More Pictures

Here are some more pictures. We leave on Sunday. I feel the need to reflect on the trip and what it means in the greater scheme of my expat experience, but I'm not quite ready to do so yet.

Parfait from the local tea room. 

Christmas lasagne ingredients.

My Grandmother, making Christmas lasagne.

Not lasagne. Octopus. 

Hyvää joulua

Hyvää uutta vuotta kaikille.  

Some Photos to Tide You Over

Well, we've been here in the USA for just over a week now. I'm not sure there's much to write about that would be of interest, so instead I'll post a few photos we've taken over the past few days.

There's no snow yet, since its been unseasonably warm. Lots of ice, though. Taken by Rami.

Ah, Winsted. The jewel of northwest Connecticut. Taken by Rami.

Our first meal in the US. The only half-way decent barbecue place in New England. Worth the gluttony. 

Me, gazing out onto the horizon. A friend said I look a little like I just disposed of a body.

A beautiful picture of the family dog, Riley. Taken by Rami. 

My older brother's letterpress shop on the third floor of the old factory building that also houses the family business. Taken by Rami. 

Candy at a town sweet shop. Taken by me. 

An enormous antique store in the old Collins Ax Factory building. Taken by me. 

I'll be back with a real update and possibly a few more photos in the coming week. Maybe. 

Joulu Asiat

Today, Rami and I went to check out the joulumarkkinat. In honor of Christmas, vendors set up shop at the fortress to sell mostly local, handmade, or homegrown goods. Though it has warmed up some and the roads were a veritable sea of slush, we had quite a Christmasy time there. 

Although we had intended to buy a few trinkets for the folks back in the states, we failed to find anything really suitable and instead bought some smoked salmon for ourselves. Family and friends, it looks like you guys'll be getting a whole lot of chocolate again this year. Try not to cry.

Since it gets dark pretty early these days, I was unable to get any very decent photos. You'll just have to trust me when I say it was neat. 

I do wish we had things like joulumarkkinat in the states. Larger cities have street fairs and things, but it's somehow not quite the same. There is a definite yet ineffable Christmas/joulu atmosphere, what with seasonal songs, the decorative lights,  and the (very wet, grey) snow.

Afterwards, Rami and and I got some lunch at Kasino. For dessert, they had joulutorttuja (singular nominative: joulutorttu). These are flaky, star pastries with plum jam in the center, sprinkled with a bit of powdered sugar. One of my joulu favorites, actually.

And now, to go back two days time, my Finnish class had our holiday/end of the semester party on Friday. A lot of people brought sweet things (as you can see from this terrible cell phone photo), and we had some coffee and glögi to wash it all down. This holiday season hasn't been especially kind to someone with trouble digesting carbohydrates.

I had some really nice conversations with a few of my classmates (sometimes entirely in Finnish when we did not share another language), as well as a nice long chat with my teacher (in English). Among the topics she and I discussed was how well our little international group gets along. There are no tensions to speak of, and everyone appears to pull his or her weight in terms of doing assignments and showing up to class. I imagine that's not always the case, since learning Finnish can be a frustrating task. I left feeling proud of just how much Finnish I've managed to learn in the last three months, as well as connected to the larger community here. Back in July I assumed that, by now, I'd still be flailing about in the joulukuu wind, desperate to ground myself in some degree of integration. Well, perhaps I'm doing just that, but not only do I have a lot of help, I feel strangely comfortable in the role of "immigrant."

Hyvää Itsenäisyyspäivää

This is a really nice place you got here, Finland. Thank you for letting me live here.

I'm serious. I'm very grateful. The little life that I've only begun to construct has been progressing marvelously, and I'm excited about the future in a way that wouldn't even be conceivable in the US. I don't fret about how to pay for my medication, nor do I have to bludgeon my neurologist and his staff in order to get their attention. [The amazing treatment I've received from them is a story for another day.] This country also produced my husband and his family, all of whom are so indescribably awesome that I'm finding it impossible to describe them.  Really, the only problem with Finland is that it isn't closer to Connecticut, USA.

To celebrate, Rami and I took a walk and snapped some photos of the first real snow of the season.

I'm glad to be going home in a week, but I know I'll be glad to come back, too. 

Surprise Sex Toys

1) In a little over a week, my first semester of Finnish will be over. In about 13 days, I'll be on a plane headed to New York. My dad'll pick Rami and me up at JFK, and we'll be on our way to good old Barkhamsted, Connecticut for a pleasantly secular Christmas. I'm feeling fairly settled here in Lappeenranta, but I do experience bouts of homesickness, and I'm quite excited to get home. When I first arrived in late July, Christmas seemed impossibly far away. Now it's nearly here, and I can't wait to see all the lovely people I left behind.

2) In Finnish class today, it struck me that I probably know a good amount more about Finnish grammar than my husband does. And yet, he speaks it fluently whereas I speak it laughably. That got me thinking about the incredibly efficient nature of childhood language acquisition. It continues to amaze me when I think of it.

3) Also in Finnish class today, we were examining some pieces of junk mail and discussing them in groups of four. Our teacher asked us to bring in a couple of our own for tomorrow, and so, after coming home from the store this evening, I began sifting through the massive pile of advertisements that sits in our hall. (We recently put a sign on the door refusing all forms of junk mail because we had been getting so much of it, but we've been too slovenly to bother getting rid of what we still have.) I found one that looked promising -- it had electronics and other neat things on the cover -- but after flipping through it a bit, I came across a page on which there were two hot chicks posing next to an enormous dildo and what appeared to be a fleshlight. Good thing I didn't just pop that one into my bag to peruse in class.  Opettaja, mikä tämä on? Paljonko se maksaa? 


That's about all. I've been reading Russell Banks's new book, working on my novel, studying Finnish, and watching old episodes of Peep Show on youtube when I need a mental break. Life is boring, but very decent. 

What's So Hard?

When I was growing up, I often heard things like, "You know, English is one of the hardest languages for a non-native speaker to learn!" from well-meaning teachers. I think they meant to inspire pride in us while simultaneously excusing themselves for not bothering to teach us any other languages. After all, English is hard enough without cluttering our minds further.

Well, even a cursory knowledge of English grammar will tell you otherwise, and studying Finnish makes English's relative simplicity even more apparent. You may have already seen this 2009 article from The Economist, but it makes a good case for why English is easy to learn in relation to a whole host of other languages. It doesn't explicitly name Finnish, but it does mention Estonian and the Finno-Ugric family.

