Kaviar is Caviar (We've Come to Norway, part 4)

It is 11:45pm here and we are supposed to meet someone with all of our luggage around the corner at 6:45am tomorrow after breakfast. Ahh!

So, what we did today from 9:00 to 3:00 was sit in a room at Det teologiske Menighetsfakultet (if your tried to pronounce that, welcome to our last four days) with 25-30 other people - some were academics working on youth ministry projects and some were practitioners of youth ministry in Norwegian churches and organizations. We heard four research papers presented and discussed them. Don't be misled when I say "we." I heard, but, as I am neither an academic nor a practitioner, I kept my thoughts to myself. Even so, it was an interesting day filled with a whole lot of coffee. (I've had more black coffee and americanos here than in the rest of my life combined.)

This is what we had for lunch. It was a piece of bread topped with a kind of mayonaise, and kind of mayonaise-y cold slaw, tiny shrimp, lettuce, cucumber, lemon, dill, locks, ham, roast beef, pickle, tomato, red pepper, red onion, grapes, and maybe coriander. Delicious and nutso.

 Here are Alaina and Hans Kristian (He's the reason we're here, by the way. Thanks, Hans!)

After the seminar, Alaina found a grocery store online and we walked there. It was interesting. Foreign grocery stores are always interesting, but even moreso when you don't know the language. There was a line of products that said Kaviar, we weren't sure what they were because some were pink and we thought that caviar was black. We found out later that they were, in fact, tubes of caviar. We've seen them at our hotel breakfast, too, so I guess it's a popular item. Lots of things come in tubes here. 

We bought a small jar of pickles, a small jar of jam, chocolate, cookies, ten slices of cheese, a small baguette, sugar snap peas, and carrots all for the small fee of 206.20 kroners or 36.38 dollars. That's grocery shopping in the most expensive city in the world, folks!

We carried our items back to the hotel and ate them while watching Gone Baby Gone, which is very intense, in case you were wondering.

At 7:45pm, one of our new friends Hans (a different Hans than pictured above) picked us up and brought us to what we didn't know was another dinner party with some of the same people plus a couple of Americans, so that was fun. We skipped dinner (full of pickles and whatnot), but ate ice cream and drank americanos. It was fun. We've been blessed by wonderful hosts here in Norway, which more than makes up for the expensive groceries.

Productivity & Pie (We've come to Norway, part 3)

Today, Alaina and I parted ways after breakfast (which ends at 10:00 and which we took at 9:55) because we each had some important business to attend to. Alaina went to have intellectual conversations about theology, history, and methodology, while I pounded the pavement, determined to make some connections with Oslo coworking spaces. 

Alaina took lots of notes. See below.

I took lots of notes too, but of a different sort. You see, I visited three coworking spaces with no map and no smart phone. (Whaa?!) What I had to do was look up each place I wanted to see, ask google maps for turn by turn directions, and then write those directions on little pieces of hotel notebook paper. See below.

Yikes. Did I mention that it was cold and rainy? It didn't matter. I had an umbrella and the determination to navigate this foreign city with no grid, streets that change names, and addresses that don't really make sense. And I did.

The first place I stopped was called MESH. It was pretty neat.

They were getting ready for a gigantic event, so a nice young man gave me a tour and then I retired to their coffee shop (yes) for a latte and some work. I ordered my latte and then tried to pay. In Norway, they use these funny little "chip and PIN" machines. I knew they were funny and little, but it wasn't until after I failed to use it properly, causing a line to form behind me, that I learned that none of my cards would be accepted by it because none of them had the "chip" of "chip and PIN."

Once this realization was made, I was embarrassed (she had already made my latte), so I just left the place and headed toward the next space, but not before snapping this photo of the outside of MESH with my phone. Red carpet!

I couldn't find the next place for a long time and thought of just going back to the hotel. Between this and my card being rejected from a second coffee shop, I was feeling very frustrated and in want of coffee. My day had become a bit of a mess.

