A-Z Challenge Reflections 2014 #atozchallenge

I think it's a very good practice to evaluate an event in order to give praise and recognition to those who deserve it, and also to offer suggestions for improvement to those in charge, so that they can make improvements for the future.  Welcome to the Reflections Posts!  You'll find the linky below, at the A-Z Challenge Blog, and in my tab above.

In the past, I've used analogies: sex - 2011, sports - 2012, and I've laid it all bare, just a dump of emotion -2013.  Each year has been different, and this year was no exception.

I'm happy to say that this year I did a much more timely job of visiting back, not that I'm anywhere near done, mind you.  That was probably because I wasn't over 1,000 emails behind, only about an average of 300 per day.  More people left links, or at least URL's, so quickly getting to a visitor's blog was a lot easier, and I was more intentional about seizing the opportunity right then.

Visiting more blogs led me to some great, new discoveries. There are many bloggers who are "just like me." They are immigrants writing about the cultural differences between their homeland and their new land.  I even met some whose "new land" wasn't the US.  I learned a LOT.  I wish I'd labeled them in my notes so I could share links, but I didn't. Note to self for next year: write down links that you want to share in your Reflections.

I met some incredibly brave people opening their hearts and souls for the world to see.  I was humbled by their honesty and willingness to share.  I found amazing recipes to try, saw pictures of places I'll never be able to see in person, and I read a whole bunch of amazing flash fiction.  

In other words, I experienced what we hope that you as participants experience when you join this adventure.  In the past I didn't take that opportunity as much because I was too busy with administrative duties and neglected my participant duties.  Note to self: good job. Keep getting better!

As to administrative duties, I had more time to devote this year, hence the email difference, and the visiting difference.  I planned ahead for April, cleared my calendar, and really focused.  I treated it as a part-time volunteer gig, and that mindset made me feel like I was really making a difference.  It was motivating to keep going, and it gave me purpose when yet again, health issues dominated my personal life for half of April. Note to self: planning really is good.  It's OK to be Schedule Woman ;-)

I still don't like the categories.  All you need to do is spend an hour answering the info@ emails (one of my jobs on the team) to know how much confusion, angst, anger, and mess these caused.  We will keep doing them, because YOU want them, but I just have to say again, like I did last year: pain in the buttocks for co-hosts.  

However, I was highly entertained by some of the questions I received at the info@ email address.  I won't embarrass anyone and quote, but I will say this: Note to PARTICIPANTS: there's a reason for the A-Z Challenge Blog: INFORMATION FOR PARTICIPANTS. There's even a FAQ tab. READ IT EVERYDAY. Keep reading it - we're open all year!

I know this is getting long, but I can't help but thank everyone for your tremendous response to my series. Some of you didn't miss a post.  Many of you shared your personal stories and your culture.  My comment section made me smile every day!  

Thank you to my bevy of new followers.  I'm trying to make the rounds, and I appreciate your vote of confidence in me.  It's my intention to follow back, so if I've missed you, please drop me an email or leave a comment WITH A LINK and I'll hop on over.

Of course I have to thank my co-host team (yes, yes, I hear the exit music and see the ladies trying to escort me off the stage...just one more thing...) Love to all of you.  Of course, it goes without saying that all of this would not have been possible without my minions, who got a whole post of their own on Friday ;-)

~Tina, looking forward to reading your Reflections.  I'm going to be on the look-out for some to feature as guest posts at the A-Z Blog...

©2014 All Rights Reserved

Photo credit: as with all the logos associated with the A-Z April 2014 Challenge, Jeremy Hawkins of jmhdigital.com

A ~ All Aboard! #atozchallenge

All Aboard the "It's Very Swedish..." train! We are on a cultural journey through Sweden. During April, we will explore the differences big and small between American and Swedish culture.  We'll touch on topics as small and insignificant as ice cubes, and tackle bigger issues like attitudes and perceptions of each other. 

Along the way we will stop at some childhood memories which triggered these ideas, and you'll probably see an embarrassing picture (or 26...ish) to give you a visual.

These posts will be written from my memories of what Swedish society was like back in the 70s, with input from The Swede (my Dad) to corroborate some of my perceptions and how they've changed since we left. Of course cultural changes have happened the last forty years!  They have in America, too.