Difficult or otherwise, it's actually really cool to study Finnish as an English speaker. I'm sure it's probably equally cool to learn it as another sort of speaker, too. But, you know, it might have been nice to be a native Finnish speaker learning English instead. 

Nom Nom

Saw this in the grocery store this afternoon, after having a little too much wine with dinner. How barbaric! I'm going to sick some "Petafiles" on them.

And on a related note, Peta gets that their official blog title sounds like "pedophile," right? Right?
Actually, it's strikingly similar to this:

That is all.

The Trouble with Socializing

How does one go about making friends? It's something I've never quite figured out how to do.

I know what my problem is, too. I operate under the assumption that to socialize is to disturb. That is to say, if I engage someone in conversation, it is more likely to bother them than to please them. So, instead, I typically wait for others to talk to me.

Well, so what happens when you speak to me? I'm not quite myself. I might project a skittish, prim, shy demeanor, and I probably seem snobbish. It's really too bad that I can't wear a sign that reads, "In the event that I seem like a superior jerk, be aware that I'm actually just painfully shy!" I blame New England.

I assure you, I do get better with time. Once I abandon fears of saying something mortifyingly stupid and putting you off to me forever, I can be quite friendly. I might say something awkward here and there, but I'll mentally smack myself upside the head and remember never to make the same mistake twice. You might even like me this way.

If things get very (and I do mean very) friendly between us, you'll see "the real me," or at least a couple of my "real" parts. "The real me" is, well, bawdy. Surprisingly depraved. Painfully silly. Decidedly weird. And you can't usually get to this part through booze alone, thought it's been known to happen. In most cases, I want to feel certain you won't run away in horror when you see the human toilet that is the "real" visage of my personality. (I'll have you know that I edited that last sentence several times in order to avoid being too disgusting.)

Paradoxically, I like to think of myself as a rather classy sort of chick, and maybe that's why the monster that is my sense of humor isn't something I feel comfortable revealing too readily. I'm afraid it would be too shocking for some people to hear such a serious, demure woman say something fouler than what the darkest recesses of the internet have to offer. And rightly so. One shouldn't go around advertising that sort of thing. It's, er, unbecoming?

Can I strike a balance? I haven't figured out how to do that yet. I was fortunate to have some of the best, most like-minded friends back home in Connecticut, and so I never felt the need to seek out new ones. I'd like to allow glimpses before really pulling out all the stops when getting to know someone new, but I'm out of practice in that art, if I ever truly mastered it to begin with. You know, the art of being appropriately open. Appropriately honest in my casual interactions with people.

I asked a friend of mine to read this over and to let me know if it was too pathetic to post, but he pointed out that it's likely a lot of people will relate. Expat or not, it's hard to combine an appropriate dose of reality with the polite fiction of who you are. And, if you're a shy sort of person, it's hard to get even that far. I would add "especially in Finland," but, in truth, I think Connecticut is worse in that regard.

So, how do you make friends? How open are you to chatting with coworkers, etc.? Are you shy at first? Which parts of yourself are you afraid to share, or think are contradictory when viewed against your "public persona"? If you're an expat, how has it affected your life in your new home? 

Rakastaa

Of all the foreigners that I know in Finland, a good many of them are here for love. Their Finnish spouses felt like moving home, they themselves felt like getting the hell out of their country of origin, or they were in long distance relationships for quite some time, and they wanted to have sex more often than a few times every six months. In all such cases, their primary objective was to be closer to their rakas. 


A lot is made of Finns -- particularly Finnish men -- and their reported lack of affection. After all, they're not like, oh, southern Europeans, who let their passion fall out all over everything. They're cold, closed, stoic and sexless. (It should be noted that what Finnish women have going for them is that they are hot blondes.)

Well, all this runs contrary to the (anecdotal) evidence I've encountered. It would seem that Finns (including men) possess quite a magnetic draw on foreigners. They entice us to uproot ourselves and lure us to a place that may or may not be wildly different than where we're from. What's up with that?

Well, Finnish men, puff out your chests at what I'm about to say; Finnish women, admire your lovely selves (or, regardless of gender, whatever expression of self-love you prefer). I move that we revise our stereotypes. I think we should now rank Finns among the world's best lovers.

Feel free to offer a counter-example. I have yet to hear any other than non-specific references to predominant stereotypes. 

Stupid Question

Help me out here. Did he

name himself after

?

I ask because Rami thinks it's plausible that his real name is Olavi Uusivirta. Personally, I figure it's got to be an homage.

PS. As a singer, Olavi (vanha)Virta can be as fifties-ish and maudlin as he wants to be, but his voice is seriously incredible.

PPS. Videos of "Täysikuu" on Youtube are blocked by EMI. In Finland. There is something profoundly unjust about that.

Mikä minun ammatti on? En tiedä!

Here in Finland, one's profession (ammatti) is less than fluid. Typically, you've had training that aligns with the types of jobs you hold. Your ammatti is documented in the annals of Finnish bureaucracy, and when someone asks you, "Mikä sinun ammatti on?" you can reply, "Minä olen insinööri," or "sihteeri" or "kotiäiti." In other words, your ammatti is so much more than your job, or even your career. It's what you do. It's what you've been trained to do.

And, as it turns out, I'm the only one I know of that doesn't seem to have one.

I first ran into this problem at the employment office. All the forms ask what your profession is, and I had no idea what to write when filling them out; if I don't even know what I am in English, I can't very well translate it into Finnish, can I? The person I met with there was very helpful, but she couldn't seem to offer me a definition, either.

More recently, we've been discussing it in Finnish class. Everyone seems to know what they are, or at least has a university degree that translates somewhat easily to a profession, like ekonomi or biologi.

I have a bachelor's degree in English language and literature. I have worked as an after school teacher (something that doesn't even exist here), a secretary, a receptionist, and a customer service representative. My training did not educate me in a way that would translate directly to the workforce, and my work experience is born out of what jobs were available at the time. Back in the States, my bachelor's qualifies me to pursue higher degrees (yes, please!), and to work anywhere that will hire me. The only thing it really says to potential US employers is that I'm worth more per year than someone with only a high school diploma. Being from Connecticut, I was practically destined to work in data entry at an insurance company. 

