether this was what Nobel had in mind when he set up his bequest more than a century ago. Environmental issues were hardly on the agenda in the day, so this is probably not something Nobel could have envisioned. Nevertheless, I feel that the award captures the spirit of Nobel's wishes. Global environmental changes running amok could foreseeably become a massive destabilizing force threatening not just all human beings, but all living beings on our planet. Thus, in my opinion, this is also peace-promoting work, albeit on a different level.
Of course, the appropriateness of this year's winners presupposes the notion that climate changes are happening. Not everyone accepts this. Some dispute the entire notion of global warming, while others agree that the Earth is heating up, but argue that this is part of a natural cycle in which humans play little or no role. Others still believe that people are in fact causing climate changes, but that these are not as serious or happening as quickly as "doomsayers" will have us believe.
This year's Peace Prize recipients have presented compelling evidence that changes are happening on a large scale across the planet, as well as laid out the groundwork for safeguards we need to implement to counteract these changes.
Gore's own Oscar-winning documentary "An Inconvenient Truth" effectively states his belief that the time to make broad global changes is now. He has even coined a new saying, based on the African proverb 'If you want to go quick, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.' His version: "We have to go far quickly."
For a layperson, it can be difficult to choose what to believe. There are layers upon layers of information to sort through, some of which is contradictory, much of it emotional, and all of it political. Personally, I find it hard to believe that years of excessive consumption, industrialized pollution and exploitation of our planet's resources, combined with an ever-growing population, have not somehow affected our planet's ecosystem.
It's the extent to which our planet is being affected that I am not sure of. And, frankly, the daily overload of information on the topic is not making that any easier for me to figure out.
In fact, on the very same day that Al Gore was named co-recipient of the Peace Prize, a British court ruled against "The Inconvenient Truth", stating that the film is a political work that promotes only one side of the argument, and further that eleven inaccuracies have to be specifically drawn to the attention of school children watching this movie in Britain.
I try to be cognizant of the fact that everyone can only speak to their own opinion and assessment of issues, and that certainly also pertains to Al Gore. His personal motivations - and possible, albeit unlikely, political aspirations - must have influenced his presentation.
But does that make everything in the documentary wrong? I don't believe so.
Furthermore, the ICPP, as a panel established by the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) and the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), is open to all members of the UN and WMO, which certainly takes it beyond the ambitions of a single man.
Perhaps the Norwegian Nobel Committee chose Al Gore and the ICPP as co-recipients partly as an attempt to deflect the inevitable questions about Al Gore's personal motivations?
And in the process bring the focus back onto our planet as a place we need to protect for the generations coming after us.
* A prize in economics was introduced later by the Swedish Central Bank in Nobel's memory.
** Having said that, the separation from Sweden was exceedingly peaceful, all things considered, so perhaps a goal was reached anyway?
***From the will of Alfred Nobel.
****Al Gore is not the first environmentalist to win the Peace Prize. The prize was given to Wangari Maathai, a Kenyan campaigner for sustainable development, three years ago.
12 Oct 2007
Destination Dream Land
As I was writing to one of my closest friends, I somehow got onto the topic of places in the world that I've not yet been to, but would love a chance to experience.*
In no particular order:
- Great Wall of China
- Great Barrier Reef in Australia
- Parthenon in Athens**
- Buenos Aires in Argentina
- Winter Palace in St. Petersburg
- Taj Mahal in India
- Hot springs in Iceland
- Grand Canyon in the US
- Victoria Falls in Zambia/Zimbabwe
I'm sure I missed a bunch, so I'd love to hear yours!
*Assuming a bottomless pit of funds, of course.
**I have actually been here, but I was young and would like a chance to see it again with more mature (read: appreciative) eyes.
In no particular order:
- Great Wall of China
- Great Barrier Reef in Australia
- Parthenon in Athens**
- Buenos Aires in Argentina
- Winter Palace in St. Petersburg
- Taj Mahal in India
- Hot springs in Iceland
- Grand Canyon in the US
- Victoria Falls in Zambia/Zimbabwe
I'm sure I missed a bunch, so I'd love to hear yours!
*Assuming a bottomless pit of funds, of course.
**I have actually been here, but I was young and would like a chance to see it again with more mature (read: appreciative) eyes.
19 Sept 2007
What are you thinking now?
My Benjamin boy, you are such a funny little guy.
Remember when you were goofing off with Joakim on the side of the soccer field your brother was playing a match on? I noticed your pants kept falling down, and you were holding onto the waist with one hand, hampering you in your valiant attempts to tackle Joakim. I wondered why your pants had suddenly gotten so much bigger on you. I even thought that it would not be good if you lost weight, small as you are! When I went over for a closer look, I saw that your pants were not buttoned. You obviously had not been able to do so, and didn't want to ask for help. Since you dress yourself in the morning, your pants were probably on the verge of falling down all day. In school, in the after school program, on the trampoline...
And what about that day when we came home late from dinner at mormor and bestefar's house on a school night, and you and Christopher were given strict instructions to change, brush your teeth and hit the sack. Right away. I quickly checked my emails, and as I went back to check on the two of you, I saw Christopher was done and in bed. Good job. I went into your room. You were lying on your bed - that's a start - but wearing a new, clean shirt and reading a book. You looked up with that big smile of yours when I came in. Your dirty clothes were strewn all over the floor, a pile of clean clothes that had been placed on the bed was now also on the floor. Your PJs were the only clothes still on your bed, untouched. I asked you what you were doing, and you said you were in bed. I asked you what you were wearing, and you said your PJs. I asked you to double-check, and when you did you looked up in complete surprise "Oh..."
