Feeling like a fish in a fishbowl

So today in International Relations we were debating World Poverty, and our obligations as moral citizens on what we have to do about it. We were looking at two arguments, and one of them argued that we should give as much time and money as we can give, and keep on giving, until we come to a moral consequence that is of equal or greater value to the moral consequence of world hunger. Aka: give until it adversely affects your life.

This argument is oversimplified, but for the purposes of this post it works.

Anyway, we started talking about moral obligation, and somehow we got into Slavery and reparations. The funny thing is, we have one black guy (we're all from the US, by the way) and he was against Slavery reparations, yet there were several whites who were for it. And well, the discussion got heated, with one of the people saying "What, are you calling me a slave driver?" *Blinks* To be fair, he stopped after he said it he stopped and said, "That came out totally wrong." And the whole class laughed.

But the whole time our teacher just watched us, and he had a slightly quizzical expression on his face, as if he didn't quite "get" us Americans (he's Swedish). Now this happens more often than I'm always comfortable with. There are times I swear he just sets us up for these discussions just so he can see how those "crazy ignorant Americans" act. Now, I'm sure that isn't entirely true, but it felt that way.

In other news, both of my papers are in. Now I must begin Studying for my Swedish test coming up soon, and back to working on my proposal.

A breath of fresh (Swedish!) Country air

So I got my essay in on Friday, and then took the rest of the day to work on Project Michael, which I am glad to report is almost done. It just needs to be sent off tomorrow… perhaps the day after when I have a bit more time.

This weekend we took at train out of Stockholm to go to a suburb (well really more a suburb of a suburb) where some of Anita’s family friends live. They had invited us to come to their house to celebrate Anita’s friends’ birthday and to help bring in the last of the harvest- carrots and some white tuber that is strangely sweet and I have no clue what the name of it is.

The house is very beautiful. Raymond, the father, is a politician for the Green Party, and a fascinating man to talk to. His wife (whose name escapes me now) is very nice to talk to also.

I’ve been having a lot of fun. Raymond being part of the green party, the house is very environment-friendly, and being Swedes, they manage to mix efficiency with a sparse beauty. The house is all clean lines and soothing colors and wood, and the countryside around it is very beautiful. Yesterday we went for a walk, guided by Nangini, and she introduced us to all her neighbor’s horses and showed us around the area. The forests here are different from the ones back home. The ones back home has lots of leafy trees, but here most of the trees are different types of pine. Lichen, moss and little shrubs abound on the rocky surface. There’s a very different feel to the forest, and it’s much more open. It was so peaceful walking in the chilly air- 6 degrees Celsius, with our breath puffing into clouds and Nangini trying to teach me Swedish words- the names of trees, colors, clothing, and body parts.

So after our walk and dinner (12 around a small table- Raymond’s children, Charlene’s children, a neighbor and then the five of us) we went and had a Sauna. I’m finding that the more I do the Sauna (this is now my fourth) the easier and easier it gets to wander around naked with people of all ages. It’s one of those cultural things which I’m coming to love about Swedes- how comfortable people are with their bodies. It’s not a thing to be ashamed about, it just IS. And it really isn’t sexual either. If there’s one thing I’m happy I’m bringing home with me, it’s that acceptance.

After the Sauna I was just… boneless. Relaxed for the first time in the last week. We deiced to play some party games, Gabe's 'Tarzan,' and some swedish variations on some camp games I've played before. It was a time just filled with laughter, and during that time I got to know Raymond's two older children better- one of them my age and one just a bit younger. The boy, who's my age, makes his living playing online poker, and makes about as much as his father does right now. (Kind of intimidated me a little, here I am spending on this money on an education, while this guy gets good at probability and makes heaps of money). Both of them were really nice, and Anton (the poker player) was really good about speaking in English so I could understand. A boon, because by that time of the day I had been surrounded by people speaking Swedish and me not understanding a word because they talk so fast, and I was feeling just a little left out. Not sad or angry, but I was getting a little bored, not being able to follow the conversation. But the games were pretty universal, and so I had fun with that. Still, I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open, and when Anton and the neighbor decided to leave (because they both live nearby) I took that as an excuse to go to bed.

So, I went to bed shortly afterward, and slept from around nine pm to three am. I woke to go to the bathroom, and when I came back to my bed I found I had a visitor- one of the VERY affectionate cats that lives at their house. Well how could I kick the cat out? He was purring and well, the white noise was actually quite welcome. So I had a “stuffed animal” with me the rest of the night.

