Shu-bi-dua

Now it's officially Christmas season; I heard Shu-bi-dua's Christmas song - Nu det' Jul - on the radio this morning. Shu-bi-dua is a Danish group from way back, currently on hold because the lead singer had a blood clot to the brain but is recovering. He says that like a Shubinator, he'll be back. JUL is pronounced Yule - you probably guessed - so it's a true Yuletide carol.

     Shu-bi-dua's Christmas song was the first Danish pop Christmas carol I heard when I got here in 1973 & it's classic:

"Jesus is born on the second floor / of Magasin du Nord (the classiest Copenhagen department store)
He waves when you press a foot pedal / says Good Day to his mother."

Jesus bliver født på anden sal / i Magasin du Nord

Han vinker når du trykker på en fodpedal / siger Goddag til sin mor.

That rhymes in Danish, of course & charms in any language. Such a good summing up of our western Christian tradition: the birth of Christ & all out consumerism. Most stores have Santas, with or without the elves, but the birth of Christ IS still there somewhere & kids still learn about it in school. I hope that does not change. No matter what beliefs all the parents of any given school class may have, this is the one that formed Western civilization. Even the shopping for gifts nobody really needs & half the time can't afford might remind us that it's somebody's birthday, somebody big. 

      I found the coolest fold-out & stand-up children's book in the gift shop of the National Gallery. You might know it's originally Italian; there they still do the whole Nativity scene in unabashed Renaissance style, angels all over the place, where Danes & Americans are more restrained - or self-conscious? Can't wait to go through it with the grandchildren. I've got The Night Before Christmas in fold-out too but this Italian number is really a work of art. Like the Shu-bi-dua Christmas song, that also mentions God's small angels - who might just be regular kids looking forward to Christmas. Funny thing is - most of the Danes I know don't feel Christmas is officially here until they hear Last Christmas by Wham. Okay - a bunch of us old bats ogled George Michael until he made public his sexual orientation, but for me it's Shu-bi-dua every year.

Hope it can get me in the mood to decorate ....

Cheers, eveybody. 

Good ships & bad business

Reading up to be 'exam censor' in January at the maritime academy where I taught English for a couple of years & now get called in sometimes as the second opinion at oral exams.

The articles are all about the latest developments on the high seas. Shipping is a huge international project that has often been criticized for polluting the air & ocean, & introducing invasive species that take over the defenseless areas where they land. All true BUT shipping is cleaning up its act fast. The IMO - International Maritime Organization - has imposed hefty restrictions on emissions, ballast water dumping & handling of the heavy fuel oil that still powers most large container ships. Actually, it's more like tar, the gloopiest residue from the bottom of the refining tank. Technology is hurrying to comply with all the rules & change the whole game - from slower steaming, Sky Sails to catch the wind & reduce fuel consumption, liquefied natural gas as fuel, exhaust scrubbers & oil filtration.

Truly impressed by this Shipping News - GOOD NEWS!

Then I read my mail from Avaaz, the watchdog online petition gang, & that was the BAD NEWS.

Once again Wikileaks has broken a story that the creeps who run Monsanto, among other heartless multinationals, hoped would never make it into the light. It's called TTP.

The Trans-Pacific Partnership is a huge, ultra-secret deal among twelve major countries & especially major corporations. It would allow them to sue our governments for passing laws that protect us, but reduce their profits! This could apply to everything from labeling GMO foods to protecting internet freedom.

The leaked Trans-Pacific Partnership drafts read like a big fat Christmas wish-list for big business. A system of courts could be used to limit access to cheap generic medicines in favor of brand names & even allow cigarette companies to sue governments over health regulations that they say threaten profits! It’s almost too crazy to be true. No wonder Monsanto & Co. are keeping mum.

Good going Wikileaks! Leaked texts have shocked politicians & citizens from Chile, New Zealand & Australia. They are pushing back on the corporate bullying. Three out of 12 sounds pretty lame, but it would seemingly be enough to unbalance the deal. Maybe others would see the error of their ways then.

