A Comment About Children's Appearance

When I was a child, I was tall. I still am. But I remember it being a fairly frequent topic of conversation while growing up. The doctor used to monitor my centimeters to advice wether or not I should have hormone injections to delay my growing (Yes, they did that back then). My feet were big for my age, proportionate to my tall body but nevertheless commented as unusual because they were bigger than average children's feet.

As a teenager, I became very self-conscious and shy. I was ashamed of my hight, although I was told I "had the body of a model." I continuously bought shoes a size too small because I was more comfortable with having black toenails than having to buy Mens size athletes shoes (God forbid).  I felt that I took up too much space in the world, and kept stepping aside, out of the way, trying desperately not to be noticed, while feeling like an elephant behind the trunk of a palm tree.

Today I'm proud of my size, or rather - I don't really think about it. I'm comfortable with who I am and there are so many aspects about people that are so incredibly much more interesting and important than centimeters. Learning this is one of the best things of growing up and becoming an adult. I've also been blessed with two awesome little sons, who, not surprisingly, are both tall.

Lately I have noticed that my oldest son greets people like this: "Hi I'm Mikkel, and I'm a big boy. I'm growing real tall!" And I've been noticing how many times during a week he hears people saying how incredibly tall he is. How much he's been growing. What impressive shoe size he wears for a 3 year old. 

There's nothing wrong with being tall, and I know people don't intend to imply that there is. But it is striking to a lot of people, and the repeated comments are wired into the little boy's brain, already becoming an important part of his identity - he's tall, very tall, big kid. The size of his body, the size of his feet. I just wish that there were other, much more important aspects of him that were emphasized - something that can make him grow internally, something that really target his self esteem, and not his self awareness. Things like his natural way of making his little brother laugh, his subtle and heartwarming expressions of empathy when he observes someone being upset, his intense passion about anything that spins and his complex and well developed motor skills ...

But I know that these things are harder to see and comes across only when you spend time with a person. The obvoius thing about him that everyone can instantly see is, of course, his physical appearance. 

I wish I could say I never comment on children's appearances while they are listening. I admit that it is the first thing that comes to mind and it is an easy and pretty common way of starting a conversation on the playground. For the adults, that is. But I will guard my words more carefully in the future. Next time I recognize the obvious about a child's appearance - I will not comment. Chances are everyone else has already done it. Chances are the parents of the child will reply on auto-pilot because they are so used to hearing those exact words. I will skip the obvious and find something else to talk about, something to snap the parents out of the auto-mode and maybe we could end up talking about something meaningful. 

Even complements, with enough repetition, can cause more harm than good when they only target the way our kids look. Would't it be much more aspiring to hear my son being described as "You know Mikkel, the brave engineer kid with the glasses," rather than, "You know Mikkel, the tall blonde boy." Or for a girl: "You know Eva, the clever little girl who loves to paint," rather than "You know Eva, the tiny blonde girl." We live in a world where appearance is becoming more and more significant for recognition. Tall or tiny, fit or fat, dark or fare, sturdy or tender - it is only the outline of appearance, it is not who people are. As parents of young children today, we can try to target our comments more consciously, and deliberately influence the coming generation to be less appearance oriented - and more comfortable with who they really are. It could turn out to be one of he most important factors for their happiness and success in life. Even - or should I say at least, in a selfie-driven surf-the-surface world. 

Where does all this energy come from?

This week I have been surprisingly productive. Which I'm very happy about, after a long time struggling to get myself organized. It is fascinating how falling out of a flow makes it feel impossible to get back into it again. But even more fascinating, when you finally get back on track, because eventually you do if that's what you really want to, it feels like you have more energy and more inspiration than ever before.

Why is that? Maybe I just forgot what it feels like to be in a good flow, and the contrast to having lost the thread is so striking. Or maybe a break from the flow is good, it forces me to reset, reevaluate and search both in my own repertoire and outside for sparks and inspiration.

Either way - I'm not going to list good advice on how to get back on track, be more efficient,  ways to boost your creativity and so on - there are millions of posts out there addressing these issues, and I'm not sure if any of them really helps. The thing is, according to my experience - it is quite individual how people get into gear. And it varies from time to time, from situation to situation. In this case, a broken coffeemaker released a chain of actions which eventually ended up triggering the urge to write something. And that is really the key - no matter your reason for being outside the flow; you need to complete one act, one small thing, that makes you feel in touch with what you want to do. This feeling of accomplishment restores your belief in your ability to do stuff, a belief that suffers increasingly the longer you're absent from your flow.

And of course a good cup of coffee while people-watching is like a having a creative conference with yourself. But I already talked about that.

I started another blog this week, on a different platform. I've thought about trying out Wordpress for a long time, but Blogger is familiar and comfortable, so I've been postponing and doubting and procrastinating. This week I took the plunge and published http://breadphilosophy.com

I might move all my stuff to Wordpress eventually, I'll see how this one goes.

In the meantime I'll enjoy my productive energy and focus on nailing more stuff down. I know too well the danger of the creative boost. Starting off all the great ideas at the same time can make you loose track of what you want to achieve. Which may turn a good wave into a hard and unexpected crash.

A notebook is my companion and will keep me surfing for a while I hope, might even take me smoothly on to the next wave. Time will show.

Coffee, Time Management and the Need to Write About Nothing

It is easier to write about nothing than to write about something. If you write about something, you always need to keep a watch out for fact flops or duplicates. If you write about nothing, nobody can arrest you on anything. That's a good place to start when you've lost your self discipline and struggle to get the words in order.

Loosing that flow of words, or urge to create, can be pretty painful. It affects general well being. It is like a training fanatic who can't go running because of an injury. The day falls out of balance and a feeling of despair takes possession of you because all this previously productive and meaningful time just passes with nothing to report.

Coffee is a writers best friend. A coffee shop is the second best friend. A Coffee shop can provide an atmosphere where the mind can wander freely, impressions trigger new tracks and before you know it you're on to something you want to put down on paper. It might be nothing and that's quite alright, as long as it can be described with words.

I broke the coffee carafe for our coffee maker the other day. Having struggled with being productive for a while, also loosing my kick start fuel was a bit of a crisis.

This morning I didn't even have a cup of tea. By 11 o'clock, I felt quite sick and needed to lay down for a while. It didn't help. It just got worse. Then I remembered that I happen to have a gift certificate at Starbucks, obtained at a raffle at the Norwegian Seaman church some time ago. And I remembered that there's something called caffeine addiction.

So I went to the nearest Starbucks and had a free Tall Latte with-an-extra-shot. Half way through my coffee I felt like a different person. Not only was I breathing normally and my headache was gone - I also felt my energy coming back, and even words started tickling. I pulled out my notebook to capture them and make sure they didn't disappear into wherever they came from. I felt kind of chirpy. High on coffee.

Imagine being a heroine addict and being told to "lay down and rest for a while" until the withdrawal symptoms would pass. The thought of that just made me realize how stupid it is to get up in the morning, forget your daily dose of caffeine and then lay down in the middle of the day to try to wear off the headache.

OK, so I'm a caffeine addict. I can live with that. Especially if I want to continue writing or producing anything creative. Because sometimes you just need to go to a coffee shop to break the barrier and untie the knot. And being at a coffee shop without having a warm, fresh and aromatic cup of coffee just doesn't make sense.

Having said that, I do really miss having a nice neighborhood coffee shop - with good coffee. We have Starbucks, and then a few blocks away we have another Starbucks, and then another few miles there's a Starbucks with a drive-thru.

There is a European Bakery within walking distance, and they also claim to have coffee, but they seem to have no idea how to make it. Two out of three coffees purchased there have badly scolded me or my company. It's truly undrinkable. That's really unfortunate, because they make great croissants and the staff is really friendly. They even ran out to the pharmacy to get us some anesthetic ointment for the burned hand one time.