Today we spent in the garden. Charlene and Raymond have quite a sizable garden, and they invited to have our help in bringing in the harvest. I got assigned to the carrots (amazing fun!)- pulling them out, sorting them into big and small, and pulling off the green tops. And eating all the really small ones, or the funny looking ones. Then, it was time to go in for lunch and pumpkin soup (made entirely from the garden) and apple crisp for desert.

But the best thing about the weekend? No computer or cell phone on. I did some reading for my classes (and I’m going to be working my butt off the rest of tonight), but I’m really glad I went and had fun.

Some really neat stuff

Yesterday I went to go see Magnus, my host family father, sing. It was really neat because the choir sang in an art gallery, and I loved the pictures one of the featured artists had up on the wall. They were these bright scenes that invoked the universe, and out of the painting came these sculptures of big cats- lions, panthers and the like. Some of them hug out of the picture frame, some of them batted at a "planet." They were bright and happy and quite lovely. I really really lusted after one of them, and I played out a brief fantasy in my mind where I was a rich woman who could buy one of them. It was good that I had this quite entertaining fantasy to engage me, because after Magnus's group sang, another group of people came onstage (stage being a loose term here, seeing as they were singing in what could be termed a "found space")

Now don't get me wrong. I enjoy opera in the right setting. But they explained the plot line in Swedish (which I didn't follow) and the actual opera was in Italian (which I only caught one word of, which was Amore). And I still might have enjoyed it, except they were singing in an opera voice, when the space was quite small (you really didn't need to project) and I was in the front row and got blasted. Also, one of the men was sweating profusely, and when he turned his head too quickly, drops of sweat would come off of his hair.

So instead I daydreamed that I was someone who could accidentally make statues come to life if I let my emotions get out of my control, and thought about how it would be if the tigers and leopards and panthers could step out of the paintings, keeping the bright colors of the paintings on their bodies, so their bodies were made up of celestial bodies. I imagined how the opera singers would react and the big cats jumped out of the frames and leisurely stretched, digging their nails into the hardwood floor and leaving pale scares in their wake. One of them would knock over the wine bottle left over from the perception, and then would start lapping the red stain off the floor, looking like it was lapping up the blood of a recent kill. And the man with the big booming base voice would shriek like a little schoolgirl, and the noise would break the rest of the people from their paralysis, as they fled from the gallery into the rain.

And there I/the character (because by the end of the thing we've become two separate entities in my mind, with me sitting in the back of her mind like a full out sensory movie) and she would look at the cats, and would go to pet one, and wet paint would come away on her hand as the more time the cats spent outside the paintings the more real they became. And she would say, quite distinctly in German (and I don't know quite why other than German sounds more threatening than Swedish yet still near enough to English to not be quite so exotic) several choice curse words.

Hey, it got me through the singing.

In other news, I took my normal workout time today and instead of going to the gym decided to walk around the city a bit. (I consoled myself with the knowlege that I will have time to do a bigger workout tomorrow and also the fact that it's getting darker each day and it was beautiful out and the sun was shining). I went to Slussen, and from there made my way around a part of Gamla Stan (I think). I went to a really high point in the city, and got a great view of the area. And then I found this really great spiral staircase on the side of a building, and went up on that, even though I probably shouldn't have went up there since I think it was a fire escape.

But it was so much fun, my heart was beating because of the height and the view, and the sun was warm even if the air was cool, and the sounds of the city were curiously distant. And in a moment of clarity I understood why the Swedish have so much green space. These pockets of solitude keep them sane. Their like butterflies were you least expect them, you turn a corner and there's a bit of green, just enough for you to sit, take a look at the view, and find your balance. It doesn't have to be on the scale of Grand Central Park. I can just be a bit of green, a small jewel set in the concrete and stone ring. A promise and a highlight.

Mixing Cultures... and Pancakes

So the apartment was empty last night when I came home- the boys were off celebrating their father's birthday, Anita is on a weekend spiritual retreat, and Magnus was helping with his friends put the sailboat up on land. I actually got quite a bit of work done last night- I decided to go home early and just sat and read and wrote and worked. It was nice 'cause I could blast music out of my computer without worrying about bothering anyone. Just very chill. AND I even went to bed at a decent time!!!

Today it was just Magnus and I in the apartment, and I was kind of worried because of all the people in the family, sometimes I feel a bit of disconnect with Magnus. The funny thing is, I think it's because of his height. I just haven't ever really gotten to know someone that well that was that tall, and it unnerves me to look up to him while I'm talking all the time.

