Happy Father's Day! I LOVE YOU DADDY!

Just finished wonderful Father's Day dinner with the Swede.  Words cannot describe how much fun we had reminiscing and talking about writing, and planning for the future.  I just thought I'd share some of my favorite pictures as a tribute to this amazing man I'm blessed to call Pappa, Dad.

Patiently tutoring me when I spent 4 months in a body cast for a broken hip, 1974.  See A-Z 2013 for stories.

Goofing around with his three kids.  He did this a lot. We loved it.

Traditional Swedish Lucia, celebrated December 13 each year.  See A-Z 2012 for story.

Asleep with DataBoy.  I still have that sweatshirt.  No lectures about how much I save.  Today.  You can tell me tomorrow ;-)

I love you, Daddy.  Happy Father's Day.

~Tina

P.S College Life will resume Wednesday.

©2014 All Rights Reserved

All precious photos by Momarrazzi.  Thanks, Mom.

C ~ Cars: Not Your Living Room #atozchallenge

All Aboard! "It's Very Swedish..." a train on a cultural journey through Sweden, exploring the differences big and small between American and Swedish culture.

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Swedes think of their cars differently than Americans do.  I remember asking The Swede (my dad) why Volvos didn't have cup holders.  His answer was, "Europeans don't treat their cars like a living room."

We've always driven Volvos, since he worked for the company since 1975. That's probably one of our first cars we're washing in that other picture. That's me, styling, my little brother DataBoy to my right, and a friend of ours (sorry, forgot who..) to my left.

(Hey - I learned how to make a background behind the words!  I just need to learn how to make it lighter...but you can watch the evolution of my picmonkey skills as you learn about Sweden!  Double your money!)

Sweden, as most of Europe, has fantastic public transportation (which will we will get to at "P") therefore not every household has a car.  Even fewer have two cars.  Then there's the fact that even IF they have a car, they don't run around in them like we Americans do.

"Walking distance" has a completely different meaning there.  Communities are smaller, amenities are closer. Some people even WALK to the grocery store to pick up a few items.  (Not me, I send The Transporter...)

Of course, the newer Volvos DO have cup holders.  In fact, oodles of them in convenient places, and hidden pop-out places.  They are adjustable, expandable and can accommodate your Big Gulp or your Nalgene.  It's just that our youngest Volvo is a 1991, and has not a single place to put a cup, unless a passenger will hold it for you.

I would also venture to say that most Swedes keep their cars in a more clean state than we as Americans do.  I've ridden in a lot of minivans with friends with kids, and they look just like my car.  The floor is a trash can, and they put small things like lollipop sticks in the slot where the door handle is supposed to slide open. They mean well - they'll "pick up the trash on their way out", but somehow that never happens.

The Swede's car (as in my dad, not the general population for which I really can't speak) is always immaculate.  He has tried to influence me.  I think though that our car's interior reflects our general "housekeeping" state, as in are we messy and cluttered or do we belong to the "everything in it's place crowd".  I would venture to say though, that since Swede's cars aren't living rooms, they don't have a chance to get as messy as mine.

How about you?  How many cup holders does your vehicle have?  Are you a "Messy Bessy like me, or a "Neat and Tidy Heidi" like The Swede and my Swissie and her husband?  At least some of the Swedish neatness rubbed off on SOMEONE in the family...

~Tina, who should go clean her car after this post...

Friday Fragments

I'm joining a new Friday group called Friday Fragments, which are bits and pieces that are too short for their own post, but too good to never see the light of day. Link up at Unknown Mami (who is hosting for the summer instead of Half-Past Kissin' Time.)  I found this group through DoreenMcGettigan, an A-Zer.

Frag One:

I DON'T HAVE CANCER. I think that's worth shouting. All my biopsies came back negative. Two and a half weeks is a long time to contemplate one's fate. I have some other stuff to deal with that I won't bore you with, but they are going to be dealt with using some new meds that I hope will do the trick. I want to be back to life and leave these debilitating symptoms behind. But it's Friday, the weekend is ahead and I DON'T HAVE CANCER.

Frag Two:

My boys have been wonderful to me. I think they've been mighty worried, but they've gladly picked up the slack on chores and brought me stuff while I lay in bed, fighting the battle against my rebellious digestive system.

