Hvordan oppdra en nordmann

Every once in a while the cultural differences between me (a Pacific Northwesterner) and my husband (a Norwegian) become glaringly apparent. Take today, for example. Yes, the sun is shining. But that doesn't mitigate the fact that it is -15 celsius (that's a mere 3 degrees Farenheit). So what does a rational person do? I vote for sitting inside wrapped in woolens and knitting with a fire in the wood stove. KE on the other hand thinks this is a perfect day to be outside with E, skiing in the yard (that's still rational) and sitting in the sun. As in sitting still. In frigid temperatures. The man is insane, and so too, I'm afraid, is the boy. Here's proof:

Funny thing is, they actually seem to be enjoying themselves. All I can say is "cultural difference"!

Meanwhile, I'm progressing on Graystone. I've made it though the gargantuan cowl neck, and am about halfway through the raglan shaping:

As far as I can tell I haven't screwed anything up yet. I'm really curious how that over the shoulder cowl is going to look on me, and whether my neck will get cold... I'm also a little concerned about how that visible seam at the round join is going to look on the finished garment. I didn't think about that when I decided not to make the diagonal cable. I'm not sure if that seam would have followed along with the cable or not (I think not), and all the versions of this sweater that I've seen have been so dark that the seam wasn't visible. Time will tell, of course.

I also have really spectacular news to report: as of Thursday, I now have permanent residency in Norway! I got the notice earlier this week, and took the train from Oslo down to Ski (the administrative center for where I live), and got the permit added to my passport. In the end, after all that strife about language competency, it was totally painless. I can't even begin to explain what a relief this is! It means no matter what happens (barring ridiculous criminal behavior on my part, I suppose) the state can't separate me from my kid. I won't get deported. I can lead a normal life here (almost) just like anyone else. I think I'll even start being able to vote in local elections, which will be great, since I've always been such a firm believer in participating in the political process.

Opphold

The absurdity in my quest for permanent residency here in Norway continues to increase. When we left off the last time, I had received a letter on Christmas Eve from the police saying that I didn't have documentation for taking 250 hours of Norwegian instruction, and that I thus needed to get a waiver from my local municipality. Of course the local municipality was closed for the whole Christmas break, so I couldn't actually apply until after New Year's Day. Then, as is often the case, the one person responsible for this kind of think was so busy that she wasn't able to get to it until today, the sixteenth. This morning she called me with information that makes me really fear for the future of Norway, a country about to be strangled by bureaucracy.

You see, it turns out she can't actually give me a waiver regarding the 250 hours of Norwegian instruction because, through a strange legal quirk, she doesn't think I'm required to have it. Although I moved to Norway this time in 2008, I have spent lots of time here before, including in 1993-1995, while I researched and wrote my doctoral dissertation, and it seems that--at least according to the local municipality--I am officially in "the system" as a 1993-model rather than a 2008-model. Unfortunately, the police don't agree, and they still think I need either proof or a waiver. Gah!

After talking to my local bureaucrat, I called up my case worker in the police, and had a conversation about all this. She's not sure she can give me a residence permit herself, and thinks that she may have to forward my case to the Immigration Directorate itself. Luckily, in the time that has passed since I submitted my application, I have managed to get a PDF-file of my university transcripts from the US, and she thought maybe seeing those might help.

Both of the women I spoke with were very nice, and assured me there's no real danger of me getting deported. There is just no way either of them can, well, think independently and critically, and make a decision in a case like mine, which is outside of the norm. They are completely locked in to bureaucratic protocol. On the one hand, I totally understand, and am trying to be really patient, but on the other hand this makes me want to scream! I still can't believe that it's the language requirement that is holding me up here. Anyone who's met me knows I speak and write Norwegian pretty much as "near native" as you can get without actually being a native. It's just totally crazy.

Selvmedlidenhet?

