Tag — Immigrant Diaries
Copenhagen to Seattle. Omer and Onward.
“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived.”
-Henry David Thoreau
Today we get on plane and leave Copenhagen, our ex-pat home for the last 2 1/2 years. We left our community in Seattle for adventure. To learn to live in new and wider ways. To watch our children become world citizens. And to take in countries on a continent that was not our own.
Little did we know it would be such a challenge.
Copenhagen has become to me what my Jewish ancestors call and Omer, an in-between time. In my internal narrative it has become a long pause between our “old” life in The Densmore House and our “next” life in The DensmoreHouse, seen now with new eyes. Our life here has been a long metaphysical Winter followed of late by an extended emotional Spring. I recently said to my fellow ex-pat friends, Katie and Kate, “Life in Denmark has certainty had it’s gooey caramel center, but it was surround by a big ball of steamed spinach.” Perhaps not the most appetizing of metaphors, but accurate nonetheless.
Here, in the middle of a physically and culturally chilly climate we have undergone a metamorphosis. Old ways of living – too rushed, to0 obligated, too angsty– have ebbed. And a new pace of family and community life has emerged. Along with this, I have come to find that I am no longer afraid of my work. And above all, the pain that plagued me for so many years has decreased in volume. Through struggle, through waiting, through the taking of the next step these things have come to pass in Copenhagen. Sometimes because of the place, and sometimes in spite of it. No matter. The point is, we have shed our illness. We are ready to emerge. To bloom. To blossom.
We are ready to ripen and pluck. To live a slower and more creative life. To be close to few, rather than available to many. To grow sugar-snap peas and to raise chickens. To move only as fast as our bodies can take us. To live in our dream house without the obligations that do not belong to us. To make a life with David and Barbi, with Jen and Paul — mashing all our children together into a happy clan. To sit at the table with Jenn. To meet people in real life, who before have only lived on our glowing screens. To let some people live a bit further away, but to keep others close.
We are ready to relish in the food we eat. To dress like ourselves. To have the secret of mysterious language, but to speak our most native tongue.
We are returning, but we are not going back. We are getting born.
*8Things: Honoring Places
Today is our last day in Copenhagen, our ex-pat home for the past 2 1/2 years. (more here and here) I wouldn’t say it’s been a great fit for us, culturally. Families who like to invite strangers in and talk to people on the bus do not acclimate well to Danish culture. But the city itself is at is most charming right now, as though tempting us to stay. I often say that CPH is like an elderly Aunt who has kept herself well. I’d like to remember the good bits, now before I go.
*8Things: To Treasure about Copenhagen
1. Knowing it’s time to pick the kids up from school by the sound of the church bells.
2. Watching the swans nest in city lakes that were once castle moats.
3. Martin encouraging us with the linguistically unique inhaled Danish ”yes” enthusiastically while we tell him a story.
4. Listening to Cate’s friend Johanna speak English and Danish with an Estonian accent. (Like a mini Soviet agent with golden ringlets and a penchant for knock knock jokes.)
5. Riding my bike through the city with my basket full of herbs, flowers, and strawberries.
6. The yellow and rosy-brick buildings with their green-copper turrets.
7. Drinking too much and eating too much with the Neilsen’s in their garden. (Ah! The courtyards!)
8. Walking thru the University Haven with Cate and watching it unfold from snow covered cemetery-silence to ducklings and daffodils.
What’s your list of *8Things: Honoring Places? What do you want to remember about a significant place in your life — your home town, your family’s summer cabin, a room of your own? Grab a button and play along. If you put your list on your blog, give us the permalink in the Mr. Linky below. Thanks for playing!
*8Things: Observe Closely
Today’s *8Things list come from @KateJumps, my Copenhagen neighbor and a record-breaking skydiver. She suggests that we use this week to observe the place we live, and learn to love it a little more. What are *8 Observations about the world around you?
*8Things Observed in my Neighborhood
(These first 4 are from my husband, Paul. He emailed them to me from the train on his way to work this morning. So sweet!)
1. two magpies in the traffic circle.
2. a red–as in “Oh she just got her hair dyed red”–squirrel.
3. a woman wearing jeans with a maroon paint stripe on her ass imitating as if she had sat on a newly painted park bench.
4. …and the snow is almost gone
5. little yellow flowers poking up thru the lawn in the havn (garden/park).
6. snowdrops with their buds not quite opened.
7. the swans returning to the city’s søer (lakes.)
8. flower sellers outside the Stog (train) station.
