Last week at this time I was on a road trip to photograph desert wildflowers. I was roaming among Saguaro cacti while woodpeckers shrieked at me to GO AWAY. I was chasing rainbows en route to the perfect sunset site. I was stepping in and out of the car as I pursued shadows and rocks. And I was watching the news reports for information about the pandemic. Saturday morning, as we departed Tucson en route to parks in northern Arizona, I read B an essay that did the math regarding the exponential spread of pandemics and the subsequent health care overload. The writer said that self-quarantines are inevitable, and that it is better to do so sooner rather than later. We decided he was right and changed our route, reaching my home the following night. B took off the next morning. I drove the eerily traffic-free highway to the Apple store, because my chargers had stopped working the day before. The outdoor shopping center was empty of people, other than one policeman, who sat on an ornamental boulder and talked into his radio, and a greybeard, who nodded to me as he passed at the correct social distance. The Apple store was filled with dark blue T-shirted 20-something employees who were watching the doors. Two young women opened the door to tell me that the store was closed. I thought, huh? and the earnest young thing explained that they were just there to tell customers that they were closed. I thought again, huh? and explained that my phone was not working and asked if it was possible for someone inside to look at it. She said, no, but they had a service number I could call. I said, that's nice, but MY PHONE DOES NOT WORK. She said, so, you don't want the number?
Sigh.
I next drove to Walmart. One solitary woman wearing blue nitrile gloves manned the electronics desk. She spent several minutes on the 4 people ahead of me, even though the transactions seemed simple enough. While they were out of white vinegar, they did have Apple chargers and I bought two. In 2 minutes I was again connected to the world. I then drove to the clay studio, hoping they would at least have someone to let me get my clay. They are actually open for business: their concession to the pandemic is to supply sanitizer stations and forgive the fees for people who decide to not attend classes. I spent the rest of the day glazing my bisque-ware and then gathered up my supplies for the duration. My plan is to set up a studio on the deck and do work from home. But the weather has been rainy and windy and cold since then, so I only put in a few hours yesterday before being driven inside. I don't want to scatter clay dust in someone else's home, so I'll have to await better weather.
I reached out to my peeps, many of whom are musicians, teachers, and service industry workers. They all seem okay for the time being. A stock market crash will be a problem for retirees (including me), but there's nothing to do about it. I guess I need to reconsider my online tutoring gig, which I have been avoiding for the past several months.
The stories I've received range from my brother's rather hilarious diatribe about gluten to my friend's plans to delve deeply into personal dark places to my cousin's warning about NSAIDs and concern about a probable home birth. Some have been suffering from seasonal allergies and colds and wonder if
they have the virus: only testing can determine that. Everyone agrees that, while we have plenty to occupy ourselves at home, it feels claustrophobic because we are forced into solitude. Businesses are closed, gatherings and concerts are canceled, and most activities have gone virtual. Everyone seems to be reasonably well supplied with sanitizing products and food staples, which is fortunate because so many products have been raided and not replaced. Happily, coffee and chocolate are still well-stocked. I guess they truly are luxuries, not worthy of stockpiling. I scratch my head over the empty white potato bins, when sweet potatoes remain available. I kick myself for not replenishing the white vinegar before the trip.
There are plenty of stories to tell. There are many statistics to digest. There are many poems to write and philosophical musings to ponder. And yet, I can't find it in myself to do any of that. I can't even point fingers or rage at revisionist history (Trumpists claim that he was forecasting
today's reality, when in reality he was saying "there's no crisis, we
are beating this, it will all go away when the weather improves.") In fact, I don't know what I think about this. I don't know if we are over-reacting or under-reacting. I do lean towards a dull sort of pessimism. I don't believe that our human nature will allow us to take away lessons of community. I don't think we will engage upon global care for the planet. It is no comfort that previous pandemics have not killed off the human race, that previous recessions and depressions have not destroyed our countries, and that these sorts of crises are cyclical. In fact, I can't think big picture thoughts. My fears focus on the purely personal: will my family and friends be okay? Will my income continue? Will my necessary drugs be available? My conclusions are vague: probably, but who knows? The world will continue, but individuals I care about may not.
B says we need a plague to reduce population. Neither of us are worried about our deaths, per se. I know some people would be sad if I were no more, but my main worry is about the potential pain of the process, not the final result. I don't know if I believe in an afterlife or reincarnation or the end of self. I don't think it matters what I believe, just as I don't think it matters what I do in this crisis. Free-floating anxiety is my response to imminent global catastrophe. Somehow, it seems too mild a reaction.
And, of course, I think about my reactions to this crisis. I've spent close to three years as a nomad. That was a reaction to the 2016 election. It worked for me, although recently I have been pondering revising that lifestyle and establishing a home base. However, outward exploration and travel have remained firmly in my plans. Now, overnight, I've been transformed into a hermit. Or rather, to a recluse. It was not my choice, but my response to the change is still under my control. I'd like to be a hermit rather than a mere unwilling recluse, but that requires a force of character and a firmness of belief that I do not possess. How DOES one live a life of contemplation? How does one reach internally for personal growth and understanding? How does one personally and positively impact the world from seclusion? How does one change a shallow, pleasure-loving, outgoing lifestyle and become deep, quiet, and filled with inner light?
I remember a line in Peter S. Beagle's A Fine and Private Place: "You have to be very deep to be dead, he thought, and I'm not. He began to have some concept of forever, and his mind shivered..."
I too am not deep, I too shiver at the future. I've never been good at inner exploration. I use meditation to resolve
insomnia or anxiety. I use crafts to pass the time. I am not drawn to
projects that require prep, practise, or energy. While I can take this time and make it productive and even enjoyable, while I can reach out to others to give and receive support, while I can find ways to exercise and take care of myself, I don't see myself in anything but a holding pattern.
The ghost in A Fine and Private place tries to escape death and actually succeeds, in a way. He makes a life out of death by falling in love with another ghost. Love is apparently the answer for Peter S. Beagle. But is it for me? Can love help me become a hermit? Do I want it to? Probably not. But I do think that I must find a path. It seems that this enforced seclusion is the next step in my Third Act. I will probably have to redefine myself every few years when physical, financial, and global forces act upon me. Goals will become more short term and subject to change. (Perhaps they always were). It would be nice to find a way to be involved in the process. Although a sense of control is illusory, it would be comforting to have it.
For now, all I know is the self-centered reality: I am no longer a nomad. From herding cats, I have retreated to hoarding caches.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Not a Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Late August, 2019
Wakefield, Quebec
I went out the other day to check out the milkweed patch in the third field. It was a golden afternoon. Because of the recent rains, the cricket population had exploded, and I could see them jumping in the recently mown hay and hear the trilling chirps all around me. It's funny that such a monotonous sound could be so pleasant, but somehow it accentuates the peace of this moment. The air is crisp, the sun is warm, the trees a sussuration of wind. Clouds float in the blue, and I am out looking for monarch caterpillars. We found three on my first day here, but they went away with S: one jar to her father's house, the other to her grandfather's. S travels among three households: my host refers to herself as the unofficial mother, replacing the one S lost close to five years ago, when she was only a year old. While my host is gone, S is mainly in the care of her grandfather, who also tends to the horses and other details of the house, such as transporting me to the store, a mile away, and to the swimming dock on Lac Bernard. He and S are due in another hour, and I hope to greet them with the news of a successful caterpillar hunt.
The third field has also been mown, but a small circular patch of tall milkweeds remains in the center of the field. I have climbed through the long iron gates, rather than attempt to unchain them. Susha, the husky/shepherd mix, ranges about the fields, coming back occasionally to check on me. This is the closest we get to a dog walk: there are no trails here and I don't want to walk her along the roads, quiet though they are. They are potholed from the freezes of a long winter, and clouds of fine white dust rise from the graveled areas.
Last time, S had her Strider, a pseudo bike my host brought her from the Netherlands. S propelled herself with her feet padding along the hummocky ground, before abandoning the bike in the second field, where she found the first caterpillar of the day. Today, I look carefully at the small isolated stalks before approaching the clump, but either it requires 6-year-old eyes, or the caterpillars have gone to ground. I circle the clump, stopping at each likely spot. Is there poop? Are there munched-out holes?
I did not find caterpillars that day, but a few days later I found two. I carried them carefully on the broad leaf but lost one climbing through the gate. I put the other in a tall glass jar, along with milkweed and a long twig reaching up to the screen at the top of the jar. Within a day the caterpillar had climbed to the screen, secured itself, and created a beautiful iridescent green chrysalis with dots of gold gleaming along the top edge. I tried unsuccessfully to take pix of it: the screen fuzzed out the details from the top, and the glass did the same from the side. But S was happy with it, and I left it for her and my host to enjoy after I left.
I had a lovely sit on this farm near Wakefield, Quebec. My days were simple and meditative. I did Tai Chi Chih and read books in the sunny loft apartment above the barn. I walked the dogs over to the milk weed patch and watched an otter run across the meadow into the safe darkness under the woods. I spent a fair amount of time with S and D. The almost daily swims in the deep green waters of the lake were fabulous. One day I saw a family of loons swimming in a line towards the reeds at the end of the lake. Another day I floated down with the current, arms curled around the float tube, head propped at the curve, watching the treetops, feeling the cold drifts of clear water brushing along my body. It was very cold, but did not take long to get acclimated. After a few hours at the dock, D dropped S off with me while he went home nearby to cook dinner. S set up her "stuffies" (mainly stuffed animals, but some dolls) as an audience and played my mini piano. I think we became friends, and on my last night she slept with the scarf I had knitted her.
The garden was full of cone flowers and other beautiful plants, the sky was a beautiful blue, and when it did rain I sat on the screened-in porch reading and listening to raindrops, feeling the cool dampness coming through the windows. My host's father was an artist, and her home was full of his paintings (some of her as a child) and other beautiful objects. I sat listening to Agatha Christie and A Gentleman in Moscow, while one of the cats lay along the back of the couch and the dogs lay under the coffee table.
I did explore a bit. I visited Wakefield and checked out the rebuilt covered bridge over the Gatineau River and McClaren Cemetery. I walked past the old mill, under the highway, and up into the Parc Gatineau. I took a picture of a graffito on the underpass: "1st Thing we climb a tree." I attended evensong at the church in La Peche, next to the general store, enjoying the simple lines of the building and the designs in the tin ceiling. I bought some marvelous ginger jam there as well. I drove for an overnight in the Eastern Townships (my Louise Penny pilgrimage.) The evensong at the Abbaye de St. Benoit du Lac was less than wonderful, but the setting itself, on Lac Memphremagog, was peace personified. I sat listening to the service, which was in French, watching the play of light as the sun set. I'd like to go back and stay over and meditate. It felt a lot like the Monastery of Christ in the Desert, if not quite as isolated: there's something about being in a place that is dedicated to prayer, meditation, and good solid work. You know that where there are people, there is conflict, but somehow it gets transmuted into serenity.
I spent an afternoon in Ottawa, the day I picked up my car, mainly at the art museum, which had a nice Rousseau and Friends exhibit and a lovely cafeteria. A service was in session at the cathedral across the way, so I need to return for another look at the splendid stained glass and other artwork. I also need to return to Quebec to visit Quebec City and Montreal, but that isn't really in keeping with my travel plan, such as it is. My preference is to stay in one place and get to know it slowly and carefully, as Annie Dillard did at Tinker Creek. Although I lack her philosophical bent, I do find a quiet sort of delight, and when I think back, I realize that my time was well-spent. At the very least, I found a Monarch caterpillar.
Wakefield, Quebec
I went out the other day to check out the milkweed patch in the third field. It was a golden afternoon. Because of the recent rains, the cricket population had exploded, and I could see them jumping in the recently mown hay and hear the trilling chirps all around me. It's funny that such a monotonous sound could be so pleasant, but somehow it accentuates the peace of this moment. The air is crisp, the sun is warm, the trees a sussuration of wind. Clouds float in the blue, and I am out looking for monarch caterpillars. We found three on my first day here, but they went away with S: one jar to her father's house, the other to her grandfather's. S travels among three households: my host refers to herself as the unofficial mother, replacing the one S lost close to five years ago, when she was only a year old. While my host is gone, S is mainly in the care of her grandfather, who also tends to the horses and other details of the house, such as transporting me to the store, a mile away, and to the swimming dock on Lac Bernard. He and S are due in another hour, and I hope to greet them with the news of a successful caterpillar hunt.