But today was nice. He had grading to do, and I had reading, so we shared the living room and both worked. Then Magnus went out for a run, I took a shower, and then when he came back he suggested that we make pancakes and try out the Maple Syrup that my mom had brought as a gift when she came to see the family. I was all for it. I've been eying the bottle all week, really wanting to have some but thinking it would be bad manners to be the first to sample. Maple syrup and I are good friends, and along with apples they are the two foods I probably miss most when I'm at college. The Maple Syrup you can buy at Davidson just doesn't taste the same.

But this was real, Massachusetts boiled and made MAPLE SYRUP. (which, I will admit, even tastes better than the Maple Syrup you can buy in NY) So Magnus is like, why don't you make the pankake batter while I go take a shower (because he's just come in from his run). And I'm like, "Sure." Because I sure as heck wasn't going to be like, "There's a reason I haven't offered to cook for you guys thus far, and it isn't because I don't want to, it's because I have no clue how to bake anything using the metric system and I feel too silly trying to because I still haven't figured out where everything is in your kitchen, even if I do snoop through your cupboards when nobody's home and try to read the spices on your cabinet even though EVERYTHING IS IN SWEDISH AND I CAN'T UNDERSTAND ANY OF IT."

But some of the panic must have shown in my face, because Magnus pauses and is like, "Ah, but you wouldn't know how to use the metric system. Here, let me get a recipe out." And, THANK GOD, he not only gets out the recipe out, but even gets out the measuring cups I need, because everything is done in deci-liters, yet depending on the recipe they still use teaspoons and tablespoons (or also the metric system), yet the teaspoons and tablespoons use the Swedish version of abbreviation instead of the American.

And then he leaves me.

Well, there was one tense moment where there were these strange lumps in the batter, and another moment where I was like, did I add three or four cup- I mean deciliters yet, and another moment where I was like, surely the batter is too thin, this looks nothing like the batter my mom makes for pancakes and I added just a tad more flour, but overall they seemed to turn out well. Swedish pancakes, I've found out, are very flat (almost like crepes), less cake-y and more just... solid. They also, in my opinion are a bit more bland. When you eat them you roll them up, and then cut them, or at least that is what Magnus did.

I've decided that I'm going to be brave, get my mom's buttermilk pancake recipe, convert it to metrics, and make them blueberry or raspberry or chocolate chip pancakes, because apparently Magnus and the rest have never had that type.

But the good news is, the Maple Syrup was GREAT on them (even though they didn't seep into the pancakes like they do with American ones)- but then there's no wrong way to eat Maple Syrup, I don't think. Unless you try to do it through your nose. Or some other extreme thing.

And the other good thing is, Magnus and I had some bonding time. We talked about mannerisms and I told him some of my funny stories about when I first came to Davidson and had a crash course in Southern Manners (or how to be on the receiving side of Southern Manners). We talked about how different cultures have different ways of speaking and subtle unspoken communication differences.

It was fun.

Tonight I'm meeting up with a friend I made at dancing, and we're going to go have a fika (a Swedish meeting to have coffee or some other hot beverage, though most normally coffee), and then I'll probably come home, get some more work done, and go to bed. But for now I need to head out.

Until later!

The Swedish Propensity to wear Scarves

At the risk of generalizing too much (which if your really think about it, is a large part of this blog, because really, I'm drawing conclusions about the Swedish Culture from my very limited experiences) I would like to point out a quirk I have noticed on the subway.

Now let me just note here that I love the Stockholm Subway and public transportation system in general. And the trains I've went on since coming here? They were wonderful too. Not only do I love the T-banna (as it's called in Sweden) because it's convenient, but also because it is like a morning and evening dose of looking into a fishbowl. Everyone in Sweden uses the subway unless you are the extremely rich or the extremely poor. And most of the Extremely poor use the subway anyway, because the security is fairly lax.

But the subway is kind of like a random sampling of Stockholm. You've got the working mothers and fathers with the strollers taking their young babies to daycare. You got a variety of people from different classes: the business types, the tourist types, the "waste removal workers" (garbagemen- who don't even smell), the manual workers, the self employed, the girlfriend and boyfriend that aren't even aware of the rest of the world, the Husband with his pregnant wife who makes sure she doesn't fall over because there aren't enough seats and they're standing, the blatantly gay sambol (legally living together- like my host family parents are doing- Anita and Magnus) couple trying to entertain their three year old girl who is whiny because she didn't get enough sleep last night. And you've got people of all ages and shapes bringing their dogs (and the occasional cat and rabbit) on leashes on the subway.