I do miss the busy coffee shops in the city. They just tend to be goldmines for stream of consciousness  - to use a famous literal phrase (ups - that's writing about something) - with all their fuzz and buzz and movements and the meetings. Starbucks lacks ... integrity. It lacks character. Every Starbucks is just a clone of another with a small spacial twist. A bit depressing, knowing that it is the only coffee shop around here you can actually get a fairly decent coffee.

But when the addiction kicks in and you're desperate for fuel both mentally and physically,  then a Starbucks gift certificate is worth a million. Well, at least a cup of coffee. It made my day - I managed to pull myself together, focus for a while and put down a few words about nothing.

Tomorrow will be a good day, I can feel it.

Summer Speed

I remember summers lasting an eternity when I was a kid. Weeks and weeks (probably days, but I remember them as weeks) barefoot in the moist long grass in the mountains in Valdres, totally free to go wherever and do whatever.

We used to share the field outside our cabin with grassing cows and sheep and had to look out for steaming fresh cow dumps when running around. Sometimes one happened to step right into it and slip like Donald Duck on a banana peel. Hilarious - as long as someone else did it.

Sometimes my dad went out on the lake with the rowing boat and a fishing net to catch trout. He went out in the evening when the wind caused ripples on the surface of the lake. "When the water is quiet, the fish can see the net," he told me.

But when the water is quiet, the lake mirrors the mountains and the sky above and the world seems to have a secret copy, revealed only on this spot, on these beautiful days.

We arrived on a day like this. Summers don't last long enough anymore, but maybe it felt like an eternity for my almost 2 year old son, who visited for the first time. The contrast to the life he is used to in Florida is overwhelming.

We go swimming in the lake every year even if the temperature is far from inviting and the water is biting our feet. Not swimming perhaps, but dipping. 5 seconds is quite a long time under the circumstances. There's something about natural freshwater - it feels like a spring of youth once you're done. So clean, so full of minerals.

When you dive into a freshwater lake in the mountains in Norway - you go naked.There is nobody there that can see you, except for the fish and the birds and perhaps a few cows and sheep but frankly they don't really give a damn. Besides - when you're done dipping into the water and shoot back on shore to grab you towel, you really don't want to have an ice cold swimsuit clinging to your body.

I believe my son fell in love with the mountains. He seemed a bit confused and scared the first few days and nights, my little beach boy - but once he got the hang of walking around in the rugged environment on his bare feet and became aware of the freedom to explore new stuff on his own continuously, he was a very happy boy. Not once did he have access to TV, iPad, iPhone or computer. There's no internet or cellphone reception. We spent most of the day outside, and he was surrounded by family continuously; grandparents, aunt, little cousin.

Something happened to my son during this week outside the world - I feel closer to to him, and he seems more aware and more patient. He grew, I suppose. Mentally. Or maybe it was just me being more aware of him. Either way, the days outside the world but so intensely inside life have been vital for our development, and our unity as a family.

 I'm slowly returning to the digital online communication efficient life. Enough to blog about the wonderful experience of being away from it. It's like time stops and everything is waiting with you, pausing, so that you can take the time to let impressions sink in and give meaning. Detached from the digital world, you're more online with yourself somehow. One need to check-out to check-in.

I'm trying to remain checked in with myself back in the wi-fi zone. Not sure if I'm succeeding. I hear the TV in the background, I've checked facebook several times today and published pictures from the mountains to brag about this amazing place we can escape to. And I've just replied to an sms, making plans for the coming days.

Clinging to the lingering impression from the mountains I have agreed with myself that at least once a year it is important to check-out for a while. From everything. It is important to adjust the senses and focus on pure existence. Preferably at hideaway, like my mountain, where cellphone reception is too poor to bother using. It forces me to connect with my identity defined by nature. It reminds me to be humble about life. It clears my head so that I can think fast while I move slowly. Because sometimes in the daily life, I think I might be doing the opposite.

(private pictures copyright reserved)

Sorrow by the shore

This morning I looked out the window and saw blue sky and quiet water on the canal and thought; What a perfect morning for the beach. I wrapped up some food for my son and gathered our towels and swim gear. He understood we were going somewhere and climbed into his stroller long before I was ready to go. By 8.15 we were out the door and walked down to the beach.

The water was clear, the beach was empty, the sand was freshly plowed and the sun was gently warming as the early morning sun does. What a beautiful day. Mikkel could't wait to run into the water and I had to toss my dress off and catch up with him before even getting our towels out.

I noticed some clothes that had been washed ashore just where we entered the water. A black tank top and a black shirt. Later I saw a sock. "Where does it come from," I thought. Maybe someone lost them from a boat. Or maybe someone got drunk, had a bath, and forgot where he put his clothes. Or maybe someone ... Nah, why think about sad options when we're having such a beautiful time.

After a long bath we went back to our spot and sat down. I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures of Mikkel in the sand, like I always do when we're there. Some people passed us but I didn't pay attention to them, I was busy with my phone and watching my son digging in the sand.

A few minutes later I noticed that the people were gone again, they didn't come for a swim.  But close by the wet black clothes, I noticed something that wasn't there before. A fresh, red rose was planted erect in the sand.

The burrito beggar

Today I met a beggar.

He wasn't a beggar, he said. He wasn't asking for money. He was just hungry, and asked if I could help him buy some food. That's equalent to asking for money, I thought. Actually it is asking for a lot more than a spare of change.

I wanted to walk away. I felt uncomfortable. Maybe this was some kind of trick, I don't know ... people do a lot of strange things and you never know who could be dangerous. But I had stopped, and I was looking straight at him.

He was probably around my age. From Porto Rico, he told me later, but his English was very good. He said he had three children, no job and had just come out of the hospital. "Life is tough," he said.

I believed him. There was something about the desperation and sadness in his eyes. Something sincere. I knew I couldn't walk away from this. I was trapped. "OK, let's go get some food, " I said.

His footsteps seemed a little lighter than before as he walked across the road towards a Mexican restaurant. "I only need a little burrito," he said, "or maybe two ..? "

He started chatting, presenting himself. "Where's your accent from?" he asked me and I said "Norway," not expecting him to know where in the world that is. But he smiled and said "oh, really!" and seemed to have a pretty clear idea.

We ordered two burritos for him, "no onions and no chillies!" he demanded, and I ordered one for myself. While waiting for the food he told me about his hospital stay and that he was glad to be out. He was in for Asthma, he said. And his youngest son had it too. Now he was waiting for a massive bill to arrive which he never in this world would be able to pay. "What about Medicare?" I asked carefully. His face looked slightly tormented and he said "Man, they keep cutting back on that - it is so hard to qualify for it these days, you have no idea ..." he looked to the ground and added "I'm gonna try to apply for it now, though."

"You don't think you could help me with a bus pass as well ....?" he asked hesitantly after a while.
"It's five dollars, I need to get around to try to get a job ..."
I perceived the request as a bit pushy and replied "Sorry I don't have any cash, you're going to have to ask someone else for that."
"Oh ok, no problem" he said.

"Where are you going ...?" I asked him, feeling a bit guilty for not having 5 dollars to give him after all. He said he wanted to go to the Work Office on University Drive.
"Too far to walk for me" he said. "With my asthma ..."
Too far to walk for anyone, I thought.
"I'll give you a lift," I heard myself saying, and at the same time thinking: "What am I doing, that's insane ..."
He looked at me, surprised. "Oh ... ok ... yeah. Thanks."

The food was ready and came out in two big bags. We walked out the door and he said "you know I really should just get that bus pass, I got to go by my house first, then to the work office. I know there is an ATM right over there ..."

"I'm not walking up to an ATM to retrieve money for him," I thought. I asked him what his kids were going to eat today, trying to change the subject.  He said "this!" and held up his burrito bag. "That's why I need to drop by my house first."

I wasn't hungry anymore. "Would you like my burrito as well ...? It has onions and chillis, though ..." He gladly accepted. "Doesn't matter" he mumbled. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

I gave him a lift home with all the food. Yes, I know that is on the top of the list of things NOT to do  with complete strangers like this one, but I did. At that moment it just felt like the natural thing to do.

