Fall has come to Sweden and following my last post, I thought some of you may want to know more about this country that provides free lunch to all school children…

I love fall.  Not for the pumpkin spice latte’s…I don’t drink coffee 😉

Fall is my favorite season because temperatures start to cool, but you still get to enjoy the beautiful sunny days. Cold, but sunny. There is also a certain stark beauty in trees that have shed their leaves. After months of green bounty, seeing them stripped to their base refreshes my senses.

Göteborg in the fall reminds me a lot of the Pacific Northwest (PNW), where I grew up. In the morning, it is crisp and cold. My breath billows out in front of me and I bundle up in a shirt, sweater, coat, and hat. By afternoon, the sun is high in the sky and a shirt and and coat suffice. It’s still crisp and cold, but not numbingly cold. Back home, there tends to be a bit more rain, a little less wind, and the temperatures aren’t quite as chilling this early in the season. Checking the 5 day forecast this week in Seattle, I saw lows in the 50’s (Fahrenheit) and highs in the 60’s. There were also several days with rain showers. Göteborg’s lows were in the mid 30’s with high’s in the mid 50’s.

Needless to say, morning and afternoon require different wardrobes. The sun rose high in the sky each day this week, fooling some new arrivals into thinking it was much warmer. My husband included…apparently he thought 30 degrees was good sandal weather. His frozen feet proved him wrong.

I’m not the only one who loves this weather. My little guy is also quite content. Usually he fights to not wear a jacket or sweater, but he is happily layering up and heading out each day. His time outside is a bit more comfortable without all the sweat. Clothing here for children is also a different from that of PNW children in October. Rather than a pair of pants, long sleeved shirt, and a warm jacket; he wears multiple layers. Generally, on top he wears a long sleeved shirt, fleece jacket, and warm puffy jacket. On bottom, he has on one layer of wool and one layer of cotton. He also has on wool socks. As the weather chills further, I will add a second layer of wool, and a fully insulated snowsuit. On the playground at his school, they ensure all the children are wearing rugged waterproof overalls to maximize heat retention. Remember, children in Sweden don’t just spend a half hour here and there outside. They spend at least half of the day outside during their younger years.

His only complaint is that he misses all the water features in Göteborg (splash pads and kiddie play features) that have been shut off. We had actually wondered about this, but now that the weather hits near freezing temperatures each night, it makes perfect sense.
Rather than splash about town, we are finding pine cones, crunching up brown leaves, and climbing trees. A pine cone collection is even amassing in the house, in preparation for an at home cinnamon pine cone project (like the ones you find Stateside in the grocery stores).

My goal is to recreate a few of the experiences I savor each year, here in Sweden. Hot apple cider is a must, as are pumpkin donuts and all things sweet potato. Since the customs here are not quite the same (Swedes love coffee and rather than donuts love cinnamon rolls), creativity is necessary.

Living in Göteborg in the fall is not quite the same as living in the PNW. Despite needing to improvise to enjoy longstanding traditions, I’m happy. Living in a society where having a healthy, happy family is the focus means this is one fall I will always remember.

Gothenburg, Sweden (by Petri Olderhvit)

Until next time…

Have you ever had one of those moments when you really, really want to say something to someone, but can’t because you are either stunned at their audacity or just too tired/sick/miserable to deal with them? I had one of those today.

While riding on an S-train in Copenhagen, Denmark (brilliant trains, large cars) with my toddler son, husband, and mother in a wheelchair, I was soundly told off. We ended up in the bicycle car to ensure space for the wheel chair. Unfortunately, the empty seats were at the opposite end of the car from the spot with space for the wheelchair. While my husband stayed next to mom and the chair, my toddler and I ended up a bit further down. Soon, a couple with bikes and a preteen child boarded. There were quite a few empty seats and bicycle slots on our end, so I didn’t think anything of it—until they made sure it was all I would think of for the rest of the day.

Those of you who read my last post know that I am suffering through a rough pregnancy. Thanks to the miracle of modern medicine, I am finally able to get out and about again, hence the travel. That said, it’s not always fun. Today I was nauseous and bloated and sweating profusely. It was rough. Then, that delightful family boarded and the oh so helpful Danish woman felt the need to tell my nauseous self that my son and I were not welcome in that car because we didn’t have a bike (though she made this assumption based on the fact that I was speaking English with my son). Being pregnant and tired, I decided to just acquiesce because I didn’t feel like fighting. Being sick and miserable, I decided to be a bit passive aggressive. Instead of arguing with her, I hollered across the car to my husband “Hey, is it possible to push down that seat next to mom’s wheelchair? Apparently this car is only for people with bicycles.” That’s right. Hollered. The woman looked visibly embarrassed when she realized we were with a person in a wheelchair — as she should. Unfortunately for her, she did not look embarrassed for my ill self. After we were settled into a new seat with my son on my lap (no extra seats on this end) and he was giving me pretend presents, I asked him (loudly) whether he had any presents for the baby in mamas belly. At this point the woman’s face was no longer visible; she was hiding behind a partition. I could still see her husband’s face and when he heard the words “baby in mama’s belly” and realized his wife forced a pregnant woman with a toddler and a wheelchair bound passenger out of her seat, he cringed. Deservedly.