Then there was the time when I came by school to pick you up. You were supposed to be outside playing, but I finally found you in your classroom, alone, where you were looking through a shelf full of drinking glasses to find yours. Except I knew right away that you didn't have a glass there, because you'd never told me you needed to bring one. When I mentioned this, and tried to find out exactly what you thought you were looking for, you became very vague. I guess you were thirsty and just hoped a glass would magically reveal itself to be yours. The very next day you had a very cool looking Bionicles drinking glass with you in your bag. With big letters on it - "BENJAMIN".
I often don't understand how your mind works. In some ways, you seem to be living in your own "Benjamin world". You never tell me anything about your day, and when prompted you do not seem to remember a lot of what you do at school. You could have been on a field trip, but have little recollection of what you saw. You do not recall the names of many of your friends, even though I see you playing with them daily at school. I suppose these details just aren't interesting to you.
On the other hand, you will surprise me with your insight into things that I consider far beyond your 7 years. Things that you really should not even be aware of. Your loyalty to your family and your friends touches me on a daily basis. You show a level of empathy and generosity that is extraordinary, and I'm sure you'd give away your most prized possessions if someone you cared about asked.
And you are a brave boy! You have taken on this task of going to a Norwegian school with gusto, and not once have you cried, protested or in any other way indicated that you found it difficult. Even though I know it must be hard to sit in a classroom with kids you do not know and - at least in the beginning - could not even communicate with. I imagine you having to pretend to listen to your teacher, when you have absolutely no idea what she is talking about. And you still come home every day and tell me that school was great, and that you give it a 9 out of 10.
You are a puzzle to me, my cutie-boy. But a sweet and incredibly happy little puzzle.
12 Sept 2007
TripAdvisor
I have been busy planning all our trips for this year...you know...Prague, Paris, Budapest, Cyprus, the Alps, St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Salzburg and Mallorca.
Or maybe I'm just dreaming. Anything to avoid tackling Mt. Laundry.
I do it all on TripAdvisor. My favourite site in the world. They have travel guides, discussion forums (with the added bonus that they're often hosted by people living in the destination city), things-to-do-lists such as "3 days in Rome", plus great deals on trips and hotels.
The feature I like and use the most is the Review section. That's where people who have already been to wherever I want to go write about their experiences. I type in the name of the city, hotel or restaurant, and voila, a long list of reviews is at my perusal. Everything from brand new boutique hotels to small obscure restaurants can be found.
The first thing I do is browse through the list to see how many "stars" the place gets on average. If I'm looking at a 4 or 5 star average, I'm pretty sure I've hit the jackpot. But if I see several reviews with only 1 or 2 stars, I do a little more research.
That's really when the fun begins: When I try to figure out whether these reviewers think along the same lines as I do, or if their needs are totally different. Bad reviews have made me rethink places I've been planning to go to, and sometimes they are more enlightening than all the good reviews.
Things that make warning bells go off:
- If you are planning to go somewhere warm in the middle of July, and reviews state that there's no or poor A/C in the hotel you're considering. Vice versa is also bad - no or faulty heating in the middle of a cold winter. Not my first choice.
- Ditto when someone writes that they booked a hotel room with two queens and were given a single queen bedroom. That's a problem if you are a family of four looking to share a single hotel room.
- If you go by their websites, all hotels are located in "the best area of town". Reviews are helpful here.
- If you are planning a holiday with your kids, you might also want to avoid hotels where all the pools are undergoing renovation. I can only imagine the expression on my boys' faces should that even happen...and it's not a pretty picture.
Then there's the people with requirements that are clearly different from mine, and whose reviews I really only read for a laugh:
- People who were disappointed because there was nowhere in the bathroom to put down their toiletries. Gasp of horror.
- I understand that a poor selection of brew in a famed pub can be a disappointment to some, but I'm fine with it.
- The breakfast buffet sausages were mild, and not spicy. Hmmm...I think I might be OK with that one, too.
- Finally there's the reviewer whose primary complaint was that the beautifully renovated hotel room was missing a suitcase stand, or did not have enough drawers.
Heck, those are the places I WANT to go to - if the only thing missing is a suitcase stand, I'm good!
The only reviews I completely ignore are the ones from honeymooners. They just loved, loved, loved it all! And I'm not sure they were outside their hotel room door!
Or maybe I'm just dreaming. Anything to avoid tackling Mt. Laundry.
I do it all on TripAdvisor. My favourite site in the world. They have travel guides, discussion forums (with the added bonus that they're often hosted by people living in the destination city), things-to-do-lists such as "3 days in Rome", plus great deals on trips and hotels.
The feature I like and use the most is the Review section. That's where people who have already been to wherever I want to go write about their experiences. I type in the name of the city, hotel or restaurant, and voila, a long list of reviews is at my perusal. Everything from brand new boutique hotels to small obscure restaurants can be found.
The first thing I do is browse through the list to see how many "stars" the place gets on average. If I'm looking at a 4 or 5 star average, I'm pretty sure I've hit the jackpot. But if I see several reviews with only 1 or 2 stars, I do a little more research.
That's really when the fun begins: When I try to figure out whether these reviewers think along the same lines as I do, or if their needs are totally different. Bad reviews have made me rethink places I've been planning to go to, and sometimes they are more enlightening than all the good reviews.
