Some thoughts about the film The Burrowers

Apropos Kristen Stewart—her recent film, Snow White and the Huntsman, was not a movie I liked very much and I really don’t understand the hype surrounding it. This film got a wide release and generated big box office; I cannot imagine why. I think all involved did passable jobs, but no more than that. The film is forgettable once you’re out of the theater. Charlize Theron overacted/over-reacted and Kristen Stewart under acted/under-reacted (few to no facial expressions in key scenes and so little to say; it was sometimes painful to watch, especially the final scene. It almost seemed as if she was struggling to get some words out, but they never came). Chris Hemsworth did the best acting job if you ask me, within the limited emotional range of the film. The entire film had a wooden feel to it. One can hope that there will be no sequel. I cannot see how it would be feasible, realistic or even necessary. What more is there to say about this story that hasn’t already been said?

The other night I watched a film on Showtime called The Burrowers, from 2008. This film was apparently never released to the movie public and instead went straight to DVD. I don’t understand the rationale for that move, since I thought it was a much better film than big budget Snow White and the Huntsman. Who makes these decisions? The Burrowers was actually quite a creepy little horror film, albeit a very unusual horror film since it was set in the American Wild West during 1879. It is a bit slow-moving, but the characters are interesting and well-developed, as is the storyline. A family living out on the lonely prairie disappears without a trace, and a posse is formed to try and find them/rescue them from the Native American Indians whom they are sure have abducted them. How wrong they are. Their discovery that entities other than Indians are stalking them, waiting for them in the dark, is as I said, creepy, because they, like us, find it hard to believe that such monsters could exist out on the plains. But they do. And they are not just any monsters, they are burrowers, creatures that live underground and who have a penchant for tracking and eating humans. But their mode for doing this is quite unique, and I won’t spoil the film by giving this information away, except to say that it is exploited in an effort to kill them off. The creatures, which are CGI creations, are scary enough such that the film works. The Burrowers is a clever film, and while some people on IMDB have complained about the film’s ending, I found it to be realistic, though unsatisfying. All the loose ends are not tied up. The monsters are not completely wiped out. What the film manages to convey very well is a sense of dread; imagine you are out on the prairie at night, sitting around a fire at your campsite. Your vision is limited, the dark envelopes you, you hear noises. Even if there were no monsters, the reality of spending the night out under the open skies, exposed and vulnerable, could be anxiety-inducing for many people. I am one of them. The film never plays for laughs; it takes itself seriously, and that is one of its strengths. Additionally, you get a real feel for what life must have been like in 1879—long periods of isolation, no internet, no phones, little communication, mostly rumors and innuendoes, and the constant threat of attack. I found myself thinking of the X-Files, always a good sign in my book, because some of the X-Files episodes were quite scary. The Burrowers brought to mind the X-Files episode Detour from 1997. Both the film and the TV episode are well-worth watching. 

Life in a fishbowl

Been thinking a bit about the whole celebrity worship thing and the role of the media in magnifying news stories of celebrity happenings. I know it’s all been around for quite a while, but the intensity of the insanity didn’t really distress me until the recent report that Kristen Stewart had cheated on her Twilight and real-life boyfriend Robert Pattinson with Snow White and the Huntsman movie director Rupert Sanders. Ok, so I know the names of all involved. It’s impossible not to know that information these days. Everywhere you turn, there was the same story. The story ‘broke’ in the media in a manner reserved for invasions of countries by aggressors and the start of world wars. All hell broke loose. You would have thought someone famous had died—a statesman, the pope, a president. God only knows. I didn’t watch the major TV news channels that day but I shudder to think of the news coverage of this trite infidelity story. Of course we all know it didn’t deserve this amount of news coverage, but heck, infidelity sells newspapers, magazines, and gets people to watch the TV news. It gets fans to spread the story on Facebook, on Twitter, and all other social media avenues available. I couldn’t believe how fans took the news. You would have thought Bella and Edward from Twilight were real people with a real life. But alas, they are not. Fans should try to understand the difference--Kristen is not Bella, Robert is not Edward. Fans may want them to be, but they are not. Their movie marriage was not real; they were not married to each other in real life. Rupert Sanders is a married man with children. It just points out yet again that the celebrities worshipped by society are just regular people who blunder along and fail like the rest of us, but who do so in a fishbowl unlike anything we could possibly imagine. There has always been celebrity worship (think about Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton and their affair during the filming of Cleopatra), but the coverage was more restricted at that time. It’s another world now. It’s all been written about before, analyzed to death, and talked about ad nauseum—that the celebrity hounding and worship have got to stop, but they continue. They continue because the profit motive remains the goal. But as a society, we have shifted off balance, toward a world that cannot sate itself; there will never be enough news that’s fit to print about any celebrity or film star. The fixation on dissecting celebrities and film stars into minute atoms and to report the results of these dissections—that will continue to snowball. I sense desperation now where before there was just excessive curiosity. What is the natural end of desperation?