The third field has also been mown, but a small circular patch of tall milkweeds remains in the center of the field. I have climbed through the long iron gates, rather than attempt to unchain them. Susha, the husky/shepherd mix, ranges about the fields, coming back occasionally to check on me. This is the closest we get to a dog walk: there are no trails here and I don't want to walk her along the roads, quiet though they are. They are potholed from the freezes of a long winter, and clouds of fine white dust rise from the graveled areas.
Last time, S had her Strider, a pseudo bike my host brought her from the Netherlands. S propelled herself with her feet padding along the hummocky ground, before abandoning the bike in the second field, where she found the first caterpillar of the day. Today, I look carefully at the small isolated stalks before approaching the clump, but either it requires 6-year-old eyes, or the caterpillars have gone to ground. I circle the clump, stopping at each likely spot. Is there poop? Are there munched-out holes?
I did not find caterpillars that day, but a few days later I found two. I carried them carefully on the broad leaf but lost one climbing through the gate. I put the other in a tall glass jar, along with milkweed and a long twig reaching up to the screen at the top of the jar. Within a day the caterpillar had climbed to the screen, secured itself, and created a beautiful iridescent green chrysalis with dots of gold gleaming along the top edge. I tried unsuccessfully to take pix of it: the screen fuzzed out the details from the top, and the glass did the same from the side. But S was happy with it, and I left it for her and my host to enjoy after I left.
I had a lovely sit on this farm near Wakefield, Quebec. My days were simple and meditative. I did Tai Chi Chih and read books in the sunny loft apartment above the barn. I walked the dogs over to the milk weed patch and watched an otter run across the meadow into the safe darkness under the woods. I spent a fair amount of time with S and D. The almost daily swims in the deep green waters of the lake were fabulous. One day I saw a family of loons swimming in a line towards the reeds at the end of the lake. Another day I floated down with the current, arms curled around the float tube, head propped at the curve, watching the treetops, feeling the cold drifts of clear water brushing along my body. It was very cold, but did not take long to get acclimated. After a few hours at the dock, D dropped S off with me while he went home nearby to cook dinner. S set up her "stuffies" (mainly stuffed animals, but some dolls) as an audience and played my mini piano. I think we became friends, and on my last night she slept with the scarf I had knitted her.
The garden was full of cone flowers and other beautiful plants, the sky was a beautiful blue, and when it did rain I sat on the screened-in porch reading and listening to raindrops, feeling the cool dampness coming through the windows. My host's father was an artist, and her home was full of his paintings (some of her as a child) and other beautiful objects. I sat listening to Agatha Christie and A Gentleman in Moscow, while one of the cats lay along the back of the couch and the dogs lay under the coffee table.
I did explore a bit. I visited Wakefield and checked out the rebuilt covered bridge over the Gatineau River and McClaren Cemetery. I walked past the old mill, under the highway, and up into the Parc Gatineau. I took a picture of a graffito on the underpass: "1st Thing we climb a tree." I attended evensong at the church in La Peche, next to the general store, enjoying the simple lines of the building and the designs in the tin ceiling. I bought some marvelous ginger jam there as well. I drove for an overnight in the Eastern Townships (my Louise Penny pilgrimage.) The evensong at the Abbaye de St. Benoit du Lac was less than wonderful, but the setting itself, on Lac Memphremagog, was peace personified. I sat listening to the service, which was in French, watching the play of light as the sun set. I'd like to go back and stay over and meditate. It felt a lot like the Monastery of Christ in the Desert, if not quite as isolated: there's something about being in a place that is dedicated to prayer, meditation, and good solid work. You know that where there are people, there is conflict, but somehow it gets transmuted into serenity.
I spent an afternoon in Ottawa, the day I picked up my car, mainly at the art museum, which had a nice Rousseau and Friends exhibit and a lovely cafeteria. A service was in session at the cathedral across the way, so I need to return for another look at the splendid stained glass and other artwork. I also need to return to Quebec to visit Quebec City and Montreal, but that isn't really in keeping with my travel plan, such as it is. My preference is to stay in one place and get to know it slowly and carefully, as Annie Dillard did at Tinker Creek. Although I lack her philosophical bent, I do find a quiet sort of delight, and when I think back, I realize that my time was well-spent. At the very least, I found a Monarch caterpillar.
Saturday, February 1, 2020
Shifting
and then the lights of Albuquerque formed a shimmering quilt, spread out on the plain at the base of the mountain. S said he could only think of the light pollution, and of course that is an issue. But it was so beautiful.In addition to getting up and taking pictures, we of course talked, and talked and talked. I had not seen them for some time, and they have traveled and created and explored both inner and outer vistas. As have I. Most relevant to my current focus was a discussion of decluttering. I am spending the next few months in one place, taking care of business and trying to determine next steps. An important part of that is deciding whether I want to have a home base and spend more time in it. If I do, then I'll take my stuff out of storage and settle it in place. If I don't, I need to decide what to do with my stuff. Will I ever use those dishes? Will I ever entertain again? Will I wear those clothes, read those books, look at that art, do those crafts? Will anyone, other than myself, be interested in the photos and letters and travel journals? Do I want to leave these things for someone else to toss? S is going through that with his deceased ex-wife's possessions, especially the journals, which are full of pain. Does anyone need to revisit that pain? Not that I have much pain. And I don't have much stuff, compared to what I did have. But, if I haven't used it in close to 3 years, is there any point to keeping it?
There are so many books about this, so many theories. S described a movie that he and N and J saw on a trip to Japan, Samurai Shifters. It's a comedy, based on historical fact from the 1600s, when shoguns destroyed power bases by making people move. The main character, a young scholar, was put in charge of shifting the clan, and he determined that they could not afford to take more than one donkey's pack load apiece. The lord of the clan was appalled and distraught: his castle was filled with priceless art from around the world. The scholar, who had sacrificed his books to show solidarity with his people's tough decisions, sent for fabric to cover up all the walls in the castle. The lord was then told that he could bring whatever he could describe from memory. 90% of his possessions did not make the cut.
And that is as good a way to decide what to keep as any, I suppose.
I recalled another decluttering technique, which I came across at least 20 years ago. Some strange person had decided to limit his possessions to 100 items or some such arbitrary number. Maybe 52, one for each week of the year. Or 365, one for each day. Who knows. The gist is that a pair of earrings is one item. A toothbrush is an item, a fork is an item. You can see that it would not take much to make up the count, when you count things like that. I wonder if pills counted as separate items, or if you could count the bottle as one? My friends said, that's essentially a backpack's worth, and that's another way to look at things. Do I have what it takes to limit my possessions to what will fit in a suitcase? It is, after all, what I have been living with for the last 3 years. My books are borrowed from the library, online. My music is played from files on the computer, my art comes with me in the form of digital photos. I have an aeropress, in case my hosts only drink tea, and a portable piano keyboard (thanks to my sister's generosity one Christmas.) The bulk of my needs are provided by my hosts.
When I think of decluttering, I get a little gaspy. It seems like I have pared down as far as I can. I have gone from a 2400 sq foot 2-story house with a casita and a mother-in-law apartment/addition to a room in a friend's house and a 10-foot square storage unit. And 10 or so boxes in a Portland friend's basement, mainly filled with dishes and art. I brought back 3 boxes and two trunks of memorabilia and 3 small boxes of dishes last fall, and the memorabilia is sitting in my friend's dining room, waiting for my attention. What do I keep? What do I toss? Gasp. And yet, there's a certain lightness of heart at the contemplation of a possession-free nomadic existence. I have been a nomad for 3 years, and I think I may be ready for the final shift.
Or maybe not. The other day I went to the storage unit and pulled out a few books (a blank journal, knitting patterns, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain), my violin music, and a few kitchen items (a scale and a coffee grinder.) I grabbed the Scarpini Tarot deck as a bonus. And I'm using them all. I guess I need them?
Monday, July 8, 2019
Oh Canada!
Because of a recent border crossing experience, I am rethinking my nomadic lifestyle. Initially, I posted some details to Facebook, along with a rather hideous PTSD selfie. Now that I've had time to think it through, and I'm no longer weeping, I'm ready to provide a more coherent account. However. I am including some of the FB discussions at the end, because they have guided my thinking on this situation.
On Saturday, July 7, I flew into Winnipeg, was flagged at Customs and, after an intense inquisition, was told that I was not welcome in Canada. Housesitting (even unpaid) is considered to be a job, and as such must go to Canadian citizens. I was accused of lying (because I said I was visiting friends which is what most of us nomads say.) I was told I could be fined and imprisoned. They made me book a next-day return to the States and confiscated my passport and ticket for the duration of my stay. My host was very kind about it, fortunately. I never did get to meet her, but she is talking about connecting when they come to Utah for camping and hiking.
The logistics were interesting. I've never been on the receiving end of a police interview. There were always two present. They were tall men, and they were dressed in black, seemingly bullet-proof, gear. They wore black plastic gloves (for searching?) They started out informing me that entry into a country was not a right, but a privilege. They questioned me regarding my plans, my reasons for visiting Canada, and my relationship to my hosts. They did not allow me to contact my host, who was there to pick me up. They took my phone. They questioned my integrity, told me I was giving them attitude (because I asked what was going on and why), and lectured me. They pulled out a huge tome and made me read the laws I was violating.
After making it clear that I was completely vulnerable and at risk, they backed off the threats.
I was to be allowed to sleep at a hotel instead of on the airport floors. I was offered water and handed Kleenex. The main inquisitor asked about my dog (not sure how that came up.) I started weeping, thinking of her loss, of what had led me to this place, sans husband, job, house, or pets. I was mourning the loss of my newfound lifestyle. He said, "You can still travel, you can house sit in the States," not realizing that it's the global community that is at stake, and that it's the contempt and suspicion of my life choices that hurts. He said, "It sounds like you've had a rough time." Well, yes, and you're not helping I thought, but I couldn't look at him. I was so humiliated that I was sharing my vulnerabilities with this professional intimidator. I took the Kleenex and stumbled around my luggage, putting things away and shrugging on the heavy pack. He gave me paperwork regarding my passport and next steps, showed me out the door by baggage claim, showed me the phone I'd be using to connect with Border Patrol the next day, and pointed out the information desk that would help me find a hotel.
When I returned the next morning, I was escorted by two different Border Police through the entire boarding process. In a way, that was nice, though it was of course public humiliation. But I wasn't frogmarched or cuffed, and I got through very quickly, bypassing some really amazing lines. At least 300 cadets were flying out at the same time.
Officially I "withdrew my application" to enter the country. I was not forbidden to return: I am welcome as a tourist. Unofficially...I don't know.
It was traumatic, and I'm questioning my whole house-sitting nomadic lifestyle. Trusted Housesitters basically says they are just a platform for connection, and that it's up to us to familiarize ourselves with the rules of the various countries. But none of the countries want undocumented workers, and that's what the border goons consider us to be. I've been entering countries under the pleasant fiction that I'm part of a global community of people who love animals, not that I'm doing a job. But that's disingenuous of me. I have been "lying" about the housesits, because I had heard stories about other people having border problems, but I'm not a good liar, and I fell apart under intense scrutiny. So now I have to figure out: is it possible to get paperwork that will let me into England as a volunteer petsitter? What about other countries? Forget Canada; the gendarmes told me that there was no way the government would ever grant permission for such a thing: those "jobs" have to go to Canadian citizens. Never mind that no one local wants to do this for free, and that the only losers here are the hosts, the travel business, and the local economy (which are losing out on my travel dollars.)