Frag Three:

The Transporter is becoming quite the mechanic. His first car, a vintage 1991 Volvo 240, standard transmission, red, needs a lot of love. What do you expect for a car whose new tires alone are worth what we paid for it? He fixed it. It wouldn't start when we bought it (yes, I know that's crazy, but if you have The Engineer, who has worked on Volvos for 20 years, and The Swede, who worked FOR Volvo and ON Volvos his entire adult life, then there's some knowledge floating around and so far there hasn't been anything they haven't been able to fix on our “fleet”) Red now starts, and The Transporter grinned at the compliment about "becoming quite the mechanic" from his Morfar (that would be The Swede – mother's father). 

He won't own this car until he earns those last three contracted A's, but having it sitting in the driveway, ready to go, is what I think will be the final motivation to get him moving academically. 

Meanwhile, we celebrate that we don't live in a covenanted community. I know just what they'd say about our four old Volvos, our ginormous van, and our camper, all parked on our property...

Plans Change ~ Part 3: The Swede and The Nutritionist

In preparation for my Challenge Series: Adventures in America, I've convinced The Swede, my Dad, to share the story of how he and my Mom, The Nutritionist, met, fell in love, moved to Sweden, then in the middle of our childhood, moved to America. It's great to have you here Dad. Thanks for taking the time to share your story with all of us.

Plans Change

by Leif Bilen

My American exchange adventure went by very quickly. On the way back across the Atlantic I reconnected with the other students, and we compared notes. Our dress code had changed among other things, and when I greeted my folks I had a new haircut: a crew cut.

The American “dishes” I brought home were actually not all that nutritious, but hamburgers, French fries and banana splits tasted awfully good. Please don’t tell the Nutritionist.

My American year was a wonderful experience, and although it put me a year behind in the rather stringent academic high school I came back to, I never regretted it. I had two more years before graduation, and then mandatory military service in Sweden, before starting my university studies.

“Will I see anyone in my American family ever again?” The answer to that question came rather quickly. Brother Bob came to visit over the summer of 1959, and we toured Europe together: two 19-year old fellows in a Volvo, where the seats reclined enough to be able to sleep in some semblance of comfort.

I introduced him to most of my friends, many of them girls, wouldn't you know? I am sure we exchanged a word or two about his sister Bonnie. Although I dated some Swedish girls, during high school and army days, I wasn't able to put his younger sister out of my mind.

I had a few months after being discharged from the army before the start of my first semester at the university. I decided to “visit my American family” as I described it to them in my letters. Bonnie’s father suspected there was more to it, and I admit he was right.

During that summer both Bonnie and I realized that we were not just foreign exchange brother and sister any more. There was a lot of mutual respect, but also some caution flags: How is this going to work; two continents, different cultures etc.

The following summer Bonnie visited Sweden and the land of the Vikings didn't scare her too much. As she went back to New York to finish nursing school, we had agreed to stay in touch, but there was no restriction on dating others. If it was God’s plan for us to spend our lives together, it would surely become clear to us.

The only way to stay in touch was via airmail letters, and there were lots of them. After finishing half of my university credits, I had had enough of letter writing and decided to take some time off and move to New York for a while and leave the rest to the Lord.

Eight months later we were married. I had a job at Chase Manhattan Bank, while she finished her B.S. in nursing. We moved to Sweden for me to finish school, and I promised: “If you don’t like it, we can move back to the States.

We stayed for ten years and I had a promising teaching career in the public school system as well as some work at the local teacher institute. I also had the privilege of working with my teaching mentor publishing several books for kids to learn English.

In 1974 I took a sabbatical so that our family, which now included three kids, could spend a year in America. That didn't work out as planned; we are still here, and I eventually became a U.S. citizen. After all, grandpa shouldn't be the only foreigner in the family.

None of this was planned in 1974, and I have found out that one’s life’s path is full of small course adjustments. When we stay close to God and listen to his voice, he directs our path and sometimes these adjustments eventually lead to major changes. In my case it was a change from teaching to a corporate career with Volvo, which turned out to be a nice ride (pun intended). 

People wonder these days what happened to that handsome young Swedish foreign exchange student Bonnie married, and so do I at times. I am an elderly U.S. senior living with my prairie home companion at the foot of the Rockies.

The two of us are very different, and that has in some ways contributed to success in our marriage. Neither of us is perfect, but we are perfect for each other fitting together like two pieces in a puzzle.  

About the Author:
Leif Bilen is the author of numerous books, including text books for Swedish students and adults to learn English.  His latest book, "They Put me in Charge... and Told Me I Didn't Have a Clue: Learning to Lead by Listening to Bosses, Co-workers, and Subordinates" is about leadership and his Volvo career.  It's available at Amazon, and local bookstores if you happen to live in Colorado.