In considering all these factors, it would seem I am something of a sihteeri; I worked as a secretary, and I received an academic degree that all but relegated me to being a secretary. But, but, if I'd had the money, I would have stayed home and kept going to school! Minä haluan olla professori! 

In fact, a good portion of my adult life has been spent trying to avoid being a secretary. The only solace there is in speaking Finnish as terribly as I do is that I cannot possibly be a secretary here. En halua olla sihteeri! Ei, ei, ei!*

But there is hope. Today, when I was asked my profession, I responded, "kirjailija." I've always struggled with calling myself a writer, since it's not like I've ever been paid to do it, and, hell, I don't even know if I'm any good. But there has never been, nor will there ever be a better time to write, and, as such, there will never be a better time to call myself a writer; I'm working on a novel, and my current "schedule" (read: unemployment) allows me to dedicate quite a lot of time to its satisfactory completion.

And there's no law saying you have to be some kind of genius in order to call yourself a writer. My new ammatti won't help me to fill out the forms at the employment office, but, at this point, I don't really care. 

* I have nothing against the profession or the people who belong to it. It's just not what I want to do. 

"You're moving to Finland? But it's so cold there!"

You may or may not have heard about the rather unseasonal snowstorm that has hit the northeast USA yesterday and today. Here's what it looked like there in its early stages, yesterday at about 1 or 2 in the afternoon.

My dad sent me several pictures (including this one), and told me that he's warm, full of homemade chicken soup, and enjoying this incredibly weird weather.

I can't help remembering the reaction so many of my fellow New Englanders had when I told them I would be moving to Finland: "But it's sooo coooold there!" Yeah, well, it's been my lifelong dream to live with Santa Claus and befriend a lot of reindeer, so I figured, why not southeastern Finland?

In truth, the weather here in Lappeenranta (you know, not Santa Claus country) isn't really all that different from that of northwest Connecticut. Winters are slightly longer, summers are slightly shorter, and the average temperature is slightly colder. Oh yeah, and, in sharp contrast to what was going on back home, it was sunny and 11 or 12  degrees C here yesterday.

I suppose this pattern of strange weather and severe storms is a product of climate change. I don't even pretend to know much about the science of global warming, but that's what I'm told. Even so, I feel prepared to tackle the long winter here. After all, it'll only be marginally worse than what I'm used to (and, in cases like a nor'easter in October, more than marginally better!). I'll keep you updated, and let you know if, by February 10th, I'm crying into my karjalanpiirakka and planning a move to Barcelona.

Edit: I do very much want to travel north someday. And in winter, no less!

Productive Break

I have this week off from Finnish class, and, shockingly, I've managed not to completely piss it away with internet-surfing and face-stuffing. No, I haven't studied a word of Finnish -- I really ought to rectify that, and soon -- I've been researching and writing. A lot, actually.

For about a year now, I've been wanting to write some fiction about the ritual abuse hysteria of the 1980s.  After a few false starts, I actually managed to get a promising story started upon arriving here in Finland. After a lot of research and a lot of writing and a lot of thinking, it became clear that I wouldn't be able to cover the topic properly in anything less than a novel. The problem with this topic, as you might imagine, is that it's sensational. Just imagine if the Salem Witch trials had taken place in recent historical memory. And the accusations are far more lurid; we're talking knives in orifices, animal and human sacrifices, secret rooms, evil clowns, etc.

My interest isn't really in the injustice of it all, although one can't really consider the subject without noting how ridiculously unjust the investigations were. My interest also isn't so much in how accusations from chldren were made possible, since the methods of both the prosecution and the "therapists" in their employ have been brutally, ruthlessly discredited. In other words, we know damn well how these kids came to accuse their elders of such heinous acts. I find all that stuff fascinating, believe me, but it isn't why I want to write about it. I want to write about it because it could have been me.

My parents sent me to a reputable community preschool in 1988 and 1989, when I was 3 and 4 years old. I can't say I remember it terribly well, but I have no reason to doubt that it was a pleasant experience. Yet, in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, just over an hour away from where I lived in Connecticut, an openly gay day care worker was convicted of molestation in 1985. A year later, three family members from the Fells Acres preschool in Malden, Massachusetts were convicted of ritual abuse. These are only two examples. The country and, to some extent, Europe, had been whipped into a mode of malicious delirium. In those days, the unsubstantiated accusations of one lunatic parent could have resulted in a guaranteed long term prison sentence. My preschool was not immune, it was merely one of the lucky ones.

Since I, as well as my friends and a few of my cousins, could have endured days, weeks of leading questions, anatomically correct dolls and false memories of horrific (if comically absurd) events in our lives, it got me wondering what those kids really went through. What was it like to be three and badgered repeatedly about knives-in-the-butt and satanic clowns? What kind of malignant tumor of an idea was it that brought about these investigations in the first place? What was it in the individuals, and in the country as a whole, that propelled them towards this mass injustice? What are some of the long term effects on the kids who were involved, all of whom are adults now?

It's something I don't think should be forgotten.

Anyway, there's something about living in Finland that has allowed me to examine the problems of the USA more completely. So, no, my writing hasn't been about Finland, but it's from the safety of this (somewhat) outside perspective that I can write about the things I want to write about. 

I've Always Wondered How to Marry a Finnish Girl

Nah, I haven't. I managed to snag a male Finn, and that's quite enough for me at the moment. My husband apparently had some trouble with this task himself, however, as he had to dip into the genetically inferior pool of eligible American woman in order to find a lady.

This book is rather harsh on Finnish men, and on Finns in general. It espouses the usual stereotypes and covers very little intellectual property that hasn't already been rightfully claimed by Roman Schatz . The author seems to think that the book's acerbic tone is some sort of novelty -- as if there hasn't ever before been someone with the guts to call the Finns out on their cold weather, hot women, bad food, and propensity toward alcoholism. Wow, if only some foreigner would comment on Finnish culture with a caustic yet affectionate affectation. It's been done before, thanks.

The book is funny, though. It has a lot of very decent witticisms and jabs that are both humorous and insightful. The thing is, that's all this book really manages to be; in fact, a large portion of the book is interrupted by a series of Schwarzmann's tweets. I don't have a problem with that method per se, but the book's cohesive vision, while present, is pretty damn dull and unoriginal. Given this overarching flaw, I'd think it would behoove Phil Schwarzmann to weave his best jokes into the narrative, to the extent that there is one, rather than to sling them at us one by one, hoping they'll impress us.