Many of the friends who read my Facebook post blame Trump's alienation of the rest of the world, but I think the issue is more complex than that. Yes, Americans are no longer exempt from harassment (if we ever were), but the unconventional, the indigent, the "other" is suspect all around the world. Everyone who travels has a border story. And, ever since I stopped working and living in one place, I've been treated with contempt by officialdom of all sorts. Renting is a problem, ditto health insurance, ditto setting up bank accounts. The list of places that no longer welcome me is a long one. The discrimination is breathtaking, and I'm not a refugee, drug dealer, prostitute, or even welfare recipient. But that's how I am now perceived. Instead of seeing me as a respectable middle class white lady, honorably retired and an upstanding member of the community, I am seen as an indigent freeloader with suspicious behaviors. The fact that I've moved 8 times since leaving Portland is a huge red flag. My long past counts for nothing: 30+ years in the same town, 20+ years of home ownership, 27 years employed by the same business...I was inert and safe. No longer. I own very little, I am unemployed, and the border cop referred to me as a "free spirit...." It was not a compliment.
Constant travel takes me past the red flag and into International Criminal standing. The border cops quizzed me about my finances, my work history, and my housing situation. Learning that I don't own a house and that I live with a friend, they said, "There's no indication you have any reason to return (to the States)." So, lack of house ownership is also a sign of unsavoriness. I am indignant about this, all the while realizing that my very indignation is a symptom of my past years of privilege. When I have perspective, I can only be grateful that I do have a safe home to which I can return to lick my wounds, and that I have sufficient funds to get me there. The fact that I want to escape the dying throes of my country is beside the point. The refugees at the border can tell me that I have nothing to complain about, either in my treatment or in my situation.
I've spent some time mourning my lost lifestyle: I've really loved doing this, making friends around the world, meeting amazing animals, experiencing community, exploring out of the way places. It's been a little over 2 years, though, and I've also been getting quite lonely and a little aimless. This year I've been logging a lot of miles, crisscrossing the States, flying to London, Canada, Florida, Portland. It gets wearing. I need a focus.
So, I made a lot of lemonade from the Winnipeg Debacle. Or perhaps that's just a way of spinning a completely horrible experience. But, here are the pluses:
Meanwhile, I'm flying Icelandair to Iceland, staying over 2 nights, and continuing to London on July 17. And then we shall see. Will they let me in?
And, that's my story. BL has decided to call me Mata Kari.
The Facebook Conversation
The original post:
Picture of an illegal alien: turned back at the border. After the lecture about lying and the scary consequences thereof (“how old are you?” “Don’t you know you’re supposed to tell the truth?” “Read this paragraph (in a huge lawbook)” “you can be fined and imprisoned”) they then turned nice and gave me Kleenex. I can return, just not as a house sitter. Apparently Canada considers it to be a job, even though I don’t get paid, and I need papers (which they won’t give me.) But I’m not forced to stay at the airport or sleep on concrete or otherwise get tortured. I’m not a refugee. But I still feel like pond scum, unwanted. My passport has been confiscated for my overnight hotel stay in Winnipeg, and I’m returning to NM to figure out if this is a sign from the gods that I should settle down like a good little girl.
The Stories
LH: Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. This is unfortunately not a new thing. For future reference, when you cross the Canadian border (in either direction), you're always, always going "to visit friends." I was once held up for hours just because I mentioned that my job title back home included the phrase "Volunteer Coordinator". The word "volunteer" is a big red flag. Hugs, friend!
Me: I said I was visiting friends, and that’s why I got the lecture about lying, and the threats. I didn’t have enough details about my hosts to sustain the lie...and not being a homeowner is suspect also. LH: that's absurd and ad hominem!
Me: They questioned my finances and employment and housing status and said, “It looks like you have no reason to return (to the States)”
LH: Oh that's a new one on me! Maybe they wouldn't let me in either. :(
JAD: It’s awful! I was given a really hard time at the US border the first time I said I was house-sitting - then I said we were doing it for friends. They called the home-owners who luckily backed up our creds. I now never say we are visiting anywhere to house-sit - at any border. I just say we are staying with friends.
Me: the problem was that I didn’t have enough details about the friends. But its okay...too smoky and if Canada doesn’t want my money, never mind. I wanted to go home anyway.
JAD: In all the traveling we do, the worst border crossings are US - so so rude - followed by Australia - and I’m Australian!....just don’t know why it’s necessary for any country. Last time I crossed a US border I was hassled because I have a 5 year visa. They asked me why I had that visa. I said because you told me to. They said ‘why did we tell you to?’ .... It really is very discomforting to be hassled at a border - wherever it is. You feel so vulnerable!
Me: exactly. And since I’m doing this to create a global community, it’s counterproductive...at least I have the option to go home. And I think he felt bad in the end....I cry way too easily
BL: let him feel bad. No reason to be a turd about it. Some of our TSA people are just as bad, though I have also had some very courteous and helpful border patrol and TSA agents as well. One experience doesnt paint the whole picture.....My favorite was soldiers patrolling the Frankfurt airport with rifles ( years ago), with flowers stuck in the rifle barrels for decoration. It was Christmas 1986
BBoo:I 'm glad you're safe, despite the horrible treatment. When I passed through Moscow in April the passport control gal was sound asleep with her head on the desk! I just stood there, wondering if I should just walk on through, but I was too unnerved so I kept calling out to her and tapping on the desk until she woke. It was nuts LOL!
JM: We had an almost housesitter from the US who was turned back at the Canadian border and denied entry because of housesitting, etc. I say almost because she was supposed to come to housesit for us but because of that experience in Canada, she didn't want to leave the US for fear that it would happen in Norway too. Sad..... So I don't think it's a sign
The Fallout discussion
LS: So sorry! Not only bad for you but now the people also have no house sitter!
Me: they were beyond kind about it
LS: that’s good. Am still very sorry. Frightening and upsetting!
Me: and expensive. 😱
BL: My question is how much did this cost you, and your house people? I assume you have to eat the travel costs and they either have to cancel their vacation, or PAY a Canadian to do the sit.
Me: Friends are looking in on the cats, and the dog is coming with. They told me not to worry. I am indeed eating travel costs: very expensive flight home, and another back to catch the flight to London. Plus a hotel stay
LS: Shouldn’t the company you are associated with have known this and advised you what was needed? Also let us know when you are safely on your way
Me: they are just a platform for connecting folks. We’re on our own.
DL: It's not a JOB!! DAMMIT
CB: Aw bless.. then you can return again to visit them as friends... shame they will then leave you to have a friendly holiday and just happen to feed their dog or cat while you are there!
The Political discussion:
WB This is what happens now that the "thing" in the White House insults other world leader and acts like a jerk. Canada was friendlier, I think, prior to 2016. I am so so sorry this happened.....
BJR I am shocked. So sorry you were the unlucky one to receive this horrible treatment. I can understand how you feel. Granted, I have not been to Canada for years (and then to British Columbia) I am appalled at the way you were treated. 45 and his horrible border policies have corrupted the way Americans are viewed in the world. The whole world is crazy at the moment. ((hugs)) ❤✌
BL: This sucks, but I was also waiting for this to happen. Like the pushback from the hotels and other fee-interested parties with the air B&Bs or Uber and the taxicabs, once this became big enough to be on the radar, somebody was going to try to regulate it and get their cut. This is what governments do. I think it is a sign the house sitting days are over.
This is not some confirmation of 45 pissing off the world and they are retaliating (though I'm sure some of that is going on somewhere). Countries always have jealously guarded their borders against foreigners - all the while trying to get the most economic gain they can from them before sending them on their way. It is worse now with terrorist security issues as well as competition for jobs, they want to protect their economy and work force from foreign labor markets - protectionism. We are just late in coming to the game.
Years ago our passports were confiscated in Italy while the landlady had them checked out with the local constabulary.... Also years ago we were given the third degree by the British Virgin Islands, and more recently Canada, to make sure we had enough money on us to return home (i.e. you are welcome to vacation and spend your money for awhile, but then be sure you get home). They also wanted to know the source and amount of our money, in case we were nefarious drug dealers. Trip to Alaska in 2006, through Canadian port, had similar issues - the bus (and occupants) from the cruise ship was pre-checked, and SEALED, to transport us to the terminal. Unfortunately the bus driver stopped and opened the door for some reason, which meant a 45 minute delay while some official had to come and recheck our passports again. Vowed to leave out of Seattle if I ever go to Alaska again.
CL: Passport confiscated, that's serious. Sounds like they're being jerks.
Me: they wanted to make sure I leave after sleeping in my Canadian hotel room. Better than sleeping in the airport, so I didn’t complain. I’ll get it back tomorrow
BL: They were making sure you didn't fade into the countryside and not show up for your court date, like our border captures. Canadians obviously don't believe in Catch and Release policies of the US Border.
BL: Interesting multiple people to and from multiple countries have had trouble when they say they are house sitting, but not when visiting friends. Its obviously not payback for Trumps behavior, something else is afoot (usually financial or security issues). Work visas maybe, if they consider it to be a job?
Next steps:
CB You keep on travelling girl!! We love seeing your photos and posts xxx
VS: Don’t settle ... don’t be a good little girl ... it’s fucking boring. You will figure it out and then, this bullshit stupidity won’t stop you ever again. xo
LRD: Sympathies. I'm sorry for your unfortunate experience, but I bet time will give you perspective to add this to the array of your fascinating experiences. I agree with R- blame Trump. Also, going forward (no reason to let this rain on your parade), tell border control you are "on holiday ". Skip the details. Love and hugs.
Me: then they asked where i was staying....it devolved from there
PC: Chloe and Serenity are still expecting a visit from their Auntie in September 2020!
Me: Maybe you should write a letter of invitation that I can show to passport control
A private conversation about laws and lying:
I have no idea what any country’s ruling is. I think that any country that thinks that we are ‘taking jobs’ from locals is likely to be tricky. I think that, given our aim to promote a global community, we are well within the bounds of truth to say we are visiting friends. What questions were you asked about it? Perhaps we could ask THS?.....
Me: I was asked how I know them, details like where they work, what they do, names and addresses of course. The minute I said we met through THS, the jig was up of course.
It’s hard. Visa conditions change all the time. I’m thinking that we just say we are tourists, and have hotel info, any hire car bookings, attractions we’ll visit, and we’re staying with friends of friends for a while perhaps, then not sure from there. Have all their contact details at hand. As I said, we never say we are ‘house-sitting’ - either tourists or visiting friends. Never had a problem with that. Although given your experience we’ll be more prepared from now on.
Me: My problem is that the security officer said that not telling the whole truth was lying, and that I could be imprisoned or fined or both
I think perhaps you’re right. The problem was mentioning THS in the first place. If that’s not in the picture, then how can they prove that you are not visiting friends and then planning to travel around? Having said that, I think that house-sitting in Canada is not an option for you going forward. Not that you would feel Like trying again!
Me: I just don’t know what to do about the UK: I am visiting my cousin, but I’m also housesitting. And Norway...I’m visiting family and J&H are friends but....
Perfect reasons to visit. Try not to over-think at the moment. You are - understandably - very upset right now. Please just give yourself time to recover
Me: Yes, I am very traumatized. I hate this, and I’m still blaming Trump
To be honest, we have heard that Canada is receiving a record number of enquiries from Americans wanting to move to Canada. Perhaps they are reacting to that. Whatever has happened it’s so unfair that someone like you gets caught up in it. You have so many friends around the world now. Perhaps you just visit them then take up house-sitting assignments once you’re there. Then you can tell ‘the whole truth’ at border crossings! Like Australia!
On Saturday, July 7, I flew into Winnipeg, was flagged at Customs and, after an intense inquisition, was told that I was not welcome in Canada. Housesitting (even unpaid) is considered to be a job, and as such must go to Canadian citizens. I was accused of lying (because I said I was visiting friends which is what most of us nomads say.) I was told I could be fined and imprisoned. They made me book a next-day return to the States and confiscated my passport and ticket for the duration of my stay. My host was very kind about it, fortunately. I never did get to meet her, but she is talking about connecting when they come to Utah for camping and hiking.