What is your list for *8Things: Observed in my Neighborhood? Let us know in the comments, or grab a button and play along. If you post on your list on your blog, please give us the permalink in the Mr. Linky below so we can come say hi! Thanks for being here.
*8Things: What I Know For Sure
I’ve been in a funny space lately. After 18 months we are finally on furlough from Copenhagen, Denmark and are able to come “home” for awhile to Seattle, Washington. This means big reunions with family and friends, lots of cocktails and laughter, and a fare amount of disorientation.
My Facebook quiz for “Which Mental Disorder are You” brought up “bipolar” — to which I say “No doi!” I’m really feeling my tendency to swing between polar opposites as I spend the summer alternating between a happy sense of belonging, and a disquieting sense of displacement. I’m shuttling between Seattle (for migraine treatments) and Hartsine Island (my parent’s retreat) so my bag is always packed and my head has seen many different pillows. I don’t have a regular sleep schedule; my meals are extraordinarily ad hoc; and at one point I had to brush my teeth in the car using the watered-down leftover diet coke for a rinse. Yes, I am a vagabond.
All this joy and confusion has got me to wondering: “What are the core things I know about myself?” In the face of expectations from family and friends, what do I know to be true? Furthermore, what do their response to my presence tell me about myself? So here’s *8Things I Know for Sure About Moi.
1. People like me, they really like me. It’s been so touching to have everyone receive me with open arms; confess that they secretly kindasorta hoped Paul would get laid off so we could return to the States early; and make ticks on a cocktail napkin to start counting down the days until we are back for keeps. Some how I never really got it before. Thanks peeps!
2. I really do create community wherever I go. I always doubted if there was a real “there there” amongst my community-building efforts. But yesterday my darling neighbor Barbie drove some reality home when she told me, “You never know how things are going to be in advance, you know? But this street just isn’t the same without you.”
3. I am getting stronger. My health was really in the crapper when I got here, but if I can keep going relatively pain-free with all this wacky sleep and these long drives, then I MUST be getting healthier.
4. I Like Working. My vocational calling as a writer/teacher/community builder is very strong right now. I miss writing and coaching while I’m away, but it’s just been too busy for me to get much work in. I’m trying to trust that I can pick up all my series when this trip is over.
5. My health demands life in GranolaVille. Naturopaths, NAET practitioners, treatment massage, and stores that carry gluten-free foods are a must for me. I can’t live in the land of western-only health care. It just doesn’t work.
6. I’m closer to my husband than I thought. Paul and I are not all that mushy-gushy romantic, and I LOVE solitude (see my post on the hermitish life.) So I didn’t think I’d miss him that much while we are apart for 6 weeks. WRONG! I totally adore our daily talks and IM’s and feel super confident in our partnership together. (Mwah, Baby!)
7. I can survive without solitude. It’s not easy, but I can get through.
8. I can’t think of one more…why don’t you tell me a true things about me as you see me? Oooo….intriguing!
What are the *8Things I Know for Sure about yourself? What truths help you hold your core? Put them in the comments below, or grab a buttonand play along by putting your permalink in the list below. Thanks for being here!
*8Signs of Re-Entry
It’s vacation time—a time when we so often return to a place we’ve once lived, or a holiday spot we love and come to again and again. I’ve recently returned to the States after a year and a half abroad, and I’m finding the reverse culture shock rather intriguing. So this week’s list is all about the *8Things you experience upon returning to a favorite spot. What is is like when you go to your childhood home? Are there patterns you immediately fall into? (When I walk into my mother’s house, I always have to check the pantry for Oreo cookies, even if I’ve juste aten.) What happens when you return to a favorite vacation spot? (My daemon downloads poetry to me the second I see the sea.) Here are my *8 Signs of Re-Entry:
1. Feeling energized and giddy with the way people dress in my home town. (Jeans under second-hand dresses! Dredlocks! Practical funky shoes! Recycled and re-purposed clothing!)
2. Getting teary because the cashier at the organic co-op chatted with me as she checked me out, and thanked me for bringing my own bags.
3. Smiling giddily just because two teenage girls said, “Oh, sorry!” when they walked in front of me at Target. Ditto with how small children interact with me in the check out lines.
4. Being pleasantly surprised that the smell of fast food joints makes me nauseous and I no longer crave fries.
5. Enjoying driving. (Course, I am borrowing a convertible…)
6. Crying in the produce section of the organic supermarket because, as Catie put it, “Everything in here is like ART Mommy!”
7. Laughing a LOT more, especially with my Mom and Dad, and watching the children laugh, play and just generally have lighter countenances.