Finally, I was able to sit outside of a restaurant and steal their guest WiFi. That was a turning point. I emailed my contact at the space and he met me outside. Their space was much more casual. It was a collection of very small companies. Their unique amenities included arcade games AND a chef-woman who's job it was to cook them lunch every day. I was given a tour, many introductions, coffee, and mineral water.

Feeling refreshed and finally caffeinated, I pressed on to my third location, 657 Oslo. Their space used to be an arts school, but they had transformed it into a very cool coworking space for creatives.

After more coffee and some very pleasant conversation with one of the space's employees, I hit the road for the last time, umbrella up, scarf wrapped twice around my neck.

I made it back to the hotel without getting even a little bit lost. This was pleasing because I had already had a whole lot of conversations with Norwegian strangers that included me pointing to my notes and muttering. I also saw about six H&Ms, but I didn't shop at all. That's how focused I was.

A couple of hours later, Alaina and I reunited and then attended a dinner party with about ten hospitable Norwegians, only a couple of whom I had met before. We had a grand old time. (Norwegian parties are much like American dinner parties.) Some of them were more excited about speaking English than others, but we couldn't complain because we don't know Norwegian at all.

This post was written as a part of a blogging game. The players are The Creative Collective and the topic is A Mess. See what the others are saying.  

We learned today. (We've come to Norway, part 2)

We had a harder time sleeping last night than we expected, being so tired and all. At the beginning, I think it was just your typical in-a-new-place-it's-hard-to-get-to-sleepies. Then, our bodies woke us up at a normalish (in America) time, which would have been about 2am here. In any case, we did sleep and then after waking and dressing we went to breakfast downstairs in the hotel (this was very yummy and interesting, but I have no photos, so maybe I'll tell you more about it tomorrow) and then were picked up by our hosts to attend a worship service.

This was our second Norwegian worship service - last night we attended a youth service and this morning was a for-everyone service. It was nice, and we're getting much better at pronouncing Norwegian words because of their praise songs. During the sermons, we get headphones so that we can listen to a translator.

After the service, we got coffee and waffles. Apparently, "church waffles" are common. We decided that this tradition should travel to the States as a healthy (maybe?) alternative to doughnuts.

After church waffles, we went to an outdoor/indoor Norwegian history museum called FOLKEMUSEUM. (Spoiler alert: there were none of Bob Dylan's old guitars.)

Inside, we learned a lot about clothing. Did you know that each district in Norway has its own costume that people still wear on special occasions? Fun fact. We also saw lots of beautifully made wooden things, like this piano.

Outside, it was slightly rainy and quite chilly, that's why I look like someone's grandmother in the old country.

We saw some very old things, like this church, built circa 1100 AD. It's in the style of the vikings, but they put a cross on it to make it Christian-like. It's made of wood and very impressive.

We also saw some less-old things, like the recreation of a Norwegian city only about 50-100 years old.

After all that learning, we were pretty hungry. Our hosts took us to this really lovely restaurant up on a hill that overlooked the city. We passed not one, but two gigantic ski jumps. Also, as if we somehow forgot that we were in Scandinavia, it started snowing. Being North Carolina residents, we were delighted. Inside, we ate Norwegian meatballs and game soup.

The taste of our post-dinner coffee still in our mouths, we braved the snow to catch the last open hour at the Munch Museum. 

Yes, that is me, standing in front of The Scream. Nice camera work, Kleinbeck.

Lots of learning under our belts, we rested in the hotel for a couple of hours before being picked up to  for a delicious Italian meal at a place called Eataly with five of our new Norwegian friends. Eataly. Get it? So clever.

Here we are at the end of our day and the thing that I've come away with most is that it's a shame that when people started creating things with their brains via modern technology, they began to make things with their hands less, like awesome viking churches.

We've come to Norway

As a way of recording and remembering this, our trip to Norway in October of 2012, I will attempt to post here every day and include photos that Alaina has taken.