He kept chatting in the car, making small-talk, telling me about his brother who was such a terrible driver, about his daughter who loved writing stories.
"You're very kind." he said eventually.  "Are you one of those Newborn?"
"No" I said promptly.
"You know what it is, though?" he asked.
"Yes, I know what it is. And no, I just happen to trust you," I replied. "If I'm wrong about that, well, that would be really sad."
"I swear to you I'm not lying!" He cried. "Thank you."

" You can stop right here'" he said, pointing at a garage by the road. "I live just behind there."
He thanked me again, grabbed his food bags and got out of the car. "You're so very kind," he said again, and offered half heartedly to pay me back in the future.
"Hope things work out for you," I said to him.
"They will," he replied and shut the door.

Maybe I was cheated. Maybe his gang was ready to jump me and steal the car as I pulled over to drop him off, and I just happened to be lucky today. 

Or maybe his story was true. Maybe three kids were happy to get a decent meal today. Maybe one good experience today could be a spark for him to make some right moves for a better future.

I will never know.

But I do know that my moment of blue eyed goodwill made me feel inspired the rest of the day. I do know that pushing prejudices aside and try seeing the person instead of the beggar can transform fear into a feeling of unity. I felt humble about life and enthusiastic about the power of being human.

It made me think that behind every destiny there is an interesting story. I was drawn to this story and blurred by the impressions of the moment. Probably not advisable to follow a similar quest this far again. But good stories do not emerge from only walking on the safe side.

Neither will the world become a better place.

What you pay for

A price is not a price.

My son and I went to the doctors office for the 18-month visit the other day. We pay out of pocket when we are there because this office doesn't accept our insurance. But our insurance accepts that we go there and usually reimburses our expenses.

When we got to the check-out, the cashier recognized us and whispered: "are you still self-paid?" 

I couldn't hear her properly so I said: "I'm sorry ... What?" 

She looked to the side briefly and repeated, still whispering: "are you still self-paid?" 

"Yes," I heard myself whispering back, while leaning over the counter.

 I got the feeling she wanted to cut a deal for us. She did some calculations, or at least that's what it looked like, and finally said: "OK mama, it's 200 dollars for the visit today." 

"200 dollars. Ok," I replied and pulled out my credit card.

"Will your insurance reimburse all of it?" She asked me promptly. 

"Yes, probably." I felt slightly guilty all of a sudden. 

"Oh," she said. "I just cut your bill short with 50 dollars because I didn't think they would do that." 

"Well ... thanks. It still helps me ...you know, it takes some time before I get the money back ..." 

Whatever. I didn't ask for a discount. I didn't ask for anything. I just wanted to pay and leave. Preferably with a receipt. She said she would mail me the receipt because apparently the doctor didn't fill out his paperwork properly, but I said I'd rather have it in my hand when leaving, please. She sighted and walked away slowly to pick up the print out. Guess I'm a difficult client. I expect regular procedure and find it hard to play along with wiz-whaz.

We had a prescription to pick up so we stopped at out local pharmacy on the way home. It was ready for us when we got to the counter, $12 was due and I pulled out my money to pay. But then the cashier said "hold on a minute ..." while studying her screen.

She asked me: "Do you know why you're being charged an additional fee today ...?" 

"Excuse me?" I said, confused. "You ask me why there is an additional fee ...? What kind of fee?"

She asked me wether I had signed up for the prescription program and was due to pay the annual fee. 

"Uuh, what ..??" I said, feeling slightly stressed. People started queuing up behind me. I showed her my Walgreens discount card but she shook her head and said that was a different thing and then she went to get her manager. 

The manager asked me: "do you want to sign up for the prescription program card and save money every time you picked up new prescriptions ...?"

I asked her for what fee and she said "20 dollars a year." 

"That's a lot of money to pay to be able to save a few dollars each time" I replied, "Besides - we don't pick up prescriptions on a regular basis, so no thanks."

"OK no problem" she said. "But the final price is still going to be 32 dollars"

The confusion reached new limits and the queue behind me grew with another few customers. The ladies behind the counter had just showed me the price tag saying $12. Now they explained that this would have been the price if I had the discount card. Which I didn't want. So the price for me would be 32 dollars. 

"So, let me get this straight, whether or not I want this discount card, I have to pay the extra 20 dollars. Is that correct??"
"Yes," they replied.
"Well, if I have to pay for it regardless, I guess I might as well sign up for the card then!"

But then the manager decided to cut through this mess with a final offer instead. She wrote something on the back of a paper and said
"you don't really need the card if you're not on permanent medication, so we'll cut the price for you and you just pay this amount" she pointed at her handwriting: $18. 

"Fine" I said, knowing that I actually ended up paying $6 more than the original price presented to me. Whatever. The insurance company will reimburse us. Hand over the goods and let me get out of here! Quite fascinating how complicated paying for one small prescription can be.

Shopping or doing anything that involves money has become quite a mindgame. Everything is created from an interest of making profit, but without consideration of the bigger picture. Every little detail is squeezed and flipped and turned to see if there's a drop of benefit that someone might have overlooked.

Department stores have their own credit cards only applicable for the particular stores, with promises of big savings. People save discounts coupons as a hobby, obsessed with the possibility of saving a few cents on selected items.

Wherever you shop, they ask for your email so that they can spam you with loads of "great offers" on a regular basis. Sales staff usually have no clue what they're selling, but they've received some training in pushing additional products on you regardless.

In the grocery store, the packers insist on helping you all the way to your car in hope of earning a few dollars of tip. Even though you can bring your cart to your car and you're not even required to bring it back.

In restaurants, table service is rationalized and different people have different responsibilities; one take your order, one bring out the food and a third one, the lowest in the hierarchy, brings the drinks. If you happen to ask the drink server about why your food order is taking so long, you disturb the flow and risk chaos and annoyed managers.

Whatever happened to the service? The service that you are expected to appreciate and reward with the tip? No wonder why the practice of adding tip automatically to your bill is increasingly popular. Whatever happened to customer first? Does anyone in the service business even consider what it feels like to be a customer? Customers are treated like they exist for the purpose of the service provider, not the other way around. If anyone were bold enough to draw the contours of the business model in action  they would probably discover a beast!

I really miss going somewhere where customer experience has a high priority. Where the business idea is based on making people want to return, making people want to recommend this place or product to their friends and give them high scores on social media. I'd love to visit a store where the sales personnel are proud of their skills and their product, where the procedure of capturing customers into complicated discount deals and product locks is banned. Do places like that exist for general people without secret accounts in Switzerland ...?

It's time to refresh what service is all about: making the customer feel important. That's it. Not confused, caught up, stalked, stressed and irritated. Just appreciated, no matter who you are.

If that's too much to ask, then how about just giving me what I came for, and show me the God Damn price.

Flowers for Boston

Almost two years ago when I heard a bomb go off in Oslo, I immediately thought of the construction work down the road. It didn't cross my mind that this loud bang in my safe and tranquil hometown could be a massive bomb that had just killed and injured a lot of innocent people.

I can imagine a lot of people in Boston did the same, probably thought they heard fireworks or something. The thought of a bomb at this annual, traditional family event in this safe, traditional city, seems so far away, so surreal. But sadly, we have to come to terms with that the surreal - is real.

The terror strikes ordinary people at moments when their minds couldn't be further away from fear and insecurity. Ordinary people - you and me. And among us, some people walk around with ideas of spreading fear and creating chaos among their peers. How and why these ideas occur is necessary to try to understand. The reason behind the specific attack however, deserves no attention.

No cause in this world can defend killing children. The action is cynical, ruthless and disgustingly cowardly. And tragically, it seems to be catching on among insane extremists.

One of the goals the terrorist that struck Oslo had was to promote what he called his "Manifest" - a paper describing his ideology and how killing 76 teenagers was "a necessary mean in his war against islam." Unfortunately, his paper got attention.

