It takes all the running you can do...

This isn't an original; I read it on someone else's blog and I liked it:

"...it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!" - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass.

When I came across this it simply made me think about how many aspects of my life abroad require me to work twice as hard to do the same thing. For example, all the usual scripts are insufficient. Not in terms of language necessarily, but what you actually are expected to do and say in every day social activities in another culture.

But after the week I've just had...trying to finish my first article 300-500 words at a time. I think I need to be twice as productive to meet my deadline! Anyways, that's another story.

To get me through these stressful times, I need some nice light and hopefully humorous reading. A friend lent me "The Hippopotamus" by Stephen Fry. The quip on the cover says something about, "Fresh, filthy, and funny" and sista, that is no lie. Watch out for adolescent bestiality. I'm generally not a fan of books that begin with the ramblings of washed up, lewd old men. I'll admit a bias towards female protagonists, or at least younger male protagonists. Yes it's shockingly dirty, not for the sensitive reader, but harmless and cathartic in a strange way. The plot has a straightforward arch involving a cozy "visiting a country manor and solving a mystery" page turning ruse. But the sharp and ironic humour of Fry manifested in the womanizing whisky soaked failed theatre critic protagonist, is poignant only because of the honest observations about people and life that underlying the simplicity of the story. Recommended for anyone feeling blue and/or bored who doesn't mind a roll in the mud.

"I was conscious of a sensation not unlike that which overtakes you when investigating a mysterious night-time noise that denies you sleep. You stand on the stairs, heart pounding and mouth open. You proceed to eliminate the obvious; creeper tendrils tapping against the window pane; your dog, wife or child raiding the larder; floorboards creaking as the night storage heater activates itself. None of those fits the noise, so, fighting a rising panic you begin to consider the less likely causes: a mouse in it's death-throes; a bat loose in the kitchen; a child's toy left running; the cat accidentally (or deliberately) treading on the remote-control unit and rewinding the video cassette, but none of those quite explains the particular sound either and so...if you are anything like me, you trot hastily upstairs, dive back into bed and cover your face with a pillow, preferring not to know."

-you thought I would include a dirty bit? think again, I have family members reading this blog!

these are strange days

...the tax man says the university where I am doing my PhD doesn't exist. Sometimes it seems like the Canadian government thinks that nothing of any relevance to it's citizens exists outside North America. And in order for the university to be "accredited" for my tax purposes, my university must document how many Canadians have attended this institution over the last 10 years, including names, contact information, and SINs. Wow. That's A LOT of work. I suppose many of the hundreds of Canadians who have attended or currently attend my university are dual citizens or non-residents or on exchange and don't bother with Canadian taxes.

...I cannot call the number listed by the tax man with skype. I have not got a land line and my cell phone is pay as you go and hardly equiped for being put on hold with Revenue Canada.

...the front door of my building would not open yesterday. I pushed, shoved, heaving my full body weight against it thinking maybe I lost my mind and after two years of living in this building I missed something. There are these funny little knobs you have to turn sometimes, but still...Nope some drunk slammed it yet again in the night and busted it. The joy of living in a run down 60's building near campus.

...my mom has leukemia, I am entitled to a flu shot because I am a caregiver, or will be in December. Well in Canada I am entitled this week. Until yesterday, Finland overlooked this category. Someone from the consulate wrote and informed me of the change today. Either my boyfriends mother (who kindly called from Canada despite the time difference, employing her Finnish language skills and her powers of persuasion) has serious mobster connections, or there was enough of an outcry that they got organized.

...new problem. A co-worker called on my behalf today and was shut down not once but twice, on the grounds that the shot is for local people. I am a resident, not a citizen, but a resident with full rights to healthcare, I am registered in this municipality and I pay taxes, and into a pension and life insurance fund. I am also common-law with a Finnish citizen which absolutely gives me full rights. As soon as she heard "Kanadasta" she stopped listening. Time to get the boyfriend's mom to call again.

I really love so many things about living here, I have met wonderful people, have a cozy little shared office, a great situation as a doctoral student, etc. But this blog is getting bitter, bitter, bitter! Let's hope it turns around really soon!

On the bright side, I just finished some side editing for a researcher in the subject of the Scottish Enlightenment. When she publishes chapters and articles she needs a native speaker to language check. While the work can be difficult, tedious, and frustrating, I also learn a lot about the way I write, why I do what I do, how to write as an academic, and a of course acquire newfound knowledge. But what I really enjoy are the emails, the asides, the shared confidences, the little stories, and the bits of encouragement and advice from this Finnish woman I have never met. How she can listen to Scottish radio online, drink whiskey and eat shortbread (or some such thing) in her apartment here and imagine she is still in Glascow where she recently worked for a spell. The many stories of cancer in her family, the joys and frustrations of academic work, and often -academic life without work! It's the little things that get me through these strange and dark November days in these Northern parts.