8. The deep, satsifying hum of knowing Iwill see someone wonderful, fascinating, and dear to my heart every couple of days as I reconnect with friends.
What *8 Signs of Re-Entrydo you experience on vacation or when you return to some place familiar? List your *8Things in the comments below or grab a button and play along, by adding your post’s permalink in the list below. Thanks for being here!
A Pura Vida Solstice
Just one of many Solstice celebrations, this one at the house on Rockaway Beach.
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It is not quite 5am and the dark is slowly dimming to reveal pine trees like shadow puppets awaiting the stage. Beyond them the water is still as glass waiting or the faithful northwest kayakers who will slip out at the dawn, leaving a silent wake in their path.
We are finally at my parent’s coastal retreat, Pura Vida, a beautifully appointed home on a tiny island in the Puget Sound. Everyone is asleep, save me, the insomniac with jet lag. But in a place a still and beautiful as this, who can be worried about a few hours of lost slumber? (Beside, the hammock is waiting on the deck below, should sleep come calling in the afternoon.)
The house will not be quiet long as Pura Vida is full of happy grandparents and boisterous children – soon to be joined by more boisterous children and chatty mamas when the cousins arrive. My Irish roots will show big and bold and the gift of gab will be used in full force over the coming weeks as we greet each other in a rush of words and stories. In the happy, overwhelming rush of family reunion, these sleepless quite moments in the early morn will be my hermit-ish ying to the jolly yang of our happy clan. A time to reflect and write, and sooth the frayed edges of a soul worn down by the coldness of life abroad, now stretched to a joyful bursting point by the warmth of familiarity and common bonds.
Already we have be embraced by the loving arms of people we cherish: the Curran-Coolmans who took our battered jet-lagged selves into their home so full of art, and story, and affection; the sweet child-like family at BF Day Elementary who jumped up and down to see us all on the sugar-filled high of the last day of school; the colorful chaotic buzz of the artists prepping for Solstice celebrations, awash in paper mache; the affection of our son-adopted-by-affection who apparently “does not get enough love” (hard to believe given the lovely young woman who rarely leaves his side); and the teary embrace of our dear friends Lynette and Dwight who could not possibly have more generous hearts toward we the ornery wanders.
All of that goodness in the first 48 hours—a restorative tonic for the 18 months spent in a culture which barely says “hello.”
And now, seven glorious weeks on the shores of placid sea, listening to the giggles, finding crabs under rocks, plucking oysters off the rocks for our supper, and wondering again why it was that we ever went away.
Today Brother Sun will shine his goodness down on all of this wonder, creating from his rays the longest, most glorious day of the year. And I will see very dear moment of it, until his Sister the Moon arrives to tucks us in, just so we can rest and begin it all again.
Happy Solstice.
What’s Your Dream World?: in which she rants about Very Minor Things, and also toys with escapism.
Since I didn’t have to prep my cold cut platters, I went into the sanctuary for the second half of the services and immediately started crying. I do that at lot at church. I think it has something to do with processing the deep loss of Leaving Church after so many decades of dedication. (We only go once in a while now, to give the kids a taste in case they like it and to take Communion which is all rite-and-ritual and kinda pagany–I do love it so!)
Anyway, this Sunday I realized that while I’m sure I still have a nice deep well of Leaving Church sorrow, I was also tearing up because I am so damn depleted from this expat living thing. I just want to buy a coke with ice in less than 15 minutes; buy clothes that don’t look like pregnancy-smocks with leggings; and for godsake be able to pick up paper cups on a Sunday! The closer we get to our sabbatical, the more on-edge I become. It reminds me of how we used to completely max out on being parents about 45 minutes before the babysitter arrived.
The toughest thing about living here–other than the vitamin D depletion– is a leathal cocktail of one part too-small adult-friends community + two parts ”family time” with the children. Recently the small community has shrunk even more, and the kids have had approximately one million days off from school. Yeah, it’s a deadly combination.
In past month I’ve said goodbye to:
-our BFF Family, who moved to Portland, OR.
-my favorite soulsister/artist in CPH.
-a pastoral collegue who actually “gets” me.
-the only other American family in the kid’s folkskole.
-6 of the kid’s friends. (There’s 2 left.)
I’m trying hard to see the benefits of this expansive web of friendship that now lies all over the world. But my deep communitarian roots are showing, and all this bon voyaging is wearing at me until “I feel thin and stretched, like butter spread over too much bread.” (Frodo, I believe.)