Yesterday, Friday, we arrived at RDU around 4:40pm to learn that our first flight (to Heathrow) had been delayed. Not a big deal. We both computered and ate some of the plane picnic Alaina had prepared until it was time to board around 7:30pm. Nothing remarkable happened on our first flight, apart from Alaina seeing Taken for the first time and both of us being reminded of two things 1) we should avoid being taken during our trip and 2) if we are taken, we should call Liam Neeson.

Oh, and this was a red eye flight. We spent about six hours traveling in the opposite direction of the sun, so by the time we arrived in London, it was after 8:00am there and we had only slept a couple of hours, maybe. Please take note of my exhausted (do not mistake it for pensive) expression here, and this was mid-latte.

(I also purchased a particular eyebrow pencil at Boots because I remember getting one when I was living in England in 2007 and I haven't found an as-good and reasonably-priced one in the States yet. I guess Americans don't have as great an appreciation for a strong brow.)

Our second flight was only a couple of hours - London to Oslo. Each of us slept a bit more, thought probably not a full hour. When we arrived in Oslo, it was after 1pm. At customs, the guard asked what I was doing in Norway and I shrugged and looked back at Alaina. I'm glad he chose to laugh at me instead of detain me for being suspicious.

Our lovely hosts greeted us and drove us to our hotel. We were supposed to stay in the city-center Radisson, but the plan was changed and instead, we're staying at a more quaint and local-feeling establishment. We are pleased. See photo.

After giving us some time to wash our faces and bundle up a bit more, our hosts took us to a little market that was happening in the city. There, we tried something like a pancake with jelly and sour cream. It was delicious.

 There were other sights to be seen as well, like meat and people and tracks for the public tram.

After the market, we had some more substantial food, drank some americanos, and then walked around a few lovely parks. One was home to several statues of naked humans engaging in a variety of activities. One of them, I suppose, looked cold, and so some concerned passerby donated a hat to the cause.

Another of the naken human statues was a very upset baby (the most famous of the naked human statues), but there was nothing to be done for him.

As for non-naked human statue-related entertainment, there was a large group of Norwegian youth dressed up like characters from Grease, carrying around a boom box (yes) playing the soundtrack, and singing along quite loudly in unison. Still not sure what that was about.

And, for balance, here is a photo of a park just being typical and beautiful.

Once our tour was finished, we spent a bit of time in our hotel room (I tried to nap, but was mostly afraid that I would not wake up for days. Remember, less than 3 hours of sleep and lots of walking in the cold.) before attending a youth worship service and then returning to our hotel, where we are now. 

Goodnight, until tomorrow, assuming I wake up for it.

I do not like retail.

I was 19 and I needed a job. I had transferred from a state school in Florida to a private school in East Tennessee and I very much needed a job.

This was before I learned the lucrative beauty of waiting tables. My work experience until then had been packaging bulk food in a heathfood store, being a servers' assistant at a too-fancy restaurant, selling Kirby vacuum cleaners, and being a concierge at a hotel. Not a bad resume for a 19 year-old.

With my years of work experience under my belt, I hit the Johnson City Mall. I filled out applications and handed them to cashiers who could only tell me that they were "always accepting applications." I hate that. It basically means "waste your time, if you want to."

I came upon one store that I had never heard of before. The entrance looked like the outside of a tropical bungalow. I entered. The music was loud and the inside was dim, crowded with racks of surfer-chic clothes, and strongly scented.

I didn't look around much, but headed to the register.

"Are you hiring?"

"Yes. Here's an application. If you fill it out right now, I can interview you in 30 minutes."

What luck.

I completed the application, returned it to the cool-looking woman, and wandered around until it was time for my interview.

I remember nothing about the interview, but when it was over and I was walking through the mall to my car, my cellphone rang. It was the manager.

"Can you come to orientation on Monday?"

"Yes."

"See you then."

Interesting. Within a matter of minutes of learning that a company existed, I had become an employee.