You have a variety of nationalities represented: the Korean tourists with their three children and a map spread out between the two of them, the German Foreign exchange students engaged in a heated debate, the Finnish commuters who alternate between Swedish and Finnish as they unknowingly demonstrate their fluency in both, the French guy touring the world in his retirement harmlessly flirting with a girl that could be his grand-daughter, the Japanese businessman that is working on a merger with Erikson telephones who can't get of his Samsung phone long enough to realize that it might be a bad idea to be using the competition's phone when going into the meetings, the flock of Muslim women in full brightly-colored and patterned burkas (or whatever those full-length robes are called) chattering in Swedish and flitting between each other- separate (by choice or unwillingly I don't know) from the rest of the people on the subway-standing out from the dark greys, blacks and browns that most Stockholmers wear, the robes winging out behind them as they exit the doors.

I love looking into the other trains when we pass by each other, and seeing the other people in another train, reading, staring out the window bored, putting on makeup, adjusting their hat, talking, and staggering as the train shifts.

And you know what I've noticed since it's starting to get cold? EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM HAS A SCARF. Now, I will admit, scarves are fairly common in the US, but some people have hoods on their coats, and some people just pull their cap down low. Not in Stockholm, at least. EVERYONE has a scarf. Male, female, old, young, the only ones that don't seem to have them are the tourists.

It fascinates me.

Getting back to Routine

As much as it was fun to have a week off and sightseeing around Sweden with my mom and my grandmas, it is nice to get back to routine (as much as I have one). I realized that last week with my mom and grandmas being here, I lost track of days, and as a result totally forgot about choir on Thursday. *ashamed look* So I'm going to have to make my apologies for that tomorrow. My laundry is also in a state, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to have another bout with the downstairs washers to see if I can improve on my last attempt. (Wrinkled clothes, here I come...)

But for the most part things have returned to normal, and I'm happy to be spending time with my host family again, and working on my studies, and preparing for the two tests I have this week (both of them essay ones, and both of them really glorified papers)

Magnus has asked me to come talk to his class next week on Thursday, and I'm quite excited, even if I have no clue what I'm going to say to them. He tells me that he wants me to go in with something to say as a starting point, and then they'll have questions to ask me. If any of you have ideas on what I should say, leave a note in the comments. I mean, how do you possibly represent the culture you've grown up with? Especially when I don't consider myself very typical, for good or ill. (mostly good, I'd think though).

I'm thinking my presentation will go something like this:
Hello, my name is Jennifer Crowley and I live in New York State. This is different from New York City. Yes, NYS and NYC are different things. I live near Albany, which is the capital of NYS. Why is Albany the capital yet not named after the state? Because having our capital in that Economic bustle would not be a good thing. On a good day I just am amazed that NYC even functions with all the people they have packed into it. Interesting fact: Albany, NY is one of three in the country. The other two are in Albany, Georgia (where they say the name the wrong way) and Albany, Oregon (where I don't know how they say it, because who goes there anyway?)

But seriously, what do you say when you're representing a country to Highschoolers? I'm afraid I'll have trouble just keeping their attention. The only thing I know for sure is I'm going to wear my American flag socks. And a white shirt. And bluejeans. And a red ribbon in my hair. Looking patriotic I can at least handle.

And that is an interesting thing. Americans wear their flag on their clotes all the time. The only time I've seen the Swedish flag being worn is on tourist clothing. I asked Magnus about it, and he says that you're normally seen as a nationalist if you wear the Swedish flag. And he said nationalist as if it was a bad thing, the same way as some of us say the word racist. Interesting. I must ask more about this.

Swedish Sauna

Yesterday I took my first Swedish Sauna (pronounced saow-na, emphasis on the second syllable). It was a singular experience, and I have to admit, despite running a gamut of emotions, I enjoyed it... a lot.

My first impression of the Sauna? Lots of naked people. The Saunas themselves were separated by gender, with the Males in one and the Females in the other. The swimming area was co-ed, though there seemed to be an unspoken division between where each of the genders went into the lake.

But it was interesting. In the US there would be embarrassment, or the young boys who were there would giggle because people were... naked. Here it was just... that's how it was done. Nothing out of the normal. It was rather comforting, actually. I ended up deciding to "fit in" by not wearing a bathing suit, and I have to admit I liked the experience.