Changing the way we work

So many people I know or have met recently no longer work the traditional 9am to 5pm workday schedule in a formal workplace. And they seem perfectly happy about this. It struck me more on this trip to New York; that this trend seems to have become a major societal change during the past few years--one for the better, if you ask me. A good number of people I know in both the USA and Europe are working for private companies, but are doing so from the comfort of their own homes. Many of them have home offices. Others work from home one or two days a week. All of them arrange their workday according to what is suitable. Some of them work in the mornings, take the afternoons free, and then work late into the evenings. Whatever the arrangement, I like the flexibility involved, as well as the trust factor. Companies must trust that their employees are going to deliver the goods—that employees will be effective and productive workers when they are working at home. It can be difficult—to get structured enough so that you use your home time productively. When I was starting out in the work world, I liked the more rigid structure and discipline of a formal workplace; now I welcome the flexibility of my home office days. I don’t need a formal workplace to make me a productive employee. I can do what I need to do as a scientist (working in the public sector) from home for the most part (except for the occasional lab experiments that require bench time)—read and write articles, review grants, write grants, and design experiments. I have changed, and I am glad for the change. I feel more creative when I work from home; I am not as distracted by what is going on around me as I often am when I go to my workplace. It’s easy to get lost in idle conversation with co-workers, and as enjoyable as that social contact can be, you suddenly realize that a large chunk of time has been lost from the workday. That doesn’t happen at home; even though I am in close contact with my co-workers should they need me. They only contact me, or I them, when it’s absolutely necessary, and then it’s usually to ask or answer a specific question. Sometimes we can do this via email; other times we need to talk. However it transpires, it works, and it works well. Some of my more productive years during the past decade have been years when I worked a lot from home. I think it has to do with a ‘pared-down’ existence—no gossip, no office politics, no superfluous meetings, less time wasting. It amazes me how much time can be wasted in a workplace.  In any case, I’m glad to see that private companies have recognized the need for flexibility in the way their employees work. By allowing for home offices or home office days, they are changing the face of work and the definition of the workplace, and they are welcome changes. The future of the work world is being created through these changes.

New York moments

Each year I return to Oslo after my annual trip to New York with so many impressions and memories of what I have experienced and seen. I guess because I am now a tourist in my home state, that each New York moment has become dear to me, no matter how small, mostly because I am together with good friends or with family when I experience them. I capture a lot of those moments in photos, as I am wont to do whenever I travel. I have already written one post about wandering around SoHo and lower Manhattan with Gisele, stopping in at small bakeries and cafes, shopping at Tierra, and photographing graffiti. Other moments included dinner with Debby and Eric on Long Island, lunch with Bernadette in Manhattan, visiting my brother Ray and his family, and spending time with Edith--my elderly woman friend who used to work together with me in my first Manhattan job. Photographically speaking, a major moment was photographing a large spider web (and correspondingly large spider) outside the kitchen window of my friend Jean’s house. On one of the evenings I was there, we stood watching the web and the spider’s activity for quite a while. This spider has built a web a short distance away from a wasp’s nest; nature doesn’t ignore golden opportunities. This spider was definitely big enough to tackle a wasp in its web.

Spider and its web

Closer view of spider

I also attended the Peekskill Celebration at the Riverfront Green Park on Saturday August 4^th (http://www.peekskillcelebration.com/) together with Jean and Maria; there was some great live music—one of the R&B bands particularly stood out—New York Uproar (http://newyorkuproar.com/home/). Lots of great old songs from my growing-up years from the likes of Average White Band, Blood Sweat & Tears, Chicago, Ides of March, and many others. You can find the complete song list on the New York Uproar website. The height of this evening had to be the fantastic fireworks that went on for nearly half an hour, sponsored by Entergy (see my short film of some of the fireworks here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-wXGNf02vs). I’m including the information from the website about this event:    

      

The Entergy Fireworks Extravaganza is the largest fireworks display north of the Macy's annual Fourth of July display and is one of the signature activities that make Celebration unique in the Hudson Valley. The pyrotechnic display is synced with music provided by WHUD 100.7 Radio. Whether from land or on water, the fireworks are an amazing sight to behold.