But he failed badly on several other goals. He failed to nurture fear and hostility between groups of people. He failed to turn people against the ruling government. He failed to spread hatred. He failed to destroy the political recruitment.

When a group of people is attacked, people unite, help each other, stick together. The group of ordinary people is pretty big.

The shock and the sorrow bring out the strength, the courage and the goodness in people. Instead of crawling into hiding, the masses strike back with an overwhelming demonstration of compassion, cohesion and love. It makes me proud of being human in the middle of the puzzling inhumane event.

The rhetoric from the White House has a different tune than before. There is no "us and them" or "war on terror" anymore. Justice, yes - the individuals responsible will be brought to justice. The arena of the war seems to have shifted from the ground to the mind.

Two years ago, back in Oslo, I walked downtown to leave roses by the area where the bomb hit. A journalist asked me why I wanted to leave flowers and I replied "because they are such strong symbol of compassion and peace. I really hope we'll see a lot of flowers here"

A week after the bombing, the sea of flowers was so big that a few blocks had to be closed off for traffic. It was closed for months.

When words come too short, flowers can pass on a powerful message. Flowers represent solidarity, compassion, cohesion, peace. Love. Let the purpose and cause behind this horrible act drown in a sea of flowers.

Ordinary people are not soldiers. But ordinary people can fight the enemy by refusing to back down to the fear. The war is in our mind. Protect your values by sticking to them. Keep living, keep running. In the honor of the fallen.

Honk that horn, you bastard

Our Captain in Montreal once told me "You have to know something, Marianne, there are plenty of ASSHOLES on the roads around here."

People behind the wheels forget themselves from time to time. Actually quite often. They get sucked into the mission of getting from one place to another, operating the vehicle and maneuvering between thousands of other cars on the same mission - just different destinations.

After a few years of practice, the technical part of driving becomes automatic and one drift into driving-mode, a sort of hypnotic concentration, slightly distant to the surroundings but with continuous focus on the road. Or so one should hope.

In this condition, the self guards for a lot of people tend to be off duty.

I would never, ever even dream of yelling " move your ass, fuckhead!!" to a stranger who happen to cut me off at the lineup for the counter at the supermarket. No matter how cheeky or deliberate he is. In fact, I would never say those words to a strangers face, period. Not even when I'm drunk.

But I have to admit I'm one of those who loose my self guard when driving. Behind the wheel, I'm responsible for driving safely, not responsible for practicing good manners. Observed from a distance I probably balance on the borderline of Tourettes syndrome. But hey, I'm not the only one.

The thing is, when you happen to be in stable driving-mode, which is really where you should be when driving 70 miles per hour on a highway, you get startled when you realize that some people are not. People talk on the phone, read sms, eat, smoke, smoke and talk on the phone at the same time - and thereby cause dangerous situations or fail to let you in when you're entering the 95.

Thats when you feel the blood boiling for a moment and words you didn't think you had in your vocabulary get aired out. Nobody out there can hear what you're really saying. But then cars are fitted with horns, and honking is international, it translates all swearwords in all languages into one generic anger tone. As far as I'm told, it is there for safety purpose, but for a lot of drivers it serves as a great impulsive anger outlet button.

Recently I had someone honking at me for about 10 seconds. Imagine what he wanted to put across ... Don't remember what I did, probably failed to go on a green light or something because I turned around to talk to my son in the back seat. That's ok, I understand. I probably could have done the same.

Not that I didn't raise a fist at him. Can't remember wether a finger was up or not, but it's not important. The impulsive road anger disappears just as fast as it appears, with no regrets.

The reason why you react in the first place is because you are very alert. A lot of accidents happen, but a lot of accidents are avoided too thanks to horrendous impulsive reaction behavior.

The Captain is right. There are a lot of assholes on the roads. And we're all just people in cars.

The Value of Sharing

Some mothers have taken the concept of sharing a bit too far.

The other day, a little girl had brought her doll stroller to the playground, and my son was really envious. It had handles and wheels and it was easy to push around, a concept he is very fascinated by these days. So he tried to borrow it. But the girl started whining "Nooo!' as he approached and he decided to back off.

Her mother got involved and said "Yes, yes, you have to share" and pushed the stroller towards us.

My son had already picked up a ball to play with instead. But the girls mother persistently placed the stroller in front of him and said  "I want him to play with this, she needs to learn how to share."

He accepted the offer and started pushing the stroller tirelessly around in circles at the playground.

When the girl was ready to go home it was my sons turn to scream "Nooooo!" and the forced separation with the stroller released one of those "turn-into-a-potato-sack-I-will-die-if-you-do-this-to-me" tantrums, rolling around on the ground, screaming.

Thanks for sharing. Really worth the experience.

We live in the decades of revolutionary sharing. Sharing can be liberating for societies, but captivating for your mind. Sometimes it seems like people need to share to justify their experiences. As if you don't share it, you can't claim it's happening. Or - what is the point of experiencing if it can't be shared?

At the playground, I believe kids are pretty good at sharing experiences and sorting things out between them without adult interference. But sometimes you see kids deliberately stealing toys others are having fun with, or pile up all the cool toys they can find only to deny their playmates access to them. Then I believe adult interference is in its place.

Some would say say these kids need to improve their "sharing" skills. But you could also just call it bad behavior. Sharing seems to have become an associate with good. The frequent appearance of this word and the practice of it by some parents makes it seem like the most important life skill a child can learn.

If you're participating on social media, you're receiving whatever other people would like to share. Receiving a lot of crap is part of the deal to be able to get the benefits from it. We happily sign up and accept all the crap to be a part of the network, to belong and to be allowed to share our own stuff. The value of sharing has become the sharers domain. You don't share to be nice to others, you share because it makes you feel good about yourself. You share to be noticed, leave a footprint.

I think it is time to look at the value of keeping certain things to yourself. We don't have to share everything all the time. It's ok to demand some privacy and peace alone with something you're busy working on, looking at, playing with, experiencing. It is valuable for your own happiness sake, to be able to appreciate an experience without requiring "like" tags from an audience.

So if a little bully comes up to my son on the playground and tries to steal his toy, I'm not the mother who turn to my boy and tell him: "share, be nice ... share!" I smile and tell the intruder in a calm, but firm enough tone "stop, you may borrow this toy when my son is finished playing with it." In my head I'm thinking "get lost you little devil, find your own fun." 

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to share.

Sweet Motherhood

So when you finally have the child of your dreams and get settled into motherhood - you slowly come to realize, through your constant drowsiness, that life is not about you anymore. You feel like you exist purely for the sake of nurturing, protecting and guiding this new human being who's life is just starting. When he needs you, you're there. Day and night.

You'll learn how to go to the bathroom at convenient times, how to prepare to get a shower once in a while, how to feed yourself in between shuffling spoons of cereal carefully into the baby's mouth.

You also learn how to keep a happy face when the baby is watching you even though you're drop dead exhausted and how to express enthusiasm over the magic of a light switch.

You learn that sleep is a luxury that you'll cherish when you can. You care about house cleaning. You get obsessed with healthy nourishment (for your child, at least) and you stop worrying about your hair. Not to mention make-up. It's probably dried out, if you even remember where you keep it.

And whatever interesting you were doing before the baby was born, you're not doing it anymore.

Having a baby is like a long, life changing, hardworking, disciplinary exercise camp. When you're done, nothing will ever be the same.

At the same time, you're having the most beautiful and intense moments in your life.

Watching your baby sleep leaves a calming, comforting and empowering feeling. Hearing baby-giggle is like an injection of pure happiness. Serving your baby the first solids is pure comedy.

Following the development of your own child through the first year day by day, makes you humble  and amazed about life.

My son has started pre-school. And he sleeps well during the night (usually). Which means mommy will have time and energy to focus on something other than baby-needs. Like blogging. The topics of the Everyday blog will certainly be influenced by the changed life. Because nothing will ever be the same.