Is there a moral to this story or did I just need to vent? Probably the right answer is a little of both. Try your best to not make assumptions about people. As a family member of someone in a wheelchair, I had every right to sit in that seat. As a pregnant woman with a toddler, there was no reason for me to be told to move while on a moving tram. This family assumed I was using designated space without a right and that I was fully able-bodied. It’s an assumption many people make. My disabled grandmother always reminded me that not all disabilities are visible and we shouldn’t make judgements about peoples’ health. Her disability was hidden on her ankle, under a pair of pants. She was tall and strong, but walking more than 50 meters was excruciatingly painful. One would never know it by just looking.

If you ever find yourself tempted to correct a stranger in public, please keep in mind that it is impossible to know every circumstance taking place in the lives of others. Even if that person you see or talk to appears physically well, you just can’t know. Save yourself and the other person potential embarrassment and discomfort and think twice before speaking up.

Lastly, only jerks make people with children move seats when there are plenty of seats available. Don’t be a jerk.

Until next time…

Many ideas for blogs have been swimming in my head this past week, but none resonated enough for me to put fingers to keyboard. This morning that changed. In an effort to be more productive, I set off to the grocery store at 8am—thinking this would put me ahead for the day and I would be home with plenty of time to get my laundry switched over. Those of you who read this blog know the importance of laundry day. The weather was glorious — cool and damp following an overnight rain. Approaching the store, I finished up a Voxer message to a friend back home. I had no expectation of human companionship and was focused entirely on getting in and out of the store with no extra purchases (I tend to dawdle).

My plan changed almost immediately. After I grabbed the first item on my list (a carton of rice milk) from a shelf near the entry, a woman flagged me down from the bread aisle for assistance. Some of you may find this odd, but as a former courtesy clerk (aka: grocery bagger), it happens to me quite frequently. I just have one of those faces. As I approached, I explained “Jag pratar engelska. Jag pratar inte svenska.” In my broken svenska, that means, “I speak english, I do not speak svenska.” FYI, Google Translate tells me I should have said “Jag talar engelska , jag talar inte svenska”.  Despite this warning and her inability to speak English, she was not deterred. Using hand gestures, rudimentary svenska, and Google, I was able to piece together the fact that she needed to know the price of the bread she was holding. Thankfully, the tag had just been shoved off to the side a bit. I suspect she also forgot her reading glasses…

Next, she explained to me (once again, in our cobbled together communication) that she needed to know if the bread was halal. I’m not overly familiar with halal guidelines and just in case it involved more than pork, I double checked the internet. A quick review left me equally confused. After using my translation app to explain to her that there were no pork byproducts in the bread and also no halal labeling, I explained it was probably “bra” or good. She placed the bread in her basket and we both started to go our separate ways. Or so I thought…

Just when I was about to get goal oriented again, she grasped my sleeve and directed me to the dairy aisle. This too has happened to me before. I just go with it. She explained that she needed lactose free milk (laktosfri in svenska). Isn’t it amazing how much you can understand without speaking the same language? A few more words were exchanged, she expressed her thanks, and we parted. Little did she know, I too am thankful. Living in a foreign country can feel very isolating. The language barrier causes confusion and slows down relationships that might otherwise rapidly flourish. Having an early morning conversation of sorts with a friendly woman helped me feel more a part of the community. It reminded me that no matter how small the contribution, I could improve a stranger’s day. I recently explained to my son that strangers are just people we haven’t met yet and that most of them are good people. Today reaffirmed my commitment to that statement. This woman and I may never talk again. We speak different languages, have different religious beliefs, and have no way of purposely reconnecting. Nonetheless, she’s no longer a stranger. She’s now a reminder to me of the fact that we are all connected and in some ways, all family who need to look out for each other.

If you ever feel alone, isolated, or unable to connect, remember this story. Language and beliefs do not have to be a barrier.  Even strangers often care enough to help if we just give them a chance.

Until next time…

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Growing up, I did not pay attention to the meaning of May Day. Mainly, it was just my Grandma’s birthday. I knew flowers were involved and had heard about a May Pole (whatever that is…). Sadly, this trend continued my entire life. Part of this ignorance is my own fault and part is due to the fact that it never really interfered with my life. I’m sure there were events and parades and what have you, but I was completely oblivious to them.