And then on Sunday evening, Jean, her sister Barbara, Maria and I ended up at the beautiful Boscobel Hudson River estate in Garrison (http://www.boscobel.org/) for the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival (http://hvshakespeare.org/), which has been an annual event for us for at least the past five years or so. This year Romeo and Juliet was on the menu—a modernized version of this tragedy—and it was very good. Much of the first act was played for laughs, which was unusual but not at all irritating. But I would guess that Shakespearean purists might find some bones to pick with this production. Nonetheless, it has a lot going for it, especially with the younger lead actors and actresses, who bring their youthful enthusiasm to their roles. It wasn’t hard to remember, when watching them, how absolutely overwhelming, giddy and confusing it was to really and truly fall deeply in love. You never forget those moments even though they get buried in the stuff of daily life, but watching this version of Shakespeare’s play really brought them back, a testament to the fine acting jobs.

View of the Hudson River from the Boscobel estate in Garrison

Tent where the Shakespeare plays take place

I always enjoy my time in New York visiting friends and family. Friends have commented on my packed schedule when I’m there, and the fact that I travel quite a bit around from one place to another, but it doesn’t feel rushed or stressful. I feel free, and that’s a great feeling. It’s summer, the sun is shining, the warm weather beckons, I’m on vacation, and life is easy. I found time to walk from Tarrytown to Irvington to meet my good friend Laura for lunch, and marveled at the beauty of these two adjoining river towns. I know I was privileged to grow up in Tarrytown, along the beautiful Hudson River. I talked about this with my friend Stef on my recent visit with her and her husband John. (Stef also grew up in Tarrytown but now lives in New Jersey, as I did for four years in the 1980s). It’s not something you understand as a child; mostly you just want to get away from small-town life when you are a young adult, and it wouldn’t have mattered how beautiful any aspect of that life really was then. You need to get out and see the world. I am speaking for myself, but I know of others who felt the same way as I did when they were younger. Stef picked me up at the New Brunswick train station in New Jersey, and drove me to where I used to live, an apartment complex in Somerset; it was interesting to see how much has changed since I moved from there. What was once open farmland that stretched for miles along Route 27, has been built up with shopping centers and housing complexes. I hardly recognized the area. However, my apartment complex looked the same, if a bit older and in need of a few renovations, but what I noticed most were the numbers of trees that had grown up around it. Lovely tall trees, providing shade in the summer’s heat. That’s the kind of progress I like, because it contributes to the creation of beauty. 

Somerset New Jersey apartment complex

The promise of summer

I could just as well have entitled this post ’a taste of summer’. Either way, you’ll understand what I mean about fleeting glimpses of summer—those tantalizing warm sunny days that lead you to believe that real summer is right around the corner. But somehow real summer never materializes. That has been the summer experience in Oslo this year. Perhaps it is more correct to say that summer (as most of us define it—sunny and warm days) came and went in May, which had some wonderfully warm summer-like days (in fact, I wrote a post at that time called The Smells of Summer: http://paulamdeangelis.blogspot.no/2012/05/smells-of-summer.html). May was followed by two months of gray skies and rain. Temperatures have hovered around sixty degrees Fahrenheit since then. Summer has been struggling futilely to return. And then, it happened. Today is a real summer day. Yesterday was also a real summer day. Tomorrow is predicted to be a real summer day. I’ll believe it when I see it. I trust nothing and no one, not the clear night sky of tonight, not the balmy night temperature, not the golden moon, not weather reporters, and least of all the newspapers that are constantly telling us that ‘summer is finally here’. No, it’s not (well maybe it will be for the rest of August—hope springs eternal. I’m not a pessimist). Real summer is what I just experienced for ten glorious days in New York. So hot (temperatures hovering around 90 degrees Fahrenheit) that it feels like the heat is rising up from the street pavements, so hot that you have to throw off the bed sheets at night, even though the ceiling fan is on (can’t run the air-conditioners 24/7—the electric bills would be out of sight). So hot that my friend’s terrace is too hot to walk on in my bare feet. So hot that you think about running through the sprinkler that is watering the plants that need the water more than we do. But I am not complaining. My friends complained about the heat. The New York media reported and complained about the heat. Not me. I savored every chance I got to soak in the sun’s warmth and the summer’s heat and humidity. I walked when others drove their air-conditioned cars, although I enjoyed the a/c too, don’t misunderstand me. I had my water bottle with me on my walks and sipped it when I got thirsty. I rested when I got tired. That’s what the heat forces you to do—slow down. You can do everything you normally do, just at a slower pace. And really, what’s wrong with that? I took the train into Manhattan from Irvington, and sat on the platform benches waiting for the train, breathing in the smell of the wooden platform and the tracks. I see what I never saw before, because now I am a tourist in my home state, and I get to appreciate what I took for granted before when I was younger and lived there. I never get over how beautiful New York State is during the summer months. It doesn’t matter if I am upstate (in Tarrytown, Cortlandt Manor, Albany, or Pine Bush) or in New York City. New York is a beautiful state; it has the Hudson River, the lovely Hudson River towns and estates that I have written about many times, lakes, lush green parks and forests, and abundant farmland. It also has the Catskill and Adirondack mountains; I have not spent much time hiking in them, but it’s on my bucket list. Once you get outside of the city, you come into contact with a myriad of insects—mosquitoes, spiders, flies, crickets, and cicadas. You hear the latter two in the evenings, especially. Do I get bitten by mosquitoes? Yes I do, and the bites are irritating enough so that I ended up buying Benadryl to alleviate the itching. Ticks have become a real problem in semi-rural and rural areas; I actually know several people who have had Lyme’s disease—hikers, golfers, and fishermen.