Things that make warning bells go off:
- If you are planning to go somewhere warm in the middle of July, and reviews state that there's no or poor A/C in the hotel you're considering. Vice versa is also bad - no or faulty heating in the middle of a cold winter. Not my first choice.
- Ditto when someone writes that they booked a hotel room with two queens and were given a single queen bedroom. That's a problem if you are a family of four looking to share a single hotel room.
- If you go by their websites, all hotels are located in "the best area of town". Reviews are helpful here.
- If you are planning a holiday with your kids, you might also want to avoid hotels where all the pools are undergoing renovation. I can only imagine the expression on my boys' faces should that even happen...and it's not a pretty picture.
Then there's the people with requirements that are clearly different from mine, and whose reviews I really only read for a laugh:
- People who were disappointed because there was nowhere in the bathroom to put down their toiletries. Gasp of horror.
- I understand that a poor selection of brew in a famed pub can be a disappointment to some, but I'm fine with it.
- The breakfast buffet sausages were mild, and not spicy. Hmmm...I think I might be OK with that one, too.
- Finally there's the reviewer whose primary complaint was that the beautifully renovated hotel room was missing a suitcase stand, or did not have enough drawers.
Heck, those are the places I WANT to go to - if the only thing missing is a suitcase stand, I'm good!
The only reviews I completely ignore are the ones from honeymooners. They just loved, loved, loved it all! And I'm not sure they were outside their hotel room door!
30 Aug 2007
Keepin' warm!
Did you know that Norway is the one of the world's biggest exporters of oil? In fact, it is the second largest outside of OPEC (Russia being no. 1). Pretty amazing for a small country, really.
I know, I know...one of those facts you've always wondered about...and now you're just dying to know more about the oil-producing countries of the world, right? OK, pay attention now. No falling asleep in class, you'll see soon enough where I am going with this. There is a point. I promise.
Oh, and there'll be a quiz later.
You'd think a country so awash in petroleum might also be one of the world's biggest consumers of oil. Well, to not put too fine a point on it, you'd be wrong.
Based on a highly rigorous, supremely scientific study performed while jogging up and down various residential (hilly!) streets, Norwegians much prefer another, more traditional form of heating.
I submit to you the following as evidence:
Exhibit number one
A nice chunk of firewood here...for the next 2-4 years?
Exhibit number two
Getting a bit carried away here, are we? I think the stump in the foreground speaks for itself!
Exhibit number three:
There's always the ones who just have to take it to a whole other level. Check out the custom-made rack - I am sure they are the envy of the neighbourhood.
Exhibit number four:
I am no expert on firewood, but does this seem a tad excessive to you? If you look closely, there's at least another two or three piles in the background. Wow.
Perhaps the winters in Norway are way more extreme than I remember...
...and if so, we should be worried about this little piddly pile, courtesy of my father...?
I know, I know...one of those facts you've always wondered about...and now you're just dying to know more about the oil-producing countries of the world, right? OK, pay attention now. No falling asleep in class, you'll see soon enough where I am going with this. There is a point. I promise.
Oh, and there'll be a quiz later.
You'd think a country so awash in petroleum might also be one of the world's biggest consumers of oil. Well, to not put too fine a point on it, you'd be wrong.
Based on a highly rigorous, supremely scientific study performed while jogging up and down various residential (hilly!) streets, Norwegians much prefer another, more traditional form of heating.
I submit to you the following as evidence:
Exhibit number one
A nice chunk of firewood here...for the next 2-4 years?
Exhibit number two
Getting a bit carried away here, are we? I think the stump in the foreground speaks for itself!
Exhibit number three:
There's always the ones who just have to take it to a whole other level. Check out the custom-made rack - I am sure they are the envy of the neighbourhood.
Exhibit number four:
I am no expert on firewood, but does this seem a tad excessive to you? If you look closely, there's at least another two or three piles in the background. Wow.
Perhaps the winters in Norway are way more extreme than I remember...
...and if so, we should be worried about this little piddly pile, courtesy of my father...?
28 Aug 2007
My Favourite Things To Do
10. Having dim sum at Ambassador Restaurant in Richmond Hill
- fabulous food, good friends, lots of laughs.
9. In the hammock in my backyard on a hot summer day
- the sun's rays playing with the leaves on the maple trees. Bees buzzing (but staying away), birds chirping. Kids playing nicely in the pool. Ah, summer in Canada.
8. On the front step of our house here in Norway after a nice, long run
- sitting with my bottle of water, enjoying the quiet of the morning after the kids have gone off to school.
7. Blogging on my computer
- believe it or not, but it is fun to just make things up, like this post, and let the mind wander.
6. On the couch with a good book, a glass of wine and some cheese
- no kids interrupting the tranquility (sorry boys).
5. Sitting around the kitchen table - any kitchen table - with a close girlfriend and a pot of steaming hot tea
- minor problems and major global crises have been solved over a good cup of tea and a few biscuits. World leaders should take note!
4. On the trampoline with the boys, who are laughing at me because I cannot do any of their fancy tricks
- love the sound of their laughter (as long as I am not on the couch with a good book and a glass of wine).
3. Having family over for casual, last minute dinners
- I have not been able to do this for so many years, so this is a real thrill for me! The only drawback is the need to cook the actual meal. If only Norway would embrace take-out food a bit more, I could do this every night.
