Just because...

Brunettes Shoot Blondes - Knock Knock

When the prise is Brilliant and Shiny

It's that time of year when I'm struggling to see the humor in how children's sports are run here in Norway.

MInd you, I am not thinking about the coaches and arbitrators and all the other adults who get involved to keep teams and athletes in active exercise. They do a great job! They sacrifice time, energy and social life to organize children's sport and interest. Through all kinds of weathers, they are out there, on the field and track helping to educate children to become active, team oriented people. They do it voluntarily and without payment.
When my boys with brilliant and shiny eyes hold a trophy in their hand after a chaotic tournament, I must admit that I feel a lump in my throat while I think of the great adults who have made it possible.

No, I think about the funding of sport.

In the United States, and many, many other countries, sports are driven through school. If you play football or chess, you represent your school. When you play in bands or is a gymnast, you do it for your school. It costs the kids time, and there is an expression called "soccer mum", which describes parents who sacrifice time to watch the kids when they are active, and otherwise support the team.

Here in Norway we have sports teams, or athlete clubs, and although they are run on a voluntary basis, nothing is really free and it costs money. Sportssuits and shoes we have to buy and pay yourself, but the club keeps equipment, firld, court and hall. They also pay insurance on the kids ... as soon as parents pay the yearly fee.
But then comes the central organs of sport.

I have two boys playing soccer. I am very proud of them and I see how they grow from playing matches. They understand how to be good losers, but even more important: They learn how to be good winners.

But. Each year NFF (Norwegian Soccers association) send out raffles to be sold. The two boys get 20 scratchcards each, valued to Nkr 30, - to be sold "door to door." My boys do not go on doors to sell lottery tickets. They know that all the other kids in the street, both football, handball, showjumping and other sports will go in the street and sell the scratchcards to their lottery... at about the same time of year. There are too many "no, I'm not having any" and "I don't have any cash at home."
We don't have family who live in the area either, which many depend upon for selling. So the invoice, that total nkr1200, - (about $200,-) that are included in the envelope with the scratchcards, gets paid, and we are stuck with a lot of scratchcards, we bought ourselves.

In mid-November, advent calendars arrives in the mail. 11 scratchcard-calendars each, 2 boys, equals 22 pieces a nkr 50, - to be "sold door to door." For the tidy sum of nkr 1100 - (about $ 180,-) It's no surprise that my boys do not go to our neighbors' doors to sell calendars. They know that all the other kids in the street, both football, handball, showjumping and other sports go in the street and sell ... at the same time of year. There are too many "no, I'm not having any", and "I don't have any cash at home".
We don't have family who live in the area either, which many depend upon for selling. So the invoice accompanying the advent calendars gets paid, and we are stuck with a lot of scratchcard-calendars, we bought ourselves.

And I have not even mentioned the huge bags with rolls of toilet paper (about $190,-) stored in the shed, and which we got invoice for, to pay for the tournament for boys 8 years old. We could sell them off, but everybody is selling toilet paper because... well, because. It's almost as if it's mandatory, like scoutgirls' cookies.

None of us can bear the thought of scratching calendars every day, from December 1 to December 24. it becomes an insurmountable and time-consuming project. By January I set off one evening and find the coin. The deadline to submit raffling with prices is March 31.
The boys join me for as long as they can be bothered, but it doesn't last long. Somehow there is no motivation in it for them when one route after another thanks for the support, but "Thank you for your support" gives no hope of a price.

2013 the advent calendars were red. Then I won Norway's, perhaps the world's, most expensive micro fiber cloth. That's it. A microfiber cloth.

2014 the advent calendars were purple. Yesterday I got two envelopes in the mail. Each of them contained two long teaspoons in stainless steel. I think I've got Norway's, perhaps the world's, most expensive teaspoons ... but they were at least brilliant and shiny.

Uncomfortable in this fast world.

On occasions I get invites to birthday parties, and other celebrations, where I expect there will be dancing, a couple of drinks, good food and a bunch of new people to meet and talk to.
It's something most would really enjoy and look forward to, I think.