A panic moment

Motherhood has kicked in and our little son is already 3 months old. He's a happy little man, small for us but big for his age. He enjoys going out and about, especially hanging on my stomach in his strap facing the world. What a bliss having your whole life in front of you.

Yesterday we had a bit of a panic moment, however.

We had lunch on a street cafe in Hollywood downtown (in Florida, not THE Hollywood) and walked back to the car which was parked on the side of the main street. Mikkel was in his stroller, mommy had a big purse on her shoulder with all the baby gear. The car was pretty warm, we were parked in the sun. I opened the door, put my purse in the front seat and Mikkel in the back. Feeling a bit concerned about the heat, I started the engine to put the air-condition on before unfolding and packing the stroller.

I walked to the back of the car to open the trunk. It was locked. Very odd, it never locks automatically. Or does it ...? I turned around again and grabbed the front door handle.  Locked. I tried the back door, the doors on the passenger side, the trunk once again. Locked. My heart was pounding and I started feeling the strangling sensation of panic. I tried all doors again and had to admit the unthinkable: I'm locked out of my car ... and the key, the purse, the phone and the baby are inside.

I kept trying to unlock it, by force, by thought, by miracle, whatever, while desperately looking around for something heavy to smash the window with.

A guy driving by saw my despair and rolled down his window. "Do you need help, ma'm?" I told him status quo, and he said "Oh, shit.  I'll pull over." He came out, acompanied by his little girl, and handed me his phone. "Anyone you can call?" He said. I started dialing my husbands number but couldn't recall the digits. But then again, what could he do ...? I asked the guy if he knew how to break into cars. He didn't. (Stupid thing to ask, really. But I was kind of desperate) "Maybe I should call the local police" I said. "Yes go ahead dial 911." He replied. "you could call a locksmith, but he ain't gonna get here fast enough, so you might as well call 911." So I did.

A few minutes later we could hear the sirens. There was a queue up the road, and all the cars had to move out of the way. The policecar car  pulled up next to us and a cop with mirror shades stepped out, asking what the problem was. I pointed at my screaming baby inside the car and told him what had happened. "We need a firetruck to jerk up the door" he said. "They're on their way." Another police car came, and two guys stepped out to overlook the situation. "Is this your car, m'am?" They asked me. "Do you know the lock code?" Our car has a lock code on the door handle, which I've never bothered to learn because I didn't think this could happen. How stupid is that. Be sure I know it by heart now. The police kindly explained to me that it's printed on the back of the car manual and it's a good thing to know it. Yeah.

Finally the firetruck came, full sirens. They blocked off the road, got out the gear and jerked the car door open. I jumped in the backseat and grabbed Mikkel, who was soaked from sweating and screaming. The air condition was on luckily, but only low. He was fine, though. Scared, warm and confused, but fine.

The uniformed rescuers wrapped up their equipment, adjusted my air-condition to full blast, gave us a friendly "good luck, take care" and "hope he's ok" before leaving. The queue of cars on hold were allowed to continue up the road again, slowly passing the scene of action.

Mikkel is sadly not old enough to be aware of the 4 cops, two police cars, 2 firemen and the big firetruck  that were there to save him. Yeah, save him from mommy's clumsy lockout. Kind of glad he's too young to understand that.

Yoga Goodness

I've been going to prenatal yoga the last months of my pregnancy. The classes have been a mixture between yoga practice, meditation, therapy and a friendship circle. Too bad it's only for pregnant people.

The teacher, Lisa Edelstein, is also a midwife. She just happen to love working with and talking about pregnancy and birth, and embraces every woman who walk into the studio as if they were lost souls seeking shelter. In a way we are when coming to the studio - pregnant women are vulnerable, especially first timers,  some have back pains and other hassles, and several lack good social networks because they're new to the area. Like me.

Students walk out of class feeling refreshed and appreciated - even spiritually engaged in a way.  Sometimes we hang around chatting for a while after class, or stay behind talking to Lisa in confidence about some delicate pregnancy issue - which she's always open to listen to and give advice on.

Every class has a topic of the day. Something about life in general. Last time, the topic was "gratefulness." Lisa said she used to practice with her children before bedtime - to sum up at least 3 things from the day that is worth being grateful for. "Sometimes you're just grateful that the day is over" - she said. "And that's ok too - just recognize the feeling of being grateful for it."

It is very true, though. When thinking about a few things you can be grateful for, life becomes a little bit more joyful. Worries become a little bit smaller. Annoyances become a little less relevant. It may even help you get enough peace in mind to fall asleep at night.

I never thought yoga could extend so much into my everyday life. Even though class is only twice a week, it influences the whole week. Missing a class is like missing food - things fall out of balance.

I haven't done any effort to even try getting into the philosophy and lifestyle of yoga, but I do get that it is a lot about balance and strength applied to several aspects of life. It makes sense, even though it might also be the people in class, and "Mother Lisa," that contribute this foundation of well-being.

Being open to what new experiences can offer you is a key I guess. My gosh that sounds so yoga-ish ...

Yoga One Hollywood
Shree Mama Prenatal Yoga

Healthcare choices

Lately I've been interviewing pediatricians. Soon-to-be-parents are expected to do so over here. I've made phone calls to their offices, asked if I can do a "prenatal interview" with specific doctors and booked appointments for that. The doctors I have chosen to talk to are carefully selected from internet research and reputations in my network.

Would I have done this in Norway? Never. Would any doctor in Norway spend time talking to anybody that might choose to see them regularly with their child in the future? ...

At first, I found this a bit overkill - how am I suppose to know what to look for? How much am I expected to know about healthcare to actually be a decent parent over here??

But I think I've managed to find a good doctor to follow up on our child once he's born. Choosing a healthcare provider is like choosing any other service - comparing general impression and gut feeling for the different overall experience; Did I like the doctor? Did he or she listen to my concerns? Could I easily understand what the doctor was saying? Was the waiting room comfortable? Clean? How did the receptionist welcome me? Did I wait for a long time before I was seen? Does it seem to be easy to get hold of the doctor in an emergency? And so on.

My final choice is based on everything else but judgement of their actual medical skills, which I obviously wouldn't be qualified to have an opinion about anyways. Besides, the internet screening sort of covers that part, revealing education, awards, years of practice, medical malpractice records and user reviews. The interview is all about the highly significant people-handling skills and general personal impression, which is what distiguish one recomended doctor from another.

This whole interviewing experience has made me feel quite empowered as a user. I've now made a concious choice based on personal research to ensure that my child will have the best possible healthcare once he's born. It is a step away from being able to blame the system if things don't work out, and two steps towards taking that responsibility myself. It felt scary at first - but it feels good now. It requires time and effort, but then again - it might save stress, time and concerns once we start using the chosen service. I wish I knew this when I was looking for a provider for my pregnancy appointments.

This is not an appraisal of the general American healthcare system. But there are pros and cons. Some of the cons are that you can choose among plenty of good doctors due to the way things work, and the power of the users of the healthcare services is definitely more dominant here than back in our social healthcare country. Bearing in mind that the powerful user would be the resourceful, critical, aware and educated user who's on a good healthcare insurance plan, and who's gained some experience on how things work.

It makes me think about how I've maneuvered our healthcare system back home on different occasions. Have I kept seeing a doctor I don't really like several times because I think it is too difficult to switch? Yes. Have I ever chosen to pay for my appointment at a private practice to see a specialist because they can see me faster? Yes. Have I ever chosen to return to a private practicioner and pay every time simply because the office is nicer, the doctor is friendlier and staff is more welcoming? yes ...

American and Norwegian healthcare systems are very different on many levels and hard to compare, but depending on what health issue you have - whether you are here or there, you are sometimes likely to face stressors that you wish you didn't have to deal with in those cercomstances. In America, finance and insurance might be your biggest concern, in Norway, waiting in line and lack of information may add to your pain and frustration. Either way you find yourself wishing things were different, that those obstacles between you and healthcare where not there.

