Dearest Neighbor...

I do stuff like write a sham letter to our upstairs neighbors:

Dear neighbors above us somewhere,

It has come to my attention that you insist on having a nocturnal sleeping schedule. I have nothing against your sleeping habits, besides the fact that they are completely different from that of a normal person. It is your decision whether you want to rearrange your furniture at three in the morning. I really am glad that you are into interior design and making the most of your accommodations here at Roligheden; I’m sure your room will be on the next cover of SiA “Home and Design”. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure its very cozy I’m all about a good candle, picture frame, even a plant or flower of some sort, but I think you might be taking it a bit too far.

I’m curious also, in between the pushing and pulling of your large furniture against the cement floor, how do you conserve enough energy to then vigorously dance around your newly designed room in what sounds like wooden clogs with music I can distinctly hear? Lady Gaga never needs to be that loud, ever. It sounds as if you have elephants tap dancing up there to “Poker Face” and are about to fall through the ceiling as the grand finale and land on my bunk bed. I don’t think I would have on my ‘poker face’ at this point. Since I can already hear your festivities I’d really love to see them as well. I can only imagine how comical it must be based on the roaring laughter that vibrates through the vent above my desk. I understand some things just are really funny. I’m sure you’ve heard me giggle once or twice, trust me I enjoy a good laugh; but perhaps you could keep the hearty laughter to an inside volume during the wee hours of the night? I am by no means asking you stop laughing, “for laughter is the spark of the soul”; but could you please keep this spark under control and not allow it to explode as loud as humanly possible at four AM?

I also understand you probably have a lot to talk about, that’s great there is a lot going on. However, could you just try not to yell your details into the vent? The vent essentially then acts as a microphone into my room. I can clearly hear you, so unless the person within the five-foot radius of your room has a hearing impairment (which I’m not making fun of, that is a serious issue) perhaps you could bring it down a few notches? I mean I’m sure its very interesting but if I understood your language I would know everything about your life because I can hear everything that goes on in your room, not purposely mind you, I try NOT to listen but its impossible.

On the other hand perhaps I should thank you, when I can’t sleep at night I attempt to guess what you are doing by the clamor I can make out. So in that case maybe your racket soothes me to sleep every night. If that is the case would you like me to play wall ball on my ceiling with a tennis ball? Or would you prefer that we just use the end of our squeegee handle and pound it up to the ceiling?

Despite all the commotion and suggestions I guess I have come to appreciate your neighborly noise. You are part of what makes my flat seem more like home; so please continue to tap dance, holler, sing, and rearrange your furniture as much as you’d like. I'll just be down here listening.

Yours truly,

The attentive neighbor below you.

Bon jour!

I do stuff like … venture down to Paris for a few days.

So there is no way I could ever justly explain Paris to you through words on a computer screen, therefore I will just go over a few of the highlights and chronological events of the few days I was in France.

The traveling of course took up the most time; to begin our departure we walked to the central bus station downtown and took a double decker bus from Kristiansand to Oslo. I think the bus ride was about three and a half, maybe four hours. The bus dropped us off at the Oslo Torp airport, which was very convenient, and we went inside and waited, five hours later we went through security and waited another two hours before our two-hour flight left from Oslo to Beauvaisis. Once we arrived in France we took a taxi to our hotel for the night. The next morning we awoke quite early, had a quick breakfast and headed out to find the bus to take us back to the airport where we waited for 45 minutes to take an hour and a half bus ride to Paris! Once in Paris we took the metro to our hostel, which we kind of had a hard time finding but after some prayer and venturing we discovered its location.

A few exciting events, first of all, our hostel (St. Christophers Hostel) was much more pleasant than the St. Christophers we stayed at in London. Since we had already stayed at one though we got a 10% discount on our beds, lovely. Our first order of business when we arrived (after the girls getting their French haircuts at a local salon) was to find the grocery store. This didn’t take very long, however inside the tiny French grocery store took awhile. When we walked in we got quite a few stares, which we have come accustomed to. After a few moments of walking through the store I noticed a man that was mysteriously at the end of every aisle that we walked down. I kept an eye on him and after a few more minutes I realized that I was not just being paranoid he was most definitely following us and intently watching us. I looked at him a few times and he saw me, but instead of nonchalantly looking away he continued to stare. Finally we gathered our last few items and waited in the excruciatingly lengthy line where an elderly man was whistling and speaking to us in French. I glanced around and noticed that the creeper was gone, taking a big sigh of relief I relaxed a little; until I got up to the counter and saw him walk back into the store. At this point the girls and I were a little shaky and concerned about the weird man who was not trying to make it a secret that he was watching us. We stayed calm however and bought our groceries; as we walked past him to leave the store he said something to Rachel in French (which we obviously don’t understand) so we just keep walking quite briskly until we make it back to the safety of our hostel room. Just a little scare to keep us more aware.