I signed that petition immediately & fired off emails to ministers in Australia & New Zealand. Hope it all does some good. I would like the new spirit of corporate social responsibility to be more than a myth, but can't take it seriously just yet.

So - the shipping news is good. Boycott Monsanto & ship with Maersk! There must be some good guys out there in business. Not? Um ... maybe not ...

Husk Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, American friends & Happy End of November, everybody else.

This greeting has nothing to do with corn husks, if you're wondering. "Husk" - pronounced hoosk - is Danish for "remember" & "Husk Thanksgiving" appeared Saturday in the ad paper from a supermarket that's a national chain.

Husk Thanksgiving - what's that all about, forcryingoutloud? Thanksgiving is the most American of holidays & the only Danes who have even an inkling of what it is are the ones who watch American football. Or have seen a film such as 'Pieces of April'. Or who know an ex-pat, such as me. I've probably explained Thanksgiving 50 times to various friends & colleagues & every other American ex-pat I know has done the same. Often as not it ends with a comment from one or the other about how the Indians - oops, I mean Native Americans of course - must regret saving that gang of pilgrims, even if they were invited to a feast in sincere gratitude that very first Thanksgiving Day. I will not speculate about that here because my title is (for the third time) Husk Thanksgiving.

What it was all about was sales. What else is new? The stores were trying to sell turkeys; very handy for Americans abroad. I bought 2 today after a long search through all the freezer compartments that were full of ducks, presumably left over from the Martinmas - Mortens Aften - on November 10th, a very big deal here. There was one turkey left after I nabbed my 2. Don't know how many they originally had, but turkey is becoming more popular in Denmark all the time, mainly because it is less fat & greasy than duck or goose.

But what about the menswear store & their Black Friday sale? Come on. Tomorrow is Open by Night here in Svendborg, meaning all shops open all the way until 10.00 pm with special offers everywhere you turn. This happens every year on the last Friday in November but as a kickoff of the Christmas season. The tree in the central square gets lit up with all due ceremony at 5.00 pm. So Black Friday ...? I would talk about the universality of culture but even taking 'culture' in its broadest sense, I can't bring myself to use the C-word for one more stupid sales pitch. Or in this case, two.

I made a pot of chili con carne for dinner & my husband & I wished each other Happy Thanksgiving. On Sunday a large but exclusive group assembles for turkey & all the trimmings, one of the year's absolute high points. I am thankful for so very much. But as for sales pitches, I say Bah Humbug! International finance is enough of a mashup already. Spare us, pleeeease, for Husk Thanksgiving & Black Friday sales where they do not belong. Let us celebrate from the heart - not the coolness quotient or whatever it's supposed to be. I'm glad I can buy a turkey in Svendborg - no matter that it comes from France. My holiday is none of their business.

Walking with VIM - & sometimes vigor

 Sometimes VIM - my Very Important Man - & I walk hand in hand or kind of bouncing off each other, chatting a bit, smiling private smiles, complete together. We enjoy walking together & in Svendborg most of town & lovely surroundings are within walking distance. Other times VIM has something on his mind, something demanding all his attention. Then I end up charging after him, short legs after long, rushed wifey after philosopher with wrinkled brow. I try not to think about how silly we must look because he never does it on purpose & I'm sure nobody who knows us even notices anymore. Of course I can get annoyed, like when my bag’s heavy & I’m trying not to dislocate my shoulder or level all the displays Svendborg’s trusting merchants put out in front to lure the undecided consumer. Or when I’m the consumer and would like to juuust check out one little thing, but I know he’ll be 100 m. down the street & won’t look back to see what happened to me.

      One of these days, when we're in town together, I'm also going to show that annoying Albanian who's shorter  than me. I made the mistake of speaking to him in the Mini Asian Market. Honest mistake – I thought he worked there – but ever since then he's tried to get invited home. One day he’ll see me with my tall handsome husband, all cozy & complete. He’ll finally get the message.

      Oh NO! There he was. What he saw was me huffing to keep up with a preoccupied man who ignored me – ideal male-female behavior such as you seldom get at this latitude. So he still sidles over when he sees me & attempts a come-hither look - not easy since eyebrows fill half his pudgy face.