2. Planning the next great adventure with my husband
- poring over maps, guide books and various Internet sites, figuring out new places to go, either here, or out of country. Sometimes our plans are small and manageable, such as a weekend visit to Sweden. Other times we dream big, like doing the marathon on the Great Wall of China.
1. Getting a chance to sit back and really appreciate all the good things in life
- you know those moments when you have to pinch yourself because you suddenly see clearly how very lucky you are? Family and friends are all happy and healthy. Life is good!
xox
Heidi
PS: Now tell me yours...
- fabulous food, good friends, lots of laughs.
9. In the hammock in my backyard on a hot summer day
- the sun's rays playing with the leaves on the maple trees. Bees buzzing (but staying away), birds chirping. Kids playing nicely in the pool. Ah, summer in Canada.
8. On the front step of our house here in Norway after a nice, long run
- sitting with my bottle of water, enjoying the quiet of the morning after the kids have gone off to school.
7. Blogging on my computer
- believe it or not, but it is fun to just make things up, like this post, and let the mind wander.
6. On the couch with a good book, a glass of wine and some cheese
- no kids interrupting the tranquility (sorry boys).
5. Sitting around the kitchen table - any kitchen table - with a close girlfriend and a pot of steaming hot tea
- minor problems and major global crises have been solved over a good cup of tea and a few biscuits. World leaders should take note!
4. On the trampoline with the boys, who are laughing at me because I cannot do any of their fancy tricks
- love the sound of their laughter (as long as I am not on the couch with a good book and a glass of wine).
3. Having family over for casual, last minute dinners
- I have not been able to do this for so many years, so this is a real thrill for me! The only drawback is the need to cook the actual meal. If only Norway would embrace take-out food a bit more, I could do this every night.
2. Planning the next great adventure with my husband
- poring over maps, guide books and various Internet sites, figuring out new places to go, either here, or out of country. Sometimes our plans are small and manageable, such as a weekend visit to Sweden. Other times we dream big, like doing the marathon on the Great Wall of China.
1. Getting a chance to sit back and really appreciate all the good things in life
- you know those moments when you have to pinch yourself because you suddenly see clearly how very lucky you are? Family and friends are all happy and healthy. Life is good!
xox
Heidi
PS: Now tell me yours...
21 Aug 2007
A writer...me?
All right...I admit it: I have a fascination with words. Some - many - might call it an obsession. I love cleverly coined expressions, plays on words, unexpected phrases etc. Words often take centre stage in our family. My husband is an academic with several publications behind him, and I also work with language as a professional - and occasionally here in Norway unprofessional - translator. Sometimes, our sense of humour makes others shake their heads. We get a kick out of double entendres, while misspellings in papers or typos in books can get us all worked up. I can read a beautifully written phrase over and over again. It all gets a bit pathetic at times.
However, despite this interest, I have never thought myself particularly good with words. Instead, I admire others for their skill and wish I could do the same. I am a "wanna-be" linguist. A try hard. Not a natural at all.
Come to think of it, it is kind of like my singing. I love to sing but cannot carry a tune. However, that is another story altogether.
Since the advent of my blogging efforts, rumour has it that some of my friends are a little wary of commenting on my entries here in blogosphere. The term "intimidated" was used. Yikes. I was floored to hear that anything I do or say could possibly be taken that seriously. I never knew that I could be intimidating. Me? The "wanna-be"?!
Let me clarify that my friends have all been so sweet in sending me emails complimenting my blog, and a few even think it is well written on occasion. But some felt awkward adding their comments directly on the blog, fearing that their comments might look "second rate" (and yes, that is a direct quote). I can see why people could feel uncomfortable having their comments read by strangers, but since I do not expect my blog to be read by anyone other than those with a special interest in our Norway adventure - and let's face it, that number is exceedingly low - I just never considered that posting a comment could be intimidating. But my eyes have now been opened.
So, I've spent the last several days mulling this over, trying to figure out if there is anything I can do to make people more at ease. In addition to milking the situation at home, of course. Mike would concur that almost everything I now say to him either starts or ends with something akin to "I am a great writer, you know...". A conversation might go something like this:
Mike: "Heidi, could you pass the milk, please?"
Me: "...sorry?"
Mike: "The milk, could you pass it, please?"
Me: "Oh, sure, here you go."
Mike: "Thanks. You seem distracted?"
Me: "Hmmm...just thinking about my next blog entry. Even great writers have to plan a little, you know..."
...or...
Christopher: "Mamma, I don't have any clean PJ's!"
Me: "OK. What would you like me to do about it?"
Christopher: "Did you wash some?"
Me: "No, I am sorry. I was too busy working on my craft."
Christopher: "Pappa - mamma is being strange again. Where are my PJ's?"
You get the idea. Things have gotten a little out of hand at home. I must reel in the ego a bit.
I did consider posting a completely unedited entry, one of those "train of thought" posts where I'm just writing about anything and everything that pops into my head. That way everyone could see just how scattered and disorganized I can be. I decided against doing it because it was pointless; the point is that I do like to review my entries before posting (unlike my children in their schoolwork, I might add).
But I think the charm of posting comments is that people can respond instinctively to whatever is written in the original post or someone else's reaction to it. Sometimes a post or comment can get a dialogue started about something that is of interest to several people. It is not about spelling, phrasing or sentence structure. Gawd, we do enough of that when dealing with our kids' homework!
So my solution to it all: Welcome to my world - this is what cracks me up at the moment.
Signs in Norway
Exhibit number one:
Seen on a cattle transport truck. Doesn't it just make you want to run out and buy a big, juicy steak?
