Winter, continued.

Spring is a long way off. At Delsjön, the huge nature preserve area in Eastern Gothenburg, the birches are spindly and brown, and the lakes are frozen enough that we saw people ice skating (well, they looked like they were wearing dwarf-sized skis, so ice skiing?). We spent some time throwing chunks of ice onto the icy lake (ah, the joys of winter) and pondering the sun being 4 inches above the horizon at 11:30am.

Not having grown up with winters, I'm finding it sort of fascinating to go through a "real" winter, even if it is a coastal Swedish one and not a Lapland/Chicago sort of thing. Winter is beautiful and thoughtful and the cold, short days force us to spend lots of time huddled in our living room drinking cocoa, talking and playing the Hokey-Pokey. These are good things.

I have still yet to pull out my Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) light I bought in CA. I'm thinking of it as a last resort measure that might come in handy some time around February 22 if I've really had it with the gray skies and start pondering leaving the family and moving to Dubai.

How I love a strong greenback

When we arrived, the exchange rate was about 6 SEK to the little wimpy (but beloved) dollar. That meant that a small latte cost $5, a haircut was $100 and entrance to the indoor playhouse was $24 for 2 kids. It also meant that my long-suffering husband had to listen to me start every other sentence with "omigod, that's outrageous!!"

Then the economy tanked and the dollar got stronger (go figure) and now the exchange rate is 8 SEK to the dollar. Now 2 SEK may not seem like a lot, but for me it's like everything went on sale by 30% (or is it 25% you math whizzes?) and suddenly the latte is only $3.75 and the haircut is $75 (which is still ridiculous but not as ridiculous) and the playhouse thing is $17 and it's like I might actually pay those prices at home.

Of course since we are earning kronor, our buying power hasn't actually changed -- we still have the same income as we did last summer -- but the mental conversion panic has stopped and I, as a result, am a much calmer and more pleasant person after the big weekly grocery shop.

Lorensbergs

Here's a picture of Trevor and I at the Lorensbergs end-of-year meeting and party in December. Trevor is from Birmingham and is the other English-only consultant at Lorensbergs (who happens to be engaged to one of the founders, Malin). Can you tell I just hate working with him? The man is hilarious in addition to being a great consultant and trainer. Oh, and he can drink about 10 beers and still be coherent. Very impressive.

I struck gold with Lorensbergs. The company is a great fit for me in terms of the kind of work they do (facilitation, communications training, and something called "employeeship") and personality. Trevor and I have spent many hours in the car together shuttling to Lund and back for training courses and we fill the hours quite nicely, thank you. While I'm not working as much as I'd like (now's your chance to send me prosperity vibes), the work I'm doing is interesting and fun. Plus, I'm learning a lot working with Trevor in the classroom and with Malin in terms of the sales process. I had a good meeting with a new client this morning that I think will turn into a nice chunk of work from now until June.

All this makes up for the hassle of setting up my own business in Sweden and wanting to pull my hair out trying to figure out what the tax office (Skatteverket) wants this week (you want a certificate from the IRS saying I've paid my taxes? Uh, sure, no problem, the IRS is all about certificates). Keep in mind the letters that keep popping through our mail slot from the Skatteverket are in Swedish tax lingo, so I understand about half. OK, a third. Probably not the best state to be in when dealing with your company finances.

O Inauguration

Like most of the world I watched Obama's inauguration live on CNN, wishing I was among the frozen masses on the Mall in DC. The inauguration was at 6pm Swedish time and the local Democrats Abroad outfit (If there's a Republicans Abroad group here it's VERY hush-hush) organized a watch-the-inauguration-with-fellow-Americans evening at a place called Stars 'n Bars in Gothenburg.

Like most American-inspired places around the world (and I'm having very bad memories of a place I waitressed in Munich called Ralph's right about now) Stars 'n Bars fails miserably at actually feeling American. Maybe it's the nachos served with cold fake cheese dip and weird garlic aioli and the burgers served with tarragon mayo, or maybe it's the Swedish waitresses. But the vibe is certainly not any America I know, and no amount of stars 'n bars pinned up around the place will fix that. Sorry people. Rant over.

But really, who cares about the surroundings once Obama starts speaking? That man can speak, and the feeling of relief, of hope and of pride was palpable in the room ... until the weird Swedish band called Gumbo started playing Chubby Checker. Here's my friend Deidre getting interviewed by a very sweet Swedish TV reporter about what it's like to be watching the inauguration from Sweden. Since Deidre's main goal in life is to leave Sweden and swears she has learned Swedish "despite herself," she's always good for a quote or two:
In some ways there's a barrier to really enjoying and relishing the moment of this inauguration from 3,000 miles away, surrounded by Swedes who are sympathetic but don't really feel the momentousness of this election. On the other hand, distance plays no role, and this inauguration has reached out and plucked the heartstrings of Americans all over Gothenburg and the world, making us ask ourselves what we're doing HERE when there's so much work to be done THERE.