What we're going to do here is look at what this former little Swedish girl turned mother of teenagers misses about her homeland, and why.

Hop on the train!  You're sure to learn something new, and the snacks and beverages are always good.  If you miss a stop, no problem, just catch the train at the next letter.  Someone will be saving you a seat.

~Tina, Swedish immigrant to America since 1974

#atozchallenge Theme Reveal!

2014 is my 4th challenge, and 3rd as co-host. In 2011 I didn't have a clue and didn't have a theme, but muddled through and had a great time.

2012 I decided on "Postcards from Sweden" where I shared a picture, taught a word of Swedish, and included a childhood story that went along with the word.  Had another great time, and a lot of people who read the whole series!  Yeah!

2013 I decided why mess with a good thing, so I did "Adventures in America" where I told stories (and shared more embarrassing childhood pictures) about my first year as an immigrant to America.  That proved to be popular as well.  I mean, how many of you have spent 4 months in a body cast at age 9? People were curious.

Which brings us to 2014.  I'm going Swedish again. Write what you know, they say! Besides, I'm proud of my heritage, and my homeland.  Without further ado, my theme is:

"It's very Swedish..."  I will be writing about cultural differences big and small.  I'll share some very Swedish things I miss very much, and also talk about differences in attitudes and beliefs.  It won't be all about kaviar och kaffee!  (That's coffee for those who didn't do the 2012 language lessons.  I figured you could figure out the caviar and "and").

Please join me in learning more about a unique culture.  Yes, Hilary, I'll talk about fierce viking chicks big and small, might throw in a Swedish word or two. One thing you can count on: embarrassing photos. After all, that's become an A-Z tradition.  No worries, Momarazzi took plenty of pictures...

I hope to see you around a lot in April!  Now off to check out your themes.

~Tina, Fierce Viking Chick (that means I'm bossy...ask my team...or my minions...)

U ~ Understanding the Big Picture

These are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone before...please come along on Adventures in America.

At some point, I began to realize I was no longer a Swedish girl.  I was a half-Swedish, half-American girl, living in America, and though Farmor & Farfar had done their best to make sure that SHOULD we return, we'd fit right in, I was more an American than a Swede. 

One of their major gifts to both of us girls was that we went to confirmation camp, the ceremony, and the wondrous party at their house after-wards with all the expensive gifts. Think Bat Mitzah. I've been a Christian since age 9, but in Sweden, tradition strongly "dictates" that all kids be exposed to the gospel at age 14 and be "confirmed". 

I also began to understand that though The Swede probably could have gotten transferred to Volvo in Sweden, being as how he was Swedish and all, he didn't really want to.  He'd been fascinated with this country for a long time, he was here.  He liked it here  We were settled.  We were staying.

This realization didn't happen all at once, it was such a gradual process, comparable to the proverbial frog being boiled: put him in a pot with cold water, turn on the heat.  He won't notice as the water slowly heats up until he's in big trouble.  

Of course, staying in America wasn't big trouble - what I'm trying to say is that becoming American was such a gradual process I didn't notice it.  I mean, there I was 14, at confirmation camp, thinking, "Oh good, when we move back to Sweden, I won't have to explain why I'm not confirmed." It was that big a deal. When I found myself back there two years later when Swissie was confirmed and one of the girls, Ann (her real name, for once), whom I'd met when I was a "confirmand" and I were the free-time leaders, I still had that thought in my head, especially as I began to meet some boys. 

Now that was a fun job.  We organized whole group activities, like capture the flag and red rover which I taught them.  We played dodgeball, which they knew about. We did NOT play kickball.  We took them on canoe trips.  We got our canoe tipped...we were popular.  Just a bit older, but off-limits from the campers.  Though not off limits from the groundskeeper, Daniel, who had a best friend who hung out with him a LOT, also named Daniel.  I'm not kidding, it's a popular name.

Ann and I and The Daniels would stay up late and sneak around the property.  The problem was, she and I conveniently each liked a different Daniel.  Inconveniently, that was the opposite of who The Daniels liked.  Sigh.

Nothing came of that summer attempt at romance except one stolen kiss from the wrong Daniel, who really didn't take the news that I liked the OTHER Daniel very well.  He stormed off and I didn't see him for two days.