The logistics were interesting. I've never been on the receiving end of a police interview. There were always two present. They were tall men, and they were dressed in black, seemingly bullet-proof, gear. They wore black plastic gloves (for searching?) They started out informing me that entry into a country was not a right, but a privilege. They questioned me regarding my plans, my reasons for visiting Canada, and my relationship to my hosts. They did not allow me to contact my host, who was there to pick me up. They took my phone. They questioned my integrity, told me I was giving them attitude (because I asked what was going on and why), and lectured me. They pulled out a huge tome and made me read the laws I was violating.
After making it clear that I was completely vulnerable and at risk, they backed off the threats.
I was to be allowed to sleep at a hotel instead of on the airport floors. I was offered water and handed Kleenex. The main inquisitor asked about my dog (not sure how that came up.) I started weeping, thinking of her loss, of what had led me to this place, sans husband, job, house, or pets. I was mourning the loss of my newfound lifestyle. He said, "You can still travel, you can house sit in the States," not realizing that it's the global community that is at stake, and that it's the contempt and suspicion of my life choices that hurts. He said, "It sounds like you've had a rough time." Well, yes, and you're not helping I thought, but I couldn't look at him. I was so humiliated that I was sharing my vulnerabilities with this professional intimidator. I took the Kleenex and stumbled around my luggage, putting things away and shrugging on the heavy pack. He gave me paperwork regarding my passport and next steps, showed me out the door by baggage claim, showed me the phone I'd be using to connect with Border Patrol the next day, and pointed out the information desk that would help me find a hotel.
When I returned the next morning, I was escorted by two different Border Police through the entire boarding process. In a way, that was nice, though it was of course public humiliation. But I wasn't frogmarched or cuffed, and I got through very quickly, bypassing some really amazing lines. At least 300 cadets were flying out at the same time.
Officially I "withdrew my application" to enter the country. I was not forbidden to return: I am welcome as a tourist. Unofficially...I don't know.
It was traumatic, and I'm questioning my whole house-sitting nomadic lifestyle. Trusted Housesitters basically says they are just a platform for connection, and that it's up to us to familiarize ourselves with the rules of the various countries. But none of the countries want undocumented workers, and that's what the border goons consider us to be. I've been entering countries under the pleasant fiction that I'm part of a global community of people who love animals, not that I'm doing a job. But that's disingenuous of me. I have been "lying" about the housesits, because I had heard stories about other people having border problems, but I'm not a good liar, and I fell apart under intense scrutiny. So now I have to figure out: is it possible to get paperwork that will let me into England as a volunteer petsitter? What about other countries? Forget Canada; the gendarmes told me that there was no way the government would ever grant permission for such a thing: those "jobs" have to go to Canadian citizens. Never mind that no one local wants to do this for free, and that the only losers here are the hosts, the travel business, and the local economy (which are losing out on my travel dollars.)
Many of the friends who read my Facebook post blame Trump's alienation of the rest of the world, but I think the issue is more complex than that. Yes, Americans are no longer exempt from harassment (if we ever were), but the unconventional, the indigent, the "other" is suspect all around the world. Everyone who travels has a border story. And, ever since I stopped working and living in one place, I've been treated with contempt by officialdom of all sorts. Renting is a problem, ditto health insurance, ditto setting up bank accounts. The list of places that no longer welcome me is a long one. The discrimination is breathtaking, and I'm not a refugee, drug dealer, prostitute, or even welfare recipient. But that's how I am now perceived. Instead of seeing me as a respectable middle class white lady, honorably retired and an upstanding member of the community, I am seen as an indigent freeloader with suspicious behaviors. The fact that I've moved 8 times since leaving Portland is a huge red flag. My long past counts for nothing: 30+ years in the same town, 20+ years of home ownership, 27 years employed by the same business...I was inert and safe. No longer. I own very little, I am unemployed, and the border cop referred to me as a "free spirit...." It was not a compliment.
Constant travel takes me past the red flag and into International Criminal standing. The border cops quizzed me about my finances, my work history, and my housing situation. Learning that I don't own a house and that I live with a friend, they said, "There's no indication you have any reason to return (to the States)." So, lack of house ownership is also a sign of unsavoriness. I am indignant about this, all the while realizing that my very indignation is a symptom of my past years of privilege. When I have perspective, I can only be grateful that I do have a safe home to which I can return to lick my wounds, and that I have sufficient funds to get me there. The fact that I want to escape the dying throes of my country is beside the point. The refugees at the border can tell me that I have nothing to complain about, either in my treatment or in my situation.
I've spent some time mourning my lost lifestyle: I've really loved doing this, making friends around the world, meeting amazing animals, experiencing community, exploring out of the way places. It's been a little over 2 years, though, and I've also been getting quite lonely and a little aimless. This year I've been logging a lot of miles, crisscrossing the States, flying to London, Canada, Florida, Portland. It gets wearing. I need a focus.
So, I made a lot of lemonade from the Winnipeg Debacle. Or perhaps that's just a way of spinning a completely horrible experience. But, here are the pluses:
- There were 7 wildfires in Manitoba, and the haze over the city was really untenable.
- I needed to return to ABQ to take care of medical stuff: refilling prescriptions, checking on my ankle, checking on my thyroid.
- I miss hanging with my New Mexico tribe.
- I feel much love and support.
- I think I may have unconsciously flunked the border interview because I need to change what I'm doing. This is a wakeup call for me, whatever the cause.
Meanwhile, I'm flying Icelandair to Iceland, staying over 2 nights, and continuing to London on July 17. And then we shall see. Will they let me in?
And, that's my story. BL has decided to call me Mata Kari.
The Facebook Conversation
The original post:
Picture of an illegal alien: turned back at the border. After the lecture about lying and the scary consequences thereof (“how old are you?” “Don’t you know you’re supposed to tell the truth?” “Read this paragraph (in a huge lawbook)” “you can be fined and imprisoned”) they then turned nice and gave me Kleenex. I can return, just not as a house sitter. Apparently Canada considers it to be a job, even though I don’t get paid, and I need papers (which they won’t give me.) But I’m not forced to stay at the airport or sleep on concrete or otherwise get tortured. I’m not a refugee. But I still feel like pond scum, unwanted. My passport has been confiscated for my overnight hotel stay in Winnipeg, and I’m returning to NM to figure out if this is a sign from the gods that I should settle down like a good little girl.
The Stories
LH: Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. This is unfortunately not a new thing. For future reference, when you cross the Canadian border (in either direction), you're always, always going "to visit friends." I was once held up for hours just because I mentioned that my job title back home included the phrase "Volunteer Coordinator". The word "volunteer" is a big red flag. Hugs, friend!
Me: I said I was visiting friends, and that’s why I got the lecture about lying, and the threats. I didn’t have enough details about my hosts to sustain the lie...and not being a homeowner is suspect also. LH: that's absurd and ad hominem!
Me: They questioned my finances and employment and housing status and said, “It looks like you have no reason to return (to the States)”
LH: Oh that's a new one on me! Maybe they wouldn't let me in either. :(
JAD: It’s awful! I was given a really hard time at the US border the first time I said I was house-sitting - then I said we were doing it for friends. They called the home-owners who luckily backed up our creds. I now never say we are visiting anywhere to house-sit - at any border. I just say we are staying with friends.
Me: the problem was that I didn’t have enough details about the friends. But its okay...too smoky and if Canada doesn’t want my money, never mind. I wanted to go home anyway.
JAD: In all the traveling we do, the worst border crossings are US - so so rude - followed by Australia - and I’m Australian!....just don’t know why it’s necessary for any country. Last time I crossed a US border I was hassled because I have a 5 year visa. They asked me why I had that visa. I said because you told me to. They said ‘why did we tell you to?’ .... It really is very discomforting to be hassled at a border - wherever it is. You feel so vulnerable!
Me: exactly. And since I’m doing this to create a global community, it’s counterproductive...at least I have the option to go home. And I think he felt bad in the end....I cry way too easily
BL: let him feel bad. No reason to be a turd about it. Some of our TSA people are just as bad, though I have also had some very courteous and helpful border patrol and TSA agents as well. One experience doesnt paint the whole picture.....My favorite was soldiers patrolling the Frankfurt airport with rifles ( years ago), with flowers stuck in the rifle barrels for decoration. It was Christmas 1986
BBoo:I 'm glad you're safe, despite the horrible treatment. When I passed through Moscow in April the passport control gal was sound asleep with her head on the desk! I just stood there, wondering if I should just walk on through, but I was too unnerved so I kept calling out to her and tapping on the desk until she woke. It was nuts LOL!
JM: We had an almost housesitter from the US who was turned back at the Canadian border and denied entry because of housesitting, etc. I say almost because she was supposed to come to housesit for us but because of that experience in Canada, she didn't want to leave the US for fear that it would happen in Norway too. Sad..... So I don't think it's a sign
The Fallout discussion
LS: So sorry! Not only bad for you but now the people also have no house sitter!
Me: they were beyond kind about it
LS: that’s good. Am still very sorry. Frightening and upsetting!
Me: and expensive. 😱
BL: My question is how much did this cost you, and your house people? I assume you have to eat the travel costs and they either have to cancel their vacation, or PAY a Canadian to do the sit.
Me: Friends are looking in on the cats, and the dog is coming with. They told me not to worry. I am indeed eating travel costs: very expensive flight home, and another back to catch the flight to London. Plus a hotel stay
LS: Shouldn’t the company you are associated with have known this and advised you what was needed? Also let us know when you are safely on your way
Me: they are just a platform for connecting folks. We’re on our own.
DL: It's not a JOB!! DAMMIT
CB: Aw bless.. then you can return again to visit them as friends... shame they will then leave you to have a friendly holiday and just happen to feed their dog or cat while you are there!
The Political discussion:
WB This is what happens now that the "thing" in the White House insults other world leader and acts like a jerk. Canada was friendlier, I think, prior to 2016. I am so so sorry this happened.....
BJR I am shocked. So sorry you were the unlucky one to receive this horrible treatment. I can understand how you feel. Granted, I have not been to Canada for years (and then to British Columbia) I am appalled at the way you were treated. 45 and his horrible border policies have corrupted the way Americans are viewed in the world. The whole world is crazy at the moment. ((hugs)) ❤✌
BL: This sucks, but I was also waiting for this to happen. Like the pushback from the hotels and other fee-interested parties with the air B&Bs or Uber and the taxicabs, once this became big enough to be on the radar, somebody was going to try to regulate it and get their cut. This is what governments do. I think it is a sign the house sitting days are over.
This is not some confirmation of 45 pissing off the world and they are retaliating (though I'm sure some of that is going on somewhere). Countries always have jealously guarded their borders against foreigners - all the while trying to get the most economic gain they can from them before sending them on their way. It is worse now with terrorist security issues as well as competition for jobs, they want to protect their economy and work force from foreign labor markets - protectionism. We are just late in coming to the game.
Years ago our passports were confiscated in Italy while the landlady had them checked out with the local constabulary.... Also years ago we were given the third degree by the British Virgin Islands, and more recently Canada, to make sure we had enough money on us to return home (i.e. you are welcome to vacation and spend your money for awhile, but then be sure you get home). They also wanted to know the source and amount of our money, in case we were nefarious drug dealers. Trip to Alaska in 2006, through Canadian port, had similar issues - the bus (and occupants) from the cruise ship was pre-checked, and SEALED, to transport us to the terminal. Unfortunately the bus driver stopped and opened the door for some reason, which meant a 45 minute delay while some official had to come and recheck our passports again. Vowed to leave out of Seattle if I ever go to Alaska again.
CL: Passport confiscated, that's serious. Sounds like they're being jerks.
Me: they wanted to make sure I leave after sleeping in my Canadian hotel room. Better than sleeping in the airport, so I didn’t complain. I’ll get it back tomorrow
BL: They were making sure you didn't fade into the countryside and not show up for your court date, like our border captures. Canadians obviously don't believe in Catch and Release policies of the US Border.