I suspect most would even think I'm privileged to be so lucky I have friends who want to share their special events in my company.
But, and this may come as a surprise to many, I don't always feel like surrounding myself with people. I don't take a lot of room, you see. I am not one of those who enter a room and attract everybody's attention, some even demand that kind of commotion when they enter a room. I don't claim to be heard. I listen a lot more than I speak.
Being a good listener takes a lot of energy. It drains my energy to be attentive, and I know it will be more of an exhausting evening rather than a winding down and enjoy to the fullest.

I am one of those who really need to withdraw and absorbe the impacts I have been exposed to. I need to rewind and repeat and make my mind up about what was really said and done.
It doesn't mean I'm slow in any way. It means that I am in the habit of seeing things from different angles. I enjoy to put myself in other people's position; to mentally walk in their shoes.
Right then and there I make swift decisions, and from my stand they are, remarkably enough, the right ones most of the time.

We live in a fast world, an extrovert world, where those who speak fast and loud are paid attention to, where those who are amusing, witty and lively are those who get the network set. They promote themselves as entertaining and worth spending time and effort on.
Be heard and I tell you how skilled, capable and good looking you are.

I don't know what it's like in other cultures, but I know that western culture to a large extent values the outgoing ones a lot more than those who tend to keep more to themselves. I don't feel underestimated, mind you, I am just aware of the mainstream evaluation of people.
The extrovert versus the introvert.

I often see how fast people I regard as extrovert and outgoing become dependent on the positive feedback they get used to, and how devastating they feel the fall if they don't get the standing they expected.

I've always been the quiet type. But I also am quite confident in myself. I know who I am and what I stand for. I write a lot better than I talk (you can only imagine how bad I am at talking, then), but I always get my opinion across either way.

I know I have more than just a few strange characteristics like being quirky, eccentric, unenergetic, somewhat asocial (I love people, don't misunderstand me, I am just not very good with them in crowds), and I know many people perceive me as arrogant. luckily, my confidence has allowed me to look upon them as facets of my personality.

Actually it is rather nice to have such a rich inner life, and I know I am totally selfish when thinking like that. I give myself room to nourish my inner life; I read, write and listen; I think a lot. And I find I improve my skills to do so.
I listen to my own sounds, and thrive best when I can decide what sound I surround myself with. In a world so packed with noise, I don't really see that as a drawback. Especially young people shout when they believe they speak. I have noticed that in cartoons on TV the characters do too. I, on the other hand, love listening to music, honest conversations and silence alike.

I have a neighbor who love indie pop. During spring and summer he opens his doors and windows and turns the volume up. It really, really gets on my nerves. I tolerate it, but I admit it chases me indoors at times.

In spite of my own preferences I see the importance of living in the real world, and sometimes that means to neglect my own needs.

I thought I should find what good qualities people miss out on, when not appreciating the gentler personalities in our midst. So, here it is:

1. They create good atmosphere and whim in their environment.
2. They are good baromenters for when the atmosphere is not good enough.
3. They have a positive impact on the physical and psychological environment.
4. They have an advanced sense of coworkers' temper, strengths and weaknesses.
5. They have outstanding ability to concentrate and focus.
6. They possess an inherent high degree of disciplinarity.
7. They inherent strong values and hold strong ethical and moral standards.
8. They work through ideas and add more nuances and impacts.

Great stuff, unfortunately I can't claim to have these effects on my immediate environment. I am not really sensitive nor gentle, I'm not introvert either (actually I am, but I like to just say I'm shy to the limit of arrogance). At the end of the day I think I just challenge people's patience by being strange... BUT, I've been told I am a good friend.

Wholly Qunide.

As humans, we have many roles, and each of the roles we perform have different expectations associated with them, which can be confusing enough to anybody. I am not seen as a mother when I'm in the classroom, and my kids can't even imagine what I'm like as a teacher.
Juggling between wearing the various hats of daughter, sister, grandchild, spouse, girlfriend, best friend, career woman, colleague, employee, mentor, mother, motivator, team player, role model, cook, cleaning worker, repairman, purchasing manager, personal shopper, Queen of the house (yeah, I allow myself to call me that, living with a husband, three sons and a male dog) and all the other roles I encounter in my everyday life, it all boils down to one thing: I am a woman.