I don't know. My perspective is different than Schwarzmann's. For one thing, I'm what he claims is an anomaly -- I'm a woman of some first-world descent who moved here for love. I mean, Finnish women are intelligent, strong, and physically attractive whereas Finnish men are drunk, socially inept, and emotionally unavailable. If one is to move to Finland for love (or sex) it's more likely to be for a woman (and not a man), right? God, could those stereotypes be any older?

Whatever. Listen, Schwarzmann, I'll give you what I think I owe you: Finnish women are some beautiful, high caliber women. Finnish culture is idiosyncratic and worth writing about. Winter is inevitably sucky. The True Finns are weird. [Hey, are they really any more racist than the American Republicans?] You're a funny guy. Maybe your next book will be a little more "novel." Don't actually write a novel, though.

And I'm just glad I figured out How to Marry a Finnish Boy.

Learning

I wasn't always a good student. Much of my time in primary and secondary school was spent avoiding homework and focusing on my burgeoning musical career. I wasn't wholly terrible; I did excel in a few subjects, like reading and writing. Actually, I think it was the relative ease with which I could read and write that saved me from a "doomed-to-be-special" academic career. And, believe me, some of it was very "special" indeed. It was thought that I had a learning disability in math, and I was treated (and educated) accordingly. I spent the first twenty years of my life believing that I was utterly incapable of mathematical thought. When I finally entered college, I figured out that was far from true. The story of how I came to be thought of as a special ed. student is way too long to recount and is fraught with dull, childhood-in-the-first-world trauma. And it isn't really want I want to talk about. The important thing is that, once I was twenty-one and finally in college, I learned that all one really needs to do if one wants to learn math is to practice.   In fact, one doesn't even need to practice all that much. One simply needs to do her homework.

I admit it. It wasn't until college that I truly learned how to learn. The do-your-work principle applies to most if not all disciplines, and I discovered, much to my delight, that I could master things to which I dedicated some effort. It wasn't just the result that delighted me about this new approach, though; as it turned out, I also came to love the process of learning itself. I mean, think about it: things that initially seemed impossible become effortless through the simple act of thinking, and thinking is something we humans are notoriously good at. What could be simpler? I still can't believe I thought things were otherwise for so many years.

I'm proud to say that I graduated college with a 3.93 GPA, and that not one math class contributed to its imperfection. Yes, I went to a state school, but I think that my score would have been comparable at nearly any other university. I attribute my success to that precious realization that most things don't come automatically -- we're not born with a priori knowledge that can be merely awakened with one glance at a blackboard. Even the most intelligent among us must do some amount of thinking in order to attain knowledge. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. If I could upload information from a USB stick directly into my brain, I'd be hesitant to... yeah, okay, that would be pretty cool.

But seriously, the act of learning is one of the most pleasurable in existence.

Why am I going on about this? Well, I just came home from Finnish class, during which our teacher asked us to write sentences using some of the verbs that we know. I began with simple constructions, all of which were correct, so I went on to explore more complex sentences. The teacher came by to point out my mistakes, I corrected them, and I'll try never to make them again.

We spent about 45 minutes doing this. It was a little like I had fallen asleep and missed a good 40 of those minutes, since it seemed to me that I'd only done five or ten minutes of work. But then it was time to go, so I packed up my things and walked home. On my way, I realized that I had never known just how interesting, how stimulating, how absolutely fascinating studying a foreign language can be, and that I'd probably love to take this class even if it weren't essential to my integration.

We're cheated out of so many things in the US, and one is good foreign language training. Sure, I studied German in high school, but I learned almost nothing. Since I hadn't yet learned how to learn, I didn't do much studying outside of class and, in class, well, let's just say we ate bratwurst and watched Das Boot with subtitles far more than we spoke German.

I think after I learn an acceptable amount of Finnish, I'll try my hand at German. If I can learn Finnish, how hard can it be to learn a little Deutsch? 

Viikonloppu

I'm listening to music loudly in a pair of earbuds while my husband naps. In the hopes of making myself useful, I thought I'd discuss some of the mundane details that one inevitably notices when moving from one country to another.

1) Don't get caught bringing your produce to the checkout without first weighing it. This is a pleasantly do-it-yourself society after all, and what could be easier than putting your bananas on a nearby scale, pressing the appropriate button, and putting a barcoded price sticker on them? [I have noticed this trend catching on back home -- certain Stop & Shops now seem to have scales that print price stickers in the produce section, and there are of course the self-checkout lines, but if you really insist on having someone weigh your fruits and veggies for you, you still have that option in the states.]

2) The vast majority of cashiers I've seen are allowed to sit while they work. In the US (or, at least the northeastern US) they're not provided with chairs, and must therefore stand for hours at a time. I pointed this out to Rami and he simply asked, "Why?" Well, I'm not really sure, but I think it has to do with a bizarrely zealous customer service ethic. Do they look like they're working harder if they're standing? I mean, we consumers certainly can't abide slackers while we're purchasing our Cheetos and Mountain Dew. Then again, it's equally possible that a standing-only policy is a way to save on the cost of chairs.

Land of the corns and home of the bunions.

3) Finns tell time in a way that might seem slightly backward to English speakers. If it's 8:00, they'll say, "Kello on kahdeksan," or "Kello on tasan kahdeksan," which means just what what you'd expect: "It is 8 o'clock." (Literally, it means "Clock is eight.") For the first half of the hour, they'll say the time in the form of how many minutes past the hour it is. (8:20 = kaksikymmentä (minuuttia) yli kahdeksan.) In the second half of the hour, they'll express it in terms of how many minutes there are until the next hour (8:45 = viisitoista vaille yhdeksän.) Literally speaking they'll say "20 after 8" or "15 before 9."

 Of course, it's certainly not out of the ordinary to speak this way colloquially in English -- we'll say "It's 15 minutes to 9, dear!" or "Oh my, it's 20 after 8!" quite frequently. What is unusual, for me at least, is to do so all the time. I sometimes find it a little muddling, but that's exactly what Finnish class is for.

