A Roll in the Universe

Something interesting has crystalized so far in 2016: A clear desire to change citizenship. I start by applying for Norwegian citizenship, and hope they'll let me keep my US one until I decide what to do about it. The background for this are FATCA and FBAR. FATCA (Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act) cracks down on expats who haven't been filing taxes, starting in 2010 (the IRS wasn't too particular about chasing Americans around the world before then). FBAR (Report of Foreign Bank and Financial Accounts) is a requirement made of US citizens to report all their savings in foreign finance institutions to crack down on hidden assets (like in the Panama papers ). The US is the only nation, besides Eritrea, that taxes based on citizenship, not based on whether you actually had any income in or from the US. For someone who happened to be born on US soil to foreign parents and hasn't worked in the US ever, this must be at best baffling, at worst, a nightmare. It's b...

Wordless Wednesday

Looking north by northwest at 11:18 pm. We don't have midnight sun at 60 degrees north. We have midnight twilight. The pink blush moves from northwest to north to northeast. I love this time of year!

A struggling friend reminded me of a situation I was in the autumn after my dear grandma died. Re-reading that gave me a surprise: I'd forgotten how down I was then. I remember crying during the meeting with my bosses, but I don't remember taking sick days and waking up angry every day. But yes, it all ended up well, better than expected, and yesterday, as I told a potential boss about my strengths and weaknesses during a job interview, I could honestly say I didn't lose my cool with customers or co-workers any more. "I have no reason to be angry at work," I said. Sweet. Today, I woke up feeling pretty good, and I mused on the messages in the book I am currently re-reading (here is a description of my first read ), and my praying to the Holy Spirit yesterday, and that the interview went swimmingly—personality test and all—and it hit me: I didn't second-guess myself after it was over. I usually find some fault with how I interact with people after the fa...

The norm for Bergen, Norway (at the end of the Gulf stream at 60N23, 5E20) is not a white Christmas, but a rainy one. Thank goodness for all the pretty lights! Happy holidays to all of you! GOD JUL!

Creature comforts. Usually I find mine in warm, fuzzy blankets, or clean, soft bath towels, or a well-made meal, or the corner of my sofa, or a warm muffler on a drafty day. This time I found it in a pair of shoes I never meant to pack, let alone wear. I have a friend in California who is basically my exact opposite: The yang to my yin. She has all the get-up-and-go I don't have, the creativity, the fearlessness, the curiosity, the desire to constantly be doing . Always taking an extra step and seeing a different view than the rest of us, always making sure she uses all five of her senses. And I, I am no match for her. I am a whole head shorter, and a whole heart wussier. I'm happy walking pavements. And yet, we get along. We talk, we share, we love each other. Now she was less than 400 miles away, in the Norwegian town her mother was from, just a plane ride away. We sat in the sun talking and got hot, so we decided to hike to a nearby lake. I got into my hiking pants, stu...

Interests keep changing. Or rather, focus does. I obviously still enjoy taking photographs, because I kept my camera busy during my vacation. But even photography requires inspiration—and weather that won't ruin a camera. And so I let Wordless Wednesdays slide. I stopped forcing myself and let my blog rest, too. The nice thing about long days on the autobahns of Germany, is that it is very relaxing. Nothing to do but watch one field after another blur by, sometimes spotting a bird or a cow or a house. But sometimes even that loses its charm and I ducked into my Kindle, finishing three books during my trip. But that—plus discussions about blog resuscitation with my good friend Alice —has given me inspiration. I know now where I want to take this blog next, and I even have ideas for a visual make-over. I don't think blogs are dying. They are too useful to do that. Blogs may no longer lead the pack in social networking on the internet, but they definitely supplement it ...

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

The funny thing about being foreign is that I don't talk about being foreign. Norwegian TV came to my place of work and interviewed some of our non-Norwegian employees during lunch. They managed to find one of the noisier places in our cafeteria to do so, but also a pretty visible one. (We assume it's NRK and the show " Migrapolis ", which is about foreign nationals living in Norway.) One of my co-workers grinned at me and said I should be interviewed, too. I responded with a quick "nope, too assimilated". But then I offered the real reason: I never talk about life in Norway as a foreigner. I have read how other foreigners feel about living here, I've sometimes talked to them about it, and it's never good. I don't watch "Migrapolis" because the foreigners arriving now seem to be taken better care of than when I first came here. Norwegians now are more curious about foreigners and therefore friendlier towards them; I'd rather n...