Now, the thing is being a woman in Norway today is a term which is rather open for discussion and interpretation. We are allowed to choose our own path in life and lifestyle, but it has not always been so.

In Norwegian the word for woman is "kvinne", and this is what the encyclopedia says about "kvinne": 

The word "kvinne" is derived from "kone" (= wife) who was the common word for woman in old Norwegian. The word is found in the English queen. "Kone" has today somewhat changed meaning into "married woman" or "old woman." Another word for "kvinne", "kjærring" (=old woman, but is not a very positive term), is derived from the old Norwegian "karl" today "guy". From German we have the words "frue" (=mistress) and "jungfrau" > "jomfru n." (=virgin) (which originally meant "young lady"), while French has given the Norwegian madam (actually from Spanish meaning "my wife") and Mamsell (a folk form of Mademoiselle, ie "Miss "). Madam has the same origin as lady, namely the Latin domination, ie "mistress." 

"Woman" is used in Norwegian usually about adult female subjects in general, but the word can also denote a person of the female a man has sexual relations with, a wife or mistress, for example in expressions such as "she is his woman." "Woman" can also be used if a person with traditionally female characteristics, such as talk of ways like "she is completely through a woman" or "to be Quinde with big Q". (http://no.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kvinne)

Hah, that turned out to be a totally pathetic attempt to translate a wikipedia article about a Norwegian word into English, but you got the essence, I suppose.

Chart of the young woman's "two roads"

from the early 1900s:

The woman who flirts and liver dissipated,

are shunned as 40-year-old,

while the conscientious and caring

becomes a chaste grandmother when she turns 60.

To call me a Quinde (assembles "Queen" a lot, don't you think?) with capital Q would be to exaggerate a tiny bit; In the traditional sense I'm probably not as pink as many others. Although I do have a pink helmet at work, real VIP style, pink headphones and a pink pencil case, but that is a strategic thing more than preference of colour, because men, regardless of age, are not so eager to make things which are pink disappear.

Sometimes I think of what it must be like to live a long life. Imagine having lived for 80 years, for example.

Think about how the world, country, city, town, countryside, homes has changed during that time!
Moral, clothing, utilities ... a trifle thing as to pay the bills has become something completely different than it was when they were young.

Those who are old today had to comply with a rapid development which only escalates and spins out of controle  into eternity, at all levels and areas.

I am so impressed with elderly people who manage on their own.

It is not just that I'm a woman, but I'm a woman born and raised in the western world in modern times.

And the thing is: I resist to be merely a woman: I want it all! And I'm totally aware that can be perceived as if I'm basically selfish. And I might just be that, although I personally think I stretch myself in all directions to meet all the needs everybody I surround myself with have.

While I'm running around like a headless chicken to get everything I as a mother should have time and energy to do, a murmuring thought in the back of my mind reminds me about all that I really want, wish for and like to achieve.

I have a marriage, children, a kind of career, and often perform like a true artist, but I would rather prefere to travel and experience adventure. I want a well kept kitchen garden, a shabby chic home, deep, meaningful friendships and I would like to speak at least 6 languages fluently (and I do not mean random phrases I impress my surroundings with after two glasses of wine).

I have a longing to go to a museum for an entire day, all by myself, without my mobile phone, without anyone pulling and tugging my sleeve or shouting my name.
I want to go out and not eat at McDonald's. And then I want time in the bathroom completely alone without anybody rattling the door handle.

I want wine and song, and still be a good girl. I'd love to be able to express my feelings in an eloquent way ... but most of all I have a desire to be and do better, although that is a constant exhausting project which involves nerves. Self-realization is exhausting. Mostly because of that "feeling" ... I'm not getting anywhere.

Women are often known to exaggerate and over react because of meaningless details, and we claim the right to change our minds, whatever bad timing.

Yes, we would like to have everything, and yet ...

As I sit here in my comfortable bubble, which often is about to burst from an overload of impressions, expressions and pressure constantly threatening circadian rhythm, I find that my capacity for empathy is constantly challenged.
Increasingly, we get news about what women's lives are like elsewhere. Places where women represent such a big threat that they must be suppressed and humiliated. These giants of brave everyday heroes; because they are not men, they get punished.