On the other hand, I am longing for solitude right now. Paul is Stateside for week doing the Microsurf thing, and I’m at home alone with the girls. Today when I got to church my enjoyable pal Joel asked me how I was. I sighed and absentmindedly said,
“My children never stop talking.”
This literally cracked him up. He’s child-free and apparently not accustomed to parents saying unflattering things about their beloved offspring. And yet, the sorry truth of it is that Eden and Cate talk non-stop: in English, in Danish, and I swear in some sort of alien language they learned from Dr. Who. And that’s when they haven’t had sugar. Post-Sunday School Cupcakes, this is what Cate did under her breathe the whole way home on the bus today:
“It’s chilly outside. Chilly Willy. That’s a good name for a penguin. Chilly Will was a Penguin. Chillywillychwillywillypenguinchillyoustside for penguinsnamedchillywillychilly…”
And she’s the quiet one.
So rather than whine and rant any further, let me just say this about that…
In my dream world I live the life of a hermit, on a deserted beach where the temperature is a constant 83 and breezy. Even tho I am all solitary and sh*t, I get to go out to lunch for big salads 3 days a week with my soulsisters…and there is a guitarist who lives outside my door with his band and they play amazing songs on demand. Oh, and there’s a bathtub with super soft bamboo towels. And superfast internet. And conjugal visits. Yeah, that sounds about right.
Where do you escape when life wears you down? What’s your dream world? Do tell…
Stepping out of the Struggle
the small lake at my local park, from my February dreamboard.
We recently passed the one year mark of life here in Copenhagen. Baring lay-offs, we have a mandatory two-year assignment. But given Paul’s ship cycle, and what he needs to do for and with his team, we’re looking down the barrel of being here at least three years. … Can you tell by my metaphor how I am feeling about this?
For a long time I thought I would get used to being in Denmark. I was eager to live abroad, and I knew from experience that I like learning and living in cultures that are not my own. Plus, my graduate school was very international, and I enjoyed that mixed-culture experience very much. So I’ve been surprised at my inability to adjust to life abroad.
For the past year I’ve been on the “accentuate the positive” bandwagon most days– listing all the things I like about living here and trying to embrace the bits that I enjoy. But the reality is, while I like living outside of the U.S., DK is not the best fit for me.
February in northern winters is by far the hardest month. So much so that at my Seattle college our advisors told the freshmen to “never change your boyfriend, your haircut, or your major in February.” Nonetheless, February is when it struck me that maybe I am not going to come to terms with it. Maybe this is never going to fit right, to become my community, to feel like home.
I was listening to a story on This American Life recently in which the narrator was describing a heated debate between two political opponents. He noticed that the only time the crowd seemed to be experiencing something as a joint experience was when photos of the war were put up on a screen. When that happened stillness filled the room. What he said about this still space was this:
“Forget all the arguments. Let’s just sit by this lake, and try to figure out its name.”
At first I didn’t understand why this phrase was capturing my heart. Then Jena pointed out that the whole story was using the language of struggle and that I have been living in midst of two great struggles: the struggle to live cross-culturally; and the struggle to live with chronic pain. For a long time I’ve thought that there were only two choices about how to respond to these struggles: “Stand and Fight,” or “Lay Down and Die.” But what if there is a third way? What if it involves sitting in the place where stillness pools. What if it involves turning around, looking into the face of loneliness, and saying, “Okay, so you’re here now. Have a seat.” What if it involves—not a frantic search for meaning—but just sitting on a park bench and waiting to see what happens. What if? What if?
I want to step out of the struggle. I want to stop trying to like it here. I want to stop trying to be brave about being in pain. I want to step out of the energy of the struggle, sit by the lake, and see if it will tell me its name.
Have Kids, Will Travel
Eden and Cate wish for a return to Rome at the Trevi Fountain. When we went back to visit it all lit up at night, gelato in hand, Eden said “I’ve never been this happy before in my life! To be at the Trevi Fountain! At Night! Eating Gelato!”
Delicious Baby’s Photo Friday this week was an ask for travel photos with kids. We’ve are traveling all over Europe with our two grade schoolers and the experience is fantastic. I couldn’t pick just one photo, so I gathered all the kid photos up in one Flickr file here. Most of the photos have a little story attached. Have a bon voyage with us!
Watching History Being Made
Paul stayed up most of the night to watch the votes come in. We woke up the girls at 6am to watch Obama’s acceptance speech.
Hope. A call for shared sacrifice. Hundreds of thousands of people, maybe millions gathering across the U.S. to celebrate. Wow!
Here and here are how it was reported in Denmark (translated version).