Coming "home", I celebrated my 16th birthday.  We'd been here 7 years.  I was in high school.  It was then that it really sank in.  How in the world would I transfer to a Swedish high school?  No problem, it never came up.

*******

What did you enjoy about the Challenge? It's Reflections Post time again.

• What could we do better next year?
• What issues did you encounter? (Word verification, unable to comment, long posts, etc.)
• Did you encounter many non-participants? (With help from our minions, we tried really hard to clean the list this year.)
• Theme or no theme – what seemed to work better? Did you find any great themes?
• Did you have fun and will you participate again next year?

Your Reflections can be posted anytime from May 3 through May 10. The Linky List (which will be at the A-Z Blog) will go live May 3 and we ask you to add the link to your post, not your website, once you have posted. The Challenge hosts read every one so we know where to improve for next year.

L ~ Love Me Some Wall-to-Wall Carpet

These are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone before...please come along on Adventures in America.

In Sweden, hardwood floors are common, as are area rugs. I don't think they had wall-to-wall carpet in Sweden in 1974. They may today, but my guess is that IF they do, it's not a widespread way of decorating.

I remember my Farmor and Farfar taking great pride in their rugs, and I recall the ritual of taking them out to be shaken, then beating them with the rug beater, which is rather like a tennis racket, though no strings, just that size and with some cross-bars, all made of wood. Maybe they're made of rubber or nylon or something else today, but remember, we're in MY 9 year-old mind this month...So shake, beat, hang. Bring in before dusk.

When we moved to the Cedar Street house in America, I discovered that there was NO WOOD anywhere, carpet everywhere, and linoleum in the bathrooms. (New vocabulary word for me, I suspect.) I loved it.

I have this vague recollection that when we live in Sweden, at the end of the day of playing outside, usually barefoot, The Nutritionist made us wash our feet before we were “allowed” to move about the cabin freely. There were no such worries with wall-to-wall carpet. I remember looking at my feet as I came inside, and thinking, “I just need to walk around a lot and go up and down the stairs several times, and my feet will be clean!”

It worked. I'm not kidding. If you have seriously dirty I-played-outside-all-day feet, just about 15 minutes of being inside would make my feet pass the still required inspection. I NO LONGER HAD TO WASH MY FEET AT THE END OF THE DAY. I don't know why this was a big deal to me, because I'm a fairly hygienic person and have been since childhood. Maybe it was the “cheating” aspect of it. Or maybe it was that no matter where I stepped, nothing stuck to my feet. Like it does in my grown up house with hardwood floors, area rugs, and a “sweeper” who says, “Sure Mom, in a minute!” and then forgets...

K ~ Kickball

These are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone before...please come along on Adventures in America.

I alluded to the fact that there would be more tears and they'd be about kickball. Horrid game. I'm using the format of a letter to my former teachers...sorta. I would never send something this...snarky. Probably wouldn't...

Dear Teacher Who Has Never Really Bothered to Get to Know Me:

I'm from a different country. We play different games. Our games have different rules. It would be nice if we're going to play an AMERICAN game, if SOMEONE would be so kind as to explain to me what the purpose is, what the game play involves, and what the rules are. If you don't, I'm not going to know what's going on, and am going to make some assumptions.

For example, though there's no bat, and the ball is much larger, there are bases to run around, a pitcher, and a home plate. So I think that it must be sort of like Brännboll (Burn Ball) and apply those rules. I figured close enough.

As you would have observed, had you even been observing, was that the rules were completely different and that no matter what I did, the other kids all screamed at me. “Why aren't you running?” (because that was a lame hit, you wait for a good hit, and then go, many players can occupy the same base) “Go back you idiot!” (Why? Just because he kicked it foul doesn't mean I lose my progress. I made it to 2^nd base!) And so on. I couldn't make a single correct move. Having 8 other people yell at you is not a fun experience.

Thanks for your consideration,

Tina

Dear P.E Teacher,

You really disappointed me. I thought that if we're playing kickball in a CLASS and not at recess, there'd be some TEACHING involved. Perhaps a review of the rules. I see plenty of cheaters during recess kickball, they could definitely use a review, not just the foreign chick who doesn't understand this inane game anyway. Your, “We all know the rules, so let's just play kickball!” didn't cut it for me. That's why I said I was going to throw up and asked to go to the nurse. It wasn't a lie, I really did feel like throwing up at the thought of all of them yelling at me again.