        Thought about mentioning it to VIM but that would just be mean. What good does it do to tell an unconscious man – out cold on the floor – that he should have opened that door before he walked into it? I try to think of it as a valuable weapon in the fight against vanity. Sometimes that works ....

World's happiest people/Verdens lykkeligste folk

World's happiest people

Back to blogging after a long hiatus. Hope to keep it up from now on.

Just watched Detektor, a Danish TV program where the (semi-gorgeous) son of one of my colleagues, no less, investigates all manner of claims made by politicians, journalists & people who want to sell you stuff, as well as national myths, past & present. Today’s myth turns out to be true enough, but the investigation was dumb – as if the detectors were meeting actual people on the street for the first time.

So – it turns out that Danes really are the world’s happiest people when the criterian is satisfaction with one’s life. That IS the criterian, not? Most people talk about freedom but prefer security when it comes down to basics & Danes generally have both. Yes, the taxes are high & unemployment likewise, although improving gradually. The winters are long & dark (see blog Midwinter), the school & health systems not nearly as good as they try to tell us, but generally Danes have both a social safety net & a great deal of control over their own lives.  These are the 2 main aspects of feeling satisfied & by extension happy. Danes also work shorter hours than most other countries, but produce just as much because they are effective. So far very good, but …

The detectors asked people on the street & one on a bicycle – cute to see appealing host Thomas Buch Andersen sprinting after the biker with his mic arm extended – if they were happy. Come on, guys. No Dane, probably no anybody who hadn’t just won the national lottery or fallen in love, would admit that.

“Both/and” they said, a phrase even dumber than the question, meaning ‘yes & no’. Surprise. Danes – Europeans, I think – for all their cushy quotidian, love to find fault & complain. This is how things get even better, of course, get thought through & new approaches tried out, but actually admitting to happiness here & now is something no understated citizen of the semi-frozen North would ever do. They would have to find something to complain about, or at least twist their answer so the famous Danish irony came into play. (Don’t get me started …)

It didn’t puncture the myth, just proved once again that we love TV journalists because they ask the questions that immediately spring to mind but that the rest of us would not ask because they are too silly. Should we admit to feeling happy about that?

Verdens lykkeligste folk

Har lige set Detektor, hvor en kollegas søn (virkelig) undersøger alle slags påstand af journalister, politikere og folk, der vil sælge dig noget, samt nationale myter i fortid og nutid. Aftenens myte viste sig at holde stik, men undersøgelsen var dum – som om detektorerne mødte folk på gaden for allerførste gang.

Så – det viser sig at danskerne virkelig er verdens lykkeligste folk, hvis kriteriet er tilfredshed med livet. Det er kriteriet, ikke? De fleste snakker om frihed men foretrækker tryghed og danskerne for det meste har begge dele. Okay – skatten er høj og arbejdsløshed ligeså, men i forbedring. Vintrene er lange og mørke (se Midtvinter), sundheds- og skolesystemet ikke nær så gode som man vil bilde os ind, men generelt har danskerne et socialt sikkerhedsnet samt kontrol over eget liv. Danskerne arbejder færre timer end de fleste andre men producerer lige så meget fordi de er effektive. Så vidt meget godt men …

Detektorerne spurgte folk på gaden om de var lykkelige. Helt ærligt, gutter. Ingen dansker, sikkert ingen overhovedet der ikke lige havde tippet 13 eller var nyforelsket ville indrømme dét.

”Både/og” svarede de – en frase der er endnu dummere end spørgsmålet. Surprise. Danskere – europæere, tror jeg – trods deres velpolstret hverdag elsker at finde fejl og kritisere. Sådan bliver ting endnu bedre, ja, tænkt igennem og nye løsninger fundet, men at ligefrem indrømme at man er lykkelig er der ikke nogen borger fra det høje nord der ville. Eller i det mindste ville de dreje svaret så de kunne inddrage den berømte danske ironi. (Host)

Så myten blev ikke punkteret, men programmet viste endnu en gang hvorfor vi elsker journalister. De stiller det første spørgsmål, alle kommer i tanke om, men som de fleste af os ville droppe igen som for fjollet. Skulle vi indrømme at det gør os lykkelige?