On another note, the water was COLD. But it was strange. You went in, and it was freezing, but then you would get out into the chilly air, and after a moment, you would be warm. Anita said it has something to do with the pores being open from the heat, and then when you hit the cold water they retract and get tight, so the heat stays trapped in your body, but either way, it was strange.

And it was also cool because each time I went into the cold water, when I got out I had this urge to giggle uncontrollably. Kind of the same giggle we get at camp from the people in the showers when the hot water suddenly runs out. Shrieks, and then giggles.

It left me with all these fun natural chemicals swimming around in my body, adrenaline, and happy chemicals.

And with a new impression of Swedish Habits and society. I like the fact that here nudity in certain situations... Saunas, locker rooms and certain pools or swimming areas, is ok. It's normal to see young children swim without clothes, and I have to say the whole pratice is rather convenient.

On a train to Goteborg

So this is really my second time going on a train (there was one time I took a train from Charlotte to Raliegh, but it was an unpleasant experience I do not want to think about), but I'm going to count it as my first because this time it's so much better. So there.

This train is really nice... and I even bought an hour of the net 'cause I'm just that addicted to my computer. The seats are nicer than an airplane's, which was kind of what I imagined it to be like. The seats are also roomier... and I have the cheapest type of ticket I could buy... student, and the last class. I'm in a quiet zone, so there's no babies crying or people talking on their cell phones. All in all, pretty neat.

Sweden, I have come to discover, is a lot of farmland, or if not farmland, then timberland. When I first got here I went to the South of Sweden with my host family for a family reunion, and we drove through five hours of farmland. I'm noticing a lot of the same on the train ride. I ended up choosing to take the faster train, and we're going along at a nice clip... we're currently 20 minutes late, but they're trying to make up the time (I don't know how one would go about doing that... but it's nice that they informed us.) The nice lady that is sitting next to me keeps on translating the announcements for me after she found out I couldn't understand much Swedish, so at least I know what's going on.

I'm actually quite tired today, because yesterday I got my packing finished and then Gabe had some friends over. It's the same group of friends he seems to have over every week, five kids that have all paired up into three couples. There's Gabe and Viega, Dante and Tome (I think that's how you spell her name), Tomas and Linea. They're furn kids that do stuff like play games, cuddle, watch movies and bake when they get together. They remind me of my group of friends from HS... we'd all just get together and do random stuff like go to the roller rink and have a blast.

But the best thing about these kids (and don't get me wrong, I call them kids, but I consider myself a kid too in a lot of ways... they're only 3 years younger than me) is that they include me in what they do. They tailor their games so that they either speak English or so that I can learn Swedish words from what they're saying. Last night (and this morning, come to think of it) I showed Dante my workbook and explained to him how we're learning about their verbs. He looked so serious when he was looking ove the stuff- he's got a solid build and a very cut face- pale blue-grey eyes and a spill of Blonde hair that flops onto his forehead. His girlfriend Tome is always pushing it back from his face when she goes to kiss him. Anyway, He found it interesting because he doesn't think of his language's verbs in that way. It was only the ways we study it that there is type 1, 2, 3, and 4 verbs.

Tomas on the other hand, likes trying to stretch my language skills. Of all the people in the group, he's the one that is most interested in helping me learn the language, although that is and isn't saying much, because all of them make an effort to help me when I try to respond back in Swedish. But Tomas in the one that most often stops from time to time when there taking in Swedish and summarizes what is being said for me. Or he'll remind his girlfriend, Linea (who feels like she isn't that good at English, and often is self-conscious) to speak in English when she's addressing the group. He's also really quick of wit and has a killer smile- they type that just sneaks out of his face and lights his eyes.

It was funny last night, the group was discussing how Gabe and Tomas would make a really cute couple... I find it highly ironic that all the girls in this group have short boy's cuts, while all the boys have (beautiful) long hair down to their shoulders. Then, Tomas and Gabe trade a look, and they both get up and vanish. Well, they're gone for a long time, and we start speculating what they're doing in Gabe's room. And then they come out. They've both put some type of oil on their chests so that they gleam, and are wearing boxers rolled up to look like short-shorts and Suitcoats. They're saying "POSE, Pose, Pose," a line from a play we went to go see who had these two effeminate guys who were all over each other and would do the same thing. But the best ting about the whole getup was that they put SOMETHING in their pants to make it look like they have a enormous bulge, and they're fake making out.

We died laughing. I mean, that's how comfortable these kids are around each other.