Back in Oslo. I hope for some continuous weeks of summer from now on. Why? So that the feeling of anxiety disappears, that nagging, slightly frantic feeling of wanting to pack a summer’s worth of experiences into one or two warm days, as though we have gotten a reprieve from prison and have to make the most of it. That feeling that you cannot waste a single warm day, because a real summer day wasted is a summer day gone forever. It has felt like that for some of us this summer. You make the best of it, you don’t complain, you live one day at a time, and you hope for better weather. But many Norwegians decided early on to abandon their country for warmer lands—and did so in droves. The charter trip companies made out like bandits this summer. Financially-struggling countries in southern Europe found themselves invaded by northern Europeans seeking sun and warmth. So it’s not just me who misses real summers. And I can remember real summers here in Oslo during the 1990s when I first moved here; the shift toward cooler, shorter and rainier summers has occurred during the past five to seven years. If this is what global warming is doing to our planet--changing weather patterns to this degree--then I can only wonder about what future summers will bring.   

New York city graffiti (street art in New York)

When I was in New York recently, I spent a day wandering around lower Manhattan with my good friend Gisele. I just had to take some photos of the interesting graffiti we saw. I'm always amazed at the talented graffiti artists out there, in whatever city I happen to be visiting. Hope you enjoy these photos. I'll post some others soon.

Planes, trains, not automobiles

Last week I was a New Yorker again, at least for a few days, on my annual trip back to the USA. I end up with so many impressions and reflections about modes of transportation—starting with flying. Ironic that just about the same time that flying has become fairly comfortable, that weather extremes are forcing long delays at airports, preventing us from getting on those planes and taking off on time. That was my experience this time; a four-hour delay leaving Oslo for Newark, and a one-hour delay on the return trip. In both cases, weather was the culprit—thunderstorms and tornadoes (in New York) the night before I was to fly to Newark, and thunderstorms on the return trip. The plane used for the Newark to Oslo trip was the same as the one for the Oslo-Newark trip, hence the delay. I could not help but wonder why SAS managed to get a plane out on time whereas United did not, but no one is giving me the answer, except to say something about the crew and the legal requirements for them to rest. It makes sense in any case, and United was quick to respond to potential customer dissatisfaction by offering us a number of ‘rewards’ for our patience—7000 extra bonus miles, substantial discounts on future trip purchases, and the like. I chose the extra bonus miles. Once I got on the plane, I had no complaints about the actual flights, either going or coming back. It is my impression that the future will only hold more of these types of extreme weather situations, so it’s just to get used to flight delays and to work on becoming more patient. Because really, there is nothing one can do about them anyway, and I don’t want airlines to risk flying through thunderstorms, lightning or hurricanes in order to maintain punctuality at the expense of safety. I ended up exploring the duty-free shops and bookstores in great detail as I had the time to do so. I ate a decent lunch (courtesy of United) and thought briefly about the film The Terminal with Tom Hanks—about an immigrant who ended up living in an airport terminal after he arrived in the USA. I never saw the film, but I remember some of the reviews when it came out some years ago. I wonder how business travelers manage; they must have to leave a day early in order to be sure that they make an important meeting if that meeting is overseas (Europe or America). That has got to elevate the cost of business travel—to pay for an employee’s extra night in a hotel when he or she arrives at his destination a day before in order to dodge potential flight delays. I don’t have those problems, thankfully, since my trips are not usually for business. I don’t mind flying for the most part; the planes are so modern now. Turbulence is not as bothersome as it used to be (at least what I’ve experienced so far and I hope it remains that way), and air quality on the plane has improved dramatically just within the past five years or so. That’s a big change on long flights—less dehydration and lightheadedness; the major problem still remains the leg room (lack of) in economy class. That has not improved; as far as I can determine, it’s gotten worse as airlines try to pack in more passengers per flight.