Clean Conservatory

Cleaned up the conservatory yesterday – about time. Meaning about time it’s warm enough to use it. Pentecost Sunday & spring is finally here in its delayed glory. Has been for a while but no time for the conservatory. 

I love that word – conservatory. In Danish it’s just called havestue – garden room – because that’s what it is, a glassed-in room that lets us enjoy the backyard a month extra at either end of summer. Conservatory sounds like a place for black coffee & profound musings on deep matters, when I just want a place to eat food that doesn’t blow off the plate & maybe a glass of wine. I could send Thoreau grateful thoughts as I gaze out onto our primeval – read: unkempt – garden, but that’s as conservatory as I get.

“Guess I didn’t clean up as much as I thought,” mumbled my absolutely better half as he gathered up his tool collection from all the repairs etc. he’s done in the conservatory since last fall. Guess not, but that’s just how it is with a conservatory in this climate. We feed the birds all winter from an ingenious feeder from World Wildlife Fund – an upside down 2 liter Coke bottle with a seed dispenser screwed onto the top. Empty birdseed bags floated over empty apple boxes & plastic flower pots that aren’t good for anything after I transplant what was in them, so why don’t I get rid of them? I will I will.

Filled the entire tank or drum or whatever you call the receptacle on a bagless vacuum cleaner/hoover, mainly with pine needles from last December. You should see it now. As a last detail today I hung a net bag with dried lavendar from last year. For a good week or 2, if I’m lucky, it really will look & smell like a conservatory. Then it will revert to havestue. Cheers everybody. Have a fun summer.

Academic drivel - part 2

I played this mental game after my first Danish husband & I split. If you’ve been divorced – especially if you occasionally ponder what you saw in your ex- in the first place – you have probably played it too. It’s called If I paid attention when he said/did … (fill in the blank) … then I wouldn’t have married him/waited all this time. It’s a useless game, truly a waste of energy, but like so much else that pops up in the rearview mirror, we can’t seem to leave it alone. Then of course sometimes we do pay attention & protest, but it never gets further than that. Maybe the ex- actually paid attention then, nodded sagely or repentantly & said you were right & it wouldn’t happen again. Often enough that was just to shut you up, but sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes we can almost take our words back, never quite. We all say really stupid stuff, & I groan to think of Mr. Past History playing the same game with things I said and did. (Less unsettling just to remember his.) His biggest pecking point was intellectualler-than-thou. The fact that I talked about feelings & ordinary happenings & people I knew meant I was not intellectual. Like the day I came home from a class where the lecturer got a discussion going on whether or not a book has a life on a shelf if it’s not being read. Now there’s a real milestone in intellectual history. All around me the discussion rambled for about half the class time & I practiced acting by looking halfway interested. When I got home I griped about the waste of time. Mr. PH answered by carrying on the important discussion right there in our kitchen. I got his point; didn’t look like he got mine. Some books I love, even when I’m not reading them. I quote them when appropriate to a conversation, don’t forget them even though I read on. Others I wouldn’t miss if they committed suicide because someone told them they don’t have a life. Still others are there mostly for show, because everybody’s supposed to own those particular classics & I can say I’ve read them but that’s as far as it goes. I guess they have a sort of life, rather like a piece of Royal Copenhagen porcelain you don’t really care about, but it looks cool on the windowsill.

But so what? It’s like that old – pardon the expression – chestnut: If a tree falls in the forest & nobody hears it, did it make a sound? C’mon. It would have to be one unusual forest if there were no birds, bugs or small animals around to hear – or did the inventor of this particular bit of academic drivel feel that only people had the right to determine whether or not there was sound?  And why should we care?

Of course it’s a terrific way to play clever & keep your feelings & anything that touches real life at bay. Might even be marginally less a waste of time than that divorcee game. But only just.