"You were raped? Well, then you shall receive 90 lashes." "You are a minor, lovely girl on the threshold of curious youth?  I just as well steal you, your identity and your life and sell you off, just because."

Reality hits me in the head like a sledgehammer, my lack of own time, and my hunger for time and self realization somehow doesn't taste as good anymore. I am so blessed to have my life, regardless of my petty discontent.

In Norway we have a Women's Group called "Ottar".  For some reason these suffragettes don't have a good reputation. For some reason they are tried ridiculed and explained away. They do the unpoplular thing; to point at what's not right. This week they call for a boicot of the movie "Fifty Shades of Grey". (The link is to a related story in Time.)

Others use their skills and talent to do the same thing, only using more of their sense of humor... Like Ellen Degeneres in TheEllenShow.

It is so easy to forget, in the middle of our giggles, that these women (and men, let's not forget there are those who really speak up for women's rights), those who use their resources and talents to improve women's lives and reputation in the best way they know how, standing on the barricades and act as brave social activists, have through their social commitment given me the opportunity to be me.

What's weighing down

Both my older brothers picked up the hobby of photography when they were teenagers. Today they are very competent and able photographers, and immortalize those moments we regret we forgot. A flower forcing its way through the paved sidewalk, a sunset, a cup of coffee an early morning...

They bought all the equipment needed to develope the pictures themselves, and I remember how they painted lightbulbs red and occupied our spaceous bathroom for hours experimenting with printing lights, developing baths, fixture and developing time. 

Everything was a potential motif, but I somehow often found myself in the strangest of situations because... well, because I was there and easy to order around so they could get the picture they wanted. 

There are numerous pictures stacked somewhere in a box, of me, in black and white. 

Looking at pictures from my childhood, I can tell I was not the most slender kid around, but I was what I would say a normal, healthy and active kid.

As a teenager I turned into a slender and strong young woman; moulded by hard work and an active lifestyle. 

Now, at 44, I am distressed. I feel my children's childhood have been limted because of their overweight mother.

Every summer we seem to end up visiting amusement parks, waterparks and other sporty sites, and I always end up watching what an amazing time they have together, my family, while I watch our stuff and wait.

20 years ago I was up for everything. No challenge was too scary or too hard to at least try.

That was 30 kilos ago. Now I worry my weight will cause speed, direction.... things, you know?, to get all out of control. I am too big to feel funny when I fail.

When I watch commercials on tv, I notice big people are only used as actors when they are promoting a diet, and they show a photoshopped after picture... Or when the person is silly, sorry or a huge failure.

I have been afraid to go on a diet, worried I will fail. I have been afraid to exercise regularly, worried I will give up. I have comforted myself thinking I can still tie my own shoes without sitting down. 

And then I read this:

And then I realized.... most women want to be "perfect" the acceptable way. Just like flawless models that we see on ads or tv shows... I know people who say I am pretty the way I am, and then they always add some of my qualities, not my looks.

And then I think to myself that I am not history yet. I am not bygone. I refuse to call myself old, even though I recognize how I each year discover changes in me.The hope that the changes can be good never dies.
I am more tolerant, I see more of the whole picture. My personality improves, I think, and I really try to accept myself as I am. And even though this is clear to me in a flash of insight I have to admit that in everyday I don't see that. I am not the carefree girl more than willing to be photographed. I am very self conscious because of all my imperfections.

And then I think about women I see every day; women who don't look like models or actresses, and how I vision them is less important to me, than the feeling thinking about them gives me. Each of them has this different aura and charm around her... and thats when I realize, that everyone has their own beauty. It doesn't matter if you're not born perfect. If you take away, photoshop and remove, the imprefections, there's not much left of who you are.

I should participate more, I should offer more of myself to people around me, being big should not make me feel less good for others. And making an effort is really admirable and so much more attractive, opposed to the mere giving up and stop caring.
And I think that starting to feel better about my own worth could make sporting vacations more enjoyable, and chocolate less of a friend.

Rachel put it like this, after she posted a photo on facebook and got unexpected response: