Norwegian man in Reading pub: there’s not many girls that know about assessing political risk
Wendy: I’m an ingenjör
Norwegian: what type of engineer?
Wendy: Social ingenjör
Norweigian: I find the English girls are very….. errrrr…. how do you say ……’old fashioned’
Wendy: Yeah, I find the English girls are very old fashioned too, that’s why my Finnish dad wanted to marry an English girl. But look at these boots! I’m not an old fashioned girl. I’m an ingenjör with SENSIBLE footwear. Functionally well engineered, good experience, easthetically funky footwear I blame Dad.
Norweigian: I’m sorry?.
Bros 1957: Wendy, do you remember what we were doing at this time on September 11th 1979?
Wendy: Errr…..um… …not really, what were we doing Bros 1957?
Bros 1957: Oh! You don’t remember!
Bros can produce an ‘Oh’ packed with emotional messages. It’s a family trait. He was genuinely very suprised that I didn’t remember what we were doing at a specific time on a specific day nearly 10 years earlier
Wendy: Nope. I can guess but it would be based on probablities that things I remeber happened at that time. What were we doing then?
Bros 1957: We were having a family sauna at a ski resort in Inari, Finland
Wendy: I remember the Sauna. How do you remember the exact date and time?
Bros 1957: because it was exactly 10,000* days ago (huge smile)
Bros 1957 has a fantastic ability to remember time and events together, he’s published an eponymous moon-based calendar.
* dates have been changed because I can’t remember them
Mumzie drives to another town to pick-up the only Rye crisp-bread that Dad considers to be like real Finnish Rye bread.
The myriad of quirky little things my parents do for each other shows they are still in love, 52 years after getting married.
Hittavainen, the Karelian god of hares has turned up in the Wendy House garden.
According to the BBC Hares crop up in Mythology all over the place and are associated with the Moon, the celestial skies and the Sun, with fertility, the dawn, cunning and bravery.
This one is associated with pebbles purloined from beaches all over the world.
1977. In Helsinki mum, dad, and both brothers were visiting dad’s family.
Dad took us all into the Kalnuun Puukko shop and we spent the afternoon each choosing a Puukko. After Puukko’s were purchased we went off into the woods around Helsinki to find fallen wood to wittle. We wittled together. All good family fun. Result? Lots of pointy small sticks left in the woods. My psyche was forever scarred by this experience and I’m now totally undatable.
When asked for some clarifying points on this ”knife’ aquiring experience Dad described the social-cultural significance of a Puukko beyond my constrained concept of a ‘knife’:
Knife in Finnish is veitsi – You should never call a puukko a knife – it is much more than that – it is the basic survival tool that you should have when you venture into the forest or into nature at wintertime or summertime. Its very name is associated with its prime use puu is tree or wood and kko implies a thing associated with the former – a woodworking tool. With it you can build a shelter in the forest, make a spear for spearing fish, use as an ice pick to drag yourself out of broken ice and much more. It does not weigh you down – it is essential in hunting and fishing. The original puukko had handle made of tightly woven young birch bark which often had a spell written on it before it was applied. This had to be replaced regularly – the modern puukko often has a solid handle often simulating the old type. Taken into cities and suburbia it becomes a weapon rather than a tool and it loses its basic character. In the Finnish – English dictionary the puukko is described as a sheath-knife as English does not have a separate word for a woodworking knife . It can and is used for stabbing by roughs and the verb puukottaa means stab with a puukko and the stab (noun) is puukonisku. The blade of the puukko is puukonterä. The man who makes it is a puukonseppä ( a smith) A true puukko should be bought from the man who makes it and you should visit him so that he can choose the right blade for you – However mass production does not allow for these old niceties and a tourist shops in the city is the source nowadays.
I wonder what equivalent stories with socio-cultural significance will be handed down to our next generations…
Pathetic Person Advisory (PPA): look away now if you can’t bare soppiness (1)
When I get home-sick (2) I take a trip to ScanDesign and look at the furniture. The wood is mainly an orange shade with simple lines. My parents home is packed with co-ordinated Scandinavian teak furniture. In the 1990’s, when I had no furniture, I begged them to leave thier front room to a Museum as an intact example of 1970’s Chic. It still is 1970’s Chic. Only now it’s really cool and I’d rather they left it to me, not that I could afford to ship it to the US.
Now, my front room looks frighteningly similar to theirs. I am becoming my parents. I have exactly the same dining table. When buying it I didn’t think, ‘oh my parents will like that I must buy it’, I thought wow that’s beautiful, cheap and I need a round table. The English cultural icon King Arthur made the need and value of a round table quite clear. My current table was oblong and identical to my parents’ table. Buying a round table marked my independence. Later, when I visited the biddies, I discovered they had replaced their oblong table with one identical to mine. The good news is that my parents will feel very ‘at home’ next time they visit.
Notice the blue glass grail-like challice on the shelf? It’s Marimekko, I have grown into a scandinavian design adict. I’m not looking for a cure. It just is. I’ll live with it. On a related note, I’ve noticed some Ikea products sneaking into my bothers home. Nothing sinister, just a chair and a bed….
- I gather from this Times Online article that soppiness may well be a British trait
- In this case, home = living with my parents. I have way too many ‘homes’, different cities, houses, countries….
Overheard in the US:
- “I’m Swedish” says a rotund lady with an American accent that reveals no hint of Scandinavian rythm. She demonstrated no sign of the stylish dress sense I’d witnessed on my trips to Stockholm and Linköping. I didn’t ask ‘how’ she was Swedish. I was only evesdropping on the conversation. The American she spoke to accepted moved the conversation to another topic.
- “I’m Finnish” a slender girl in an American accent told me. “How?” two of her grandparents were born in Sweden before becoming naturalised American citizens. She had met her grandparents though never visited Europe. She knew very little about the country. I didn’t mentioned my lineage. She didn’t ask. She appeared to be enjoying telling me about hers. I was enjoying being an attentive audience.
The US authorities do not legally recognize dual citizenship. It seems you can be a US citizen and declare yourself ‘as if’ native of another county. To be a native of another country doesn’t require having the benenfit of parents born in that country, speaking the language, or having visited that country.
My father was born in the Karelia isthmus when it belonged to Finland. He holds a Finnish passport and emmigrated to England aged 19. I was born after he became a British citizen. My parents were both British citizens. I know a bit about Finland by virtue of visits to relations, holidays in Scandinavia, stories from Dad, and cultural objects around my parents home. But that hardly qualifies me to say ‘I’m Finnish’. I am English. I only lived one year in Scotland and spent numerous vacations in Wales and Ireland. I suspect there were probably some Vikings in my mothers family tree. By American conversational convetions I can probably say ‘I’m Viking’. Watch out for the pillaging, its overdue….