Once in New York City, it is easy to get around without a car, in fact it is preferable not to drive a car in Manhattan, even though it is not difficult to find your way around in this city borough. The major problem is traffic—lots of it, at all times during the day. The traffic is heart-attack inducing, and not for impatient or aggressive souls. There is no rhyme or reason to the amount of traffic, just that it exists. I remember my commuting days in the 1980s; sometimes it took an hour just to get across town if I drove in from New Jersey to my east-side uptown job. So I don’t drive now when I come back to the city. I take the subway—which has really gotten much better since the 1980s—clean stations, the presence of police on subway trains and platforms, passengers who behave well (no rowdiness as far as I can see) and a remarkably cheap price for a subway ticket. Two dollars and twenty-five cents for one ride; compared to Oslo prices, that’s a dream price. A one-way bus/subway ticket in Oslo will cost at least double that. And if I want to get to Westchester from Manhattan, which I often do, the best way to do that is to take the Metro-North Hudson line commuter trains. I used to take the Hudson line back and forth to Manhattan from Tarrytown, just like my father did for many years during his work lifetime, and as far as I can remember, this service has always been good to excellent. Trains are on time, ticket prices are not exorbitant, and you get to experience the scenic part of the trip when the tracks run parallel to the beautiful Hudson River. Of course I am partial to trains in general, so I am a bit biased. But I had the experience of taking a commuter train from Manhattan to New Jersey on this trip, and the service did not compare to that on Metro-North; it was ok at best. And of course coming into the beautiful end station on the Hudson line--Grand Central--is quite ok with me. Overall, getting around in the New York metropolitan area is not problematic, nor should it be, with good planning. It won’t break your budget either. 

Summer movie viewing

Some really good (old and newer) movies that I have seen recently, in no particular order:

·         Mon Oncle (1958) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0050706/

·         Elementarteilchen (The Elementary Particles--2006) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0430051/

·         Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0335119/

·         Midnight Cowboy (1969) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0064665/

·         The Skeleton Key (2005) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0397101/

·         Two Weeks in Another Town (1962) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0056625/

·         Bloedbroeders (2008) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1071201/

·         Harrys döttrar (2005) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0456972/

·         Puss in Boots (2011) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0448694/

·         Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1515091/

·         Prometheus (2012) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1446714/

A good book--Bad Science by Ben Goldacre

If I could recommend one good book this summer, Bad Science by Ben Goldacre would be it. I know the book has been around for several years, but I am just finally getting around to reading it. I am thoroughly enjoying it, not only as a scientist interested in how the public understands science, but also as a member of that public. As I read the book, I try to put myself in the shoes of non-scientists, to determine if they can really understand what Ben Goldacre is saying. I believe they can—he is that good a writer—never dull or dry, rather smart and humorous, but deadly serious concerning what he writes about. I find myself thinking—yes, it’s good to be skeptical and questioning, it’s correct to want to see good statistics in newspaper articles, something to which he devotes an entire chapter (Bad Stats). It’s correct to want the media to be accountable for their reporting of medical and scientific issues. I know that it’s ok to be all these things, because as a scientist, I both write and review articles (peer review) for scientific journals. Part of learning to become a scientist involves learning to be critical, objective, unemotional, and tough when reviewing articles for your peers as well as when writing your own. You learn to welcome constructive criticism from co-authors and journal editors alike. You learn to swallow your pride and put aside your ego often, to edit your own article in ways that you never thought possible, and to suggest that other scientists do the same when it is your turn to be a reviewer.

I think Bad Science should be required reading for high school and college students, so important is its message. And it might get fledgling scientists to really take a look at what is demanded of them for the future in terms of the quality of the research they will perform, and why it is important for them to adhere to a few basic ground rules. Because Ben Goldacre has no patience for quacks or sloppy science, and he is not afraid to say so. Here are just a few of the chapter titles in Bad Science: The Placebo Effect; The Nonsense du Jour; How the Media Promote the Public Misunderstanding of Science; Why Clever People Believe Stupid Things; and The Media’s MMR Hoax. He is merciless when it comes to holding the media accountable for what they write about medicine and science, and he is right. They should be held accountable, from journalists all the way up to editors. But as I said, he is also humorous, in that especially British sort of way. His description of the media frenzy surrounding Tony and Cherie Blair’s failure to comment as to whether they had vaccinated their infant son Leo, and their foray into the world of homeopathy and New Age, is priceless. Ditto his description of how the scientific community dealt with the anti-vaccine campaign of a few years ago; here is an example from his chapter about the MMR (measles/mumps/rubella triple vaccine) hoax—“Emotive anecdotes from distressed parents were pitted against old duffers in corduroy, with no media training, talking about scientific data”. If nothing else, you get a good mental picture of stodgy old scientists who were totally clueless as to how they should counter the arguments against vaccinating children. Hence his campaign for the public understanding of science; it involves prodding scientists to explain their work clearly and concisely to the public as much as it does prodding the public to make a real effort to learn to understand how science is done. Ben Goldacre also writes a column for the British newspaper The Guardian, and otherwise a website that he updates regularly:  http://www.badscience.net/, both of them well-worth checking out. 

