What does Christmas mean to me?

What does Christmas mean to me? As a kid in Fresno, Christmas was one of my favorite days of the year. It was the day when my brother and sister and I would wake up at the crack of dawn and go jump in our parents bed, eager to open stockings and presents. Of course in our family, my parents liked to see us children squirm a bit...so they would draw out the waking up process for ages (or well...to my parents credit, it seemed like ages). First they would pretend that we were not there and keep “sleeping” (how you can pretend to sleep with three kids jumping in and out of bed I do not know...)...then they would acknowledge our presence by making small talk, but of course not get out of bed...eventually they would get out from under the covers and claim they needed to get dressed (who needs proper clothing for opening presents!?)...and just as we thought it was time to go open stockings, my lovely father would insist on playing Bruce Springsteen's live version of Santa Clause is Coming to Town (which mind you, is a good version....but not when you have a pile of loot waiting to be opened...)...finally after all of the stalling shenanigans were over we were allowed into the living room to find our stockings filled so full they were set on the chairs or couch instead of hanging (usually the present opening process is very orderly in my family as it is closely overseen and regulated by my parents, one child at a time with a rotating order of who goes first each “round”...but when it came to stockings, anything went...so mayhem often ensued). After the stockings had been emptied and double checked for “hiding” presents, we would head to the kitchen to make breakfast...a hearty meal of pancakes or waffles with bacon and sausages and fruit. And it was not until breakfast was eaten, the dishes done, and the table reset for lunch were we allowed back into the living room to begin the big present opening ceremony.

When we first moved to Madison the traditions remained mostly the same...the one addition was a little sign strung across the top of the stairs forbidding us children (usually in clever riddle form) from going downstairs to the living room before our parents were awake (which was still the unrealistically slow process described above).

As we have gotten older the sign and traditions continued to remain similar , except that now the house is “pleasantly woken up” by the “melodious serenade” of my brother, Rein, on his tuba.

This is the tradition of Christmas morning in my family and it's evolution over the years....for me, it is the way I celebrate Christmas....it always has been for the most part probably will be. However for the first time in my 20 years of life, I am spending Christmas away from home and tradition. Currently I am in Berlin, Germany at the house of the Otto Family and am/will be taking part in their family Christmas traditions (a good friend, Tim, who I met in Oslo is also with us for the holiday). So far it has been wonderful (today we cut down the Christmas tree from their backyard and decorated....there are even real candles on it...) and I am quite excited to partake in the remainder of the holiday traditions (meals, gift exchanges, church, family, etc). But in this new new Christmas experience, I started thinking about what Christmas actually meant to me....is it the traditions? Is it the time with family? Is it the presents? Is it church? Is it snow? Is it particular food? What does Christmas mean to me? And while I do not think that I can answer that in full...I do think that I have realized this Christmas season, that it is the people you are with....be that family or good friends. Don't get me wrong, I cherish the Christmas traditions, the food, church, snow, etc that I have at home with my family and the fond memories of Christmas' past...but I am becoming keenly aware that those extra things are not the be-all-end-all of Christmas. Will I miss not being at home with my family? Of course....but right now, I am in Berlin, I am finishing out a wonderful and memorable semester in Norway, I am thoroughly enjoying this new and different experience, and I am with dear friends that are as close to family as it gets...and I am discovering what Christmas means to me.

The Permanence of Goodbye

At 6:15 AM on Tuesday morning December 15, 2008, the Norwegian part of my Norwegian Adventure officially came to an end as I left Oslo for the semester. To be completely honest, the reality of me leaving has not really set in yet and I suspect it wont for a few weeks yet. My last week in Oslo was an incredible whirlwind of activity and emotion that I think has left me in a bit of a haze...while all of my friends were finished with exams and beginning to relax and celebrate another semester gone, I still had to remain focused as I had an exam on Monday morning...I had two choir concerts on Sunday night after a full day of rehearsal on Saturday (*ed note* I did not know until I arrived on Sunday night that we actually had two concerts...I had been under the assumption we had only one...I suppose those details got lost somewhere in translation...ha hah!)...I had to pack up my belongings and check out of my room on Monday afternoon...and on top of all that I had the strangely difficult and foreign task of saying potentially lifelong goodbyes all week. I would argue though, that it was more than just a country or city I was leaving or saying goodbye to, but a home, friends, routine, and a life that I have come to know and love over the last 5 months. Am I ready to leave?...I am not sure. Am I sad?...of course. Am I excited to return home?...yes. Will I return to Norway?...someday definitely. These, however, are not the questions and answers that I have been and am struggling with...rather, it is my inability to explain why I have to live so far from all of the people and friends of this past semester? Why do some of my closest friends have to live in Australia or Norway or Ireland or Canada (ok, so Canada isnt so far, but its still a flight away), while I live in the US? Despite what I might like to think, oceans, continents, and hemispheres now separate me from very close friends...yet it is not simply the physical distance that I struggle with, but the permanence of that distance. Sure we can visit each other or vacation together somewhere...and the internet will provide us with a very effective way to stay connected...but the life, the atmosphere, the community that we have formed in just 5 short months is something that cannot and will not be recreated. Never again will I be able to just pop into U1 and grab a coffee with any number of good friends. Never again will I sing in Angelos Koret with a huge number of amazing and welcoming Norwegians. Never again will I be able to run around Lake Sognsvann with a friend. Never again will I sit around playing Risk in a student apartment at Sogn Studentby. Those routines, activities, and highlights are nothing more than just great memories now...and that thought, that permanent separation, is by far the hardest part about this semester ending.

Tusen Takk

This semester has been a semester of firsts for me when it comes to cooking. Until this semester I have been living either at home or in a University of Minnesota Residence Hall, both of which provided food. And while I liked to think that I could cook, that was a grave misconception. Sure I could cook a pre-packaged frozen pizza, or barbecue some pre-cooked brats, or stir up a pre-boxed macaroni and cheese...but if you notice, each of those menu items includes the word "pre-" before it, which implies and signifies that no creativity or culinary know-how involved in the making of said foods. Essentially I was following simple instructions on how to heat up the pre-packaged food (most of which include pictures with those instructions). So in coming to Norway and living on my own, I was forced to expand my cooking horizons. I learned how to make rice. I learned the importance of boiling potatoes before using for culinary purposes. I learned the difference in the Norwegian language between "ranch salad dressing" and "tartar sauce". I learned the value in finding sales at the grocery store. And the difference between olive oil and soy oil (and why you should have both around). Basically I was taking Cooking 101, on the fly, in a different language. And while it was difficult at first (the ranch dressing/tartar sauce mix up was a rude mistake), I have done just fine and not gone hungary yet. In fact, I have learned quite bit and look forward to continuing cooking when I return stateside where I will have an english-language grocery store and a full kitchen (my kitchen here is lacking some crucial cooking utensils and tools).

Thanksgiving, as you all know, is a traditional American holiday. It is my favorite one (not because the food is good, which it is) because it is the one holiday in my familiy where the entire family (or at least my Dad's side) comes together from around the country to celebrate. There are so many relatives (Poppy, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc) all in the same place, and I love, truly love the time together. I think I am very lucky in that our family is so close and we have such a good time together. So when I realized that I would be out of the country this Thanksgiving and miss all of the festivities that were happening in Madison, I was a bit bummed...in fact, the only time this semester that I have been a bit homesick and wanted to be home, was last Thursday on Thanksgiving when I knew all of my relatives were there. But being bummed and moping would have accomplished nothing, so as I had been planning to do all semester, I decided to put everything I have learned, all my acquired knowledge, my full cooking abilities, to the ultimate test as I attempted to make the traditional-very elaborate-often messed up-cooking equivalent of a marathon, Thanksgiving Feast. I decided that it should be, and was my duty as an American studying abroad to attempt at bringing at least one tradition with me, and that was to be Thanksgiving. The funny and ironic thing about that idea, was that I had never cooked any of the parts to a Thanksgiving meal, much less the entire spread at once. All I knew about it, was that my Mom (and many relatives) would spend the better part of a day preparing, chopping, mixing, stirring, mashing, basting, and cooking our annual Thanksgiving feast. So how, in the name of traditional American holidays, was I supposed to make such a meal?...well it was a good question, and I wasnt so sure of the answer...

The funny thing about a Thanksgiving menu, is that every household does it a bit differently, and every household thinks their way is the best way. So while I was keen to get the main recipes from my mother, I had about 3 other "mothers" telling me how they did it, or how their mothers did it, and how that was how I might want to do it. I was gracious for any and all tips, after all I needed all the help I could get...they were all very valid and legit tips, and were telling of the household from which they origniated. Yet upon recieving 4 different suggestions on how best to cook a turkey, I realized there were many ways to do this, and I was going to have to make the executive decision and choose one (Mom, you will be happy to know that your recipes prevailed more often than not when facing competition).

My Norwegian Thanksgiving took place last weekend on Saturday. A friend was gracious enough to lend me her wonderful apartment with a huge kitchen for the cooking and the subsequent meal. I had invited a few of my Oslo-"family" to come and take part in the celebration, and so 12 people were going to be eating...thus requiring a grocery list of a 6 kg turkey (which I had to order a week ahead of time because eating turkey is more common around Christmas, so it was not guaranteed there would be one in), 8 kg of potatoes (which we ended up eating about 5 of), 2 loaves of bread, 5 cans of cranberries (which I was not expecting to find, but did and it made my Thanksgiving...ha hah!), and many other veggies and fixings necessary for a fantastic feast. (*ed note: to get the number of lbs, just multiply the kg X 2....so 6 kg = ~12 lbs). After acquiring all the necessary grocery items, I spent almost all day Saturday at my friends, cooking and preparing the meal. She was gracious enough to lend a helping hand if needed, as coincidentally she had cooked a Thanksgiving meal before. But I am proud to report, that at no time did she have to jump in and stop something catastrophic from happening...in fact, I would say that everything I made I actually made.

After hours of cooking, all my pals showed up, and we had a feast that included a turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, two salads, a green bean casserole-ish salad (that a friend brought), carrot jello (that the same friend also brought), cranberries, biscuits, two kinds of gravy, as well as a plethora of wine from around the world, and two pumpkin pies for desert. It was a feast. And while you may not believe my word, I would say that it all went off really well. The food definitely exceeded my expectations, and while they may not admit it, I think it exceeded those of my friends as well. However, while the food was good, it was also wonderful to sit around a huge table with some of my closest new friends and share some food, some wine, and some good times. The bit of homesickness and disappointment I had felt about missing Thanksgiving at home, was forgotten as I had a spectacular time at our Norwegian equivalent. It is a Thanksgiving that I will remember for the rest of my life...the smiling faces, the conversations, the jokes, the laughter. I was and am and I will be, giving thanks for the people, the experiences, the fun, the memories, and the wonderful semester that I have spent in Oslo, Norway. It has been truly remarkable and I cannot accurately articulate it all....so I will leave at a common Norwegian phrase for one-thousand thanks, "tusen takk".