A great thing about our hostel is that they have a free walking tour everyday that starts at ten in the morning. So we went on the walking tour and took the metro in order to see a ton of Paris. The sights were incredible and like most amazing historical places I just stood there thinking about what it must have been like during the war when all of the fighting must have taken place. We also saw a building where part of the “Bourne Identity” was filmed, which I thought Darrin would think is pretty cool so I took a picture of it. Our tour guide pointed to the Eiffel Tower from the Cathedral and we could just see the top of it. So of course when the tour concluded we tipped and thanked our guide as we made our way over the tower. It was so unbelievable to be standing next to and under the actual Eiffel Tower (which is the second most recognized structure in the world). We took some pictures and just sat and stared at it for a while. During this whole time by the tower there was dozens of men following us around trying to sell us things that we obviously did not want, that is what NO means. At 19:00 the tower lights up for the evening, we were just sitting on a bench having our French granola fruit bars (not my favorite) when we suddenly noticed people sprinting, not just running, full on sprinting. We looked closer and saw that the men who were trying to sell us stuff were all bookin’ it in different directions and behind each of them was a French police officer. I was kind of scared but at the same time it was kind of funny, I didn’t really know what to do so I just sat back and watched. One of the men sprinted straight out into the busy street to lose the police officer, and another one hurdled some bushes and ran the other direction. I didn’t see any of them get caught but it was an intense free show we got to witness. Later at the hostel we asked a French guy that we had met, Alex, what was going on, he told us that the police always show up at seven because those people don’t have the right to be there selling things. Oh hmm, then why don’t they just leave before the police show up? Silly Frenchman.

That night we just hung out, played a few rounds of UNO with our new friend and packed up to prepare for our six AM departure the next morning. Overall Paris was amazing.

Rema 1000

I do stuff like… laugh every time I go to the Norwegian grocery store.

As you have heard previously most of the places I need to go are not close by my dorm. However there is fortunately a string of grocery stores right down the road from Roligheden (my building). The cheapest and closest one is Rema 1000, ergo the one I go to the most. So last night I was feeling pretty creative about dinner and looked in the fridge and saw lettuce and tomatoes, perfect all we need is bacon and I could make some delicious BLT’s. We venture out to Rema and as we expected it was rather difficult to find the bacon on the long wall of refrigerated meats (in a language we don’t read).

As we are searching for this cured pig meat the electricity in the store suddenly extinguishes. I stop what I’m doing and peer around me to see all these Norwegians continuing to gather their groceries as if it’s a reoccurring normal event. In my head I am guffawing at how ridiculous I probably look to them but how ridiculous they look to me is what causes me to giggle as I continue to stand in stupefaction. There are no lights and the fridge is not cooling the “must be refrigerated” items; yet they all just continue to shop as if they don’t notice. Uhm ok, in order to blend in I take back up my search but can’t see (hmm I wonder why) so I decide to move on and come back. Just as I’m gathering some crackers the lights come back on and I’m relieved as I head back to the meat determined to find bacon.

Mission accomplished, we found the bacon and our other necessary groceries (yes the ice cream was necessary) and headed to the check out. There are two lines at Rema so its not like you have a huge decision to make as to which line you are going to wait in. By the time I get to the cashier I say, “Hi, how are you?” It has become the norm for us to greet employees this way because then they know that we speak English. On the rare occasion that they do answer the question they continue to speak English until the end when they ask if we want a bag, in Norwegian. This is when I usually laugh in my head because we just had this whole conversation in English and then you ask me if I want a bag in Norwegian? I also find it ironic when people state that they don’t speak a language, in that language. Like “me no speaky English” or “no hablo espanol” or “jeg snakker ikke norsk”. Ok so they know you don’t speak that language (which you clearly do because you just spoke it) but that doesn’t tell them what language you do speak. I just find it more efficient to apologize and ask if they speak English; saves us both some time and confusion.