BL: Interesting multiple people to and from multiple countries have had trouble when they say they are house sitting, but not when visiting friends. Its obviously not payback for Trumps behavior, something else is afoot (usually financial or security issues). Work visas maybe, if they consider it to be a job?
Next steps:
CB You keep on travelling girl!! We love seeing your photos and posts xxx
VS: Don’t settle ... don’t be a good little girl ... it’s fucking boring. You will figure it out and then, this bullshit stupidity won’t stop you ever again. xo
LRD: Sympathies. I'm sorry for your unfortunate experience, but I bet time will give you perspective to add this to the array of your fascinating experiences. I agree with R- blame Trump. Also, going forward (no reason to let this rain on your parade), tell border control you are "on holiday ". Skip the details. Love and hugs.
Me: then they asked where i was staying....it devolved from there
PC: Chloe and Serenity are still expecting a visit from their Auntie in September 2020!
Me: Maybe you should write a letter of invitation that I can show to passport control
A private conversation about laws and lying:
I have no idea what any country’s ruling is. I think that any country that thinks that we are ‘taking jobs’ from locals is likely to be tricky. I think that, given our aim to promote a global community, we are well within the bounds of truth to say we are visiting friends. What questions were you asked about it? Perhaps we could ask THS?.....
Me: I was asked how I know them, details like where they work, what they do, names and addresses of course. The minute I said we met through THS, the jig was up of course.
It’s hard. Visa conditions change all the time. I’m thinking that we just say we are tourists, and have hotel info, any hire car bookings, attractions we’ll visit, and we’re staying with friends of friends for a while perhaps, then not sure from there. Have all their contact details at hand. As I said, we never say we are ‘house-sitting’ - either tourists or visiting friends. Never had a problem with that. Although given your experience we’ll be more prepared from now on.
Me: My problem is that the security officer said that not telling the whole truth was lying, and that I could be imprisoned or fined or both
I think perhaps you’re right. The problem was mentioning THS in the first place. If that’s not in the picture, then how can they prove that you are not visiting friends and then planning to travel around? Having said that, I think that house-sitting in Canada is not an option for you going forward. Not that you would feel Like trying again!
Me: I just don’t know what to do about the UK: I am visiting my cousin, but I’m also housesitting. And Norway...I’m visiting family and J&H are friends but....
Perfect reasons to visit. Try not to over-think at the moment. You are - understandably - very upset right now. Please just give yourself time to recover
Me: Yes, I am very traumatized. I hate this, and I’m still blaming Trump
To be honest, we have heard that Canada is receiving a record number of enquiries from Americans wanting to move to Canada. Perhaps they are reacting to that. Whatever has happened it’s so unfair that someone like you gets caught up in it. You have so many friends around the world now. Perhaps you just visit them then take up house-sitting assignments once you’re there. Then you can tell ‘the whole truth’ at border crossings! Like Australia!
Friday, April 5, 2019
Mundanities
I've been back on the road since Feb, and I've written some drafts about housesitting, but I just cannot generate enough interest in my life to write more than my short daily checkins and my longer letters. If I can't be bothered, why would anyone else be interested?
So, I spent January pulling together the medical and tax information. Then I went to Florida to celebrate Mom's 90th birthday. She's awesome and it was great. Then, off to England for 3 weeks at a Shropshire estate, a week in Wales, and time in London on either side. I had an exhausting week of travel, leaving at 6 am from London on March 26 and arriving in Edmonton at 5 pm on March 29. I had one full day in Albuquerque to pick up drugs, deposit my IRA rollover check and get a hair cut.
And now I'm in the wilds of Alberta, living in a log cabin on a lake, walking the dogs, building the fires. It sounds idyllic, but instead I am lonely. My contact is either furry or virtual: both good but not enough. My work seems small and boring. If, as Carlo Rovelli says, every day is time travel, then I'm in a loop. Make coffee, feed dogs, play Scrabble, tutor, read, go for a walk, take a picture, write a checkin or a letter, knit, binge-watch Netflix shows, practise piano, practise Norwegian (via Duolingo), wash dishes, go to bed. Repeat. As I walk, I write scenes in my head, none of which get typed up. I do share the photographs I take, but only because I have to connect somehow, and that's the easiest way. I don't edit or process them beyond a little cropping and light fixing.
I think of George Sand, who wrote 30 pages a day for her entire life. I think of Jane Eyre reminiscing contemptuously about her cousin Eliza, who had a rigid routine that sufficed for her; nothing put her out more than the interruption of that routine, and in the end she enters a convent where things will be done with order and precision. "The vocation will fit you to a hair," Jane thinks, "much good will it do you." But, how is Jane's regimented life any more meaningful? Is it her art that puts her above her cousins? or her passion, tamped down and controlled though it is? One sympathizes with St.John, who wants her to put her talents to use, who himself writhes in the claustrophobia and mundanities of the country parsonage.
As I walked today, I thought about Virginia Woolf and her prescription for the woman writer. I have money and a room of my own, but I still don't have that incandescent mental freedom to write things that are worth reading. Woolf picks out a "slim volume" of letters and finds the writer to be skilled in fashioning a scene while describing the small details of her daily life.
But here's the sort of letter I write:
I'm glad things are rosier for you: they are greyer for me. Yesterday it snowed and today it is chilly and cloudy. My only real activity is taking the dogs out for 40-60 minutes. I turn around when Chloe stops pulling, as I don't want to be dragging her back, and it seems that I only have a short window between the pull and the drag.
Yesterday my new glasses arrived. I'm not sure I like them. They are progressive lenses, and I just don't get the hang of finding the right place to look. They also have some sort of a tint to prevent the excessive screen time from straining my eyes, and I'm not sure that's working either. But, since I just got them, I'm going to give them some time. At any rate, the correction is better.
It's been a bit of a trial getting these glasses, since it's all mail order. I'm using a service that E suggested, and I had to measure the PD, and it took longer than expected so I had to arrange to have them mailed here in Canada. What's PD? I asked, when they said that, due to my high prescription they needed that number. It's Pupillary Distance, of course, they said, and sent me a video describing the process for measuring it. I was in Wales at the time. I got no fewer than 6 different measurements, squinting in the mirror, so then I took a picture of myself with the ruler below my eyes and I got 44 different measurements. I sent the pix to the company and they declined to make a determination, suggesting I see my optometrist. I don't HAVE an optometrist, so I waited until I got to London and had R measure, and she got YET ANOTHER measurement and E got a final measurement of 65, which is what I went with because he seemed absolutely sure about it, and he's ordered glasses online before.
Still, I'm not sure that my problem isn't the PD, rather than the progressive lens.
The number usually ranges from 55-65. While I'm in range, I'd feel more secure with a middle number. I do have a large head, though.....
You can see that my life is not very exciting, if I can obsess over such mundanities.
Mundane, indeed. I think I prefer the time loop.
So, I spent January pulling together the medical and tax information. Then I went to Florida to celebrate Mom's 90th birthday. She's awesome and it was great. Then, off to England for 3 weeks at a Shropshire estate, a week in Wales, and time in London on either side. I had an exhausting week of travel, leaving at 6 am from London on March 26 and arriving in Edmonton at 5 pm on March 29. I had one full day in Albuquerque to pick up drugs, deposit my IRA rollover check and get a hair cut.
And now I'm in the wilds of Alberta, living in a log cabin on a lake, walking the dogs, building the fires. It sounds idyllic, but instead I am lonely. My contact is either furry or virtual: both good but not enough. My work seems small and boring. If, as Carlo Rovelli says, every day is time travel, then I'm in a loop. Make coffee, feed dogs, play Scrabble, tutor, read, go for a walk, take a picture, write a checkin or a letter, knit, binge-watch Netflix shows, practise piano, practise Norwegian (via Duolingo), wash dishes, go to bed. Repeat. As I walk, I write scenes in my head, none of which get typed up. I do share the photographs I take, but only because I have to connect somehow, and that's the easiest way. I don't edit or process them beyond a little cropping and light fixing.
I think of George Sand, who wrote 30 pages a day for her entire life. I think of Jane Eyre reminiscing contemptuously about her cousin Eliza, who had a rigid routine that sufficed for her; nothing put her out more than the interruption of that routine, and in the end she enters a convent where things will be done with order and precision. "The vocation will fit you to a hair," Jane thinks, "much good will it do you." But, how is Jane's regimented life any more meaningful? Is it her art that puts her above her cousins? or her passion, tamped down and controlled though it is? One sympathizes with St.John, who wants her to put her talents to use, who himself writhes in the claustrophobia and mundanities of the country parsonage.
As I walked today, I thought about Virginia Woolf and her prescription for the woman writer. I have money and a room of my own, but I still don't have that incandescent mental freedom to write things that are worth reading. Woolf picks out a "slim volume" of letters and finds the writer to be skilled in fashioning a scene while describing the small details of her daily life.
But here's the sort of letter I write:
I'm glad things are rosier for you: they are greyer for me. Yesterday it snowed and today it is chilly and cloudy. My only real activity is taking the dogs out for 40-60 minutes. I turn around when Chloe stops pulling, as I don't want to be dragging her back, and it seems that I only have a short window between the pull and the drag.
Yesterday my new glasses arrived. I'm not sure I like them. They are progressive lenses, and I just don't get the hang of finding the right place to look. They also have some sort of a tint to prevent the excessive screen time from straining my eyes, and I'm not sure that's working either. But, since I just got them, I'm going to give them some time. At any rate, the correction is better.
It's been a bit of a trial getting these glasses, since it's all mail order. I'm using a service that E suggested, and I had to measure the PD, and it took longer than expected so I had to arrange to have them mailed here in Canada. What's PD? I asked, when they said that, due to my high prescription they needed that number. It's Pupillary Distance, of course, they said, and sent me a video describing the process for measuring it. I was in Wales at the time. I got no fewer than 6 different measurements, squinting in the mirror, so then I took a picture of myself with the ruler below my eyes and I got 44 different measurements. I sent the pix to the company and they declined to make a determination, suggesting I see my optometrist. I don't HAVE an optometrist, so I waited until I got to London and had R measure, and she got YET ANOTHER measurement and E got a final measurement of 65, which is what I went with because he seemed absolutely sure about it, and he's ordered glasses online before.
Still, I'm not sure that my problem isn't the PD, rather than the progressive lens.
The number usually ranges from 55-65. While I'm in range, I'd feel more secure with a middle number. I do have a large head, though.....
You can see that my life is not very exciting, if I can obsess over such mundanities.
Mundane, indeed. I think I prefer the time loop.
Sunday, May 6, 2018
April journal, last 3 weeks in Norway
April 1
The view from the Klemmetsrud farms is stunning, across a valley to forested mountains. It felt very odd to stand looking at the view and think that this is where Grandma was born. A similar view met me when we drove another 10 km to Sigrid's home, where I met her husband. We ate snacks (bread, sliced meats and brunost and cloud berry jam, finishing with Hardanger lefse.) We mainly discussed travels, but we did talk about the area. There's a 4-volume set of books about people and places in Sor Aurdal (the Commune which contains Hedalen) and she had already translated the relevant information for Anne Bonewell and Michael Wong (the family genealogists who put me on to Sigrid.) There was Grandma's name, in print! It's in the list of the children of Jon Johnsen and Inger Joplassen, all of whom emigrated (apparently it's unusual for the entire family to leave, but I believe that our family just rented, so there was no property for the elder farm to stay for.) Joplassen is another small community. I'd passed the turnoff on my drive over.
I can't imagine what it was like to move from the valleys and fjords and lakes and mountains of Valdres and end up on the flat Minnesota plains.
Then home on a different road (the first part of the circle had ended in a heart-stopping ascent which I was anxious to avoid). The last bit involved an icy driveway, the only place where driving was an issue. As they say, most accidents happen close to home. Fortunately, I hit nothing, just slid around a bit.