Having experienced both systems I'd say I still prefer social healthcare to the insurance healthcare. Knowing that you will be seen regardless of your life situation is, to me, invaluable. But there are definitely quality benefits of the power of choice that are worth reflecting upon. What if our social healthcare system was open to free choice and consumer ratings? What if you could choose to go to a specific medical center simply because you've learned that they perform better knee surgery with faster recovery, without having to pay private fees? And you'd be able to ask for a specific doctor to perform the surgery? What if hospital mistakes were publicly broadcasted and medical staff with unstable records were tagged with this on their online profiles? What if part of the health budget were distributed based on performance statistics, consumer feedback and number of visits ...?

Would this rock the foundation of a social healthcare system - or could it improve the quality of the service? Can public opinion serve as a motivator for quality performance regardless of profit and fear of lawsuit? It could at least make the the voice of the user matter more. And perhaps it could force the users into becoming more aware and responsible as social service consumers ...

Good things in life

Sometimes it strikes me how easy it is to feel happy. Other times it seems like the most difficult and hard reaching feeling in the world. But on a regular day, when nothing extraordinary is on the agenda, it's quite possible to identify some details that make you feel good. Here's a list of general things that made me happy today:

1. eating good food
2. reading good news
3. digital stuff working the way I expected
4. hearing an old tune that brought back good memories
5. chatting with good friends
6. a good hug from the one I love
7. being inside in a nice dry home while it's raining outside
8. looking forward to seeing a good film
9. knowing there's ice-cream in the freezer
10. having time for a nap - and managing to sleep

if you turn this list around, you might have the perfect description of a miserable day:

1. eating crappy food (and paying for it)
2. reading bad news
3. digital stuff that never works the way you expect
4. hearing an old tune you hoped you'd never hear again
5. not getting hold of your friends when you need to talk to them
6. rejection from someone you love
7. being outside in the rain far away from home, freezing
8. NOTHING to watch on TV
9. ice-cream tub in the freezer is empty
10. needing a nap, but too much stuff on your mind to be able to relax

... so getting out of bed with the right leg first kind of makes sense. It is interesting how subtle details can influence your day without you even noticing. Count the blessings ...?

Crashing and Waiting

The days are slowly passing by as due date is getting closer and pregnancy discomforts are requiring more and more attention. People are asking "when are you due?" "boy or a girl?" "how are you doing?" and life seems to be all about baby and belly at the moment.

But sometimes something happens which snaps you right out of the drowsy baby-state of mind, like when husband calls home to say he just crashed his motorbike.

"... Are you ok?" He says yes but I can hear that he's pretty shaken. It strikes me how vulnerable we are, just the two of us, one month before our son will be born. Every day Helge rides his bike to work. Every day he enjoys the ride and the feeling of freedom it provides. Then one day somebody hits him from behind while he's waiting for the green light. He's knocked hard off the lane, scratching the car in front of him on the side. He could do nothing to prevent it and all fault is on the driver that hit him. But he's on a bike. Bikes don't have airbags or doors or steel hulls. You're in the free space with your body, which is the bless and the doom of motorbiking.

He was lucky this time. He was pushed off to the side instead of being squeezed between the two cars. He didn't even tip over or fall off. And x-rays from the hospital confirms that the neck and the ribs are ok. Thank God.

Driving in Florida is a risky business. Every week, some of the highways are closed down for a while because of accidents. Heavy traffic and queues seems to be more often caused by accidents than by rush hour. Apparently Florida do not have laws against talking on the phone while driving. There are plenty of warnings around, huge bulletin boards along the highways saying TXT + DRIVE = RIP and similar word games, but it is not prohibited. Wearing a helmet when riding a motorbike is recommended, but not compulsory. So what do people do? They talk on the phone while switching lanes on 95 going 70 miles per hour (112 km/t) , and ride their bikes with wind in their ponytails.

I got my Florida driving license a couple of weeks ago. Since I'm foreign, I need to complete a full test like all first timers in the US, which means completing a theory test and do a proper driving test. Proper driving test means you need to prove that you can drive forward, backwards, turn, stop and park. The theory test is a multiple choice questionnaire on a touch screen that takes about 10 minutes to complete, you don't even sit down for it. I paid 49$ for the whole session and I could walk out with a temporary license, waiting for my ID card to arrive in the post a few days later.

So Florida has a lot of big roads, millions of cars with millions of drivers who acquired their license for the first time the same way I did (if they bother applying for it at all), talking on the phone while driving is a common habit, helmets are considered nerdy (luckily I have a sensibly nerdy husband) and drinking and driving is acceptable. Driving in Florida is a life risking necessity.

Helge was lucky this time. His helmet has scratches, which means if he'd been one of the many cool dudes that cruise around with only sunglasses and a scarf on the head, he probably would't be chatting normally with me in our living room right now. So what can we learn from this experience? Drive more carefully perhaps? We can always try - but the Florida traffic isn't going to change. I guess it remains a simple reminder of doing all the little things right, like wearing helmets, buckle up, NOT using the phone while driving, installing baby car seat correctly ... and hope for the best.

In about 5 weeks time we're bringing our baby home. Life is precious. That car seat will be installed weeks in advance, just in case.

In the wake of a Tragedy

Then it happens, 22 July 2011, in the tiny and peaceful country of Norway, the unthinkable but yet quite possible event of a terror attack. The lives of almost 100 people, most of them very young, are ruthlessly and meaninglessly stolen by a man who calls himself a Knight on a mission for his rightwing extremist beliefs. The country is mourning and the world condemn this violence.

The young people who survived the attacks on the Island have shared their stories of a horror hard to imagine. It proves these youngsters have bravely helped each other despite the terrifying death machine they were facing and saved several of their fellows lives. They also speak up for reacting to this terror with more openness, stronger connection between people and resistance to letting the fear manifest itself in our society. I'm proud and moved by the strength of these youngsters and I will support their appeal by doing my part of incorporating the attitude to my own life and relations.

All people, whatever cultural background or religious beliefs, have certain values in common; we all love and care about our close relations, we all seek belonging to build trust, harmony and safety for ourselves and our nearest. Anders Behring Breivik attacks these basic values in a time where the society consists of people from several different cultural backgrounds. He wants segregation, barriers and distance between people rather than cooperation, closeness and openness.

He will not succeed. Instead of responding with fear, individuals will reject his goals and respond by reaching out to all fellow citizens from all different cultural backgrounds and emphasize our common values. Our enemy will be defeated by building bridges instead of barriers, embrace the similarities instead of differences, move closer together by calling all people in our society "us" and the extremists within all cultures, all societies and even potentially within each one of us - as "them."

The source for growth for "them" is fear and the unknown. Perhaps we all at some point during the last days have felt the tight and uncomfortable grasp of the fear. "Them" have pinched us. Today, we all mourn the tragic and meaningless loss of our fellow citizens. In honor of the lost ones, each individual can fight for our common values and destroy "them" by moving closer together, holding each others hands, being there for each other, allowing openness, seeking understanding and respecting our differences. We are all human. We all belong. We need each other to live in peace.

American Healthcare Interference

If you get sick in America and need medical attention, it becomes a matter of money. Therefore, people invest in health insurance so that when something happens, the least they need to worry about is finances - their insurance companies will take care of that.

Not quite. It seems reality is a bit of a mismatch with this idea.

I came upon an article in the New York Times that illustrates very well the nature of so called health insurance: Insured, but personally bankrupt. The article highlights how most people who become personally bankrupt after illness in USA, are people who actually have insurance. Unless you pay an insane amount of money every month, like $1.000,- (which is equivalent to 5425,- NOK with todays currency rate. Per month.) - you're basically left in the gutter if you should be so unfortunate as to need serious medical attention. If you're in a risk category, like - having a potential heart condition, your insurance will be so expensive that you might be better off without it. Then at least you're not up for surprises. A quick glance at the readers comments to this article shows very clearly how a lot of Americans feel about their health insurance system. Words like fraud, scam, inhumane reappear several times. 