4) Lappeenranta is concise in a way that small cities simply are not back in Connecticut. Since Rami and I live keskustassa (in the center), we're within walking distance from most important things. You'd think having a car would afford you more freedom, but I have found that quite the opposite is true. I love not having that particular set of worries. The repairs, keeping the tank full, parking -- I could definitely go the rest of my life without owning a car.


That's all I can think of for now. I'll report more boring details as I think of them.

As for me, my stomach is much better, Finnish class is still wonderfully beneficial, and I'm in the process of a really pleasant weekend. I currently have no complaints.

October First

Today being an overcast and autumnal Saturday, Rami and I went out early in the afternoon to snap some photos. We walked to the harbor, had a quick lunch at Kasino (where they were serving a lot of pork -- my stomach cannot tolerate carbohydrates at the moment, so I had to forgo the potatoes), and headed to the fortress, where fall is not quite yet at its peak.

When we got a little chilly (it was pretty windy), we went in to have a coffee at Kahvila Majurska. There were quite a lot of tourists around. I suppose the beauty of all those deciduous trees turning colors up on the fortress hill is a draw, but it was surprising to see it just as bustling up there as it was in summertime. I should probably assume that they were there for the same reasons Rami and I were there. Fall is awesome. It's unique in that I dread its onset (since that means winter is coming, and I'm typically not eager to relinquish sunlight and warm temperatures) but when it's here, it's a time I enjoy as much as any other -- maybe more.

Maybe it's because where I'm from, autumn is sort of a, forgive me, "hallowed" time. It's the harvest. It's the time of pumpkin pie, Halloween and Thanksgiving, of lame country fairs and even lamer hayrides, corn mazes, apple cider, and freakishly large root vegetables with prize ribbons pinned on them. It's the time in which you stock up on joy and leisure before winter sucks the fun out of most things. The air is crisp and cold, yet not yet bitter. Most years, the trees are on fire with color; we're all very proud of the leaf display, yet we grumble when out-of-staters come to enjoy it and get hopelessly in our way.

Even in listing these things, there is something ineffable about what makes autumn special to us New Englanders, an I'm failing to capture it. The point, though, is that I've somehow begun to feel more at home here. The air is just as crisp and just as cool; the fallen leaves smell the same; the hot coffee tastes just as good; the leaves are more the color of rust than of fire, but that has its own seasonal charm. In some strange way, the commencement of autumn has given me a stronger connection to home. And I don't think the Finns view fall in quite such celebratory terms, but that won't stop me from enjoying it enough to account for everyone.

Looks like I got all sentimental again. I need to inject some humor into this blog. I'll work on it.

Life's Little Challenges

Here's the predictable and obligatory apology for not having written in a few weeks: I'm sorry that I haven't written, that is, if you've been waiting to hear from me. If you haven't, well, then, I'm not quite as sorry.


My mind has been sort of all-consumed with thoughts of the Finnish language, of efforts to integrate into this really beautiful, efficient-yet-compassionate society, and with thoughts of my stomach. Or, more precisely, my digestive tract. You see, for about three weeks now (perhaps a little more) I've been unable to "stomach" much food. I'm eating lots of yogurt and probiotic pills in the hopes that I won't need to see a doctor. Finnish doctors are lovely, but they're still doctors, and I'm frightened of what they'll do to me in the name of diagnostics. Things have been improving in the last few days, so we'll see.

As for Finnish class, I'm pleased to report that I seem to be doing very well in it. It's terribly unhip to admit this, but there's just something about a structured classroom setting that really allows me to absorb information. To have it all explained, to practice speaking and understanding in the comfort of something that isn't yet quite the real world, to then go home and have Rami help me out with a few things -- it's all pretty ideal. I'm sort of shocked at the speed with which I have picked things up in the last three weeks. I mean, of course, I have many, many, billions of kilometers to go, but this really is a decent start.

And I'm proud to officially announce that: minä puhun vähän suomea.

Now It's Begun

Last Wednesday, I received a text message notifying me that I'd gotten into another beginner's Finnish class comparable to the one I'd first applied for. We started today, and it seems really perfect; it's 2.5 hours, 5 days a week (as opposed to 7) and so far I'm enjoying it. Relatedly, I've never been in a situation wherein I'm one of so many Elenas and Jelenas.

 The best thing to come of this is that I feel like I'm doing something. I'm getting out of the house, I'm walking by myself the (very) short distance to class, and I'm learning something which is both intensely interesting and crucially important to my life's trajectory.

During my last weekend as a woman free from scholastic obligations, Rami and I went to Muikku ja Pottu Kalamarkkinat, or "The Vendace and Potato Fish Markets." (Yeah, it may lose something in translation).

Here in Lappeenranta, vendors come from all over Finland to sell trinkets, candy and, of course, fish and potatoes. In the crisp, early autumn air, it was an experience very reminiscent of fall fairs like those back home in New England. We had a great time eating, browsing wares, and buying honey from Lapland and salmon that we had watched being flamed to perfection.







 So, overall, life in Finland has been good.

Not Much

Not much has been happening. I'm in limbo, and don't have much to do. My English class was cancelled due to low enrollment (or, rather, it will very likely be cancelled), I was deemed "not-Russian-enough" for the Finnish class (I'm joking!), and I'm left sort of twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my life to begin. Although Rami and I have plenty of fun together, I'm getting very restless and very bored.

 After discussing this dilemma with my dad a bit, he suggested that empty times like these are precisely what college is for; you learn the discipline necessary to accomplish tasks without someone hovering over you as they did in preschool. Since I have all this free time, it's up to me to fill it with important and meaningful things. What have I been doing, then? Well, I've been writing. Since arriving in Finland, I hadn't written much other than this blog -- certainly no fiction -- and I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever open my word processor again. I just felt so empty, a direct result of my empty days. The trick with writing is, though, you can pick it up feeling "uninspired" and most of the time you'll manage to get something on the page. It might not be any good, but at least you can scrap it later when something decent begins to materialize. I've made it my "assignment" to write at least a page a day. I've got some good stuff cooking, I must say.

 The other major project I've got going is studying Finnish here at home. I was actually pretty vigilant about studying it when I got here, but after taking the placement test for that class I became really discouraged. I mean, I did so horribly. It was abysmal. No one seemed terribly surprised by this given the short time I've been in the country, but I felt as if all the work I'd done in the weeks prior had been for nothing. At that point, I gave up. "Guess I can't do this on my own," I thought. But, since I don't know when my next opportunity to take a Finnish course will be, I feel as if I have no real choice. Okay, so maybe it'll be slow going here at home without the best resources and the knowledge of an instructor, but what else can I do? It can't hurt (anything other than my ego).