IM and her friend G had spent the day in a little open hut on the property. He had dug out a path to it. They were grilling hamburgers and potatoes on the little BBQ Weber-style grill and had built a roaring fire in the hut's fireplace. I had gone into her apartment to check the electric meter for H, and IM invited me to join them. G is 30 years older than she, and had thus not been taught English as part of his school curriculum. But we had a lovely evening until the sun went down and one of the rocks in the fireplace exploded. We took that as a sign that it was time to go inside. E, it was like the most elegant snow picnic ever! Pix attached.
The cats were a bit perturbed
with me, but they have forgiven me now. They both snuggled until I began
tutoring this morning, and are now back in their favorite chair. I
plan to take today easy. Right now I'm in my jammies, tutoring, and
later I may or may not get dressed. And I need to finish the intro
texts for Rachel.
Info sent to P:
I found out what those bundles of wheat (or whatever they are) were: it's a Christmas habit to put out food for the birds. Julenek is the term. The Easter tradition is to go up to the seters or other gathering place in the mountains and go cross country skiing. It's a typical Norwegian thing to own a cabin in the mountains. It's also a typical Norwegian thing to escape to the Canary islands. ;)
I also learned that, if the roads are not posted with speed limits, it's 80. Good to know!
April 2/3
I never got out of my jammies yesterday! I tutored for several hours and corresponded with family about Hedalen. I'll need to drive around Valdres and the Hallingdal (two neighboring valleys) to cover all the places my ancestors lived. I also researched the Hauges, since no one seems to remember, and found info on FindAGrave that leads me to Jevnaker, in Hadeland at the southern end of Randfjord. I've driven past en route to Oslo, it's about an hour away So, it's close! I'll wander by, I think.
After I get out of my jammies.
April 3/4
This is the view that greeted me when I put on my glasses.
3 inches dropped overnight. Still snowing steadily, small pellets. Fortunately IM and I drove into Gjovik and I stocked up, even getting some rolls made with cardamom. So instead of toast this is my breakfast:
April 4/5
Wrote to LS and replied to EB's long letter.
New snow blankets sound
While bewildered birds twitter.
I’ll stay by the fire.
April 6
Leo
is sitting next to me purring loudly. I think he wants me to put aside
my laptop and feed him. Or cuddle him. I love these cats. Even when
they throw up. Or rather, even THOUGH they do so.
I received the "job offer" letter from Ghost Ranch: 9 months with room and board in lieu of pay, and the possibility of benefits (which I probably won't pay for, except maybe the health insurance.) Apparently they can no longer hire long-term volunteers, so they are treating it like a job. But since there is no money changing hands, it's a little complicated for me to comprehend the tax consequences.
I accepted via email, so it's really happening. Sadly,
there is no space for guests with me, at least not during the peak
seasons. I'll be in shared housing. If anyone wants to visit, it will
have to be later in the year, I think.
April 20
A beautiful terrifying 6-hour drive over the mountain passes through driving rain and dimly-lit tunnels, 4 km long.
Will write more later
April 22
Spent the night in Skei at a last-minute airbnb and then drove past Kaupanger, where I stopped to look at the stavkirk. There was a baptism scheduled, so I took a quick looksee and got out of the way. Then, the ferry to Laerdal and home the same route I took with P. Very different: still snowy, but the ice was breaking on the lakes, and the verges were clear. Stopped at Borgund again and was able to tour the church as well as the museum. A German gent was putting new tar on the roof.
Tomorrow I return to the States and my first year as a nomad is over! I hope you’ve enjoyed following my activities: it’s been great having you to share this with me!
Lily is sleeping on my stomach. I’m going to miss her terribly!
J made a fabulous smoked haddock chowder and invited IM to join us for the farewell dinner. It was excellent!
And that’s all!
April 23
On my way home, end of the first year of housesitting.
Damn Schengen Agreement
I show my passport;
I’ve overstayed my welcome
By 2 travel days.
They are kind to me.
I’m let off with a warning.
Do I dare return?
To the family:
I'm going to write a blog with more details, but thought family might be interested. (E has already received info, via the daily emails I'm sending the Gang of Four, and pix are available on Facebook. L, I'm including a few here for you, since you don't do Facebook.)
So I got up bright and early, tutored for 50 minutes, and then drove for 2 hours to reach Hedalen Stavkirk (in Valdres) by 10 am. I wandered around, taking pictures and listening to the organist and bell ringer practising for the 11 am service. Sigrid Haugen, local retired librarian (no relation) met me. We attended Easter service, which was both the same and different from services I'm used to. There was some added ritual before communion. They did not sing any of the hymns I knew, but the offertory was a medieval Christmas hymn that I know and love, and the words were in Swedish so very few members of the congregation sang along. It was interesting to note that many of the hymns gave the option of Nynorsk or Bokmol (the local dialect? I didn't quite understand Sigrid about that point), and one even had Sami words. Sigrid kept looking at me sideways as I sang along: I think she was surprised that I knew the songs. Well, I didn't but I can sightread! And fake other languages. And the gents behind me had powerful voices.
After service she drove me up to the
Klemmetsrud farm. She had determined that our family was located in the
southern farm, but the foundations of the houses were buried under
snow. I took pix of the existing farm houses, except for the middle one
which featured a bear-like dog with a huge bark. It appears the
current economy is lumbering, but our ancestors had cattle. I've bought
some traditional Valdres cheese, but that's a craft industry, not
something that is a really going concern. The real industry is
tourism. Around 700 people live in the area, and many of the houses are
just vacation homes. Sigrid says they are thinking of closing schools,
due to lack of population, but the closest other schools are at least
an hour away. As it stands, high-schoolers have to choose to live in
another town (Bagn, Lillehammer, or Gjovik.)I'm going to write a blog with more details, but thought family might be interested. (E has already received info, via the daily emails I'm sending the Gang of Four, and pix are available on Facebook. L, I'm including a few here for you, since you don't do Facebook.)
So I got up bright and early, tutored for 50 minutes, and then drove for 2 hours to reach Hedalen Stavkirk (in Valdres) by 10 am. I wandered around, taking pictures and listening to the organist and bell ringer practising for the 11 am service. Sigrid Haugen, local retired librarian (no relation) met me. We attended Easter service, which was both the same and different from services I'm used to. There was some added ritual before communion. They did not sing any of the hymns I knew, but the offertory was a medieval Christmas hymn that I know and love, and the words were in Swedish so very few members of the congregation sang along. It was interesting to note that many of the hymns gave the option of Nynorsk or Bokmol (the local dialect? I didn't quite understand Sigrid about that point), and one even had Sami words. Sigrid kept looking at me sideways as I sang along: I think she was surprised that I knew the songs. Well, I didn't but I can sightread! And fake other languages. And the gents behind me had powerful voices.
The view from the Klemmetsrud farms is stunning, across a valley to forested mountains. It felt very odd to stand looking at the view and think that this is where Grandma was born. A similar view met me when we drove another 10 km to Sigrid's home, where I met her husband. We ate snacks (bread, sliced meats and brunost and cloud berry jam, finishing with Hardanger lefse.) We mainly discussed travels, but we did talk about the area. There's a 4-volume set of books about people and places in Sor Aurdal (the Commune which contains Hedalen) and she had already translated the relevant information for Anne Bonewell and Michael Wong (the family genealogists who put me on to Sigrid.) There was Grandma's name, in print! It's in the list of the children of Jon Johnsen and Inger Joplassen, all of whom emigrated (apparently it's unusual for the entire family to leave, but I believe that our family just rented, so there was no property for the elder farm to stay for.) Joplassen is another small community. I'd passed the turnoff on my drive over.
I can't imagine what it was like to move from the valleys and fjords and lakes and mountains of Valdres and end up on the flat Minnesota plains.
Then home on a different road (the first part of the circle had ended in a heart-stopping ascent which I was anxious to avoid). The last bit involved an icy driveway, the only place where driving was an issue. As they say, most accidents happen close to home. Fortunately, I hit nothing, just slid around a bit.
IM and her friend G had spent the day in a little open hut on the property. He had dug out a path to it. They were grilling hamburgers and potatoes on the little BBQ Weber-style grill and had built a roaring fire in the hut's fireplace. I had gone into her apartment to check the electric meter for H, and IM invited me to join them. G is 30 years older than she, and had thus not been taught English as part of his school curriculum. But we had a lovely evening until the sun went down and one of the rocks in the fireplace exploded. We took that as a sign that it was time to go inside. E, it was like the most elegant snow picnic ever! Pix attached.
Info sent to P:
I found out what those bundles of wheat (or whatever they are) were: it's a Christmas habit to put out food for the birds. Julenek is the term. The Easter tradition is to go up to the seters or other gathering place in the mountains and go cross country skiing. It's a typical Norwegian thing to own a cabin in the mountains. It's also a typical Norwegian thing to escape to the Canary islands. ;)
I also learned that, if the roads are not posted with speed limits, it's 80. Good to know!
April 2/3
I never got out of my jammies yesterday! I tutored for several hours and corresponded with family about Hedalen. I'll need to drive around Valdres and the Hallingdal (two neighboring valleys) to cover all the places my ancestors lived. I also researched the Hauges, since no one seems to remember, and found info on FindAGrave that leads me to Jevnaker, in Hadeland at the southern end of Randfjord. I've driven past en route to Oslo, it's about an hour away So, it's close! I'll wander by, I think.
After I get out of my jammies.
  |
| Once I get out of my jammies. After my breakfast, It is time to make my bed. Leo forestalls me. |
  |
| It’s time for writing, But Lily thinks otherwise. It’s a great schedule! |
   | |
| It's snowing again?! She tries to sharpen her claws. The snow is too soft. |
This is the view that greeted me when I put on my glasses.
3 inches dropped overnight. Still snowing steadily, small pellets. Fortunately IM and I drove into Gjovik and I stocked up, even getting some rolls made with cardamom. So instead of toast this is my breakfast:
 |
| IM was shopping for a young friend |
Wrote to LS and replied to EB's long letter.
  |
| April snow showers: The lake hides, the birds quaver. Is this really Spring? |
While bewildered birds twitter.
I’ll stay by the fire.
I spent most of yesterday tutoring. Or rather,
logged in and waiting to tutor There were a lot of extra hours that
suddenly appeared on the schedule, but not many students. One thanked
me for being up so early: it was 5 am her time. 11 am mine, of course.
The storm lasted all day, so I only went outside to bring
in more wood. Today, however, it's very sunny and I haven't lit the
fire at all. We calls it passive solar energy in NM. ;)I received the "job offer" letter from Ghost Ranch: 9 months with room and board in lieu of pay, and the possibility of benefits (which I probably won't pay for, except maybe the health insurance.) Apparently they can no longer hire long-term volunteers, so they are treating it like a job. But since there is no money changing hands, it's a little complicated for me to comprehend the tax consequences.
April 7
Apparently there’s a famous Norwegian candle shop called Løiten Lys.
IM was browsing there with her friend G and he bought me an
Easter gift. Not sure why. A little cutesy for my taste (the online
catalog shows some amazing candles), but it was a sweet gesture.
Street scenes
To L: I had a hurried visit to the National Gallery of Norway in Oslo: got there at 4:30 and it closed at 5. It was free, tho. Saw the Munch room of course, but the real revelation was the landscape and Norwegian topic paintings. I’m including a few. Leo is weighting down my arm, so I’m typing with the left thumb.
My Airbnb room was a closet, in a 1-bedroom apt near the opera house (amazing architecture, modeled after an iceberg).
The host was a
gracious IT youth. When the new Library and Munch museum are done, it
will be an even better location. But, a 15-minute walk from Oslo
Sentrum past the opera house along the harbor was a nice plus.
Caught the 5 pm train back: IM will be picking me up at 7, thus saving me parking hassles. She’s so kind!
April 11/12
And that's the basic news of the day. I think I skipped a day reporting, sorry, but there's not much to say.
There's
still oodles of snow on the ground, and the driveway is treacherous
with slush and ice, but the house is toasty warm now in the afternoon,
and the space heater does just fine warming up the rooms in the morning,
so I can stop using the fireplace. I was doing laundry, so I was down
to a sleeveless dress plus fleece jacket. It was so warm, I shucked the
jacket and then did some tai chi chih, facing the snowy hills and lake,
absorbing the sun. The breeze was only cool. I love spring.