Exhibit number two:
Indeed...the question I suppose all young Norwegian guys are asking themselves: Is spilling her better than simply dumping her?!
Exhibit number three:
Is it Stu who is bad, or is everything just plain awful in this washroom?
Clearly, everything can be twisted, and text is always whatever you choose to take from it, not necessarily what the author intended. So let's just have fun with it!
However, despite this interest, I have never thought myself particularly good with words. Instead, I admire others for their skill and wish I could do the same. I am a "wanna-be" linguist. A try hard. Not a natural at all.
Come to think of it, it is kind of like my singing. I love to sing but cannot carry a tune. However, that is another story altogether.
Since the advent of my blogging efforts, rumour has it that some of my friends are a little wary of commenting on my entries here in blogosphere. The term "intimidated" was used. Yikes. I was floored to hear that anything I do or say could possibly be taken that seriously. I never knew that I could be intimidating. Me? The "wanna-be"?!
Let me clarify that my friends have all been so sweet in sending me emails complimenting my blog, and a few even think it is well written on occasion. But some felt awkward adding their comments directly on the blog, fearing that their comments might look "second rate" (and yes, that is a direct quote). I can see why people could feel uncomfortable having their comments read by strangers, but since I do not expect my blog to be read by anyone other than those with a special interest in our Norway adventure - and let's face it, that number is exceedingly low - I just never considered that posting a comment could be intimidating. But my eyes have now been opened.
So, I've spent the last several days mulling this over, trying to figure out if there is anything I can do to make people more at ease. In addition to milking the situation at home, of course. Mike would concur that almost everything I now say to him either starts or ends with something akin to "I am a great writer, you know...". A conversation might go something like this:
Mike: "Heidi, could you pass the milk, please?"
Me: "...sorry?"
Mike: "The milk, could you pass it, please?"
Me: "Oh, sure, here you go."
Mike: "Thanks. You seem distracted?"
Me: "Hmmm...just thinking about my next blog entry. Even great writers have to plan a little, you know..."
...or...
Christopher: "Mamma, I don't have any clean PJ's!"
Me: "OK. What would you like me to do about it?"
Christopher: "Did you wash some?"
Me: "No, I am sorry. I was too busy working on my craft."
Christopher: "Pappa - mamma is being strange again. Where are my PJ's?"
You get the idea. Things have gotten a little out of hand at home. I must reel in the ego a bit.
I did consider posting a completely unedited entry, one of those "train of thought" posts where I'm just writing about anything and everything that pops into my head. That way everyone could see just how scattered and disorganized I can be. I decided against doing it because it was pointless; the point is that I do like to review my entries before posting (unlike my children in their schoolwork, I might add).
But I think the charm of posting comments is that people can respond instinctively to whatever is written in the original post or someone else's reaction to it. Sometimes a post or comment can get a dialogue started about something that is of interest to several people. It is not about spelling, phrasing or sentence structure. Gawd, we do enough of that when dealing with our kids' homework!
So my solution to it all: Welcome to my world - this is what cracks me up at the moment.
Signs in Norway
Exhibit number one:
Seen on a cattle transport truck. Doesn't it just make you want to run out and buy a big, juicy steak?
Exhibit number two:
Indeed...the question I suppose all young Norwegian guys are asking themselves: Is spilling her better than simply dumping her?!
Exhibit number three:
Is it Stu who is bad, or is everything just plain awful in this washroom?
Clearly, everything can be twisted, and text is always whatever you choose to take from it, not necessarily what the author intended. So let's just have fun with it!
7 Aug 2007
Supermarket
After so many years abroad, I was bound to forget certain things about my ancestral land. So here's a newsflash - Canadian supermarkets spoil us. We drive into the parking lot, grab a cart, either from the stand outside or, in the event of inclement weather, from inside the store (after all, no one wants a wet cart) proceed to pick out our groceries and head to the checkout counter to pay. Then we wait for the cashier to hand us our bagged goodies. Back into the cart they go, out to the car we go. Voila. One shopping trip completed. Just like that. I never thought about it before; I just took it for granted. Occasionally, I have even been slightly annoyed with a cashier who did not bag according to my preferences - no meats with fruit, and please double bag those cartons of juice. I promise to change my ways when I return.
My eyes have been opened.
First off, getting a shopping cart, wet or not, is no piece of cake in Norway. If you do not have a 10kr. coin, you are out of luck. No cart for you. They have a system where all carts are chained together, and will only be released by inserting a 10kr. coin into the slot on the handle of the cart. You do get your coin back upon return of the cart, but what good is that if you have no 10kr. coin to begin with?
Of course, you could try the basket approach. Baskets require no coins. However, if you have ever tried to do a major shop with a basket, you already know that it is not feasible. Not only are baskets designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, perhaps to avoid theft (because I for one am dying to get my hands on the latest basket), but they are also totally impractical when buying anything heavy. Rule no. 1 when using a cart is "Thou Must Balance Thy Load". Thus, you cannot buy one liter of milk. You must buy two 1l cartons, and place one liter on either side of the basket. If not, your basket will tip and your groceries will hit the floor! Speaking from experience here. Then there is the obvious issue of size. After two liters of milk, you have no space left to do any other shopping that day. Your basket is now full. Depending on your dexterity, you could, of course, try "multiple basket" shopping, but I do not recommend it. Again, I am speaking from experience.