Somewhere between Homesick and Sick of Home

Last night, Rami and I went out with Annu, Harri, and their friend James. James, who is English and, you guessed it, teaches English, was kind enough to supply me some materials for my upcoming conversation class. Aside from talking shop, it was a very enjoyable night of drinking and laughing. I got a sense of Lappeenranta's nightlife, and I quite like it.

Anyway, somewhere in the course of the night I was asked whether or not I'm homesick. As it turns out, the answer to that question is a complex one. In short, I'm pretty much in love with Lappeenranta for its culture and lifestyle, and I do not particularly wish that I could go home permanently. At the moment. I've only been here a month, after all.

Despite that, however, I do feel a real, undeniable sense of having been uprooted. As I've written before, I had never before planned to leave the northwest Connecticut or western Massachusetts for too long. It's a beautiful place, and I had spent 26 years carving myself out of the material it provided for me. In other words, I really am a product of that place. It's not particularly cool to feel so inextricably connected to the place you grew up --especially when where you grew up was small town America -- but it's not something I can do much about. I know I'm supposed to want to get out and get the hell out. I'm a writer. I should forever seek that which is beyond my upbringing, or some such shit.

So what is it I miss about Barkhamsted, Colebrook, Winsted, etc.? I miss driving over the rolling hills, blasting distorted indie rock and roll with the windows down. I miss the Victorian houses, the factories which have fallen into total disrepair and have been forgotten by anyone other than people like me, who appreciate them for their ugliness. I miss seeing a temperate jungle everywhere I look, the result of Connecticut being one of the only places in the world with too many trees. I'll miss the cold, crisp fall, the Indian summer, the apple cider (as we Americans think of it) and the gaudy Halloween decorations.

Of course, more than any of those things, I miss my loved ones: Jimmy and me teasing our poor, long suffering mother relentlessly about poop and other nasty things; going to Dad's house for dinner every Friday night when most people in their late-mid-twenties either go out drinking and carousing or stay home with their young children; all-you-can-eat sushi with Jimmy at Toshi's where we eat literally as much as our stomachs can hold; wine and pasta with Mom and Rob; going to wineries and bars with Melis where we have no regard for decorum, not because we've had too much to drink but because it's in our nature to be bawdy; talking with Gram over minestrone made with fresh garden vegetables and encounters with whichever family members happen to drop in; meals with Ali; conversations with Jessie; late night wandering with Craig; dinners with my siblings. In other words, I miss my strong, irreplaceable social network.

In a way, though, I feel as if it is my life's charge at the moment to survive without all the people and things I've mentioned here. I've been too dependent on the comfort and familiarity of Connecticut. It's time to give it all up for a while, for the purpose of a new life here in Finland where numerous possibilities exist. Not the least of these is my integration with the people here, all of whom seek to help me at every opportunity.

I'm sorry that this post is dripping with sentimentality. I suppose I feel a little sentimental lately. I think, given the circumstances, that's excusable.

Work and Play

I interviewed for the Finnish class on Monday. I was inexplicably and irrationally nervous about it, but it was brief and fairly relaxed. We laughed about my pitiful Finnish abilities, and discussed my future plans. I revealed that I have a working husband and a (very) part time job already. I have a feeling that my lack of financial desperation will preclude my participation in this course, but I'm okay with that. I will learn Finnish one way or another, and it might as well be in a more relaxed environment. The only problem is the speed with which I will pick it up if I'm only attending class once or twice a week. I guess I'll have to use class time as a template for studying at home.

But, nothing's certain yet.

Yesterday, I spoke to my new boss regarding the English conversation course I'll be teaching. I'll have a great deal of freedom as far as what we discuss and what kinds of articles or supplementary materials I can use. The main thing I'll need to do is cater to student needs and interests. So far, however, I have no idea what those might be. They're very advanced students, but there will likely be some variation in skill level among them. The trick will be to make them feel comfortable speaking English in the confines of our classroom so that they will become more comfortable speaking it in everyday situations. I've been having a lot of fun coming up with my first lesson plan, which involves a lot of "getting to know you" types of activities that hopefully will spur conversation. I'm really looking forward to it.

On a slightly touristy note, Rami and I went to two particularly cool places today. First, we bought some smoked salmon at the local kauppahalli (literally "market hall"). They have all sorts of vendors in there, selling imported goods, fresh meats, cheeses, and fish, as well as clothing, handbags and the like. We'll definitely be going back.

Then, we went to a place called Antikvariaatti Suma, a veritable nerd paradise. They sell used games, CDs, DVDs, and shelves and shelves full of old books and comics. If I spoke Finnish, I'd probably have spent a year browsing in there. This is another place that we'll have to spend more time exploring.

I love getting to know the city a little better. Someday, it'll properly become my city.

Immigrant

I received a letter a couple of days ago. It said that I'd be expected at an examination for the intensive Finnish course I hope to take.

I didn't really know what to expect. The employment office had said nothing about "testing" when I was there applying for the course. They mentioned an interview, for which I have an appointment on Monday, but nothing about this. I was a little nervous.

Rami and I arrived at his alma mater, which was also where the testing would take place, this morning at 9:00 sharp. There were roughly 100 people crammed into a small hallway near the auditorium. Most spoke Russian. Then, a woman began addressing us in Finnish and calling us by name into the auditorium. I was afraid that she wouldn't speak in anything but Finnish and that I'd fail to understand some crucial thing. This wasn't the case, though. When we were all seated, she began to address us in three languages: Finnish, English, and Russian. She seemed adept, perhaps even fluent, in all three.

I don't think I did very well on the test, which I suppose is a good thing in terms of getting into this course. Of the more than 100 people who applied, only 28 will be chosen. On what criteria I'm not really sure, though I guess it has something to do with need. I felt so inept and stupid, though, since a lot of the Russians around me seemed a little more comfortable with the material. Rami suspects they've been in the country for a while and have thus learned more Finnish.

