Ceci n'est pas un blog

Our new neighborhood is, for those of you that know Austin, most analogous to Clarksville. An old worker neighborhood later invaded by Bohemians and slowly gentrified but still with a quirky air and rising house prices. Kampen means Struggle and probably dates to the early part of the 20th century when it was well known as the Communist part of town.

And so this post takes its spirit from that name.

I, clearly, struggle to post here regularly.

We all are struggling not to be brought down by the sniffly cold that's going around. It has effectively prevented us from celebrating S's good news (employment here at Opera).

H is particularly struggling with Barnahage (something between day care and kindergarten). Tears and screaming "I don't want to go to school. I don't want to see Dag and my friends." Just anticipating it sent her into over an hour of anxiety crying on the weekend ... and yet, once there draws and paints and plays and rides the bikes around and is a good kid. We think we've sussed out the source of the anxiety and she seems, today, a bit reassured.

I am struggling to get enough sleep. Walking the dogs and getting H off to barnahage means waking up a fair amount earlier than I used to but I'm not really going to sleep any sooner.

The hedgehogs are struggling to avoid our dogs. The parks are full of the little spiky critters and Tosca and Seamus are obsessed with them. It takes all my strength to hold them back from the slow moving and very cute little animals waddling about in the wet grass.

And right now, I'm struggling to get wrap this up so we can serve dinner before H falls asleep. With no nap and active days, she doesn't need a bed time, she's falling asleep even before we can go to bed and read stories most days.

Today in the park I was walking the dogs through the still remaining snow. Patches are turning to icy slush as temperatures hover just above freezing.

An old woman called out to me. She was dressed in a thick wool skirt, long poncho down to her shins and woolen cap. Nothing remotely fitted or tailored or, more typical for a Norwegian, looking like it came from a sporting goods store.

I went over and the dogs were happy to receive pets. She was the first Norwegian to correctly identify Seamus as a Pyrenean.

Then she told me that her poncho was made most from dog fur, spun with wool.

Here is the Rorschach test. My first thought was to wonder whether her magic loom was used for good or whether she was eyeing our fluffy monsters for their fur which when used would give her some influence over them, like the use of hair and nails in Voodoun. The option that she's merely an excentric old lady who spins yarn from puppy fur out of boredom and a love of dogs, didn't occur to me until later. It was just so obvious that anyone who spins that much dog yarn must be a fairy tale villain or at least a good witch.

Snow
H loves the snow. She stops every few feet to throw herself down or make snowballs to throw at me. She makes snow angels and then tramples them trying to get up and see what she has made.

We went shopping the day the snow came in sideways. We tried to push the stroller through the rising drifts and keep the wind and wet sticky snow out of our eyes. It was beautiful but difficult. We had tea and watched it snowing, coming down in lateral gusts, laying down a bright quiet blanket.

The next day was like a festival in the park. Children with every sort of sledding device imaginable gathered along all the high paths to come screaming down to their chatting parents. It was on this day that I met the New Yorker with the Newfoundland named Kelvin, one of a small handful of dogs larger than ours. When Tosca and Seamus wrestled, Kelvin would let out a thunderous bark clearly trying to say, "guys, don't play so rough, knoock it off".

The dogs love snow. A lot. They leap and bound and eat it and wrestle and generally exhibit more energy than at any other time. Tosca in particular can go into an atavistic celebration of her inner wolf, leaping upon her larger companion and rolling Seamus into a snow bank.

On one post-snow day there were at least 9 strollers or prams in from of a nearby bakery cafe. Our neighborhood is full of children and dogs. The kids in our building made snow forts almost a meter high somplete with flags for their back yard snow ball fights. The concrete futball pitch down the block has been cleared of snow and flooded to make an ice rink for people who don't need rails and have their own skates.

Fram
We went to see the Fram. This is the ship used by the polar explorer Nansen in his attempt on the North Pole and then later borrowed by Amundsen for his Antarctic expedition. Nansen is one of those superheroic men whose survival abilities and knowledge and drive are so far beyond anyone you will ever meet that they seem to be a different species. Knowing they could not break through te ice, Nansen designed the ship specifically to survive getting stuck in the ice and then planned to let the natural drift carry them close enough to the pole that they could ski in. It was quite fasinating but it definitely helps to have done a bit of homework before going.

We also went to the maritime museum next door. My wife has a bit of a fetish for shipping disasters. It was mostly a dingy building filled with aging models of freighters, the carpets threadbare and it's organization not entirely clear. They had a pleasant film showing footage from the lemgth of the Norwegian country side on a wrap around screen but even this felt a tad dated and designed more by the tourism board than a maritime curator.

The Fram and many other museums are out on Bygdøy, a rural/suburban peninsula connected to Oslo right near downtown. There are large open fields, horses, many many many museums, residential neighborhoods with a village feel, and some unspoiled forest just a few bus stops from city center. Our trip was affected by the absolute pouring rain that caught us on our way back (this was before the winter wonderland weather arrived.

Being Social
We aren't always very good at being social. But the wee miss H needs other kids and so I got involved in the office Jultrefest planning. This is a sort of post Christmas party that culminates in singing songs around the tree and calling for Santa who shows up (looking remarkably like the CEO wearing a white beard) to deliver small gifts. We had a good time and met a bunch of other parents at the office and H chased around a little girl named Ruby.