Later that evening I had a long conversation with Tome about how Sweden actually trusts the government, and has more common sense than America. Sweden taxes the rich to level out the gap between the rich and the poor. I was telling her about a study done in America that surveyed people from the poor to lower middle class part of society and found that 80% of the people believed that by the time they had retired they would be in the high upper middle class bracket of wealth. I was telling here that there is a mentality in a lot of parts of America that you don't want to tax the rich too much... because one day you might BE one of them. The American Dream taken too far.

Tome had some really interesting things to say back to that. The least of which was, "WHAT?!?"

Lastly, we played a game similar to truth or dare, but it translated into more truth or challenge. People take turns have one person on the hot seat, and they ask them a question and the person has to answer that question, or they can ask for one other question. But if they ask for the second question, you have to answer that one. It was very casually played though, with not much peer pressure. Tomas's question for me was, "Would you rather be poor, addicted to alcohol but have friends, or be rich and know that you didn't have any real friends?"

I actually responded that I would want to be rich. Not because I want to live in comfort, per se, but just that I'm terrorified of being addicted to anything, especially something that robs you of your mind the way alcohol does. I'd much rather be in control of my faculties and be friendless than be so worn and ravaged by alcohol.

I asked silly questions, and I'm not sure that the people I asked them of realized they were silly. My favorite was when I told Gabe, "The world is in danger, you have to save it with one kitchen utensil. What would it be?"

He took it much too seriously, and was asking, what was the danger, how could he save the world with a kitchen utensil... and just I think it went over his head, if that makes sense. He finally said he'd have an oven so he could distill water, which would be good to give people who didn't have clean water. Then we went around and some of the other people answered it. Dante would want the biggest knife he could find, Tome would want a seltzer maker (these great devices they have to make their own fizzy water) so she could use them to charge up bottles and then shoot the compressed water at people.

Soon after, I went to bed, 'cause it was three in the morning and I wanted to get up at 7:30.

Well, we're almost there and my hour is almost up.

I got a package from my boyfriend... and I opened it on the subway... that was a mistake

So this morning before classes I got up a bit earlier to pick up my package from the mail distrabution center. It means I had to carry it around all day, but the other consequence was waiting until tomorrow to pick it up because today it would close before I could go. So I got it just before I got on the subway to go to school.

Picture this: Me, on the subway. Everyone acting acording to the Swedish unwritten code "tho shalt not talk on the subway unless you're with friends, and tho shalt not speak loudly enough to attract undue attention". An old lady had already shushed the man beside her because he was speaking on his phone too loud and that was 'very rude.' (or at least, that is what I think she said. I got the very but it might have been very loud or very _fill in blank_) And then I FINALLY get all the tape off using an old fashioned key (not the new types because the key to the appartment has one of those old fashioned keys that don't really have sharp points to them) and a ballpoint pen and my crocheting hook. I pull back the cardboard.

A sudden squeal.

The old lady looks over, and I can feel her stare pressing into my back. That... forigner is making noise. (yes me) and getting quite excited about... *the old landy cranes her head to look* a doodle bear and butterfly stickers. And strange american candy in much too bright colors. (Swedish candy is much more subtle, less bright colors. You can tell what brands are imported and which ones are made in Sweden. Look at Tolberone for example... again, it all goes back to the belief that all Swedish people have that nobody is better than anyone else, and assuming your better than anyone else is rude and arrogant. It translates into Swedes believing that drawing attention to yourself is very rude. In contrast to the belief in American where we go, "how dare you think that I'm not as good as you!" We think that you should put yourself forward, make your own way, be an individual.)

But back to the old lady. She glares at me.

*snickers*

Needless to say, I was quite delighted by the package. Went around with a dopey expression on my face all day. As one of the girls on my program said when I told her the box was from my boyfriend and I showed her what was in it... "Somebody loves you a lot" I could only nodd and grin. I have to think of something cool now to send my boyfriend.

I haven't listened to the mix he sent me yet, but I now know what my breakfast is going to be tomorrow morning (grits that were in the package), and each morning for the following days. Or perhaps I'll save it for special occasions. YEY GRITS! And I don't know where he got the stickers, but each time I see them I'm convinced someone knows me very well, but not only that, but is very very very thoughtful. I feel very loved.

Well, I have a lot of reading I need to get done, payment for my work on my story last night. *Must get to it*



PS: But the best thing about the package? After I told my boyfriend about the Italian guy flirting with me on the subway, he sends me a list of all the different languages he can think of, each one saying "I have a boyfriend" Or "I'm taken." It made me giggle each time I looked at it.