April 12/13
To the Gang:
Anyway, it
felt good to be out in the sunshine. I was just wearing leggings, linen
shirt, sweater, walking shoes (not boots) and light socks, scarf and
hat. No gloves, no layers, no coat. There were birds, mainly magpies
and some chickadee-like little ones. I need to look it up. I saw some
tracks that were probably fox. The sky was a deep blue. Despite the
several feet of snow, it is clearly Spring. The days are as long as
summer in NM, I guess because of the latitude. Quite a switch from
January, when the days were an eye-blink.
I'm still trying to
get the gumption to take some day drives in the area. It's difficult,
when I am so comfortable just hanging around. And knowing I'm coming
back in a year takes the pressure off. I know L and Mom won't let me
be a lump. So, we'll see.
G and M, I'm reading about 4 wildfires in NM? Some from a prescribed burn by Grants? How's the air quality?
To L, who wrote about PDX weather:
Yes, even though I've been happy here, the monochrome landscape is getting to me. It was gloomy grey rain the whole time I was in Oslo, and snowed in the Oppland. Yesterday I walked around the lake (on snow-pack for the western side). The air was cool, not biting, and the sky a lovely blue, but snow is still several feet deep in the fields and on the roofs and undergrowth. Back at the road near my home, I saw a rocky outcrop for the first time and thought, oh THAT's what's underneath all that white.
To AB, Klemmetsrud cousin, about travel tips for her upcoming visit:
2.
Oslo has many hills, but it's a very walkable city. If you spend time
there, you might want to get a Ruter card for buses and subways. The
Oslo Pass will get you to 4 of the folk museums at a reduced rate. The
Kon-Tiki, Fram, and Maritime museums are right next to each other, and a
ferry goes from their to the city center. The Viking Ship museum is on
the same peninsula. Definitely go walk on the Opera House roof (and if
possible attend something A high spot for me.) I stayed at an Airbnb.
It's cheaper, and usually has kitchen privileges, and you get to stay
in a home.
3. Again, regarding the car, they are very serious
about drinking and speeding. Zero tolerance for ANY alcohol in the
blood, and bus drivers have to use a breathalyzer before they can start
up the engine. Speeding is usually ticketed via camera, and you
usually get a warning. And tolls are paid via chip in the car. Not
sure how that works for rentals.
4. S was extremely
gracious. I was unable to see the grave sites or the foundations of the
old farm, or visit the earlier places where the family lived before
they bought the Klemmetsrud farms: Joplassen is up by Bagne (Great
Grandmother's home) and John's family came from Haugsrud at Skrukelia in
the Bagne valley.
You have probably already sussed out the places you want to see: I did not! Here's what S told me:Skrukkelia was a place under Haugsrud (Hougsrud) in Begnadalen. On the east side of river Begna, a few kilometers on E 16 south of the cross where you started the hills towards Hedalen when you arrived. Jon Jonsen Haugsrudeie was born there in 1796. The place was abandoned about 1900 and I don’t think there are any houses left. I am sure the other Skrukkelia names in Norway has nothing to do with your family.\ Jonsrud is in Hedalen, close to the school and Bautahaugen museum. The same Jon and family lived there from 1821. The place is most likely named from him (Jon’s place). Jon and wife Gudbjørg and 2 daughters emigrated to America in 1856. The oldest son Jon, born 1817 (later called Store-Jon (Big-Jon)) and wife Inga lived at Klemmetsrud. Their son again is Jon Jonsen Klemmetsrud born 1862. I attach a copy from the Bygdebok that shows this: Klemmetsrud, page 317. And a copy of The Jonsrud pageOthes names of ancestral places as Joplassen (in Leirskogen), Garthus and more are all in Sør-Aurdal. So you had needed more time here!
5. I'm assuming you've already bought plane tickets?
British Airways has THE BEST Business class, IMHO, but Norwegian Air's
Economy Plus is not bad. As a tall and large woman, I have come to
appreciate the amenities.
6. I have a travel coffee press. Everything is VERY expensive here, so home brewed coffee is nice. I'm coming back in a year with my Mom, so any tips YOU have will be much appreciated! All the best, K
April 13/14
After
all the emailing, I took a walk to the store to reward myself with
chocolate and replenish the coffee and cheese supply. I've been cutting
back on the sugars and processed foods, partly because I'm a little
concerned about gut microbes and diabetes issues, but mainly because it
just isn't sounding good to me.
Anyway, it was very warm
walking out: I was sweating under the sweater. Must be the reason for
that name. But coming home an icy blast had me wishing I'd brought the
hat.
The cats pretty much had me pinned down, alternately and
togther, for most of the day. I think they sense a change in the air.
Later, K
They slowly become
The picture of contentment.
I can't reach my cup.
I wish I could send the video I posted to FB:
there was a lovely bird concert after sunset, and I want someone to
identify the birds for me!
She dropped it by yesterday. And that’s my news from yesterday, too.
Except: I finally completed my taxes! I missed 1040.com’s discounts, but the $2 donation to Healing Waters International still happened. And you can’t beat the Live Chat assistance.
And $1K in my bank will be nice.
And $1K in my bank will be nice.
 |
| Påskehare |
I look up and see
A calm salmon glowing sky.
It grows still brighter.
April 8
You know it’s Spring
When there’s a mouse in the house,
Under the bookcase.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to retrieve it before I leave for Oslo.
When there’s a mouse in the house,
Under the bookcase.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to retrieve it before I leave for Oslo.
  | |||
| Tag teaming, and happy ending |
 |
| They jog in the rain, Reminding me of Portland, Except for the snow. |
Train ride
To L: I had a hurried visit to the National Gallery of Norway in Oslo: got there at 4:30 and it closed at 5. It was free, tho. Saw the Munch room of course, but the real revelation was the landscape and Norwegian topic paintings. I’m including a few. Leo is weighting down my arm, so I’m typing with the left thumb.
 |
| Johan Christian Dahl 1788-1857, Dresden by Moonlight 1838 |
 |
| Detail from a Russian icon |
  | ||
| Eilieff Petersen, 1852-1928 detail Christian II signing the death Warrant off Torben Oxe 1875-6 |
 |
| Eugene Jansson 1862-1915 Storm, Evening 1898 |
 |
| Jul celebration. I still see these huts in the countryside |
  |
| Adolph Tidemand1814-76) og Hans Gude (1825-103 Bridal Procession on the Hardanger Fjord |
    |
| Edvard Munch |
 |
| Thomas Fearnley 1802-42. Bridge of Hauge outside Arendal |
 |
| Nikolai Astrup 1880-1928 Jonsokbaol 1912 og 1926 (Bonfire celebrating Midsummer Night |
Chamber
music. Passionate and glorious. Vaughan Williams Fantasia on a theme
by Talllis (an old favorite), a vigorous and surprising Beethoven’s 5th,
and a cerebral clarinet concerto that I’m still deciding about. The
Klezmeresque encore was a delight, tho, and the soloist amazing.
Walk on the roof, after the concert
April 9
After the concert,
Dark figures climb the iceberg,
Casting huge shadows.
      |
| The opera house, Architectural iceberg, Endlessly angled. |
I caught the 11:31 train to Oslo yesterday. Was in time for a free
final half hour at the National Gallery. Yes, I saw The Scream, but the
real revelation was Nordic landscapes. I got to the opera house in time
to wolf down a nice Caesar salad and Chardonnay, then 2 hours of rich
and glorious chamber music.
I wept at the passionate Vaughan Williams
and delighted in the vigorous Beethoven’s 5th. The clarinet concerto
was modern and cerebral, with music also produced through gestures: not
sure how that was done. My neighbor, a charming young Swedish gent,
said there were cameras involved.
I spent today with Thor and Roald, reliving Arctic and archaeological marine adventures. I was only a little claustrophobic during my tour of the Fram. Will have to visit the Viking ship and Nobel center another time.
I spent today with Thor and Roald, reliving Arctic and archaeological marine adventures. I was only a little claustrophobic during my tour of the Fram. Will have to visit the Viking ship and Nobel center another time.
My Airbnb room was a closet, in a 1-bedroom apt near the opera house (amazing architecture, modeled after an iceberg).
 |
| view from the balcony |
The host was a
gracious IT youth. When the new Library and Munch museum are done, it
will be an even better location. But, a 15-minute walk from Oslo
Sentrum past the opera house along the harbor was a nice plus.  |
| iceberg sculpture in the harbor |
 |
| on the way home |
Kon-tiki. It was amazing to stand next to the raft and imagine 6 men living on it for 101 days.
 |
| Ra II |
3 hours is not enough, but it’s all I had time for at the Fram Museum.
Electric lights!
Last stroll on the roof.
 |
He stands on the edge
I carefully approach him,
And our gazes lock.
|
 |
During a last stroll
Atop the rain-slick iceberg,
Idle glances lock.
|
April 10
My muscles have been sore all day: too much walking and standing
and reading display information, too much schlepping of a heavy bag in
the preceding 24 hours. So I've been reading and knitting again. It's
warm enough to sit outside in the sun, and the cats joined me for a bit.
That is all good. But, it's depressing that I could be wiped out from
such a simple outing. And I'm also feeling a little lonely and a little
aimless. I have less than 2 weeks left, and I'm not sure what I'll be
doing. Part of it depends on the weather, but part of it depends on my
own resolve.
The loneliness isn't surprising, even
though I've been spending some time with Ina. But I think it's the
loneliness of not being with people who mean something to me, and
knowing that I've chosen that life for at least 2 more years. Also, I
just finished listening to a beautifully written book, Song of Achilles.
Told from his soul-mate Patroclus' point of view, it is a wonderful
coming of age story, rich with details that seem accurate. I wanted the
story to end happily, even though I knew it could not. I wept at the
ending, and am still thinking about it: about doomed young brilliant
lives. Is it enough to have lived intensely, to have found a soul-mate?
And, after writing about famous people and visiting the Kon Tiki and
Fram museums, I think about the human cost of endeavor. Someone is
always left behind, and rewards are usually not in proportion to what is
given up.
In a word, I am sad today.
But,
tomorrow I'll do some tutoring and writing and walking, and that will
all be good. I've attached pix of the cats, who are very clingy today:
they don't like being abandoned overnight.
I'm going to miss them.
So, when I went to Oslo I locked up the house and
pocketed the house and car keys. When I got back, they were gone. I
had to break in through IM's apartment: the door at the top of the
stairs was bolted shut to keep the cats from pushing through, but I
unscrewed the plate on IM's side and maneuvered the lock mechanism. I
thought I might have left the keys in the airbnb room, but V syas
no. So, they probably fell out of a hole in my pocket. Dammit. I spent
yesterday composing letters to museums and transportation lost and
founds and confessing to my hosts. It's possible that the
neighbors have a spare house key, and there is a spare car key, but I'll
be spending today getting replacements, I guess, and the electronics in
the car key will not come cheap.
Oh well.
Hard to type with a cat spread across my chest. Fortunately, it's the smaller one (Lily).
 |
Stretched along my arm,
His languid furred weight pins me.
I cannot type now |
To the Gang:
Happily, the neighbors had a key to the house, so I don't
need to get a locksmith to change the locks and get me a new key. I
just need to make copies of the keys I have, now.
I walked
around the lake yesterday, so that's another goal scratched off the
list. It started as my 2-mile round trip walk to the store, but I
decided to go the extra half mile past the store to the end of the lake
to see how much had melted. Once there, I discovered the groomed ski
trail was packed down by a snowmobile (I'm assuming), and I could walk
on it without snow shoes. So I did. It took about 2 hours, all told,
maybe a little more. Probably it was a 4 mile walk in all. I can't call
it a hike: the only hills were on the road to and from the lake, and
it was wide level terrain on the west side of the lake. In summer it's
probably a dirt road. It was a little rougher than walking on paved
roads, though, because I sank a bit in the snow pack. Not quite breaking
a trail, but not quite NOT breaking a trail. ;)To L, who wrote about PDX weather:
Yes, even though I've been happy here, the monochrome landscape is getting to me. It was gloomy grey rain the whole time I was in Oslo, and snowed in the Oppland. Yesterday I walked around the lake (on snow-pack for the western side). The air was cool, not biting, and the sky a lovely blue, but snow is still several feet deep in the fields and on the roofs and undergrowth. Back at the road near my home, I saw a rocky outcrop for the first time and thought, oh THAT's what's underneath all that white.