Anyway by the time they ask if you want a bag all of your groceries are banging into each other at the end of the continuous conveyer belt. (If you have glass jars put them at the end so they don’t shatter from being constantly pelted by your other food items). They usually only give you one bag, and by give you I actually mean throw down the belt. Now I’m not a professional grocery bagger nor have I ever worked in a produce store so I’m new with whole bagging of groceries process. I know that in the US there are regulations, like don’t put laundry soap and cleaner next to your yogurt and grapes. But since I only have one bag here it looks like that’s not going to be an option. Also you know when you are at the grocery store or any store for that matter and you feel rushed? Yeah that is how it is here too, I feel like it’s a race to bag my groceries because the split second after I pay, the cashier flips the divider to the belt and starts beep beep beep, scanning the items of the next customer. Finally I just grab what doesn’t fit in my one plastic bag and begin my short walk home. So long story short I made BLT’s on bagels (yes we found frozen bagels at the store) with cream cheese. (Like we use to make at Cherry Bean all the time Mary!)

Next time you go to the grocery store keep these things in mind and be thankful that you all are speaking the same language and that you can read the labels and that they give you more than one bag and even bag your items for you. It is a much less stressful event for me in the US but also a less humorous one.

Only One

I do stuff like… explore the Norwegian wilderness and think beyond my competence.

Those of you who know me well know that I usually make fun of the people who write about their feelings and post it on the World Wide Web for everyone to read; however I’m about to be one of those people, and I give you full permission to make fun of me. I’m going to attempt to tackle my thoughts and spill them out of my keyboard and onto your screen.

We went on a hike through the wilderness of Kristiansand, it was incredible to just sit down and look out into the sea with the islands and mountains and sunshine. I realized that after being away from my comfortable life for a little over two months I have become aware of certain situations that occur in the world that I have never taken the time to actually think about. People all over the world go through unimaginable circumstances and I rarely think outside of my hometown let alone outside of my state and country.

A good friend of mine here in Norway (probably the friendliest person you will ever meet) recently told me about a good friend of hers back home. She told me about how they had known each other for many years and how much he cared about her and about things they had gone through together. I sat and intently listened to her while we sat at a little table in the middle of the downtown mall eating my delicious Norwegian ice cream. I had heard her talk about him before so I was interested in this story she was sharing and had a huge smile on my face; that grin quickly dissolved when she began her conclusion. Her voice started to quaver a little bit and I looked up to see her eyes beginning to water. I figured it was just because she missed him and was thinking about him, but attempting to be optimistic I thought about how fun it was going to be when she got home and saw him again. Little did I know that this reuniting between two friends was never going to happen.

She raised her head up from the spec on the table she was staring at and looked me straight in the eyes and uttered words I was not prepared for: “he shot himself in the head and died”. My eyes immediately enlarged and glazed over while the rest of my body froze with me just staring at her. First of all I felt like a terrible friend because I had no idea what to say and second of all I felt so helpless, like there was nothing I could say or do to make it even the slightest bit more bearable. The one-year marking point of this tragedy is the day that she flies home. Even though this catastrophe happened months ago I could tell the agony was still fresh. It was like the pain was physically ripping her apart, suffocating her. I could look into her eyes and see the agonizing torture she has to deal with, alone. Just hearing her talk about it made me sick to my stomach; I haven’t the slightest idea to what extent she is suffering. I can’t even explain it.

***

The other day I was talking to an old teacher and coach from high school. I asked her how her semester was going and she just replied, “tough” which was strange to me because this is the coach that taught me to anticipate challenges and make the best of them. However no one could have anticipated this challenge; she went on to inform me that a student had recently hung himself in his closet and his girlfriend was in one of her classes. I can’t fathom the feelings she must be overwhelmed with, the burden of depression pulling her down and the torment of confusion. This young high school girl and the rest of the students’ family and friends are undoubtedly drowning in agony.

We all know there are uncountable instances such as these and I could never truly cover them with justice. These aren’t just good stories to tell and they aren’t just good information and facts to make the front-page news. These are peoples lives, the only life they have. I haven’t possessed even a glimpse of depression or anguish like these people have had to endure; the pain in my life I’m sure looks miniscule in comparison to theirs. I do not know how they feel but I do know that it doesn’t matter how young you are or how much life experience you do or do not have, either way the pain is real and brings along the horror of hopelessness.