This past weekend, May Day smacked me in the face.  After a long walk through Slottskogan in new shoes (a blog for another day), my feet ached.  I was desperate to hop on a tram, get home, and change shoes.  Altogether, I expected a walk of about one kilometer.  As we passed tram stop after tram stop that were closed to traffic, I realized  that wasn’t one bit realistic.  After about two kilometers, just ahead, we heard drumming.  Loud drumming!  Then shouts and chanting.  Finally, at Järntorget, we saw a huge crowd gathered.  Signs were waving about as drummers beat on drums and people shouted through a megaphone.  Oh no!  Was this another closed stop?  Thankfully, no.  It was open, but only one half was functioning.  As we passed through, I saw the signs and realized this was a May Day demonstration.  Suddenly, I found myself very curious about this day and the fervor of the people gathered.

Thanks to the power of the internet, I now know at least a little more.  I found this site very useful.  Reading it reminded me of the information I learned in my AP Civics class about the abominable working conditions in the 19th century and also reminded me of the struggles our forefathers and mothers suffered to unionize.  I’ve always worked within the confines of a labor union.  I won’t say there aren’t arguments against them, but I truly believe that without them, we would rapidly degenerate into a society that once again treats people as disposable goods. Checks and balances are needed to ensure employers do not ignore the need for at least some balance in workers’ lives.  As the linked article states, “Workers had seen first-hand that Capitalism benefited only their bosses, trading workers’ lives for profit.”

I remember at my first job, in addition to the state labor laws that ensured 8 hours off between shifts and minors leaving work by 10pm, the Union bylaws ensured medical and dental insurance and protections for employees against unfair termination. The same was true in my former career, though because it was a federal position, the rules were even more strict.

Enough about me though, according to the article, the first May Day was celebrated on May 1, 1886 when more than 300,000 workers in 13,000 businesses across the United States walked off their jobs.  Did you read that correctly?  That’s right, just 120 years ago in the United States, May Day came into being.  This is our legacy. The United States declared independence on July 4, 1776.  There are houses in Sweden older than our country.  Yet somehow, even though we were a young country, we banded together to do something great.  Despite that, during my formative years, it really didn’t have much of an impact.  I found this article by Paul Hogarth, that supports my own recollection and helped me to accept that I wasn’t imagining it.  Mr. Hogarth explains:

“In 1894, after the Pullman Strike (which also happened in Chicago), President Grover Cleveland made Labor Day — the first Monday in September — a national holiday. Labor Day was chosen to intentionally co-opt May Day, because they feared commemorating the Haymarket Riot would build support for communism and other radical causes. In 1958 during the McCarthy Era, President Dwight Eisenhower took it even further by signing a law making May 1st Loyalty Day. And in the 1980s, President Ronald Reagan enacted May 1st as “Law Day.””

Things may be different in the States than they were when I left just over two years ago.  I read today that there were riots and violence in many places on May Day, so it is being recognized to some extent.  However, that type of behavior is unacceptable to me.  Growing up, it would have made me scared of the day and discouraged me from participating.  The demonstration here in Göteborg that I witnessed was completely peaceful.  Children and adults of all ages, able bodied and disabled, all participated.  They had no reason to fear their fellow demonstrators.  

It’s true, as a Socialist country, Swedish citizens feel strongly about equality and fairness for workers. They also wholeheartedly recognize this important day. Yes, the celebrations which preceded the modern day May Day did involve May Poles and flower garlands, but the spirit of that first workers’ rights demonstration is so much more impactful for modern citizens than a Pagan holiday (no offense friendly Pagan and Wiccan readers, I still love you).

Not all battles require a military and not all wars occur in distant lands.

Despite my sore and blistered feet that were too swollen to squeeze into my usual shoes the next day, I’m very thankful for that demonstration. It reminded me of the good that came from my country and the importance of never forgetting the lives sacrificed to ensure my freedom. Not all battles require a military and not all wars occur in distant lands. It is the responsibility of the people to ensure equitable treatment. Hopefully this blog will travel to some other soul who really didn’t understand the importance of May 1st. If that person takes the time to read the links and then looks deeper, that’s even better.

Thank you for reading. Don’t forget, fair treatment of workers is not just a Socialist concept. It’s a basic human right.

Until next time…

I suspect sometimes this blog comes off as a bright and cheery optimists view of all things Sweden. While I am thrilled with many facets of our move, there are also stark realities that I find irritating, sad, and just plain frustrating. One of those realities has reared up and smacked me on the head not once, but twice in the past two months. Here it is, for your reading pleasure.

