And the new stars will go straight into a certain little box.
Danes love doing these paper stars for Christmas. You can find a tutorial on how to fold the stars here. I will doing some Danish woven Christmas hearts later this month as well.
Thank-you for your well-wishes. My left arm is not doing well and I'm thinking of getting it X-rayed if it continues being this painful. And thank you to David who helped typing the last entry (and who has hovered over me tonight).
And so on the last day of my NaBloPoMoing, some sad news. Jørn Utzon, the Danish architect who designed the Sydney Opera House, has died. The Opera House is arguably one of the most iconic 20th century building and yet Utzon never visited it himself after falling out with its money men. He continued to design beautiful, extraordinary buildings which both incorporated and distanced themselves from Modernism (and its horrible offspring, Brutalism). Most of these buildings were never built; they proved too expensive or perhaps too startling to imagine in real life. Utzon retired from architecture in the late 1970s and became a recluse.
I cannot resist posting this youtube clip, filmed on the steps to Utzon's Opera House: "There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost / But you'll never see the end of the road / While you're travelling with me".
As for my own folly, my own indulgence of NaBloPoMo? It has been a pleasure rather than a chore to post every day. As the holiday season approaches, I will be unable to keep up my work blog ethic, but I do hope to maintain a certain sense of regularity. Thank you all for reading.
My partner, David, doesn't really speak Danish. He knows a few, carefully selected, words like tak (thank you), hej (hi), ja/nej (yes/no), tillykke med fødselsdagen (happy birthday), and the good, old chestnut undskyld (sorry). He's also very fond of exclaiming kylling (chicken) whenever we make it across to Denmark. He says it makes him look special. I say exclaiming "chicken" in public places makes him look very special indeed. For fa'en is David's favourite Danish expression, though. He says that swearing in Danish means you don't really swear. Hmm. When I came across this youtube clip explaining the Norwegian swearword Faen, I knew David would get a kick out of it. He did and so will you, I promise.
Afterwards, go to this Metafilter thread for commentary and an insight into Scandinavian neighbourly "love":
"After living in Finland, I just can't take Swedes seriously."
"I mean, Norwegian is, without a doubt, the wussiest of all Nordic languages. Icelandic and Finnish are the two hardest languages, then comes Danish due to its awesome gutturalness, then Swedish, then Norwegian."
"I lived in Iceland where national sports involved remarking on how the Finns are always drunk and how Danish sounds like Icelandic spoken by a retarded sheep. I do firmly believe that both of these are true."
Sometimes it is very, very difficult to live in another country when one of your closest friends is going through something horrible. I feel utterly powerless and wish I could fly back to Copenhagen to lend my support. Damn. Damn
Let's talk about food. This weekend I was interviewed by the proprietor of Fur-Lined Teacup on my attitude towards food, what I cook and how food fits into today's society. It was really, really interesting and the questions made me think about my cultural background, the place food holds in my life and how we all relate to food in various ways.
Mostly we talked about the Slow Food movement which is "a non-profit, eco-gastronomic member-supported organization that was founded (..) to counteract fast food and fast life, the disappearance of local food traditions and people’s dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world." Admittedly that sounds a bit wishy-washy and über-liberal, but it applies to all of us, if you think about it. Why do we so easily succumb to the ready-made lasagna that just pops in the oven, when we could have roasted vegetables with pork chops for the same amount of money and time?
I grew up in the countryside in a family who pretty much lived off the land. I learned which plants were edible and how I could prepare them. Later my palette was shaped by friends who can only be described as "citizens of the world". They introduced me to authentic Mexican cuisine, Middle-Eastern spices and Mediterranean vegetables. Another friend taught me to use ingredients in unusual ways and how to think outside the box. And so on.
Today I live in a country which has a strange, almost schizophrenic attitude towards food: do you like your chocolate bar to be deep-fried or to be fair-traded? I find myself becoming reliant upon food items that I would not have used in Denmark (ready-made custard, anyone?) and the selection of fresh ingredients restricted compared to my local Copenhagen supermarket (I haven't seen any Jerusalem artichokes except in one very expensive deli). Here in Scotland you have a greater selection of brands rather than types of ingredients. It is all very intriguing and I still view my grocery shopping as an adventure. I celebrate finding foods I thought were no longer available to me and I like trying out traditional Scottish foods like bannocks, stovies, bridies, the ubiquitous haggis (which is really nice, by the way), various types of seafood and desserts that seem to involve massive amounts of cream. It's a wonder I haven't gained more than two dress sizes(!) while I have lived here.
What role does food play in your life, what types of food would you describe as central to you (either by association or because you enjoy it so much) and how do you do your grocery shopping? And how would you respond to the Slow Food movement?
I've now been in Scotland two years. It seems longer than that. I could lie and say they have been the best two years of my life but they haven't. They've been stressful, hurtful and a lot of work. I think they can best be described in terms of a grieving process. I lost a part of my life when I moved across the North Sea and I needed to work through my grief before I could see what my new life was giving me. That was very hard - especially because I failed to recognise my grief.
But here I am two years later and I have managed to build a new life. This takes time, I was told, but I never believed it.
Here's to many more years in Scotland. May they be so much better than the last two.
And, finally, was it worth it? Yes. Yes, it has been worth it. Yes.