The circumstance is irrelevant; there is certainly indescribable suffering for the people left behind. It’s not just suicide, it could be a car accident or a sickness or violence or just any random disaster. Visualize your teenager, husband, wife, child, mother, father, best friend, whoever disappearing in an instant without warning. The last thing you’ve said to them could be the last thing you ever say to them. Think about your life without that person. Imagine waking up every morning and having to carry the hurt of that loved one not being there anymore, you can’t see them, converse with them, or hug them. Maybe you just want to have one last conversation with them but you are oppressed to face the fact that it’s too late. There are people who lay awake at night and recite the words over and over that they long to express. You want to tell them one last thing that you never really found the time to bring up and say, they were right there and you just figured you’d tell them later. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life bearing that pain. What if there is no later?

I think the most commonly asked question is why? I can’t answer that question but I know the answer to how… trust the One who knows why. It is the truth that only God knows and maybe if he told us it would only bring more anguish, so he’s protecting us. I’ve noticed that the more comfortable I get, the more selfish I become. When I feel like I have control (which I never actually obtain) I tend to think one dimensionally about my own life. I’m so worried about things that have no meaning at all: what I’m going to wear, which book I should read first, what I should have for dinner, how many miles I ran today. Seriously? Those are aspects of everyday life but lets try to think outside of everyday life just for a second, about the things that are truly significant; I know it is easier said than done, I’ll be the first to admit I awful with this.

When we are forced to step outside of our comfort zone and rely on the only One who really has the answer, then I think our pain and anguish and confusion can begin to evaporate. Why do we live so selfishly when there are plenty of opportunities to encourage the people around us? (This is by no means a guilt trip; this is just what I’ve been thinking about lately.) Anyway it’s not in our own capability, we can’t do it by ourselves. His power is made perfect in our weakness and we can’t bear this fallen world alone, we need Him and we need each other. I know its so cliché but really, tell the people you love that you love them.

Seizing..

I do stuff like… seize my Norwegians days.

In case you are unaware my mother created a binder that is full letters and cards, (a surprising amount of gum), and advice from people back at home. All of these letters have helped me and I’m so thankful for every single one. Recently I read one that told me to go out and something I’ve been wanting to do but just haven’t gotten around to (I think you know who you are). So today I did. Rachel and I didn’t have class today so we went out into the rare bit of sunshine there was and found an adorable little Norwegian Café and had warm beverages and worked on some homework and had lunch. They really love cold sandwiches here, all on some kind of wheat bread with nuts and seeds. I did not recognize any of the pastries either but they did look scrumptious. The ladies in the café were very friendly and I think they rather enjoyed talking to us in English, we chatted about what were studying and about a salon that was downtown and I knew a girl there from one of my classes. It was quite an enjoyable afternoon and I’m looking forward to my boxing class tonight.

There have been instances here in Norway where I have realized how much I take for granted back at home. I know that is so cliché and obvious and there really is no way for me to clearly explain it to you. One example would be when I was walking home the other day, it had just been snowing consecutively for multiple days and was now sleeting. Due to the sleet some of the snow on the ground was getting slushy and forming large puddles (more like bodies of water) on the path where I walk. As I trudged through the ponds my feet were soaking wet and freezing cold. Not just wet like ‘oh my toes are damp’, wet like when I got home I wrung out my socks and dumped water out of my boots. But surprisingly as I was walking home I was just humming and looking around at the forests and buildings around me. I was content to be walking home with sopping feet. This made me realize that if I ever had to walk anywhere at home I would probably have a terrible attitude about it; let alone walking even with slightly drizzled feet. I’m thankful now that I have to walk here, it has taught me to be more appreciative of simple things at home like my vehicle and dry socks and a microwave and don’t even get me started about the laundry situation.

This is totally random but I also just want to throw in that the other morning I had just woken up and was having my morning tea and reading when of course when I am the most relaxed DDDDDDIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGG, the joyous sound of the fire alarm once again. At this point I don’t even look out into the hall to see if anyone is evacuating I already know they’re not. I simply walk over to my big metal door and abruptly push it shut to muffle the false distress siren. They might as well just take the whole fire alarm system out because even if it was a legit fire I don’t think anyone would leave, I mean I certainly wouldn’t, because of how many times it has gone off for no tangible reason. But nevertheless, safety first.