Most of my life I have worked and worked diligently. I began babysitting for neighbors in very short stints from elementary school (I can’t help it, I’m responsible). In high school, as soon as I was able, I began working at a grocery store, while also going to school and participating in community service. The same held true for college, though the jobs changed. After college, I immediately began temp jobs while attending interviews for permanent employment. Thankfully, one month after graduation, I began work with the Federal Government. While my job wasn’t always a cheerful one, it was meaningful. The relationships I built during those years keep me going even today. Leaving my career was something I embraced on principle, but mentally and emotionally it was HARD.

As a zealous advocate for improving credit, prior to becoming a stay at home mom, I did extensive research about credit and how it would be affected by this choice. Thankfully, I discovered that US laws had been changed to be more accommodating to stay at home spouses. In fact, at the time of my research, I read that the working spouse’s credit could be used by the stay at home spouse when applying for cars, credit cards, etc… Thank goodness! Knowing that my decision wouldn’t put me at a financial disadvantage (credit wise anyway) made me feel a lot better.

Fast forward 3 years. We’ve moved countries twice and I’ve continued to stay with our son. Childcare was exorbitant in England, and my past experience with the government made me more suited to working in London with a long commute than it did in our town in Surrey. My husband initially set up our utilities and such when I was busy with our son; which did cause me problems when I would call them to try to make changes, but I didn’t worry too much about it (perhaps I should have…).

Strike 1

Now let’s move to present day. This move, the only utility we need is internet; everything else is provided. The wonderful management in the apartment building we are currently at helped me contact the internet company and set everything up. Then, there was a hiccup. They sent not one, but two routers! Oh man… What to do? Well, the office called them for me and found out that they would not talk to me about this issue. Apparently they would only speak to my husband. Since I do not have a job, they only had his name on the account and wanted to speak to him directly. It took two months to get this resolved because while I have more free time to contact them, that’s not a choice. Apparently being married doesn’t equate to the right to request a label to return a router.

Strike 2

The second happened just recently. Upon receipt of our personal numbers, the hubs and I were super excited to establish a proper bank account. Our awesome relocation expert took us to the bank and got everything rolling. The banker then explained that we were eligible for credit cards. Wait, did I say “we”? That’s not what she said. She said my husband was eligible. We explained that we both need cards and she asked him if he was okay with me having a card. She looked perturbed. Not just the usual stoic Swede—perturbed. He was stunned. I was peeved (don’t worry, I held it in). After he explained that yes, of course he wanted that, she finally took action to submit the request. All night I alternated between angry and sad. Angry that the work I do is considered so unappreciated and sad that society sees my contribution as so insignificant.

Strike 3

That leads me to the latest incident. After two months of using top up codes from the local convenience stores to access cell phone service, I decided to commit to a monthly phone plan. I enlisted a Swedish friend who helped me pick a good provider and then called them to discuss. The young man helping me was wonderful. Unfortunately, and much to his embarrassment, my lack of a job makes me ineligible to establish my own cell service. Even though my husband and I have a joint bank account, I am still unable to establish my own service. Hubby can grant me access to a phone on his plan, but I will not have the ability to contact the company on my own. Once again, despite having more availability to arrange things, I will be prevented from taking action.

Many of you may not be able to relate to this story, but those of you who left employment for one reason or another will likely understand. Once upon a time, I based most of my self worth on my job performance. It took a long time for me to move past that and to see other ways in which I contribute to society. I’m still figuring out ways to do that and get paid. I feel that these roadblocks don’t fit with this society entrenched in the idea of equality and the inherent value of each and every person. It makes sense to me that a bank or any corporation would be leery of giving a credit card or monthly service to someone without access to money. It does not make sense to me that someone with access to funds and who is married to the person earning the funds is not eligible to open accounts as a primary (even with a co-signer) or make calls to handle things with customer service.

It is likely that a situation like mine was previously unheard of in Sweden. The benefits provided to working Swedes who have children ensure they can stay home at least a year to care for them while still receiving a paycheck. As a result, most Swedes would never come across this situation. Since we had our child in another country and I was not working here prior to his birth, I am not eligible for those benefits and I agree with that. I just wish there was a system in place whereby I could still build credit even without a job. If anyone out there knows if there is, let me know 😃

Not out of the game yet

My husband always tells me I’m a natural born tester. If something can go wrong with any program or product, it will become a problem for me. I guess this is just one of those situations. Hopefully as Sweden evolves to handle the influx of immigrants that recently arrived, solutions will be found. If not, I will have to accelerate those Svenska lessons to help find gainful employment, because having no credit on a long term basis is just not something my mama would accept 😉

Don’t worry Sweden, I still love you, now I just understand you a bit better. To all of you out there in the same boat, hang in there. This too shall pass.

Until next time…

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