I don't remember orientation either, really, except that I had become a "brand representative" and I would have to wear clothes in the style of the store (fortunately they didn't have to actually be from the store, but more on that later) and generally look "beachy." This look was achieved by, in addition to the attire, wearing little make-up and flip flops or "cool sneakers."

Whatever. I had a job.

It was okay, at first. I learned a lot of new music that I still listen to today. I found a perfume that I really liked a lot, though it has since been discontinued.

Yep. That's the whole list of the things that made it not so bad. The other list, the bad list, was longer and grew.

My shift was about six hours and I would spend that time relegated to a "zone." Often times it was the dressing room, which had the benefit of allowing me to, when it was slow, stand by myself and sing along to the music, which was so loud that casual conversation wasn't generally attempted. I was okay with this. The patrons of this particular store were cool-kid teenagers who made me self-conscious.

To make matters worse, the clothing was all designed for humans who had the body shape of an avatar from the movie Avatar - very long and very thin. I could not wear the clothes. Everything was too long and too tight. In fact, I never bought one piece of clothing the whole time I worked there. I just stood in the dressing room as the 12 year-old girls tried on miniskirts and giggled and the 12 year-old boys tried on t-shirts that said "God bless the bikini," and other, more vulgar things, while looking tough at themselves in the mirror.

Then came the news that all of the employees would have their photos taken and sent to Corporate to determine whether or not we were adequate "brand representatives." I'm sure now that they use that job title to justify hiring and firing based on appearance. Weird.

The woman who had hired me, I learned, had a graduate degree in psychology. No wonder her eyes looked a little bit dim in that place.

She go out, though, and was replaced by a man who insisted that we tuck every price tag in before we could leave the store for the night. He was later fired for "fraternizing" with the underage female employees.

Even though all of this was enough to make me dread those six-hour shifts, the most demoralizing part of the job was the folding of clothes. When my "zone" was an area of the store, I was responsible for keeping everything folded. I would perfect the jean wall, only to have it torn apart by three 14 year-old girls, looking, carelessly, for their size. Then, I would put it back together and watch someone else tear it apart. This happened with everything in the room - every neat stack of t-shirts and intentional pile of sweatshirts. Everything. It was demoralizing.

When I finally got another job, I approached my manager - the fraternizer.

"Have you made the schedule for next week yet?"

"No."

"Okay. Could you not put me on it, or ever?"

"Okay."

"Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

I had quit my first job.

I like to tell people now that I worked there. They find it funny and uncharacteristic. I do too. I don't even know why they hired me. The kids who shopped in those stores when I was a teenager were the kids who I wanted to impress but couldn't. I never looked right. So it was funny that, as an adult, I was selling those clothes, those clothes I couldn't even wear, to another generation.

In another life, retail might be a fun job for me, but until then, I will cringe a bit every time I see a jean wall.

This post was written as a part of a blogging game. The players are The Creative Collective and the topic is Sisyphus. See what the others are saying. 

There. I said it.

A bit ago, I read this line in one of my very old journals:

"Please don't let me become one of those love-is-all-that-matters Christians."

It was a prayer.

Woah.




I can't imagine, now, how valuing love alone could possibly be a bad thing. For out of love flows justice, faithfulness, selflessness, insert-any-positive-personal-characteristic-here. It's the greatest (and second greatest) commandment and strong enough to instruct me in any dilemma.


Why, then, did I not want to become that? I think it was for the same reason that any person judges anything: fear. We learn rules and we follow them. They make our life make sense. They give us a system to live within. That's very nice.

Back then, Christianity had given me a very neatly defined idea of what it meant to be a human. My politics, sexuality, family, morality, everything was outlined Sunday after Sunday. (I didn't notice then how the rules seemed to conveniently fit the lives those making them.)

Then there were those people who said pieces of that outline may not necessarily be part of God's plan. They suggested that there was room for people to be different from one another.

That was no good. They obviously had some kind of personal agenda. Only people who had ungodly agendas broke the rules. Further more, if that outline was flawed, how, then, was I supposed to live?

Nope. Couldn't happen.