Summer cottage at Nesoddtangen

We are currently vacationing for a week at a summer cottage on Nesoddtangen (the tip of the Nesodden peninsula). We have rented this particular cottage many times during the past twenty years that I have lived in Norway. The cottage was willed to the cancer hospital where my husband works, like several others available for summer rentals, by patients who felt that they had received good treatment there. At present, there are at least six (perhaps more) such cottages available for rental; through my hospital the number is about the same. Some are cottages in the mountains; others are cottages on the sea. Our cottage, situated on the Oslo fjord, is about a twenty-five minute ferry ride from Oslo. It is far enough away from the city to get the feeling that one is out in the countryside, yet near enough to it via the ferry if there is reason to make the trip. In the ‘old days’ (early 1990s), we would sometimes take the ferry or our own boat into the city, to the Aker Brygge shopping area, to do some necessary grocery shopping, fill up on supplies, eat lunch at one of its many restaurants, or just walk around and window-shop. With our boat we were able to take longer boat trips around the Nesodden peninsula or to Drøbak, a lovely little coastal town about an hour’s boat ride from Nesoddtangen. One year we rented the cabin in September, even though we no longer were on vacation; we lived there for the week and went into work each day by boat. We would make a thermos of coffee for the trip and drink it on the way into Oslo harbor, shivering in the chilly autumn air.

Cottage at Nesoddtangen

The other night, as I sat writing in the cottage’s large living room, I noticed that storm clouds were gathering and the wind was picking up. I could hear it blowing around the cabin. It was only 7pm, but storm clouds filled the sky, threatening rain later on. The weather has been so unstable this summer; torrential rains one day followed by a day with hail and snow (in some areas of Oslo). That was last week. Other days are warm and sunny, like today, a real summer day, when the blue skies seem to go on forever. But as far as the weather goes, one needs to be prepared for all eventualities. After twenty years here, I have learned to take the weather in stride. 

Fireplace at the cottage

The first evening of our arrival at the cabin, it was chilly, so my husband lit a fire in the large red-brick fireplace in the corner of the living room. The fire’s warmth, topped off by a cup of hot chocolate, made everything alright with the world, and it didn’t matter if it was chilly outside in the middle of summer. The following day, the temperatures were warmer, although the sky was still a bluish-gray, dominated by large storm clouds--rain was predicted. During late afternoon, the winds pick up and don’t die down until around 8pm. Sometimes you can hear the wind blowing almost mournfully through the trees during the night, a sound that takes some getting used to, because it is so continual. And this year, unlike previous years, the cottage grounds are literally infested with brown Iberia snails; it’s difficult not to step on them. They have become quite a problem in recent years for the eastern part of Norway.

Brown snail on road

My early memories of being in Norway are bound up in visits to this cottage during the summers, in large festive parties that we managed to throw on meager budgets in the early days, pleasant times with relatives, friends, and their children. We often sat out until late in the evening, talking and laughing. It would be light outside until 11pm. Sometimes there was someone who played guitar, and we sang along. During the day, the children played along the shore, looking for mussels to crack open so that they could be used as bait for crabs. The crabs were always tossed back into the water; too small to eat. I used to love photographing the jellyfish—two kinds-brennmanet (Lion's mane jellyfish, which is a stinging jellyfish with long tentacles) and glassmanet (generally non-stinging). The former look like fried eggs sunny side up; the latter are fragile-looking, glassy in appearance, and quite beautiful with their green and pink hues. I love watching how they move and swim. I don’t see many of them this year, unfortunately. 

Brennmanet or Lion's mane jellyfish

Sometimes at night we would go down to the wharf where our boat was moored and look at the small bioluminescent creatures in the water (phytoplankton). They were like little dots of light flickering in the dark water, which was filled with them. During lazy afternoons we would go berry-picking; there were raspberry bushes in front and off to the side of the cottage (there are still a few) and along the road leading down to the ferry. If we were lucky we found wild strawberry bushes.

