It started at the airport - SFO. Even the dirty floor-to-floor carpeting couldn’t soften the sound effects. California is messy and NOISY! People talk with loud voice. The passport check-up line is confusing. People are practically shouting. I can hear the drug dogs barking fiercely – and I hug the smoked reindeer meat in my laptop case for the fear of soon losing it to the dogs.
It’s great to see my husband – on time (a somewhat rare occasion) and with flowers (an expected but very much appreciated welcome). It’s great to see the kids. They are so nice to me. The neighbors are welcoming and curious. The colleagues tell me how much they’ve missed me. The office staff welcomes me with ‘it’s just not the same without you’. The friends fight over who gets to take me out for lunch. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve discovered a secret formula: two months gone, nine days back seems to work for a happy marital relationship and a great time with kids, friends and colleagues. I recommend – try it!
The weather teases me to believe this is what Northern California is all about. (But I know better!) The fall 2007 has brought a perfect Indian summer. I kick my boots and my ‘light’ fall coat (for Finnish fall) to the corner and dig out my flip flops and tank tops. I sit in the yard where my husband’s magical green thumb has produced a bountiful harvest: a variety of lush lettuce, arugola, basil, herbs, onions, squash, beans, peas, etc . . . the sun shines so warmly my daughters convince me I’ll return to Jyväskylä with a November tan. What was I thinking, buying a special fall wardrobe for my panel talk?
On Sunday, we go to church. Did our brilliant scholar pastor always speak this fast? I can’t follow. There’s no time to think and process one idea before he spits out another . . . and yet another. He’s an eloquent orator who delivers his sermons by heart. But his ideas flow too fast and I feel nervous instead of enjoying a contemplative time. Maybe I should join the Quakers, whose motto is very Finnish, "My dear friends, you should be quick to listen, and slow to speak . . . After the service, we get into a traffic jam in the church garage and have to wait in line to get out. It’s my California day # 2, and I’m already getting stressed out.
On Tuesday, I attend a beautiful memorial service on campus for my Hungarian officemate, Agnes, who passed away in July after a quick fight against lunch cancer. This is the Berkeley I deeply appreciate. The service takes place in the Great Hall of the faculty club, originally built in 1902. The building is a warm, gorgeous redwood structure tucked in amid trees. There’s music, kids, and kind words delivered my many. The most touching talks may have been those by an ex-husband and an ex-wife of another ex-husband. I knew she was special – but this is unusual even by California standards. There are tables decorated with flowers and finger food and a wine bar. I leave to go out with a colleague who’s become a dear friend. We walk to a nearby restaurant. It’s another grand building and we sit in yet another Great Hall, this one dating from the 1920’s, where ministers at one time used to entertain their guests. The building is still owned by the Presbyterian Church. We sit by the fire – yes, the weather has changed – and share food, wine and friendship.
Early the following morning my daughter calls. She’s heard it in the morning news. The shocking news from the village of Jokela suddenly brings ‘my idyllic Finland’ in the same sphere with my other reality. I remember a massacre almost a year ago in which two of our Eritrean students and their mother and little brother were killed by a jealous relative. Hearing similar senseless violence taking place in Finland seems to leave no refuge. Is there a safe haven anywhere on earth?
A few hours later, I get an ‘urgently need your comments’ -email message. An East Coast journalist wants me to comment on the massacre and its possible connection to Kalevala and Finland’s mythical past. She needs it right then; she’s got a deadline. I shake my head and decline. Instead, I go on a bike ride to the waterfront.
The weather changes indeed, and our 107-year-old house cools down quickly. I sit at the computer with my light fall-coat and my new Egyptian wool scarf. I will be able to escape the real California (inside) winter weather just in time. The farewells are made of hugs, kisses, tears, and more kisses – by my family, friends, neighbors and colleagues.
In a few days, I step in the Helsinki airport. The floors are beautiful, light hardwood. I seem to take a note of that every time. It’s very quiet. I choose the EU-passport check line. The customs official waves me in quietly. In a few minutes I’m on a bus on the way to my friend, Eija’s apartment. The kind caretaker has kept the building sauna hot because of my anticipated arrival. After a delicious early Thanksgiving dinner at my other friend, another Sirpa’s house, I return to Jyväskylä, all white and gorgeous outside – and cozy warm in my Laajavuori apartment. My colleagues and friends welcome me with smiles. In my large, anonymous apartment building, no one knew I had been gone. No hugs or kisses from anyone.