Please come back Monday, April 1st when The biggest blog-hop of the year begins.  My theme for the A-Z Challenge is "Adventures in America" and picks up with how the oldest of the children of The Swede and The Nutritionist (that would be me, Tina, the head-strong, type A, bossy one) coped with moving across the world when she was about to turn 9.  Can't wait to see you and read YOUR challenge posts.

P.S If you missed Part 1 and Part 2, just click and you'll get 'em.

Another Culture: Part 2 The Swede and The Nutritionist

In preparation for my Challenge Series: Adventures in America, I've convinced The Swede, my Dad, to share the story of how he and my Mom, The Nutritionist, met, fell in love, moved to Sweden, then in the middle of our childhood, moved to America. It's great to have you here Dad. Thanks for taking the time to share your story with all of us.

ANOTHER CULTURE

by Leif Bilen

When the Arosa Sky of the Holland America Line docked in New York City on August 13, 1957, I was recovering from the Asian flu.  I was one of several hundred high school students who had crossed the Atlantic together. Many of us had spent a few days in bed with high fever and other symptoms. I was not allowed to disembark until local health officials had checked me out and cleared me for entrance into this country; not the greatest start of a year abroad, but it added to the adventure.

From New York City we headed to our final destinations. Along with several others, I was on a chartered Greyhound bus heading to the D.C. area. As the bus made its way to the Lincoln tunnel, I noticed the colorful yellow taxicabs that seemed to be all over the place. Back home all taxis were black and the drivers wore black uniforms. “No, this is not going to be a drab and boring country.”

A Howard Johnson restaurant with its bright orange roof and iconic architecture caught my eye shortly after entering New Jersey. “Wow, I guess I am not in Europe anymore.” It was not the only one along the road. They were all over the place back then. In 2012 there were only two of them left; one in Maine and the other one in New York State. Yes, America’s tastes have changed, and in more areas than food for that matter.

My host family welcomed me with open arms and quickly made me feel at home. During the few weeks before the fall semester I was able to adjust to several things, although they didn’t really come as a huge surprise: a big family, a big house, a big yard, a big church, big cars and so on.

Other curiosities intrigued me. One morning when I walked into the kitchen, there was a man looking into the refrigerator. Then he walked out the back door and returned with some milk, eggs, and butter. The milkman had free access to the house, and it was up to him to determine what the household needed until his next visit. I was used to running to the store for my mother, when were out of something.

Another thing that told me a lot about in what kind of neighborhood we were living in was the fact that nobody seemed to worry about locking their cars while parked in the driveway.

I guess the real culture shock came when I started school. I had attended a medium sized downtown high school for boys. Here I was in a large coed high school on a sprawling campus with huge parking lots for the students who drove their own cars to school, which included Bob, my host brother, who drove me, Bonnie and two other girls. We also had our own stadium for football and other sports. I got used to it faster than I had expected and enjoyed it a lot.

I knew I would probably lose a year of school after returning to Sweden, so I signed up for some rather unique classes not available back home: driver education (1957 Chevy), public speaking, and typing. Although I was a senior, I took 11^th grade English and History, because they dealt with American literature and history. Since Bonnie was a year ahead of her peers, we ended up taking those classes together, and from time to time we helped each other with homework.

Other than that I stuck with the program and hung out with brother Bob and that included both of us playing on the soccer team. However there was little doubt that Bonnie was rather cute and pleasant.

Part 1

Part 3

Part 1 of The Swede and The Nutritionist:

In preparation for my Challenge Series: Adventures in America, I've convinced The Swede, my Dad, to share the story of how he and my Mom, The Nutritionist, met, fell in love, moved to Sweden, then in the middle of our childhood, moved to America. It's great to have you here Dad. Thanks for taking the time to share your story with all of us.

THE SWEDE AND THE NUTRITIONIST

by Leif Bilen

“Do you have indoor plumbing in Sweden?” “What sort of clothes do you wear over there?” “Are there many polar bears where you live?” Those were some of the questions I got from my fellow students at Montgomery Blair High School in Silver Spring, Maryland, as they tried to get to know their new exchange student.

This was during Eisenhower’s second term about half a year before the Soviets launched the first Sputnik. The internet and social media had not yet transformed communications to give us a better awareness of what goes on in other countries around the world. I probably had similar illusions about this country.

