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.