I have gained an experience of my own with the health insurance while living here. Now that I'm pregnant I need to visit the healthcare provider on a regular basis. We are covered well through Helge's employment and financing health issues should't be a problem. So then it should be easy, right?

This is the country of freedom of choice - so choosing the right provider is the first step on the journey of being looked after. But I got to learn quickly that as a patient - you don't choose a provider, they choose you. They will "accept you" only if you have an insurance that they are dealing with. So choices are quickly limited to providers "in-network" with our insurance company, and the easiest way of finding a doctor will be from an address list of in-network providers - from our insurance company. 

Fair enough, limiting my choices might make it easier to find the right place. It would have been really helpful though if the insurance company also had some kind of information about the different doctors in their network to prevent me from going for a bad one. Like, feedback from other users, reputations they knew of - anything. But hey - they're an insurance company not a service provider. They guard the finances, not the people being treated so it is kind of a long shot to ask for. 

So I picked a bad provider. And before I could see any health assistant, I had to fill out a chunk of paperwork for the insurance company - with questions regarding my health history, my husbands health history, my family's health history and my husbands family's health history, questions about recent medications taken and a whole bunch of declarations to sign that stated everything the provider would withdraw responsibility from in case of things going wrong. The paperwork took me about 45 minutes to complete. Then I waited for about an hour more before I was called in. My first visit lasted for nearly 3 hours all together - nearly 2 hours in the waiting room, 5 minutes with the doctor and the rest of the time with a very unfriendly nurse. To be fair I can't really blame the insurance company for that.

I went to this provider a couple of times, but after they lost my urine sample, asked me sensitive medical questions in front of other patients, made me pay extra for having blood drawn (which is kind of standard procedure during pregnancy) and generally treating me like a parcel on a factory belt - I thought I'd better find a different doctor. 

So I did. I picked another one from the list and this time I did some research on the internet as well to check possible online user reviews. I called to book an appointment and the first thing they asked me was "What kind of insurance do you have, m'am." 

This reply seems to be a standard procedure when you call a new provider but it strikes me every time what a financial engine the whole healthcare system is. The providers are not even concerned about your reason for calling before they know how you'll pay for it. 

I told them "Europeiske - or Euro-center." 

"We don't accept international insurance" was the brief reply. 

"But you're on their list of in-network providers" I argued. 

"But we don't accept international insurance" She said again. 

"I got your phone number from my insurance company, and they're not international!" I said.

 She got annoyed and repeated "well that doesn't mean anything - I believe it is international and we do not accept that insurance! Sorry. Have a nice day."

And so started a long string of phone calls between me, our insurance company and the doctors office which ended with our insurance clerk booking an appointment for me. 

The new healthcare provider was - after finally being able to get an appointment with them - far better than the previous one. They could also offer me a choice between seeing a regular doctor, like in the other place - or a midwife with 30 years of experience and very good documentations. I was open to meeting the midwife and check out the natural birth thing and I've continued seeing the midwife regularly. She's great and things have been going well so far. 

Then on my last appointment I was faced with another insurance issue: At the counter, when signing in for my appointment, the assistant told me that my insurance company had refused to pay the charges up till now because they've discovered I'm seeing the midwife and not the doctor. They will not cover midwife assistance, only doctor. So in order to see the midwife that day I had to pay out of pocket right there and then or else we had to swop the care plan and continue the follow up with the nurse and the doctor instead. 

"Is this real?" I thought. My insurance company wants to decide how I'll give birth to my baby and who is entitled to do the regular prenatal check ups on me? They could't care less wether I'm seeing a good or a bad provider, wether I feel well looked after or terrified - but they do want to decide wether I give birth in a safe birth center (with a doctor back-up), or in a hospital, and wether a midwife or a doctor is assisting me.  

"... so how much money are we talking, exactly?" I replied. She said they'd allow me to pay half of the sum to make it easier for me - "that would be $1997,-."

I tried to do the maths to grasp the amount she was asking for but I was too focused on concealing my anger and avoiding breaking out in tears. I decided to refuse being dictated by a totally f... up insurance regime so I pulled out my Norwegian Visa card and drew the 11.000,- NOK from my account. Then she let me through to my prenatal appointment with the midwife. 

The receipt is on it's way to the insurance company and hopefully with a lot of pressure from my husbands employer - they will reimburse it. After all, as expats for DNV we are supposed to be well covered. Still don't know what will happen with the rest of my prenatal care, though. Would be really nice if my own preferences was prioritized. This is the country of freedom of choice, isn't it? 

Thank God I'm not having complications. With all this hassle for a regular check up, I don't even want to think about what insurance joy we might face if I need any care out of the ordinary. Thing is - you really need to be mentally fit for fight to put up with all the negotiations, questions, paperwork, disappointments, reclaim rejections, arguing, phone calls and emails required to get the coverage you're supposed to have. And who are really up for that when they got serious health issues to worry about ...? Be sure the health insurance companies are well aware of that.   

There are several actors in the healthcare industry that contribute to making general healthcare appear inaccessible and problematic. Although the actions and interference by the insurance companies can cause a fair amount of frustration, they are not running the show alone. Medical companies, lawyers, greedy doctors, front ends in the doctors offices and politicians all play their parts. Bottom line is - the health industry is a race about money, leaving the actual patients - who should have been the centre of attention, as nothing but peasants on a large chessboard where profit is at stake. I feel sorry for Americans, and I feel kind of grateful for being Norwegian. In Norway, healthcare might not be perfect, but it is free, covered by the government through taxes. I know that for a lot of Americans this sounds like boundaries of socialism and lack of individual freedom. But at as far as I know - nobody feels like peasants on a chessboard in a game to large to grasp.  

Returning to Miami with Lena

A month in Europe was a welcoming break from the every day Miami life. The cultural differences between Miami and Oslo are part of the great experience, though sometimes also kind of exhausting. But enough about that for now - it was quite a luxury feeling returning to Miami without having to study for an exam anymore. Making it even better, I was accompanied on my return by a good old friend in top holiday mode.

Lena and I arrived in Miami on May 24th. The evening sun was still glimmering in the tall buildings as we drove from the airport back to our flat. The heat felt nice and relaxing. We had a drink on he balcony in the sunset before unpacking and discussed plans for the upcoming days. Without any rush or exhausting sightseeing we managed to do a lot during the 7 days of Lena's visit. In danger of sounding a bit nerdy - I think jetlag from Norway did us a favor by forcing us out of bed pretty early every morning. The day becomes so much longer starting at 7 or 8 am than starting at noon. Even on holiday.

We did some sightseeing on Miami Beach and downtown Miami, had lunch in the Miami design district, went on alligator safari, went shopping, did the motorbiking thing, spent time on the beach ...

Walking on the beach was one of those favorite activities that we did more than once. The heat has picked up in this tropical area so walking in the morning is preferable.

Even though you can only walk in two different directions - north or south - every walk provides some new experiences, especially if you're a person who enjoys paying attention to details in your surroundings.

During one of our morning walks, we came across an eeny-wheeny little baby crab that was washed far ashore by the waves. It was so small that it didn't even have a hard shell on its body. We both found it kind of sad watching it struggle to get back into the water. A couple of meters of sand looked like a couple of miles of desert for the little fellow.

Lena took pity on him and wanted to help the little creature back into it's desired environment. She picked it up very gently, studied it in her palm for a moment, then pulled her arm back to throw it as far out into the sea as possible. I think the intention was to throw the little thing far enough into the sea so that another wave ride was unlikely to bring it back onto the beach. For me it was like observing a passionate full force pitch in slow motion - resulting an a very confused expression on Lena's face because she instantly lost sight of the crab after it left her hand. The little creature did not fly out into the ocean the way one should expect from the direction of the throw. Due to the wind from the sea, it went straight up in the air, slightly backwards and right back at Lena, almost hitting her in the face on its way down.