The quiet and the peace, the snow and the sun, the mess and the noise somehow make sense; they correlate with people’s behavior. Would it be an impossibility to find quiet and peaceful surroundings with expressive and emotional people! It looks like I have to keep searching - for the ultimate paradise on earth!
It’s great to see my husband – on time (a somewhat rare occasion) and with flowers (an expected but very much appreciated welcome). It’s great to see the kids. They are so nice to me. The neighbors are welcoming and curious. The colleagues tell me how much they’ve missed me. The office staff welcomes me with ‘it’s just not the same without you’. The friends fight over who gets to take me out for lunch. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve discovered a secret formula: two months gone, nine days back seems to work for a happy marital relationship and a great time with kids, friends and colleagues. I recommend – try it!
The weather teases me to believe this is what Northern California is all about. (But I know better!) The fall 2007 has brought a perfect Indian summer. I kick my boots and my ‘light’ fall coat (for Finnish fall) to the corner and dig out my flip flops and tank tops. I sit in the yard where my husband’s magical green thumb has produced a bountiful harvest: a variety of lush lettuce, arugola, basil, herbs, onions, squash, beans, peas, etc . . . the sun shines so warmly my daughters convince me I’ll return to Jyväskylä with a November tan. What was I thinking, buying a special fall wardrobe for my panel talk?
On Sunday, we go to church. Did our brilliant scholar pastor always speak this fast? I can’t follow. There’s no time to think and process one idea before he spits out another . . . and yet another. He’s an eloquent orator who delivers his sermons by heart. But his ideas flow too fast and I feel nervous instead of enjoying a contemplative time. Maybe I should join the Quakers, whose motto is very Finnish, "My dear friends, you should be quick to listen, and slow to speak . . . After the service, we get into a traffic jam in the church garage and have to wait in line to get out. It’s my California day # 2, and I’m already getting stressed out.
On Tuesday, I attend a beautiful memorial service on campus for my Hungarian officemate, Agnes, who passed away in July after a quick fight against lunch cancer. This is the Berkeley I deeply appreciate. The service takes place in the Great Hall of the faculty club, originally built in 1902. The building is a warm, gorgeous redwood structure tucked in amid trees. There’s music, kids, and kind words delivered my many. The most touching talks may have been those by an ex-husband and an ex-wife of another ex-husband. I knew she was special – but this is unusual even by California standards. There are tables decorated with flowers and finger food and a wine bar. I leave to go out with a colleague who’s become a dear friend. We walk to a nearby restaurant. It’s another grand building and we sit in yet another Great Hall, this one dating from the 1920’s, where ministers at one time used to entertain their guests. The building is still owned by the Presbyterian Church. We sit by the fire – yes, the weather has changed – and share food, wine and friendship.
Early the following morning my daughter calls. She’s heard it in the morning news. The shocking news from the village of Jokela suddenly brings ‘my idyllic Finland’ in the same sphere with my other reality. I remember a massacre almost a year ago in which two of our Eritrean students and their mother and little brother were killed by a jealous relative. Hearing similar senseless violence taking place in Finland seems to leave no refuge. Is there a safe haven anywhere on earth?
A few hours later, I get an ‘urgently need your comments’ -email message. An East Coast journalist wants me to comment on the massacre and its possible connection to Kalevala and Finland’s mythical past. She needs it right then; she’s got a deadline. I shake my head and decline. Instead, I go on a bike ride to the waterfront.
The weather changes indeed, and our 107-year-old house cools down quickly. I sit at the computer with my light fall-coat and my new Egyptian wool scarf. I will be able to escape the real California (inside) winter weather just in time. The farewells are made of hugs, kisses, tears, and more kisses – by my family, friends, neighbors and colleagues.
In a few days, I step in the Helsinki airport. The floors are beautiful, light hardwood. I seem to take a note of that every time. It’s very quiet. I choose the EU-passport check line. The customs official waves me in quietly. In a few minutes I’m on a bus on the way to my friend, Eija’s apartment. The kind caretaker has kept the building sauna hot because of my anticipated arrival. After a delicious early Thanksgiving dinner at my other friend, another Sirpa’s house, I return to Jyväskylä, all white and gorgeous outside – and cozy warm in my Laajavuori apartment. My colleagues and friends welcome me with smiles. In my large, anonymous apartment building, no one knew I had been gone. No hugs or kisses from anyone.
The quiet and the peace, the snow and the sun, the mess and the noise somehow make sense; they correlate with people’s behavior. Would it be an impossibility to find quiet and peaceful surroundings with expressive and emotional people! It looks like I have to keep searching - for the ultimate paradise on earth!
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