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

He gingerly makes his way slowly down the footpath on two crutches. He is on his way to the mall, the center that is the hub of my part of town, where we shop and socialize. He looks to be around 70, and seems spry in spite of the slow two-crutched walk. He is tall and skinny. He walks to the mall every day around 5 pm. I walk home from it, often at that time, and so I pass him. Sometimes just as I come out of the mall, sometimes as I near my apartment. We walk the same path, so we meet. I don't know him, but I've noticed that he's grown a mustache over the summer. I've noticed that we keep meeting, just the two of us. And because I think he looks nice, and he obviously lives in my neighborhood, and we keep meeting like this, I feel it is time we start saying hello as we pass. I try a careful smile, one Leonardo da Vinci could paint, well aware that women should not be smiling at male strangers. His blue eyes meet mine, but he doesn't smile back. Rather, he ...

There were only two things planned today: My haircut and taking some pictures of a Bergen still enjoying summer. OK, a vague third plan: Getting off the bus one stop after the usual one. That last was due to the surprise I gave myself going to the Paul Simon concert last month: The bus stop closest to the concert arena was no longer in use. I had to get off around the next corner and walk back along the fortress walls. That evening I saw bluebells growing right out of those walls, and today I was going to try to get a picture. As the bus approached my chosen stop, I discovered that a cruise ship had docked and dozens of people were walking towards the town center. I walked in the back gate to the fortress grounds so I could set my own pace since I had a hair appointment. No bluebells growing out of these walls, but I did see another woman with a camera strapped to her wrist: The "meter maid" photographing possible violators. So I waved my camera at her and exchanged a g...

10 days in a bus can still teach one a thing or two. Like how asphalt will tent in extreme heat, blocking the whole autobahn. Or how upsetting Norwegians find dealing with older German tourists who speak fondly of their time in Norway back in the 40's (I'm sure some US GI's have made the same faux pas when visiting Europe). Or that whatever may be going on financially, the Germans and Austrians still manage to keep the sides of their roads manicured. Or that words like "cup" and "large" don't translate at all. It's "large cup" in English, "grosse Tasse" (more or less) in German and "stor kopp" in Norwegian. My German was terribly rusty, but I did manage to use it. And I discovered that German-speakers have something in common with the French: They love that you try to use their language. So, this year's summer vacation was a bit early for me, and it feels like I didn't actually have a vacation. Still, I...

Wordless Wednesday & World Heritage Site

Sailing out from Copenhagen, on the ferry bound for Oslo, we pass by a long line of wind turbines standing tall out in the water. As "green" as I am, I have never liked the looks of the modern three-bladed wind turbine. There is something about them that bothers me. When I watch them turn, I find that there is no evenness to their rotation; visually, it looks to me like three Barbie doll legs, one "falling" down after another. (I have rarely seen these things moving so fast you can't make out the individual blades.) Apparently, these turbines are not as environmentally friendly as we are led to believe. In the county of Rogaland in Norway, one array is noise polluting a nearby neighborhood. I have read that the maximum three blades on modern turbines is chosen because it makes a minimum of noise. Still, anything that big, rotating in the wind, will make some sound. Another array was put in a white-tailed eagle breeding area two counties north of where I l...

There is something about a blank sheet of paper and a comfortable ink pen, and putting those two together. There is also something about having spent years preferring the speed and ease of touch typing and so ruining what legibility my handwriting used to have. Girls seem to go through stages of testing our longhand more so than boys do. During puberty we try on dotting our i's with hearts or circles or inventing a new way to make the loops on our g's and y's, the same way we try on new shades of eye shadow or doing our hair. Some of the experiments become habit, while others are short-lived fads. My lettering changed to a predominantly Norwegian style since it is simpler than the US style —even though the Norwegian lower-case "t" had me baffled at first. In school, we regularly practiced stringing letters legibly together with a fountain pen—the kind that uses cartridges; I still have my stainless steel one for sentimental reasons. The bump formed on my midd...