Lena felt guilty for contributing to making the crabs life a bit more miserable than it already was and we decided to stop interfering with nature and move on.


One of the many great pleasures in Miami and surroundings, like mentioned before, is food. Lena's holiday album also reveals taking part in this pleasure. You can name whatever possible imaginable food and probably find a place for it somewhere in Miami. But the fun thing is finding the good spots, the celebrated and famous places where chef's have enjoyed great renome and publicity year after year and the staff is dedicated to sticking to the style and tradition they're well known for.

Joe's Stone Crabs is a place like that. Apparently the place has been there for more than 90 years which is considered a pretty long time according to American timescale. We decided to check it out during Memorial Weekend, on the Sunday.

I'll definitely support their reputation - nice place, great atmosphere and really nice crab. Slightly different crab experience this time - no cute little baby crabs, only large dangerous claws that you would't get anywhere near if they were alive.

The waitress explained to us that since we're outside of crab season, the stone crabs that they could offer were crab claws from Alaska. The way they harvest these claws is by pulling them off the bodies of live crabs and dropping the crab bodies back into the sea so that the claws can grow back out again. We looked at each other and were all thinking that this sounds a bit cruel ... But we were at the famous crab shack to eat some crab so what the hell - we went for those claws. Alaska is pretty far away anyways.

Crab claws is heavy food so after dinner we felt like walking it off a bit and perhaps stop for a drink at the Ocean Drive. We headed down to the happening strip of Miami Beach, Since it was Memorial weekend and holiday on the Monday, it was closed for traffic and the street was packed with partying people.

At first - we were quite startled by how many women were walking around with nothing but their bikinis on. Bikinis, stilettos, impressive hair and makeup. Guys on the other hand, were fully dressed. We kept walking, and the crowd got more and more tight and intense. We started noticing eventually that we were the only white people walking on Ocean Drive. There were no white people, no Asian looking, no Latin Americans (more than half of the population in Miami is of latin american heritage). The crowd consisted of purely black people. And all the pubs and clubs along the strip were playing rap music.

When you become aware of being the only white face in a big partying crowd of black people - and you're grown up in Scandinavia and do not have experience from living in Africa or on the Caribbean Islands during your life - this sudden self awareness may struck you as lightening. It certainly did for us. We all started feeling uncomfortably out of place. Many of the guys around us could all have been previous or potential basketball players - they were not little. They made Helge look like a white little lamb lost in a herd of bulls.

The crowd kept getting tighter and tighter and we started pushing our way trough the masses of people. One of us suggested perhaps it was time to head back to the car which none of us had a problem with so we turned around, forced our way out of the crowd towards a sideway, passed a few police cars and road barriers and headed back towards Joe's. We figured a drink at home would be just as good.

Back home in the flat we checked out wether some kind of special event was on because seeing only one race of people in a place like Miami Beach is kind of extraordinary. And not surprisingly - we found plenty of announcements for Black Weekend at South Beach on the internet. That explains it.

The next morning we heard on the news that 8 people were shot near Ocean Drive in the early hours, and apparently the shooter got "peppered" by the police afterwards. Kind of reliving to say that we were not there when it happened. The shooting was caught on video by some of the people that happened to be there though, and the video is out on youtube. Social media at it's full potential.

It is kind of interesting that observing dangerous animals from a close distance gives you a exiting thrill, whereas getting lost in a crowd of people you are not familiar with might be a frightening experience. It is the unfamiliar in the familiar perhaps - that freak us out. We know our own kind but yet clues about something unknown makes us insecure. We don't know what to do or how to behave. On the other hand - the deadly animals are in the category "deadly animals - be cautious" so that's easy.

The week Lena was here flew by and 1 June it was time to go home. It was great having her visiting and it made me feel like I was on holiday myself, nice break from daily Miami life. Although daily life is pretty good living, being on holiday where you live kind of gives the surroundings a fresh appearance. So thanks for that, Lena! Hope to see you here again.

Genuine Food and Another Happy Visitor

I've had a new invigorating experience in the Miami design district. First of all, going there on a Friday instead of in the weekend reveales a lot of shop content unaccessible during the weekends. Not only are all the shops open, but all the shops seems to have "more than what the eye can catch in a glimpse" to them. Several shops have another room in the back, in the second floor or in the backyard with something different than what they have in front. Either a gallery, or just different stuff. I found two great photography books in the back of Tomas Maier swimwear and fashion shop.

Most of the shops also have staff that are chatty and welcoming - and very happy to talk about the concept of the store, the background of the designer or artists they represent - without making you feel guilty for not buying anything. It is like walking in a district full of little galleries for you to explore - and if you happen to find an item you can afford to buy, then good for you. If not, enjoy the experience nevertheless.

The reason for being there this time was to show this happening place to my friend Anne Gro who was visitng. She loved it. She bought a pair of shoes in my favorite architecture designer shoes/ contemporary photography shop! I was delighted. I hope she is too. Chances are low she'll ever bump into anybody in our beloved home country wearing the same pair of fabulous shoes. And she says they're even comfortable. So this is what shoes designed by an architect can look like:

All the houses in the design district are quite low compared to other areas of downtown Miami, so the afternoon sun sticks around in the streets until sunset. After strolling around for a few hours Anne Gro and I went to an italian-like place with a nice outdoor bar for a happy hour cocktail. The place is called Maitardi and is decorated with mosaic tiles on round walls with trees perfectly placed around the yard for a light shadow on the sun-warm guest. We were sad to leave before sunset as Anne Gro had to catch her plane back to Norway.

Before getting into the car we did a little iphone photoshoot of Anne Gro's new shoes. A photo-team lined up next to us to shoot some fashion shots against the purple wall in the great low sunlight. It made my fabulous iphone feel very small in my hands all of a sudden ... but I caught the fashion people from the car after we finished our session:

I have to mention one more thing from our visit to the district this Friday afternoon. Before walking around, we had lunch at a new favorite food experience place: Michael's Genuine . It really is what the name implies - A thoroughly genuine food experience.

Most of the ingredients in the food they serve are gathered from local producers. Just the idea of this makes me happy. The food also taste unique, different and ... delicious. I had a shrimp salad with local, juicy shrimp, all kinds of local green leaves, nuts and carrots and some kind of delicate, tasty wine vinaigrette. Wouldn't be able to recreate this salad at home. It was the best salad I've had as far as I can remember.

Anne Gro also had a salad, but with tender slices of local beef strips drizzled on top. She was very pleased as well. Our lunch dragged out simply because we both enjoyed the experience of just sitting there in this peculiar, calm and laid back yet trendy place, absorbing the concept, the people, the mild temperature and the fabulous tastes. I also had a dessert. Of course. A greek (oh! imported) frozen yoghurt with local strawberries and a balsamic sauce. Some things just taste so good that you end up feeling sad when the bowl is empty.

The pleasures of the design district are never ending. But Anne Gro stayed with us for a bit more than a week, so she did more than dining and shopping designer shoes in the district. She also had the famous ride on Helge's Harley,

went shopping in the giant malls nearby,
got a tan,
drank margaritas,
watched basketball on TV in a local sportsbar,
had drinks at DeLano,
observed alligators from a few meters distance ...

explored the Vizcaya castle and gardens ...

and hang out on South Beach and in Fort Lauderdale.

She also witnessed my never-ending aggression against our GPS ... We have a new car (which is very nice, I don't need to feel so intimidated by the big trucks around anymore). But our new car also has a new GPS, which is behaving differently than the old one. It feels like having to learn a new language now that I finally understood the previous one. Luckily I know my way around a lot of places by now and don't need to use it that much. Luckily. Or else the GPS monitor would've be in danger of being broken.

Anne Gro was sad to go home, which seems to be the norm when people come to visit. The sun, the heat and the breeze from the ocean tend to add an ease to life which makes it difficult to feel stressed or upset for a very long time. We might get tired of living here eventually. But for now - I don't really want to go anywhere else.