Thanks for your help,

Tina

Looking back, of course I should have ASKED someone to explain the game to me, but it had installed such terror in me I was paralyzed whenever we had to play. Well, not paralyzed, but I usually had some malady that caused me to have to sit out...

C ~ Camponella Swim Party

These are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone before...please come along on Adventures in America.

For this story to make sense, I think you need to know a bit about the neighborhood I used to live in, and the neighborhood we lived in our first year in America.

In Sweden, we lived on a dead end street, which was an off-shoot of another dead-end street. Kids lived everywhere. If you wanted to play with someone, you knocked on a door and asked. No arranged “play dates”.

The neighborhood we moved into used to be a “regular” neighborhood, but had now been zoned commercial, and there were very few kids around. In fact, appalling to me, we had parking meters IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSE.

However, we did manage to meet one family who lived diagonally from us. They were a large family, don't recall how many kids, but at least the two youngest still lived at home, and The Nutritionist made sure that we'd become friends. She invited them over to play.

It was a hot day, and we had one of those pools in the backyard that has the hard sides, and if you have a pesky little brother, all he has to do is push one of those sides down to drain the water. Of course, he had two older sisters who were equally pushy (Ok, I'd never call Swissie pushy, but you know me. PUSHY.) He did not get away with that more than once.

So here we are, the Camponella (names have been changed to protect those who prefer not to be nude in public) kids are over, it's summer, it's HOT. A kind of hot that Swedes rarely experience, and though we had glorious air-conditioning (oh my, what a wonderful invention) my mother liked for us to play outside.

I can't believe that when I went through the albums I found a picture of that exact afternoon. As you can see, my little brother had to be, um, edited for the sake of my PG rating...

The pool beckoned. I was going to loan a suit to the older daughter who was probably somewhere near the age of me and Swissie, but the little brother couldn't lend a suit because DataBoy was 2 at this time. So of course, as normal Swedish folks, we said, “You don't need a bathing suit, just take your clothes off.” In Sweden, kids don't really wear bathing suits until they're quite a bit older, as I recall, 6 or 7. (The Swede will probably correct me, but remember, these are MY recollections from over 38 years ago...) They were appalled. And went home.

I don't remember if we ever got to play with them again, but we probably did. I'm fairly certain The Nutritionist made amends with Mrs. Camponella and explained the cultural differences and all that stuff. However, I don't think they ever used our pool.

P.S After going through the photo albums, choosing pictures for my series, I found lots of pictures with the Camponellas, so we DID get to play with them again.  Inside.

A ~ Adventures in America

“Adventures in America” is my theme for this year's challenge. I'm an immigrant. Our family moved to the United States in 1974 when I was almost nine. It was a HUGE change culturally from my native Sweden, and the neighborhood we moved to couldn't have been more different than where we had been living.

I had to make a lot of changes in my thinking, expectations, actions, speech!, and in my over-all perception of who I was. I became a new person.

It was a very interesting first year, and not just because I spent four months of it in a body cast...

I think this series piggy-backs nicely on my theme from last year, which was “Postcards From Sweden.” In those posts I taught a Swedish word or two, included an appropriate picture, and a childhood memory.

This series will be similar, except you won't have to learn Swedish words! I know some of you enjoyed the childhood story part far more than the lesson...but I might throw them in to show you how imprecise English is, because I'm obnoxious that way. 

I hope you come back and read all my stories, and I'm not above a bribe. Last year I put all the comments from all the posts in order and had random number generator pick a winner. Andrea, who is now one of my Terrific Team of assistants won the $25 IKEA gift card. So visit daily! Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like if you had move across the ocean to another country in the middle of your perfect childhood?  It's an adventure...

Interested in the prelude?  How did we end up living in two countries?  The Swede, my Dad, wrote a three part series last week telling that story.  Check these out if you have time.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3


 P.S Today is Arlee Bird's birthday!  Founder of the A-Z Challenge, amazing leader and friend, here's a big shout out to THE ONE who is making all this fun happen.  Thanks, Arlee!  Now go visit him at Tossing It Out and leave him a greeting.  We hope to flood his blog, his inbox, his world with greetings from every A-Z participant!  If you're one of them - please don't forget to add something in your post about him today!

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