But let's say that you found a 10kr coin, got your cart and were able to shop to your heart's desire. You might still be in for a bit of a surprise when you try to pay for your groceries. Because not only do you have to bag your own groceries...you also have to pay for the bags to do so. This drives Mike absolutely crazy. Every time we go shopping, he kicks himself for having forgotten to bring bags from home. To be fair, the bags are not expensive - about 15 cents at current exchange rates - and they are of much better quality than the flimsy bags we use in Canada. So in that sense, this is probably more environmentally friendly, as we use less than half the number of bags for an average grocery run.
However, it is the stress of actually having to bag them yourself that gets to me. Who knew that bagging groceries would be a race to the finish? The cashier just slides the groceries down into the bagging area, and they have an interesting divider that lets the last person finish bagging theirs, while yours are being rung up. Then you are on the clock to get yours bagged before the cashier starts sending another customer's groceries down to your side of the bagging area. Thus, it is a two person job to go to the supermarket. One person needs to be bagging, while the other one pays.
Mike and I are starting to get with the program, and I am sure we will be expert baggers by the time we head back to the other side of the Atlantic. In fact, I can see this developing into something of a competition. Who can bag the fastest, and with the fewest bags? Who will be the Bagging Champion?
I will keep you posted on our progress, but I for one will REALLY appreciate the next time a cashier hands me bags of groceries. :)
My eyes have been opened.
First off, getting a shopping cart, wet or not, is no piece of cake in Norway. If you do not have a 10kr. coin, you are out of luck. No cart for you. They have a system where all carts are chained together, and will only be released by inserting a 10kr. coin into the slot on the handle of the cart. You do get your coin back upon return of the cart, but what good is that if you have no 10kr. coin to begin with?
Of course, you could try the basket approach. Baskets require no coins. However, if you have ever tried to do a major shop with a basket, you already know that it is not feasible. Not only are baskets designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, perhaps to avoid theft (because I for one am dying to get my hands on the latest basket), but they are also totally impractical when buying anything heavy. Rule no. 1 when using a cart is "Thou Must Balance Thy Load". Thus, you cannot buy one liter of milk. You must buy two 1l cartons, and place one liter on either side of the basket. If not, your basket will tip and your groceries will hit the floor! Speaking from experience here. Then there is the obvious issue of size. After two liters of milk, you have no space left to do any other shopping that day. Your basket is now full. Depending on your dexterity, you could, of course, try "multiple basket" shopping, but I do not recommend it. Again, I am speaking from experience.
But let's say that you found a 10kr coin, got your cart and were able to shop to your heart's desire. You might still be in for a bit of a surprise when you try to pay for your groceries. Because not only do you have to bag your own groceries...you also have to pay for the bags to do so. This drives Mike absolutely crazy. Every time we go shopping, he kicks himself for having forgotten to bring bags from home. To be fair, the bags are not expensive - about 15 cents at current exchange rates - and they are of much better quality than the flimsy bags we use in Canada. So in that sense, this is probably more environmentally friendly, as we use less than half the number of bags for an average grocery run.
However, it is the stress of actually having to bag them yourself that gets to me. Who knew that bagging groceries would be a race to the finish? The cashier just slides the groceries down into the bagging area, and they have an interesting divider that lets the last person finish bagging theirs, while yours are being rung up. Then you are on the clock to get yours bagged before the cashier starts sending another customer's groceries down to your side of the bagging area. Thus, it is a two person job to go to the supermarket. One person needs to be bagging, while the other one pays.
Mike and I are starting to get with the program, and I am sure we will be expert baggers by the time we head back to the other side of the Atlantic. In fact, I can see this developing into something of a competition. Who can bag the fastest, and with the fewest bags? Who will be the Bagging Champion?
I will keep you posted on our progress, but I for one will REALLY appreciate the next time a cashier hands me bags of groceries. :)
5 Aug 2007
Fitting in
I think my friends are among the absolute best in the world. They are amazing people, generous, friendly, open and warm. I often marvel at the way we all met through our kids. It was really one special kindergarten year, with one special teacher (now also a close friend) that brought most of us together and changed my social life completely. It is incredible how kids can open doors for you like that. If it had not been for them, I am certain I would never have met these people, who are now some of my nearest and dearest. We are all originally from completely different parts of the world and our cultural backgrounds vary enormously.
As we were preparing to leave Canada for the next 9 or 10 months, our lovely friends hosted several dinners and get togethers for Mike and I. We got absolutely spoiled by everyone, and loved every minute of it. Although I knew this already, it really crystallized in my mind how close our group is, and how wonderful it is that everyone looks out for one another, cares and appreciates each other.
So why am I bringing all this up? Not just because I miss my friends - which I do. But being away from my usually fairly hectic social life, I have had a lot more time to read. Currently, I am reading a very interesting book about a teenage boy who grows up in a tolerant Muslim family in London, UK, only to become a fervent "Islamist" fundamentalist. The fact that this is a true story makes it all the more riveting. Eventually, the author rejects the radical teachings and returns to what he terms "a normal life".
What fascinates me about this book is how the author becomes interested in fundamentalism in the first place. He describes himself as being an "outcast" or a "misfit" in his school, as a bit of a nerd or geek, and definitely not in the cool crowd. He is also the victim of some racism growing up as an Asian boy in London. It hurts to read about his loneliness and desire to fit in with everyone else.
His family is a very pious Muslim family, but it is also very private in its religious beliefs, and his parents see a big difference between religion and public government. Which of course is directly opposed to what fundamentalism holds.
