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.

Macbooks are Lactose Intolerant

You know how they say counting your blessings is a really good way to stay positive, focus on the bright side, be happy, don’t worry…You’re at the wrong blog if that’s what you’re looking for.  Today I’m going to whine.  No!  Not about my health!  Even I’m sick of listening to that.  No, I’m writing a eulogy.  To my beloved Mackie.  May she frolic with all the other broken toys in a magical place where laptops go to play when their people are done with them…

We won’t go into details, because he already feels bad enough, but one of my darling children poured a 16 ounce glass of milk on her.  I of course sprang into immediate action, drying her off and trying to minimize damage, but we’re not talking spilling on keyboard here.  We’re talking about a 13” dainty laptop ending up in a pool of milk in the middle of a mattress (because glasses balance well on mattresses especially when you set it down (why?) and then JUMP onto the bed).   She’s got power, captain, but she no worky.  I’ve given it all I’ve got.

I do have her soul, though.  On my time-machine.  However, to restore to a previous date, on must have a body to put the soul into.  A working body…so meanwhile, I’m on a PC . Fighting with Vista and mourning my sleek, beautiful mac.  My constant companion, my everything.  I’m password vaultless, and it’s like I’m driving someone else’s car and not only is it a stick shift, it’s not even a Volvo…, and I can’t access my writing.  I have ten or so half-written posts.  Thankfully I’d already switched from Safari to Chrome so all my bookmarks are still available.  I still have my gmail.  Feel free to send letters of condolences there.

Have you ever lost a treasured piece of technology?  More importantly – have you ever recovered a mac from lactose intolerance?  If so, send in the troups.

P.S I was going for maximum cheesiness here, so I read it to the child who didn’t spill the milk, and he said, “Oh yeah, you definitely hit the cheese level.  Spray cheese."  Sigh.  What a lovely compliment.

P.P.S Credit where credit is due: it was my buddy Arlee Bird who coined the term of lactose intolerances’ usage in this application.  You’ve heard his name because of his hugely popular blog Tossing it Out, and because he’s the leader of the A-Z Challenge.  You might have heard about that here too…