To AB, Klemmetsrud cousin, about travel tips for her upcoming visit:
Sorry it took me awhile to get back
to you. I don't have any real travel tips, because I'm house-sitting,
so everything is set for me. Also, my experience is colored by the
unusually heavy snows and their effect on roads (and my nerve.) That
being said:
1. if you rent a car, the speed limit is 80 kph,
unless otherwise posted. There are many long tunnels (2-8 km) going
through the mountains. The longest in the world is at Laerdal, at the
end of Sogne fjord: just over 23 km. (We did not take it). You have probably already sussed out the places you want to see: I did not! Here's what S told me:Skrukkelia was a place under Haugsrud (Hougsrud) in Begnadalen. On the east side of river Begna, a few kilometers on E 16 south of the cross where you started the hills towards Hedalen when you arrived. Jon Jonsen Haugsrudeie was born there in 1796. The place was abandoned about 1900 and I don’t think there are any houses left. I am sure the other Skrukkelia names in Norway has nothing to do with your family.\ Jonsrud is in Hedalen, close to the school and Bautahaugen museum. The same Jon and family lived there from 1821. The place is most likely named from him (Jon’s place). Jon and wife Gudbjørg and 2 daughters emigrated to America in 1856. The oldest son Jon, born 1817 (later called Store-Jon (Big-Jon)) and wife Inga lived at Klemmetsrud. Their son again is Jon Jonsen Klemmetsrud born 1862. I attach a copy from the Bygdebok that shows this: Klemmetsrud, page 317. And a copy of The Jonsrud pageOthes names of ancestral places as Joplassen (in Leirskogen), Garthus and more are all in Sør-Aurdal. So you had needed more time here!
Yesterday was busy, but what did I do? I wrote
to the local auto place and locksmith. Then to another auto place.
Then to another. Still have not lined up key replacement, but I'll get
there.
Then I wrote to Asbjorg and Per Gunnar, trying to
arrange a visit. Then again, then again, then again. Then to Jillian
(the next house-sitter.) And again, and again. Herding cats, indeed,
but I finally have the Nordfjord visit organized for my last 3 days.
Now we just hope there is no freak snow storm to keep me from going.
Turns out H's mother is from the area, but closer to the sea.
April 14/15
It's amazing how much happier I feel today. Yesterday I went to
Lillehammer with IM and G: just a stroll around Maihaugen (a
living history museum) and a BBQ at Olympic Park. But it took most of
the day, getting there, wandering around, and then getting back. And
this morning I feel quite content to be spending the day with books and
writing and tutoring, instead of feeling vague depression and cabin
fever. I guess any routine, however pleasant, is the better for a shake
up. And spending time with others is also good.
G has no
English and I have no Norwegian, so poor IM must function as
translator. It gets funny when she mixes up and speaks to G in
English.
She must be exhausted today.
There is one cloud to my
content, however. My friend Stephen Llewellyn, who took me to the
English National Opera last year, fell and broke his neck. He's alive,
but obviously in a serious condition. His fiance posted the news on FB,
and I just read about it. Reportedly, he is in good spirits and
wiggling his toes, but Jesus. He's had enough health crap, with various
cancer episodes.
Life is not for sissies.
take care of yourselves, my dear ones.
Trauma, personal;
Fear, global. Joy, both places.
Social media.
Thinking of absent friends, and hoping joy remains dominant. (Recover soon, Stephen Llewellyn)
April 16Fear, global. Joy, both places.
Social media.
Thinking of absent friends, and hoping joy remains dominant. (Recover soon, Stephen Llewellyn)
Yesterday, after my 3 hours of tutoring, I knitted and listened to To the Bright Edge of the World. Loosely based on Lt. Henry T. Allen's exploration in Alaska, it's rather like Heart of Darkness meets Edmund Shackleton and Merriweather Lewis.
Now I'm getting ready for another excursion with IM and G. :)
April 16/17
To family:
To family:
Yesterday I went to see the Hadeland
Glassverks, and it turned out they are in Jevnaker, which is cited as
Great grandfather Jens Hauge's birthplace. Of course, Jevnaker is also
the name of the Commune. It's at the southern end of Randsfjorden, the
longest inland fjord in Norway and the fourth largest, so the drive was
quite pretty. At one point we passed a ferry: the fjord is so long
that people want to cut off the circuit to get from one side to the
other, and it's too wide for a bridge. According to Ina, it only runs
during the day, so if you go to a party, you have to spend the night.
At another point, we went past a log picker, and at another past a power plant: the water comes in a pipe down the hill. It was a pretty brick building, but I didn't get a picture of it. Energy and timber are the two main industries, I think. Cattle used to be, and people spent the summers in the seters in the mountains, but now that's an artisanal industry.
I have no idea where, in this large area, our
progenitor lived. The economy has changed since then. The farms were
fallow for years after the black death, and the Klemmetsrud ancestors
appear when the farms were purchased back from the crown in the 1700s, I
think. Maybe 1600s. So Hauges probably followed the same pattern,
although Jevnaker was also a rather important port. Gardermoen Airport
is just around 10 km away, but I think I took a different route on the
bus to Gjovik. But it's all Oppland. I'm attaching some pix.At another point, we went past a log picker, and at another past a power plant: the water comes in a pipe down the hill. It was a pretty brick building, but I didn't get a picture of it. Energy and timber are the two main industries, I think. Cattle used to be, and people spent the summers in the seters in the mountains, but now that's an artisanal industry.
To the gang:
Today
I'm finishing up tutoring. Had a very frustrating session with a
student who wanted me to do her research for her and refused to use
library databases because they "took too long" and the tutors couldn't
search them for her. It's a writing session, not a research session.
sigh. This is how one gets poor ratings. Fortunately, I don't care if
my ratings suck.
Then, I need to do some cleaning to prep for tomorrow's hand-off. I have an incipient sore throat, which I'm not happy about.
I received a
lovely message from my hosts, about how much they appreciate my good
work and how it's obvious the cats love me. IM has apparently also sent
them nice messages about me as a neighbor. We are looking forward to
meeting each other next May, when I come back. So, using up all the wood
and losing the key is not a problem. ;)
Today I pick up the next housesitters.
I
wish I could get a picture of my current situation. Lily is draped
across my capacious chest: I'm typing around her. Leo is curled up on
the couch back at my shoulder, one leg stretched across my arm, and head
against me. I guess they've forgiven me for getting out the nasty
vacuum cleaner.
Yesterday we went to Hadeland Glassverks. As per usual,
many of the places were closed. My main sadness was missing out on the
gallery/museum. But, we were allowed to sneak into the glass blowing
area and watch. There's a little theatre of hard folding chairs in
riser rows, half circled for viewing, but there was no demonstration.
We just walked among the chairs, checking out operations. Gunnar asked
some questions of one of the workers, and he came over and showed us a
few things. The glass that is colored cannot be remelted and used again
but is instead crushed and used in building roads (I'm sure I
misunderstood something there.) Clear glass is reused. The temp is
between 500 and 1500 degrees (C? probably) and if the glass temp goes
below 500, work cannot be done on it.
I love watching
glass blowers at work. There's a sort of meditative patience and rhythm
to it, almost like the glass is dictating the pace.
Shrouded in the mist
Alone in a chill stillness.
The bright fire crackles.
April 17/18Alone in a chill stillness.
The bright fire crackles.
Yesterday was foggy until almost noon, and then it
brightened up. I spent most of the day cleaning: not that the place
was a pig sty, but I wanted to do some extra cleaning before the next
sitters arrive. And I had to do laundry. Finally I could use the great
outdoors for drying! (There's no dryer.)
IM brought me some
of her BBQ and I went down to chat with her while I ate it. She's a
trained chef, but cannot physically do the work any more. With the
warmer weather, she is leaving the door open, and both of the cats have
been sneaking in and eating her cat's food. Hah!
I moved a little, reaching for my iPad, and then took some post-disturbance pix:
The picture of contentment.
I can't reach my cup.
April 18/19
I picked up the next housesitters from the airport yesterday. I drove
past Randfjorden and Jevnaker again,
but coming back we went through
Gjjovik for shopping. I had meant to mail Visa cards to my hosts first,
but when I got to Gjovik I realized that I had come with my knitting
but not my purse. So, I'd been driving without money or license. I had
to drive back the 30 minutes, and that meant I had no time to go back
to the post office. Then, when I took J and R to Gjovik, I was
so busy showing them where to get a SIM card and helping them with
groceries, I forgot AGAIN about the Visas. So, after tutoring today,
I'm going back to Gjovik. Sigh.
R was not impressed
with my driving, and after the shopping expedition I let him drive and
gave directions. He was actually not vocal about it, but I can read the
cues: I was merrily chugging along at 80 kph while answering J's
questions from the back seat and he quietly said, "you might want to be
in 4th."
After another similar comment I asked, "Is my driving making you
nervous?" and he said, "A little" and later said that he's probably a
little gun shy because of the white-knuckle driving he'd experienced in
Croatia, and the fatal accident they witnessed there. So, it was an
amicable exchange, and I'm happier not driving anyway, especially with
passengers, who always distract me from the task at hand.
I made them avgelemono soup and we drank
R's whiskey, and then they took their travel-weary bodies to bed.
They had been up since 3 am, and had a hassle at Frankfurt: R had a
small pocket knife that had made it through most customs because of the
short blade, but the Germans would not allow it through. He had to put
it in J's carryon and check that bag through. J got lost in
the airport, and SAS had to hold the plane for them.
Today
will be about showing them the ropes. They are a fun and capable
couple, and I'm enjoying the company. Tomorrow I take off for
Nordfjord. The cats are being a little standoffish with them, but that
will pass, especially after I'm out of the way. The process has already begun, though:
Hanging out with Lily
A beautiful terrifying 6-hour drive over the mountain passes through driving rain and dimly-lit tunnels, 4 km long.
Will write more later
  |
| Rondane from a distance |
      |
| Lalm |
   | ||
| Holmoyane |
        |
| Oppstryn |
    | ||
| Vedvik |
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| view from Krakenes Lighthouse |
April 21
After a night of rain and mist, today dawned chilly , with clouds hiding
the hilltops. Down by Bergen it snowed, so that “summer tires” were
not allowed in certain areas. Fortunately, the snow did not reach me. I
slept in, but was dressed by 9:30. I toured Vedvik with S, then drove to the ferry at Lote. Spent the afternoon with the Apalsets, talking and exploring. (A separate post will talk about family.)
Vedvik beach:
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| Lote, waiting for the Ferry |
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| View of fjord at Sandane, from Appalsett homestead |
Spent the night in Skei at a last-minute airbnb and then drove past Kaupanger, where I stopped to look at the stavkirk. There was a baptism scheduled, so I took a quick looksee and got out of the way. Then, the ferry to Laerdal and home the same route I took with P. Very different: still snowy, but the ice was breaking on the lakes, and the verges were clear. Stopped at Borgund again and was able to tour the church as well as the museum. A German gent was putting new tar on the roof.
Tomorrow I return to the States and my first year as a nomad is over! I hope you’ve enjoyed following my activities: it’s been great having you to share this with me!
Lily is sleeping on my stomach. I’m going to miss her terribly!
J made a fabulous smoked haddock chowder and invited IM to join us for the farewell dinner. It was excellent!
And that’s all!
April 23
On my way home, end of the first year of housesitting.
Damn Schengen Agreement
I show my passport;
I’ve overstayed my welcome
By 2 travel days.
They are kind to me.
I’m let off with a warning.
Do I dare return?
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| Portrait of a scofflaw |
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