It is shocking to read just how lost to his parents this boy became at a very young age. This was not a boy whose family did not care and was not involved with him. On the contrary, his family was highly committed and cared strongly about what he did and did not do. And despite this, he was still able to slip through the fingers of his parents and into a whole other belief system, much to their anguish. All to find a place where he was respected by his peers.
It is a little scary to think that as our children grow just a little older, they may start to value the opinions of their peers much more than ours - their parents'. You hope that you have done a good job, that they will be able to distinguish right from wrong, but as we all know, the right decision is not always the easy one, or the popular one.
Which brings me back to my friends again... my wonderfully positive and supportive friends. As we prepare for our first visitors from Canada to arrive in a couple of days, I can only hope that my sons will be lucky enough to have friends like these in their lives.
Hugs and kisses to all of you xox
As we were preparing to leave Canada for the next 9 or 10 months, our lovely friends hosted several dinners and get togethers for Mike and I. We got absolutely spoiled by everyone, and loved every minute of it. Although I knew this already, it really crystallized in my mind how close our group is, and how wonderful it is that everyone looks out for one another, cares and appreciates each other.
So why am I bringing all this up? Not just because I miss my friends - which I do. But being away from my usually fairly hectic social life, I have had a lot more time to read. Currently, I am reading a very interesting book about a teenage boy who grows up in a tolerant Muslim family in London, UK, only to become a fervent "Islamist" fundamentalist. The fact that this is a true story makes it all the more riveting. Eventually, the author rejects the radical teachings and returns to what he terms "a normal life".
What fascinates me about this book is how the author becomes interested in fundamentalism in the first place. He describes himself as being an "outcast" or a "misfit" in his school, as a bit of a nerd or geek, and definitely not in the cool crowd. He is also the victim of some racism growing up as an Asian boy in London. It hurts to read about his loneliness and desire to fit in with everyone else.
His family is a very pious Muslim family, but it is also very private in its religious beliefs, and his parents see a big difference between religion and public government. Which of course is directly opposed to what fundamentalism holds.
It is shocking to read just how lost to his parents this boy became at a very young age. This was not a boy whose family did not care and was not involved with him. On the contrary, his family was highly committed and cared strongly about what he did and did not do. And despite this, he was still able to slip through the fingers of his parents and into a whole other belief system, much to their anguish. All to find a place where he was respected by his peers.
It is a little scary to think that as our children grow just a little older, they may start to value the opinions of their peers much more than ours - their parents'. You hope that you have done a good job, that they will be able to distinguish right from wrong, but as we all know, the right decision is not always the easy one, or the popular one.
Which brings me back to my friends again... my wonderfully positive and supportive friends. As we prepare for our first visitors from Canada to arrive in a couple of days, I can only hope that my sons will be lucky enough to have friends like these in their lives.
Hugs and kisses to all of you xox
4 Aug 2007
Birthday Boy
Yesterday was a great day. Mike finally turned 39! I'd been waiting for weeks for this day to come. Or more specifically, three weeks. Ever since I turned 38. I like to think of him as the "older" one in the marriage, so those weeks each summer where we are the same age are infinitely more enjoyable for him than me.
Still, Mike had a darn near perfect day, if I do say so myself (and since this is my blog, I do :)). He woke up early and headed out to the golf course with my dad. They had fantastic weather, and both played well. Then back to the house to home-made waffles for brunch, made by Benjamin and assisted by yours truly.
After brunch clean-up (I did say Benjamin was involved in the food preparation, hence the more urgent need for clean-up), we took the boys for a walk around Konnerud. We showed them the hill that the local kids use for tobogganing in the wintertime, and explained how entire families will spend all day tobogganing. When they get hungry, they either pull out home-made sandwiches, or a little disposable grill and barbecue some hot dogs for lunch. The boys were pretty impressed by this thought. Until B boy wondered what would happen if you needed to go the bathroom. And he meant numero 2. Hmmm...leave it to him to find the fatal flaw in an otherwise perfectly idyllic scene.
Following our outing, Mike went for a run around the neighbourhood, this time for a respectable 40 minutes. Last time he'd gone for a run, he was M.I.A. for 90 minutes, as he'd gotten lost in the myriad of residential streets around our house. Unlike the planned suburban housing estates we have back home in Richmond Hill, where roads are built primarily on a grid system, Norwegian streets appear to be much more haphazardly designed. In the vein of "If there is space for houses in there, let's just put a road in". And "heck, if that little mountain is in the way, no worries, we'll just put in a tunnel!" They seem to love tunnels here, and since money is not a problem in this little country awash with oil revenues, they have the luxury of being able to afford them.
After dinner, the entire Bjerkan family gathered at our house for a little wine and cheese. The weather continued to be amazing, so we spent most of the evening outside on the balcony, enjoying ourselves. There is a saying in Scandinavia that if the weather is good on your birthday, you've been a good girl/boy the past year. I dare say Mike's chances of having been a good boy are fairly high each year, since he was born in August. When I was a little girl, I used to wonder about those born in the winter months. Were they mostly bad kids? My sister and I are both July babies, but not my poor brother. Not only is he a middle child, who grew up with two bossy sisters; he was also born in March!
While we had our wine and cheese, the four older boys ran around outside playing "metroid", which is a Nintendo DS game they have somehow converted to a "real life" game. It works for them, so we don't question it. Little Emil was also a good boy, and let my sister and her husband enjoy themselves almost uninterrupted. He was up a few times to check out the action and have some food, only to go back to sleep again. As the clock struck midnight, we toasted the birthday boy one final time, wished our guests good night and got the kids in bed.