They're FINALLY here!!!

There are signs all over town announcing that semlor are FINALLY here! Phew, just when you thought you couldn't get through another day without a sweet puffy roll filled with whipped cream and marzipan blob, they arrive. I mean, just, thank heavens!

Apparently, the semla is traditionally eaten on Shrove Tuesday (February 24 this year), which I guess explains the ridiculous amount of cream. If you're going to fast for the next week, you might as well just fill that puppy up with as much life-sustaining butter cream as possible. I think I just understood why Shrove Tuesday is called Fat Tuesday in New Orleans. Aha! But I guess it's too hard to wait until February 24 because people are chowing down all over town.

Thanks for the comments

Since it's a new year I want to thank all of you for visiting this little corner of the blogging universe. I want to especially thank those of you who have left a comment here or there because that's in fact the only way I know you ARE reading (Blogger doesn't give you any way to see how many hits you've gotten). By the way, I am not above pandering to my readers, so if there's something you want to hear more about, let me know and I'll do my best as long as it does not involve surströmming or death metal.

Princesses

I gave in and bought tickets to Disney Princess Classics on Ice. In Swedish. It was playing a block from our house and the tickets were only $12, so I could hardly say no, especially since Ava has turned into a sort of princess groupie, despite the fact she's never seen the Big Three: Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty (I just can't handle the saccharin sweetness in those). Here she is doing her best to imitate a (singing) princess. Note fuzzy princess slippers supplied by grandma for Christmas and fairy wings supplied by Heather: The show was actually pretty cute as were the thousands of little people wearing tiaras and pink dresses and screaming "there's ARIEL!!!" or "there's CINDERELLA, MOM!!!!" (in Swedish) at opportune moments. I was a bit surprised to hear all the famous songs in Swedish (somehow Aladdin singing "en helt ny värld" is just not the same as "a whole new world" but then I suppose he should really be singing in Arabic, so who am I to say?). Here's a bad picture from one of the many scenes where the princesses are coupled up with their princes and dance around the ice to a tune about a) love b) magic c) dreams or d) mice: Unfortunately for Ava, the night before the Disney show I happened to read Lauren Greenberg's heartbreaking book Thin, which follows a number of patients at a live-in clinic for eating disorders in Florida (and is based on a very well-received documentary of the same name). Trust me, this was just bad coincidence. So as I'm watching the ice princesses in their clam-shell bikini tops and midrif baring outfits and watching Ava out of the corner of my eye I'm sweating because I can almost see her synapses making these connections like princess=pretty, princess=thin, therefore pretty=thin. I didn't want to be too paranoid, but after finishing our princess popcorn we pretty much marched home and read "The Paper Bag Princess" and "Princess Smartypants" (highly recommended as Disney princess antidotes) and then talked about how true beauty is within, blah blah blah. I think the whole message REALLY sunk in because at bedtime Ava asked me "Mom, can I have a jewel tiara for my birthday?" Sigh.

No, you can't say "lovely"

Some of you may be familiar with Madonna. Or maybe not. And maybe you know she married a British guy named Guy and soon afterward started spouting Briticisms with a bad British half-accent on TV. For the American public, this was bad news for Madonna because Americans don't like, in fact they really really really don't like, a snob, and anyone trying to sound British is, by definition, a snob.

I sort of feel for Madonna. Perhaps she was trying to be all poncey, but maybe, just maybe, she was just living 24 hours a day with an Englishman surrounded by English serving people (or whatever she has) and the Briticisms just sort of happened. (Not sure about the accent, that seems highly suspect.) This is my defense anyway, for the fact that I've caught myself saying someone was a "git" or the cake was "nice" as in yummy or "I would do, but..." when, in fact, these are not acceptable American English terms and there are many nice American ways of saying these things.

However, there is a limit to what is acceptable if you are an American married to a Brit or living in Britain. And here it is: You may never, under any circumstances, say "cheers" or "ta" instead of "thanks." (My big pet peeve is people who go to England or Australia for 5 minutes and come home saying "cheers" like it just SLIPPED into their vocabulary and they didn't even notice. Oh, you're SO international!) You may also never, ever say "lovely." It may be acceptable to write "lovely" on certain occasions, as in "that would be lovely" or "it would be lovely to see you," but I'm sorry, it never sounds right with an American accent (and worse with a fake English accent) and what's so bad about "that would be nice" anyhow?