Since then, S and H have been in touch with Ruby and her mom and been to åpen barnehage (like a drop-in pre-K where a parent stays the whole time) for a play date. Ruby's mother, being an American emigre, has also been super helpful with advice. She's a former Montessori teacher who has done a metric tonne of research into all the various child care / education options.

Work
Interesting turn at work, my team and responsibilities more than doubled this week. At the moment, I think I will really like having the visibility into these additional projects and locations (a couple of the folks are based in the Linköping office in Sweden). It happened very quickly; perhaps 4 work days between "here's a possibility" and "it's a done deal".

Devon
Yay. Our books and art and few small pieces of furniture have arrived in Norway. Still at the docks, they should be delivered on Monday. We did have a bit of a scare though when we turned on the news and saw footage of a cargo ship listing heavily, containers being spilled into the sea. Containers exactly like the one holding our stuff and not unrealistically far. We spent 5 concerned minutes confirming that this particular ship was not on any route tat could affect us. However, a woman in Stockholm who is relocating to South Africa saw looters on the Devon coast "salvaging" her belongings from a container that had washed ashore.

Blog
Sorry for the long break between posts. It happens that way sometimes.

The dogs have arrived in Norway.

I rented a ginormous van to collect them. Seamus is 135 pounds (61.23 kilos) and his crate is four feet tall, it had to be modified since the biggest commercially available crate wasn't big enough to provide the required head clearance. Tosca is a comparitively dainty 73 pounds (33.11 kilos) and has a smaller but still large crate. So I needed something big and Rent-a-Wreck had just the thing. Big enough to fit the two crates side by side.

Oh and it was my first time to drive in Oslo.

Fortunately I was able to recruit a navigator, interlocutor, and lifter of heavy things. Karla looked quite fashionable in boots, turtle neck sweater, and belted rain coat despite having promised to wear vans and a bandana and do her best Fast Times impersonation.

And so we drove uneventfully out to Lufthansa Cargo at Gardemoen airport. The dogs flight was late and then they have to visit the vet and then come to cargo and then we can take them. 40 minutes later I ask someone who runs to the back for what seems like a long time and upon returning says that, yes, the dogs have arrived and would I pay this large fee and then go over to customs in another building down the block.

OK, I knew there was a fee and I had some cash and several credit cards on me. But they won't take foreign plastic (at an international shipping counter, that seems naïve) and I haven't brought enough cash, naturally there's no minibank for miles. Karla swooped in and saved the day, making up the difference.

Trotting over to customs we worry that they might have some sort of tariff based on weight and breed or something. Customs has a huge deserted lobby, very modern and clean and sort of lonely for the clerks who wait for the courier in a hurry or the dog owner who can't speak their language. That would be me.

"Did you just buy these dogs?" "Do you live in Norway? and do you plan to stay here for a while?" "Just what kind of dogs are these?" "How long have you had them?" Each of these followed by running to the back to consult and then asking the next question and going to the back. It was like a buying a car. But then, this: "Oh, I see they were allowed into Germany on the way here. Ok, then." STAMP STAMP SIGN "You can have your dogs now. Go back to the Cargo Building."

Cargo Lady sends us "to the back" which turns out to be a Tartus like doorway into a much bigger space. Speed-demon fork-lift drivers whisk items from place to place in a madcap whirlwind of zipping this way and that. Some with huge pallets full of boxes. Some with one tiny little parcel. As they approach each doorway they reach out and tug a rope hanging from the ceiling to open the door - they do not slow down. We see no one to talk to - just little forklifts heading this way and that. Zip zip zip. But a door is found and a man takes my papers and tells us to go back to the front, the dogs will be brought out.

I maneuver the behemoth of a van over to the cargo bay doors (every geek loves to be able to use those words). Soon a little forklift whizzes into view carrying a giant crate with a giant dog inside. Seamus has a big goofy grin on and seems to like this part of the trip. Tosca arrives a minute later looking quite skeptical about the whole thing.

After letting them stretch their legs for a bit we decide not to disassemble the crates here but to transport them whole and with dogs inside. Everything goes flawlessly thanks to Karla saving me from the toll booth we encounter after I've given all my money to the document processing cargo people.

The apartment is a 4th floor walk up. In the middle of each flight Seamus has a panic attach and tries to turn around and go down. Tosca on the other hand is charging up stairs like little Timmy is in trouble and needs her help. Somewhere in all of this Karla bangs her knee and the 13 year old from across the landing is shocked and awed by the great fluffy beasts moving in next door. She and her friend can't stop the giggles.

We ditch the crates in the courtyard. Every building in Norway has a courtyard. By this point it has been about 3.5 hours since we went out to get the puppies and we're starving. One Pad Thai later and I've got to get Karla to a train station, refuel the diesel beast, and get it returned by 5:00. And it's rush hour. And Raining. And very dark (sunset is at 3:12). But we manage and it goes well until I realize that I've left my jacket and umbrella in the apartment and don't have cash for the bus.

But all's well that ends well and after a wet slog home the dogs got their walk in the park and I got the crates disassembled and stored away. They are needy but otherwise fine and really enjoyed their walk even though the rain meant muddy paws and bellies, for which I had prepared with super cheap towells from Max.

Today was the fluffy vanguard, portents of family to come. My wife and daughter arrive almost exactly a week away. It will be nice to all be in one country again. I mean Skype is great and all but it just ain't the same as being there.