I had read The Last of the Mohicans, and I had tasted that curious soft drink called Coca Cola. Then in school I learned a bit more about the Big Country in the West and the more I learned the more interested I became.

When the opportunity for a year’s scholarship to an American high school presented itself, there was hardly any hesitation. I applied, and after a few months a letter advised me I was one of the fortunate ones. I was told I would be going to Silver Spring, Maryland. “Man, this is going to be great. How can I be blessed?”

I soon found out that my family had four children and a maid living with them. The father in the family was an eye doctor. “How am I going to fit in over there?” I was an only child and my dad was a cop, who had to do a lot of moonlighting to make ends meet.

Later, I learned that this was a back-up plan, because the first host, a pastor’s family in the same town had backed out at the last minute. Now, I realize how different my life would have been, if this change had not taken place.

I was both excited and nervous when I prepared to leave my familiar surroundings. As I started to receive letters from members of my new family, I began to calm down. They seemed so nice and genuine. I would be hanging out with a “brother” my age and his letters were very reassuring.

One letter from his 15 year old little sister, Bonnie, puzzled me though. She told me it would be nice, if I could bring along some Swedish dishes. I didn’t quite panic, but I started to wonder. “How are they going to fit in my suitcase? What if they break in transit?” After consulting a dictionary or two, I eventually figured out that she was talking about Swedish recipes, and had I known then what I know today, I would have made sure they didn’t lack nutrition. 

Part 2
Part 3

Senior Citizens & Cell Phones

(google free images)

Disclaimer: no senior citizens, or citizens of any age who fit into this category of cell phone users were meant to be harmed by this post. I'm merely stating my frustration, er opinion, regarding how SOME seniors (and others, like Our Youngest Teen) use their cell phones.

The cell phone is a marvelous invention. We can call someone who is NOT at their home! I don't mean to call to have a long, meandering, private conversation that everyone in the waiting room has to listen to one side of. I'm talking about important things like suppose you've got the pukey flu, and your dear mother is at the grocery store fetching some items for you, only you forgot to say diet ginger ale, so you try her cell phone.

Except The Nutritionist's definition of cell phone is an item I keep in my car to make an emergency call to my husband should I need assistance. She doesn't carry it in her purse. She doesn't turn it on unless she wants to make a call. What's a pukey girl to do?

Call The Swede, who always has his cell phone, in fact, has bluetooth in his car so that he can safely answer EVEN IF HE'S DRIVING. This, by the way, is the highest level of cell phone usage. Always at the ready, and SAFE.

The Swede, who is just the best Dad in the whole world DRIVES TO THE GROCERY STORE to intercept the cell-less one, and adds the ginger ale to the cart. Talk about going out of your way to help a girl. I get my precious ginger ale, and feel a bit better.

My parents aren't the only ones who treat their cell phones this way. The pattern is almost the same with my in-laws, The Advocate and The Boss. My father-in-law is an attorney (no, I don't think he'll ever retire – he's just having too much fun as an expert consultant) and his cell is his business cell, so I'm more likely to find it on. However, The Boss, my dear mother-in-law who has been through the wringer health wise in the last two years (she wins...you've heard about me in snippets, but she wins...believe me) has been in and out of the hospital, the rehab hospital, and so he's been required to turn it off, so he's been harder to reach the last two agonizing years.

I don't think I've ever reached her on her cell. However, she's a step ahead of The Nutritionist – her phone is at least in her purse.

It's not just seniors who have phone use issues that don't match MY definition of what a cell phone is for, and this particular example is a 13 year old child. Mine. When he started riding his bike to school, I needed him to have a phone so he could call and say, “I crashed my bike, come help.” However, he forgets to bring it, forgets to charge it, forgets to look at it...

I've had to result to punishment (didn't work...) and now I'm actually BRIBING him to use it. I thought, “Teenager. New technology. Wow, he's going to love this present.” Not so much. This boy who plays MineCraft, wants to be an engineer (electrical), can take apart a hobby grade (read outrageously expensive) RC car, water proof the important parts, put it back together again, won't use his phone. What's a mom to do? Five days in a row of texting me before you leave school and I'll buy you a blizzard. I wonder if The Nutritionist can be bribed...

How do you use your cell phone? Have you run into these issues with the older generation? Do your children have phones? Do they use them? Or am I the only one going nuts trying to reach people who HAVE phones but don't USE their phones...