One of the problems with this system, though, even then, was that it's difficult to explain to thoughtful, rational, loving people who are living outside of it.

For example:

Thoughtful, rational, loving person: "Why would a loving God make women with the talent, ambition, and desire to speak and lead if God meant for women to not participate in leadership?"

Back Then Katie: ""

You see? There are too many questions like that. Fear and anxiety abound.


It's worse than this, though. Fear, unchecked, becomes hatred, and hatred becomes violence. This has been one of the great downfalls of the church. In defending our outlines of what it means to be human, we have become fearful and then hateful and then violent. And the violence we've perpetrated has hurt us as much as it's hurt anyone else. Like holding the blade of a knife - the tighter we squeeze, the more deeply we are wounded.

Healing can only come once we let go.

The Kingdom of God is a wonderful, upside-down place. It lives because God lives. That makes it tricky, but when in doubt, we can follow those nifty, greatest commandments.

There. I said it. Love is all that matters.

Sorry, Back Then Katie.

This post was written as a part of a blogging game. The players are The Creative Collective and the topic is Hatred. See what the others are saying. 

It's an unfortunate situation, really.

When I was 11, I moved.

It was October. I was the new girl in a new town and a new school, starting in the middle of the year. I don't remember any of this bothering me. In fact, I have fond memories of that sixth grade year. I was smart and blond and sweet. The teacher liked me and I made friends. I didn't realize that my secondhand clothes were frowned upon and no one had the guts to tell me. Ignorance was bliss. I played lots of kickball and even formed a little club of little girls. We created a name for ourselves using the first letter of each of our first names - very creative. We even had membership cards and, I believe, a newsletter.

Things were pretty good.

The next year, we moved from our cozy, poorly-performing elementary school to a much bigger junior high, full of older kids that had gone to other schools. Boys became very important, all of a sudden. This created a strangely competitive environment that made other things important, too, that hadn't been before. Clothes, alcohol, cursing, weekends at rollerskating rinks, you know, all of the things that make a 13 year-old feel cool.

As a somewhat pudgy middle child of a Christian family with 5 children, this created problems for me. I could not buy they clothes that everyone else had, and even if I could have, they wouldn't have looked the same on me. I wasn't allowed to date or go to the rollerskating rink. I didn't know how to talk that way or interact with boys that way.

And everyone knew it. I didn't get invited to parties. I didn't get asked on dates, or whatever the 13 year-old equivalent of a date is. Someone (now a dear friend of mine) on the bus asked me once, quite menacingly, if the book I had in my lap was a Bible. I think it was actually The Seven Habits of a Highly Effective Teen, which, in retrospect, should have been more embarrassing.

To make things worse, I had been put in a special group of "smart kid" classes and so I rarely saw most of the kids who were my friends at the other school and whose approval I desperately wanted.

I was miserable.

So miserable, in fact, that when the year ended I opted to go a boarding school, rather than return to that school for a second year. I couldn't handle the rejection and the inferiority any more. It was more like indifference, but we middle children are very sensitive to these things.

Funny thing about taking an average kid from a city public school and putting them in a fundamentalist Christian boarding school in rural New Hampshire - she turns into a cool kid.

In a world where all of the students sign a "no dancing," "no movies" contract, and where the entire 8th grade class is less than 10 people, it takes very little to impress, so impress is what I did. And, as that handful of more-sheltered-than-me kids began to love and respect me, I began to love and respect myself.

At Thanksgiving, my mom came and got me for good, mostly because the people at that school were a bit nutso - someone told me that if my older brother was accepted to Yale, he would certainly begin to worship Satan.

I returned to the public school with a confident and carefree spirit that changed everything. I didn't care any more if those same kids liked me, which, for some reason, made them like me. I had a lot of fun that year.



It's an unfortunate situation, really.

We all can't get shipped off to a nutso boarding school whenever we're struggling with low self-esteem. I just got lucky that one time.

This post was written as a part of a blogging game. The players are The Creative Collective and the topic is Change. See what the others are saying.