Today our little jetsetter Benjamin is off to Legoland in Denmark with his cousin Mathias and my parents. Christopher, Joakim and we are getting ready for a hike tomorrow. Assuming I make it down the mountain, I will definitely post some pictures and a report on our adventure.
'Til then....
Still, Mike had a darn near perfect day, if I do say so myself (and since this is my blog, I do :)). He woke up early and headed out to the golf course with my dad. They had fantastic weather, and both played well. Then back to the house to home-made waffles for brunch, made by Benjamin and assisted by yours truly.
After brunch clean-up (I did say Benjamin was involved in the food preparation, hence the more urgent need for clean-up), we took the boys for a walk around Konnerud. We showed them the hill that the local kids use for tobogganing in the wintertime, and explained how entire families will spend all day tobogganing. When they get hungry, they either pull out home-made sandwiches, or a little disposable grill and barbecue some hot dogs for lunch. The boys were pretty impressed by this thought. Until B boy wondered what would happen if you needed to go the bathroom. And he meant numero 2. Hmmm...leave it to him to find the fatal flaw in an otherwise perfectly idyllic scene.
Following our outing, Mike went for a run around the neighbourhood, this time for a respectable 40 minutes. Last time he'd gone for a run, he was M.I.A. for 90 minutes, as he'd gotten lost in the myriad of residential streets around our house. Unlike the planned suburban housing estates we have back home in Richmond Hill, where roads are built primarily on a grid system, Norwegian streets appear to be much more haphazardly designed. In the vein of "If there is space for houses in there, let's just put a road in". And "heck, if that little mountain is in the way, no worries, we'll just put in a tunnel!" They seem to love tunnels here, and since money is not a problem in this little country awash with oil revenues, they have the luxury of being able to afford them.
After dinner, the entire Bjerkan family gathered at our house for a little wine and cheese. The weather continued to be amazing, so we spent most of the evening outside on the balcony, enjoying ourselves. There is a saying in Scandinavia that if the weather is good on your birthday, you've been a good girl/boy the past year. I dare say Mike's chances of having been a good boy are fairly high each year, since he was born in August. When I was a little girl, I used to wonder about those born in the winter months. Were they mostly bad kids? My sister and I are both July babies, but not my poor brother. Not only is he a middle child, who grew up with two bossy sisters; he was also born in March!
While we had our wine and cheese, the four older boys ran around outside playing "metroid", which is a Nintendo DS game they have somehow converted to a "real life" game. It works for them, so we don't question it. Little Emil was also a good boy, and let my sister and her husband enjoy themselves almost uninterrupted. He was up a few times to check out the action and have some food, only to go back to sleep again. As the clock struck midnight, we toasted the birthday boy one final time, wished our guests good night and got the kids in bed.
Today our little jetsetter Benjamin is off to Legoland in Denmark with his cousin Mathias and my parents. Christopher, Joakim and we are getting ready for a hike tomorrow. Assuming I make it down the mountain, I will definitely post some pictures and a report on our adventure.
'Til then....
27 Jul 2007
Supersize me!
After years of living in North America, I guess it was only to be expected that I started seeing everything as "bigger is better". I mean, we live in big houses, drive big cars, eat big meals (and, consequently, buy clothing in bigger sizes...). In many ways, Costco and Sam's Club are emblematic of North American culture. Bulk is better value, right? Living large is the way to go...
Not so in Norway! Norwegians seem to have embraced the idea of less being more...everything is smaller here! From apples to zippers, it is all as if miniaturized. 4l of milk? Try 1.5l. Potato chips? Snack size only...Guys might appreciate the fact that even clothing appears to cover less and be tighter...
Cars are also smaller here. We picked up our leased Golf yesterday, and it is tiny. Cute but still tiny. You might think that'd make parallel parking easier - but you'd be wrong. The parking spots are smaller, too. So small, in fact, that when Mike and I went to pick up our new GPS today, we felt the need to doublepark our Golf! Can you imagine having to doublepark a Golf? If so, you get the picture...
Now, the thought that this might be the solution to the obesity problem in North America had crossed my mind. Just make foodstuff smaller, right? But that was before I had a peek at our grocery cart this afternoon. That's when I realized how quickly our family had adjusted to the difference in size, and compensated by buying MORE of everything... So 4 chocolate bars where one used to do. Apparently bigger is still better for us!
Not so in Norway! Norwegians seem to have embraced the idea of less being more...everything is smaller here! From apples to zippers, it is all as if miniaturized. 4l of milk? Try 1.5l. Potato chips? Snack size only...Guys might appreciate the fact that even clothing appears to cover less and be tighter...
Cars are also smaller here. We picked up our leased Golf yesterday, and it is tiny. Cute but still tiny. You might think that'd make parallel parking easier - but you'd be wrong. The parking spots are smaller, too. So small, in fact, that when Mike and I went to pick up our new GPS today, we felt the need to doublepark our Golf! Can you imagine having to doublepark a Golf? If so, you get the picture...
Now, the thought that this might be the solution to the obesity problem in North America had crossed my mind. Just make foodstuff smaller, right? But that was before I had a peek at our grocery cart this afternoon. That's when I realized how quickly our family had adjusted to the difference in size, and compensated by buying MORE of everything... So 4 chocolate bars where one used to do. Apparently bigger is still better for us!
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