For the love of mid-sized cities

I met a woman recently who swears by the mid-sized city. She's an American, from Portland, married to a Swede from the only non-mid-sized city here: Stockholm. Aside from Portland, this woman, let's call her June, lived in San Francisco, Stockholm and now Gothenburg. June argued that big cities were too hard to get around in, people living there were unfriendly, and the big city's large number of cultural offerings made her feel like she was missing something all the time. Mid-sized cities, on the other hand, were friendlier, and just big enough to support a few good restaurants, a museum or two and maybe even an opera or symphony. Plus, you could get from one end to the other without too much trouble.

I was surprised that my first reaction was to agree with her. As a native San Franciscan it's perhaps heresy to do so, but so be it. I love being in a smaller city. Or perhaps I should say that I loved moving to a smaller city. It was so easy to get settled, to get around town, to get a handle on driving around town. Being in the bumping tourist chaos that is Rome regardless of the time of year, I was reminded how nice it is NOT to live in a city that is a tourist destination. Because the city's so small we run into people we know all the time, and everyone knows every cafe so meeting up is a breeze. It's a bit like living in San Francisco if San Francisco were only Noe Valley and Glen Park. Plus City Hall. And the Police Station. You get the idea.

The downside of Gothenburg is that after 8 months there's nothing new to see. Frankly there wasn't a lot of new stuff to see after a week, and in winter in particular there's not a lot to do with the kids except stroll downtown, go for coffee, go to the library or the Universeum (kid's museum) and ... go home again. Merel assures me this is not just the plight of those of us with children, but I'm suspicious. Anyway, the antidote to the absence of haute culture is of course friends. So now that the holidays are over and our friends are back from South Africa, Copenhagen, Texas, Stockholm, Jamaica, Amsterdam, Oslo and wherever else they were, we can do what generations of people living in small towns have done - make our own fun. Maybe we'll do what my mom always suggested when I was bored - play Monopoly.

Ava's view of Rome

A couple of times in Rome when Ava was tired we plopped her in the stroller and gave her the digital camera. Here are some of her shots, including a self-portrait, taken on a stroll through Trastevere. I love that they are way better than anything I took, and I was trying to take good pictures. Just goes to show:

Rome

We must be getting used to being parents because when we planned this trip to Rome our goals were to a) get there and back without having a nervous breakdown b) drink coffee in a beautiful piazza c) eat some pizza and d) if possible, see a few sights. Not particularly lofty, but then that is perhaps the secret of traveling with kids and everybody having a good time. We ended up seeing, drinking and eating a lot more than we expected, and we kept the kids entertained by riding public transportation, providing lots of gelato at opportune moments and taking lots of piazza breaks so they could chase pigeons, spot cats and run around.

Our two best practical tips were to rent an apartment where the kids had their own bedroom and to walk around everywhere with the stroller and the Ergo baby carrier so that we could lift both kids at once if we had to, like if one was sleeping and the other crying because she had to pee. For example. Here's Adrian demonstrating the Ergo on the Spanish Steps:
Our apartment was pretty funky and we were definitely paying for square footage and location over style. It was a mini 2-bedroom self-catering flat right around the corner from the Vatican above the Ottaviano metro stop and was remarkably quiet. Here are Adrian and the kids having a snack (note the death trap chairs - we had many incidents with those things): We loved the grandeur of everything in Rome after being in Sweden, which is generally sedate in its architecture and attitudes. St. Peter's square and the Basilica were astounding. You can't see it in this picture, but there was a huge nativity scene in the square (1 of about 1,237 in Rome during Christmas) that Ava thought was really cool (see below). Both kids also loved the Explora kids museum that has a mini supermarket, kitchen, post office, bank, and recycling center. At $30 for 2 adults and 1 paying kid it's about as pricey as everything else in Rome (except those ridiculously perfect capuccinos), but it was worth it. Adrian and I both loved the Trevi Fountain because it is so ... audacious and unexpected. On the night we were there it had this great, happy party atmosphere. Everyone seemed so pleased to be there, just like we were, taking pictures, blowing bubbles and eating ice cream, despite the 40-degree weather. We didn't make it into a single museum with the kids, and the only reason I'm not feeling guilty about it is because I know Adrian and I will have plenty of trips back to Rome where we can spend quiet hours in contemplation of Raphael's sculptures. And I'll bet on those trips we'll miss chasing pigeons with the kids on the Piazza del Popolo and watching Julian toddle down the alleys of Trastevere in his fleece cap yelling "car! car!" or "dog-u! dog-u!" every 2 seconds.