Much has changed during the past twenty or so years, in regard to the cottage itself as well as its visitors. When we first used to come here, drinking water had to be drawn up from a well, and drawing it up was hard work. The cottage had no bathroom—no shower or toilet; rather an outhouse that I do not remember fondly. I remember hating outhouses already as a young child; one of our favorite family picnic areas in Pound Ridge, New York had outhouses instead of regular bathrooms-- the outhouses themselves were unpleasant places to enter—dark and filled with flies, and the smell was awful and pervasive. Over the years, the outhouse at the cottage was replaced by what was called an environmental toilet located in a ‘bathroom’ of sorts attached to the house, and this year, to our (happy) surprise, that room has now been converted into a regular bathroom with a full shower, sink and toilet. Most ‘cottages’ now in Norway are quite luxurious (and not really cabins at all)—arrayed with all the trimmings—radiant floor heat, state-of-the-art kitchens and bathrooms, exemplifying the accumulation of personal wealth in this country over the past twenty years. People want convenience and comfort now. When it comes to having a nice bathroom, I am in that group. But otherwise, I am content with the simple trappings of this cottage. Many of the couples with whom we socialized early on are no longer together. Some have new partners and new lives, and are no longer in our circle. Those couples who are still together now vacation in warmer places—where sun and warmth are guaranteed. I can honestly understand their wish for sunshine, warmth, and stable summer weather. Sometimes I miss the old days though. Some relatives are quite elderly now, too frail to make the journey to visit us at the cottage. We make the journey to visit them instead. The children who used to come here are grown up now and will soon be having children of their own. My husband and I are alone at the cottage this week, enjoying our time alone, reading, writing (me), sleeping, shopping for groceries, watching TV in the late evenings, and being generally lazy. Time passes slowly, but it passes and moves us onward. Next week I will be in New York for my annual visit. When I remember back to our time at the cottage, during the wintertime perhaps, I will wonder what it was we did each day at the cottage. But then I look at photos and remember; today my husband picked wildflowers, yesterday we were able to barbecue, today we took a long boat trip, and so on. I look at him, at our life, and wonder how it is that more than twenty years have passed since we first got together, since I first moved to Norway. Time for reflection will do that to you; nostalgia, memories, common sense, acceptance of life, of aging, of watching the next generation take over for ours; all of these things seem more intense to me when I have the time to reflect upon them. It does not make me sad; it’s more that I register my tiny place in the scheme of things, in the universe, and my small contributions to the life around me. I have to say that things feel right with the world when you know where and how you fit into the scheme of things. It’s good to get perspective.

Fjord view from the cottage, with our wooden boat (mid-picture)

Sunset at Nesoddtangen and the docked passenger ferry

Wildflowers that my husband picked

A lovely poem by Walt Whitman

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

A beautiful poem by A.E. Housman

LII.  Far in a western brookland 

(from A Shropshire Lad)

Far in a western brookland

  That bred me long ago

The poplars stand and tremble

  By pools I used to know.

There, in the windless night-time,

  The wanderer, marveling why,

Halts on the bridge to hearken

  How soft the poplars sigh.

He hears: no more remembered

  In fields where I was known,

Here I lie down in London

  And turn to rest alone.

There, by the starlit fences,

  The wanderer halts and hears

My soul that lingers sighing

  About the glimmering weirs.

One year later: impressions and reflections

Oslo is quiet today; there is an unusual stillness. I went for a long bike ride earlier and I could just feel the stillness. As though there is just an implicit understanding that today is a day for stillness and reflection, for remembering and honoring those men and women whose lives were so tragically lost last year in the senseless killings on 7/22.

Last year there was a sea of flowers in front of the Domkirke. There is talk in the newspapers that perhaps this will happen again this year, as people seem to be drawn to the church. It makes sense—that perhaps we seek to be present in places that offer comfort and understanding, and some kind of sense in the midst of all that doesn’t make sense. There will be a memorial concert later on tonight. I am not planning on attending, but many thousands of people are expected to participate. Perhaps I will watch it on TV.

The priest at mass this morning spoke about the importance of taking time in our daily lives to sit in silence and to reflect—to travel into ourselves as he put it—in order to be challenged by the questions that silence and reflection offer us. It makes sense to me. We cannot reflect on the things that happen around us and in our own lives, cannot deal with them adequately, without that solitude and reflection. Many people are afraid of solitude and time for reflection; such a needless fear. We learn to know ourselves that way, and that can only be a good thing.