Bad day, bad hair.

Whew, time goes by.

Some days are shittier than others. And today was one of them. The day wasn't going all that well to begin with work-wise or weather-wise. I don't mind the rain, I mean I am a westcoast girl. But today I had an appointment at a new hairdresser, and the rain was going to bring on fuzzy hair. And I knew I would have to endure exclamations, (I keep hearing from every hairdresser about my curly-fuzzy tendencies, and how different this is from most Finnish hair) and sit in the chair under bright lights feeling even uglier, and less stylish, and less cool than ever.

The combination of pouring rain and a hairdresser appointment resulted in me jamming winter sock clad feet into heeled knee high boots. Moisture + thick socks = excrutiating blister. I was overcompensating with the boots. They make me taller and leaner than I am. They make me feel like someone I'm not in other words. I can only handle them in small doses because I like to walk fast and it's hard to walk fast in them. And I like to feel that if I need to run away (from someone or something) I can do it. Paranoid eh? No no, it's my inner Nancy Drew. Flats are better suited.

The point of all this is that the hairdresser, did two things to make me feel crappy (besides charging waaay too much for doing almost nothing to my hair):

1. He made me feel terrible for not speaking Finnish. He spent 1.5 years living in Dublin and 5 years working on a cruise ship. I guess when he got sick of it all, he wanted to come back to the real Finland and only speak Finnish. I was sat down in a chair FAAAAR away from everyone at the front of the store in the WINDOW. Right on the sidewalk. This place is right next to the only liquor store in town. Lots of foot traffic. Anyways, it felt like they were keeping the contamination down, I was polluting the business space with my English. I don't know, he really grilled me and teased me. I found myself explaining why I haven't had time to study Finnish, and explaining that I am NOW taking a class. Why should I explain? It's my life. And I am a paying customer. I have a book I don't need to talk, just do my hair. Later in the conversation he said, "so now that your boyfriend is away you'll have to learn the words for milk and bread!" GIVE ME A BREAK. I don't speak the language, but I know a lot of things, I've lived here for two years and it's impossible if you don't know some basics. Besides, I think I can identify a loaf of leipa visually (with dots over the "a").

2. He combed through my hair and said, "So when did you first notice grey hairs?" WHAT? I had no idea. I laughed it off and said, oh really, are there a lot. No there's just some he said. Well, I'm turning thirty in about 6 months, I said. Okay, I guess my regular sainted hairdresser (actually colourist) in Canada has never mentioned it to me because she's a lovely lovely lady. Sigh. ALWAYS choose a hairdresser older than yourself. Just slightly.

Lemon Out.

Strange and startling

oh I am fickle. It's been so long since I blogged here. I was swayed by popular opinion, blogging to please friends and family with a sappy travel blog on the side. I miss dishing freely, and I really miss sharing (and bitching about) my public library experiences. And keeping track of what I read... I have read so many books since March that I have now completely forgotten. Just because daily life has slowed down and I sit mostly alone in an office of Nordic university doesn't mean I can't keep blogging. I promise to try harder. I know it's good for my soul.

And my soul needs what is good for it right now because these have been difficult times. Mom is sick, parents are divorcing, there was no one else to come home and help during her second round of treatment. Life is frail but it is also absurd, so that's what I will try to keep writing about.

A few months ago I posted a blog entry with a university blog that is supposed to be both fun and academic (ha ha ha ha) and just today noticed that someone commented on my entry, which I signed with my full name. The comment was short and sweet but the pseudonym said much more to me. Does anyone know who Barney Snaith is? Fictional character of my school girl fantasies? Any L.M. Montgomery lovers out there? Very few people in the world know what that name means to me. Perhaps only one or two or maybe three...Either way, a voice from my past decided to use a meaningful pseudonym to comment on my writing ability on a public -work related blog. It was respectful but also strange and startling. I think they wanted me to know who they are, or at least to narrow it down.

At sea in the doctor's office

After listening to my explanation the doctor swiveled his chair around and opened google. And if that weren't enough of a surprise, he followed the first hit straight to wikipedia. Dear dear little man with shoulder length greasy grey hair with a blue and white tight striped t-shirt on underneath his open labcoat. It had seen better days (the labcoat and the sailor shirt).

My medical issue wasn't complicated, I just needed to find out about silica cream, the supposed cure-all for people like me who produce massive amounts of scar tissue from tiny cuts. I waited patiently while he read through half an article on the mineral silica on wikipedia. I felt like stepping in...pointing out some useful medical sources. I love wikipedia as much as the next girl, but I don't go there for medical information. Finally the dear doctor called the pharmacy, holding the phone aside a minute to ask me if silica is a local cream...I was not sure what he meant. So I replied that it is a mineral...not a brand...so it should be available everwhere. On reflection, I think he was probably asking if it should be applied locally, on the skin. Yeesh.