SCANDI LAND

So, transplanting one's life is hard. Add a healthy dose of pregnancy nerves, an unhealthy dose of depression, and general difficulties in being away from family and friends and you have a cocktail for  some challenging times. Some days are harder than others. Today I feel pretty good. I could appreciate my exploration of the city with Harold and got a lot of stuff done around the apartment. Yesterday was not so swell. It was one of those days when I had to congratulate myself for the basic stuff: Hooray, you brushed your teeth! Well done, you took the dog out to pee!  I am lucky to have a partner who is wonderfully supportive, family and friends who are caring and helpful, and a dog that has basic bodily functions that need to be met. If not the cure, perhaps this is the prescription for those challenging times in life? We live on a cobblestone pedestrian street, so when I take Harold out, I am met by the rush of Danish shoppers. I have decided that the Scandinavian aes...

I had said good-by to my parents at the airport after they had made the ultimate sacrifice of driving me from Minnesota to the insanity that is O'Hare. Have I thanked you recently? Thank you, Mom and Dad! And there I was. Alone. Save for my dog, Harold. We were standing in the security line and I was crying. I cried through security. I cried at the gate. I cried on the plane. I cried so hard from here to there...I simply cried everywhere! (New Dr. Seuss book?) I remember sitting at the gate with a sedated Harold curled up on my lap. I stared at the white ceiling tiles and blue pipes and felt like I was at the bottom of a waterless pool. I felt a chunk of my chest missing and wanted more than anything to run back home. At that moment I was three and needed my parents, damnit! Thankfully I had the tissues my mom gave me (she is so smart) and soon my face resembled a pepperoni pizza with a pointy cherry tomato for a nose. I reflected on how this pain was self-inflicted. ...

It was a blustery March evening in Minnesota, and Ian and I sat on the couch talking of our future.  Our bucket list comprised three items as the fourth, winning the lottery, was deemed "unrealistic". 1. move to Europe 2. get married 3. have kids Little did we know that all three of these wishes would come true in a matter of months.  In mid-June, just as I was finishing up my last week of school, my mind was anywhere but on the finals I was supposed to be grading. Ian was auditioning for the Aalborg Symphony in Denmark and had made it to the final round. I stared at my phone. It rang.  “Do you want to move to Denmark?” It was nice he phrased it that way, although there was really no question of my going with him. When he got back we discussed marriage in the most romantic terms: “We should probably get married.” “Yeah, I suppose so.”                             ...