It's a unique and strange experience for me, not being totally proficient in the language that surrounds me. I cannot speak for myself, I cannot understand through my own efforts. I'm truly an immigrant. It's frustrating, to say the least. In fact, I don't even belong to the immigrant community, since even they tend to share a common culture and can therefore stand in unity while immersed in a foreign one.

But, whether I get into the course or not, there's only one thing to do, and that is to try my best. In all things Finnish.

Miscellaneous

Here are some updates:

1) After two and a half weeks of being here, I have a job teaching an English conversation course. It seems there's a pretty significant need for English teachers here, particularly for conversation courses. This is probably because lots of Finns have a good academic understanding of English, but no forum in which to practice.

I'm immeasurably lucky that English is my native language and that English is currently the lingua franca. I come to appreciate this more with each step I take towards assimilation here in Finland.

2) I received a call today from a nurse at the neurologist's office. I have two free months of my medication waiting for me there. I am as thankful and as shocked as can be. I'm not used to benevolent doctor's offices bestowing charity on me. Rather, I'm used to assholes who ignore me and wrong me and make grievous errors, all at huge expense. Thank you, nurse, and thank you, Finland. You have given me the best sort of culture shock.

3) Rami and I were approached by two Mormons on the street today. Rami says he's seen a lot of Mormons here over the years, and that they always appear in pairs. They looked very, very young, and they're no doubt Americans on a mission. From the little snippet of religious babble we heard one of them speak, it seemed as if he spoke Finnish pretty decently. I wondered if maybe I should have been a Mormon missionary and taken advantage of their language training.

I regret not saying, "Hello, I'm American, too!" Surely two kids here on their own, enduring scowls and rude brush offs day after day would appreciate seeing and hearing someone from their homeland. I decided against it, though, because I didn't want to encourage them to pursue my conversion. My heart is as hard as a rock and a hard place. Still, I can't help feeling that my reasoning was, forgive me, "unchristian." If I see them again, I'll give them some love from an eastern elitist.

Verve

I named this blog after a dreamy psychedelic shoegaze tune by The Verve (then simply called Verve).



I heard this song on Pandora years ago, and it led me to discover the beautiful and surreal album on which it can be found, A Storm in Heaven.

I chose it primarily because of how anxious I was to arrive here in Finland; I was still mired in schoolwork and I felt weighted by countless unfulfilled obligations. In a word, I was restless. "Already There" seemed to describe my state-of-mind with a certain precision.

Now that I'm here, it's the music rather than the title that seems to encapsulate things, namely the utter surreality of my life. I had other plans, other ideas, other goals and other values not two years ago. My life is wholly different than I ever imagined it would be at this or any other point in my life. In a sense, I feel as if I haven't affected this reality whatsoever, and that I'm just surfing a current of random chance. Of course, that's completely false, but knowledge of my own action doesn't lessen this surreal feeling. For the last week or so, I've been reveling in the odd limbo in which I'm floating now.

There's a note of bitter somewhere in the midst of all that sweet, but it's okay.

I'm Scared to Speak to Anyone

It's something I've struggled with before, back when I was only a tourist here. I'm afraid to use what little Finnish I know. What if it comes out garbled? What if I say "kylla" instead of "kyllä," or "muta" instead of "mutta" ? Clearly, this is something I'll have to overcome, and quickly.

I've been studying Finnish a little on my own with a beginner's textbook (that's oppikirja) that I bought while still in The States. I'm proud of the modest progress I've made as well as overwhelmed with how much there is still to learn. Finnish doesn't belong to the Indo-European language tree (as does English), and is instead Finno-Ugric. As you might imagine, this makes for a real dissimilarity between English and Finnish.

Fortunately for me and for all would-be Finnish learners, the language makes a lot of logical sense. It's really just that damn linguistic barrier between Finnish and my native language that makes learning it so difficult. It's been fun for Rami and me to go through it together, though; I read dialogues aloud from the oppikirja, piece together the meaning and attempt to wrap my head around verb conjugations and noun suffixes. He fills in the gaps. If it weren't a pursuit of such import to me, it would be a fun intellectual challenge.

The problem is, I find it hard to imagine a time when I'll feel equipped to actually use Finnish. It's not just Finnish I'm reticent to speak, though; I'm equally afraid of speaking English. I hate the idea of seeming like an ethnocentric American who thinks she can survive with English because "everyone here can speak it so well!" I mean, it's certainly true that the Finns generally tend to speak English quite well, but I don't want to rely on their skills to make up for my lack of facility with their language. If I really want to assimilate as seamlessly as possible, I have to learn Finnish as well as possible. I just wish I knew how "well" is possible for me.

Shocker

So I've been trying to secure Kela coverage for my Avonex. It's been a bit of a battle in that we were given some wrong information regarding what was required. I'll likely have to pay out of pocket for two months worth of the stuff. This was something I was prepared for, though, so although it is a "worst case scenario" sort of situation, it appears to be one I can handle. Plus, I'll be reimbursed most of the money I'll shell out.

Instead of dwelling on this setback, however, I'd like to mention something that nearly caused me to faint in shock. When I went to the doctor to get a referral to a neurologist at a medical center here in Lappeenranta, I brought about a hundred euros in cash with me. Since I'm not covered by the national social security system yet, I thought I'd have to pay a ton of money out-of-pocket. When they handed me a bill, which I had fourteen days to pay, it read 27 euros. The receptionist explained that this cost covered doctor's visits for the entire year, and would include all of the offices in the Southern Karelia region.

Yep, I love Finland for that alone.

Hard

I haven't written in a while due to being busy with preparing to leave the country and all. The last month has involved seeing a lot of family and friends and saying a lot of deeply painful goodbyes. The ironic and bittersweet connection and reconnection with many in my social network caused me to feel both closure and regret. I hadn't really anticipated that.

I thought as soon as I boarded the plane I'd feel some relief from the sadness pangs; having goodbyes said and security dealt with was my primary focus. I was half right. The plane ride was easy. I couldn't wait to land. Let's get all this travel over with and start building a new life, I thought. Landing was easy, too. Our bags were among the last to emerge, and I felt as if I had been spared the hugely stupid struggle of hunting for all my earthly possessions. I napped fitfully on the car ride to Lappeenranta. I dreamed a little of home and family. Things began to seem scarier -- more daunting than they ever had before.