It's odd how draining I found my confrontations with Norwegian bureaucracy last week to be. It really knocked me off course, and I feel completely demotivated to do anything at all. And the odd thing is, it actually turned out not to be so bad. When I went down to the police station to submit my documentation, the woman who processed my paperwork was kindness itself, and assured me that I wasn't too late at all.

I realize that my overreaction to the residency permit has to do with how much I have personally riding on it--every year I see stories in the media about people with children in Norway getting deported, and having to spend months and even years to regain the legal right to be with their children. Having a child makes a person feel so much more vulnerable to the whims of the state. If I were single and childless and got deported, I would be terribly upset, but would simply rebuild. If I were to be deported in the situation I'm in now, I think it would kill me.

The only measurable thing I was able to accomplish since the last time I posted was to knit a necklace. Yes, you read that right, a necklace! It's this cool (free!) pattern from Kirsten Johnstone:

This won't be the last time I'll be knitting this. In fact, I've already started on a second version with the same yarn (Classic Elite Silky Alpaca Lace). I only discovered at the last of the seven circles that I should really have been using an elastic cast off (sl1, K1, K these two together, *K1, K2tog*). So, I'll keep this one and send the second as the gift it was originally intended to be.


So now it's Monday, with my two last classes to teach for this semester, and I'm really, really hoping that I can manage to motivate myself to do the research and writing I had planned to get done before the Christmas break. There's a lot riding on that too, since it's material that--ideally speaking--needs to be done before I submit my next job application.


Motivation is such a fickle thing. I know exactly what I need to do. I know how to do it. I know that I can do it. I even know how to break it down into smaller, manageable parts. What I don't know how to do right now, is get myself to actually do it. I wish I had some kind of reward or something joyful and random that could shake me out of this funk, but I don't even know what that would be.

Mentalt mørbanka

I'm about to burst a vein here, folks. This week has so far consisted of nothing but onerous tasks and frustration.

First up, I have had to spend a whole bunch of time copy-editing chapters in the book I'm co-editing, and along the way I discovered a whole bunch of inconsistencies, both created by me and by others. Right now I feel like the book is just going to be a terrible mess, and that it will get panned in the reviews. I'm sure it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be, but I feel like such an editing failure.

I've also been fretting for a long time about my residency permit. When I arrived in December 2008 I was granted a 3-year permit, so I have known all along that I would have to reapply. I kept waiting all fall for some kind of word from UDI, which never came. Finally last week I got so nervous about it that I sent off an email asking what I'm supposed to do. After an incredibly draining day at work yesterday, I came home to find an email response telling me I had to apply a minimum of one month before my old permit expires. yesterday was November 22nd. My permit expires on...wait for it...December 22nd. I think that technically I've missed the deadline, though I'm still going to go ahead with the process and hope for the best.

Last night I spent what felt like hours trying to fill out the online application form. It kept crashing on me, but I eventually managed, and paid the fee online too. After I got that taken care of I tried going to the two websites that were supposed to provide a list of necessary supporting documentation. Neither of them had such a list, and I searched every conceivable link and page on those sites. By the end I was spitting mad. After I calmed down a bit, I realized that there was some information about what I needed in the email response I got from UDI, so together with that and the documentation I saved from my first application three years ago, I think I'm going to be okay.

So today was my day for clearing the decks: I ran around gathering all the documentation I'm going to need for my meeting with the police tomorrow morning. I finally finished all the copy-editing. All I really want to do now is relax and do something super therapeutic, but when I got home I was met with an official letter from the University of Oslo informing me that they have evaluated my full educational background, and nothing from my 10 years of higher education in the US counts toward an undergraduate degree in English here. Nothing. Not the composition course, not the Milton I read, nothing at all. I'm kind of shocked, but I do still (perhaps foolishly) maintain hope that the MA program in English literature will still accept me when I apply this spring. Anyway, the letter only added an additional layer to my current level of frustration over Norwegian bureaucracy.