How sad that only a few days ago, that Colorado experienced yet again a horrific shooting rampage in a movie theater, which killed and injured many people. How is it that this type of weaponry ends up in the hands of those who are hell-bent on destruction? What do gun-shop owners think when a young man comes in with a request for these types of automatic weapons? I’m just wondering. I am tired of hearing the often-repeated expression when these types of tragedies occur, that ‘guns don’t kill people, people kill people’. It’s not true. Guns purchased legally by people who have a hate agenda, do kill people, and the automatic rifles that these murderers use kill many people in a very short time. I have a problem understanding that these types of guns could at all be used to hunt animals. God help the animals, is all I can say. And God help us all if we continue to permit these guns to be sold legally. I know the argument goes that if such gun sales are made illegal, that young men like Anders Behring Breivik and James Holmes will get a hold of them anyway. But you know what, maybe they wouldn’t have--maybe they would have encountered many more obstacles along the way, and maybe the tragedies could have been prevented. I’m just wondering. And hoping for change to the guns laws.

The vagaries of permanent resident status

When I first moved to Norway, I had to apply for a residence permit each year that allowed me to live and work in the country, and that involved having my employer fill out a form outlining my job description, with major emphasis on the fact that I was the only person who could fill that job. My employer had to state and defend that there were few to no Norwegians who could fill that position as well as I could. After three years of this requirement, which meant waiting in long lines each year at the local police station for my passport to be stamped, I was eligible for a permanent residency permit. I had no trouble obtaining that. It meant that I no longer had to wait in long lines each year to renew my residence permit. My American passport reflected my permanent residency status with a sticker called 'bosettingstillatelse', which as far as I remember, gave me permission to work in Norway as well as in Sweden and Denmark. I was extremely happy the day I got my permanent residency status in the early 1990s. 

Recently, the rules changed, and now foreigners are required to have a residence card that they must carry with them when they travel in addition to their passports. Here is what is stated on the Norwegian Directorate of Immigration website:

               

“The residence card is proof that you hold a residence permit in Norway. The card replaces the stickers that were previously affixed to your passport.”

But what I need now is an explanation for why I have to renew my residence permit every two years, as I have done now for the past four or five years, if I have permanent resident status? I have no idea if I still have permanent resident status or if it has changed to non-permanent for some reason. This is what is written on the Norwegian Directorate of Immigration website; I hope it makes more sense to you than it does to me:

               

“How long is the card valid for? In principle, the card is valid for the same period as your permit. If you hold a permanent residence permit, the card will be valid for two years at a time.”

I have to say that I really don’t understand this; my interpretation is that permanent residence means two years’ residence at a time, and in my book, this is tantamount to temporary residence, not permanent. The last time I was at the Foreign Office (a few weeks ago), the man sitting behind the information desk was impatient, rude and generally not helpful. No answers or explanations to be gotten from him. I was just another nuisance, another foreigner that he didn’t feel like dealing with. Whether that was really what he thought, I don’t know—it just felt like that. Just a wave of the hand and a disgusted look to indicate where I should stand to wait my turn to make an appointment to see an officer who could create a residence permit card for me with my photo and fingerprints on it. I told them I needed it before the end of July as I was traveling outside of Norway in August, and I was told I had to bring my airline ticket with me to my appointment in order for me to get the card before I traveled. So many people apparently lie about needing their card immediately, so that I was looked upon as another potential liar. I didn’t have a problem producing the airline ticket, so I got my card today in the mail.

I decided many years ago not to obtain Norwegian citizenship, because it meant that I had to give up my American citizenship, something I would never do. Norway does not allow dual citizenship, whereas the USA does. So if my husband and I moved to the USA, he could keep his Norwegian citizenship as well as become an American citizen if he wanted to. Generous of my country, I have to admit, and that makes me proud of my country. I have no idea why Norway does not allow dual citizenship, but the fact that they do not only serves to strengthen my resolve to keep my American citizenship at all costs. Had Norway allowed dual citizenship, then I might have chosen to become a citizen, but I have never regretted my decision not to become a Norwegian citizen in all the years I have lived here. It would certainly have made my life easier in terms of not having to apply every two years for permission to remain in this country, as is the case now, even though I did get permanent residence status in the early 1990s. I suppose I should look into what it all means and why my status changed (if it did), and I will. In time. Perhaps the next time I have to renew my residence status. I simply want to avoid having to stand in long lines to make appointments to see officers and councilors who will advise me on what forms I need to fill out. I want to avoid sterile offices and paper-pushing--all the trappings of bureaucratic claustrophobia.  

Street performers in Berlin

Enjoyed watching these street performers when we were in Berlin recently. Pretty talented guys who drew quite a crowd. A throwback to my days in New York City and San Francisco, where these types of performances, accompanied by urban music, were not uncommon.