I knew this feeling would come, but I wasn't prepared for it. I'll be helpless until I have even a rudimentary grasp of Finnish and, even then, I will never, ever be able to communicate as effortlessly as I can with English. I'll be starting over almost from scratch socially speaking as well. Of course, I knew all this long before embarking on the move. I even knew that I would feel sad and helpless and scared. Even so, it was a thing both inevitable and miserable, and it had to happen shortly after landing.

Today, though, I feel much better. Walking around Lappeenranta to see all of my favorite summer sights and studying a little Finnish seemed to pull me out of the funk I felt. I'm still frightened -- it would be pretty stupid if I weren't -- but things are back in perspective.

I'll be writing about my new life here (adjustments, fears, successes, culture, and, of course, cuisine) from now on. I plan to update regularly and often. Watch out.

Depraved

Well, I'm writing a pretty filthy prose poem that reenvisions the immaculate conception as not so immaculate. [Edit: My religions expert sister-in-law tells me that "immaculate conception" refers to Mary's lack of original sin rather than Jesus' birth. Rookie mistake, and my apologies.] I'm trying to make it satirical so as to avoid the likely pitfalls of having it come across as overly sentimental, purposely shocking, pornographic, or overtly feminist. The thing is, even if no one ever reads it and I am too mortified to ever show it to another human being (this is highly, highly probable), it's still fun to write.

In a sense, though, it is a rather feminist undertaking. I initially thought to myself, in somewhat biblical language, "Why should God have thrust unto Mary all consequence and no pleasurable causation?" Throw the girl a bone, as it were. She's the mother of your child. Oh, because she ought to be above pursuing her baser imperativ-- excuse me, desires?

This is precisely where the atheist and the religious person differ; if there is no god, there is no impetus to deny one's sexuality in adherence to a divinely structured morality. By extension, there is no reason to avoid deriving enjoyment from sexuality. Given that sex is a healthy biological function, it's an understandably uncomfortable thing to forgo. If there is no exterior motivation to abstain (we have the technology to remain relatively safe these days and, in this particular case, I doubt that the lord has any STIs), why would you? From my perspective of disbelief (and non-motherhood, to boot!), it seems unfair to ask a young woman to bear a child without that most fundamental biological bribe.

The virgin birth myth is not one that began with Christianity, however, so apparently lots of women around the mediterranean were once impregnated without so much as one lousy caress. There's something funny -- in both the "comical" and the "weird" senses of the word -- about that. I'm going to explore it in my super secret prose poem.

Breasts, Broken Relationships, and Bipolar Jukebox in Torrington

Last night, a friend and I went to a local theatre event in Torrington, courtesy of The Desultory Theatre Club. The show began with a really charming burlesque artist, Dot Mitzvah. She had just the right dose of silly along with her generous helping of sexy. My friend and I discussed what it would be like if we were to attempt burlesque, and we giggled at the thought of our diminutive chests and their probable inability to properly twirl the nipple tassels.

Then, we were treated to a really well-done short play about a relationship gone to shit called "Vapor, Liquid, Snow, Solid." I keep wondering whether or not it was an indictment of monogamy. Either way, it was particularly well-acted.

Dot came back and showed us a bit more T+A.

Lastly, we got to hear a really impressive band called Bipolar Jukebox. Holy musicianship, Plastic Man.

It was a really good night, and we're lucky that such things happen here in the middle-of-nowhere. I highly recommend that you go see the next show at Artwell in T-Town. I'll regret missing out on these events when I'm gone.

Fiction: It may or may not be any good.

Well, I've graduated. College. This milestone is a pretty belated one, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I had a lot with which to come to terms in the years immediately following high school. Anyway:

I thought it might be beneficial for me if I began to post some fiction. I'm not sure if y'all are interested in that, but I suppose there might be the odd individual who'd be willing to dispense some criticism.

Here's the beginning of a story. I've always been interested in Christian fanaticism and the sexual repression that often manifests in its practitioners. Also, I've always been interested in evangelical disdain for Catholicism. Anyway, tell me if you think this stuff is any good and where you think it's going. If you want.


I drink a good deal of tea. I keep a metal travel mug in my hands nearly all the time, because it keeps my throat loose and wet. I yell the word of God on the street, and you’d be surprised how well the tea soothes the ache and the soreness of my abused larynx.

It warms me in the rain and the snow of the New English winter, it quenches my thirst, and it soothes the tool with which I praise God and spread his word. I do not own a microphone, as amplification would only dampen the intensity of my message. The rough, prickling breaks in my tired voice add gravity to it. Mint, black, sweet tea, bitter tea, it’s all the same to me.

Main Street is bereft of the Godliness that once characterized this great nation. The bar signs burn with a gaudy neon lust, and the antique stores -- filled with Catholic idols -- creak in sin and fanaticism. Only the lowest and most ragged people venture out at night to drink, and the worst among that lot loiter in the street with their beer bottles to their lips like they were nursing at their mother’s tit. That is why I am here. I was once like them: empty and Catholic, knowing only the mother and never the son. I knew him only as a babe at Christmas, a creature of monumental prominence and consequence, but the beer bottles on which I suckled kept me clinging to that virgin’s skirt. Emptiness persisted in my gut no matter how often I sought to fill it with drink. But then, his image found me at night, curled in bed as if in the womb, and told me to leave his mother behind, for she was not the intermediary those idol worshippers would have us believe. No, in fact, it was he who would lead me to God, and he alone. I unhooked my fingers from her hemline and I followed him to where love and sacrifice usurp lust and greed. I was born again from the womb of his atonement.

The drunks laugh at me. Sometimes they even throw their empty bottles in my direction, jeering. What makes this worth my time are the few who come to me with tear stains on their cheeks and God in their heart. They are curious and attentive, asking questions and seeking clarification, and they promise to consider getting saved. Some get saved, some do not, but I plant a seed in their heart. If they care for it and tend to it, they will see it flourish. Love will burst forth from their chests. Their lives will begin anew in Christ’s love.

Some of these bar folk are not drunk, and yet they still laugh along with the rest. I see one walking languidly by me with a smirk. His heart is hardened. When I see him, he does not look like a member of this small town. He’s wearing tight blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered by a blazer. He is clean and does not look as though he had been sitting on a tractor or working with his hands. An Ivy League boy, home from the halls of academe? A Wall Street boy, home from the affluence and sin of the city? Is he visiting friends? Why is his chest so broad, his shoulders so wide?