An der schönen blauen Donau

14.11.2016 Marilka

Bored on board
Somewhere above Europe, Mon 14. November 2016, 10:00 EET

I have a book. The flight’s not even that long. But I’m bored. Too tired to read, yet too awake to nap. I’m not really even able to nap in airplanes (or trains, or buses, or…) unless Im unearthly exhausted and fall asleep despite myself.

Just had my third cup of coffee, together with a blueberry juice. My diet this morning has been rather liquidy. At home, I had a cappucino and a glass of red grapefruit juice. At the airport a cappucino and a blueberry smoothie. And now, well, you already know now. The snack cart is just about to reach me, but I think I’ll save my hunger for later and eat when I get to Vienna.

So I left the snowy Helsinki for a few days again. Last week I spent a couple days in cold but snowless Iisalmi and another couple of days in semi-snowy Heinola and then the weekend at home, trying to avoid needing to go outside or do too much inside either. I was determined to rest, but I AM the mother of a family and I HAD been away for most of the week, so really, dream on.

I did get to sleep in, though. Usually I do. Even our dogs don’t harrass me out of bed until closer to noon; they have quite efficiently adapted to our late and lazy life rhythm. Around one pm on Saturday I shook my teens awake and left the dogs in their care while I slightly reluctantly accompanied my husband to the stores. It was MY dad coming to visit on Sunday, after all.

Looking back on Saturday, I didn’t really do too much after we came back from the store, just the usual: hanging up laundry, cooking for kids, taking dogs out, warming up sauna, going to sauna, etc. Still, I was struggling to get one lousy movie watched from Netflix. Interruption after interruption even though the teens were mostly glued to the TV with Playstation Minecraft. I know, I can’t do the math here either 😀

Sunday was Father’s Day. None of our kids were with their own dads for the day. No cards, no Father’s Day gifts, just text messages or a brief phone call to wish their dads a Happy Father’s Day. I had a card a a gift for mine. One I made myself, for that matter: one of my watercolor paintings photographed and then printed on canvas. I told my husband that he’ll probably get a Father’s Day gift from his daughter again, when SHE’s 41 in turn.

The things and people you take for granted. Your parents are supposed to be there always and only after they start passing away, do you realise how precious it is to have them. My grandma was supposed to outlive me (you know, supposed to be invincible and immortal) and my mom’s life was cut quite short. The rest of my grandparents have been fertilizing graveyards for a long time already. It’s only my dad and his wife left anymore for me, of the older generation, that is.

I’m so happy my sister and I have been talking regularily lately. Many years passed when we talked only a few times a year, not out of spite or anything, just out of busy lives. Now we have a weekly Skype date and it’s great! This week I probably can’t make that date, though, what with being in Vienna and not knowing if there’s any possibility or even time for it.

An hour to go still, almost. Maybe I’ll try to read some more.

Glühwein, apfelpunsch and the beautiful city of Vienna
On the soft bed in my decadent hotel room, Mon 14. November, 2016, 18:06 CET

The flight came to an end in due time, and I scrambled out of the plane with all those people who seem to have ants in their pants when it comes to getting out of the aircraft (seriously, it would all go so much more smoothly, if everyone would just remain seated until the row in front of them has got their carry-on stuff and is getting out instead of crowding the aisle and pushing forth and whatnot) and made my way to the CAT – the City Airport Train. It took me to the center in 16 minutes exactly, exactly as promised (Helsinki, really, there’s something to learn from here!) and I spent those minutes contemplating between walking and taking the U-bahn.

I was almost heading towards the U at the central station, thinking that I’d probably rather make my detours in the city without my luggage (tiny carry-on roley-poley, but still), get to the hotel as fast as possible to leave the extra baggade behind and actually head to the conference center for this roundtable thing, when my eyes hit the prize. If there is one thing, one single thing that I indulge in on every trip I make outside of Finland, it is allowing myself an approx. 100€ purchase in Desigual. No Desigual in Finland, and I resist the online stores. There was a Desigual there, right there at the central train station, right in front of me.

Luggage or no luggage, I went inside to take a look and immediately saw way too many wonderful things. After some wandering around I selected two dresses for fitting. Right at that moment my phone rang. Call #1 from my youngest teen. There I was, talking on the phone, trying to figure out some school stuff, telling the girl to take care of the school business with her dad or step-dad while I’m away, and holding those dresses in the other hand. The clerk came along to my rescue, taking the dresses to the fitting room for me. I followed soon and tried on the dresses, thinking that they’re both way too nice.

Finally I made my decision with the help of the clerk, bought the dress and a scarf and stepped out of the store and out of the station. Somehow the Desigual had given me such a euphoria that walking seemed like the only reasonable option. I typed the hotel address in googlemaps on my phone and set to walking. I knew my hotel was pretty much in the center, a rock’s throw (couple km) from the central station, but I did not realize my walk would take me through all those nice shopping streets and Weinachtsmarkts and by beautiful churches and all that jazz.

For a while, I was lost in Vienna. Not lost lost, I mean I knew where I was and all, but I was lost in the beauty and the atmosphere and the stores 😀 Although, I visited only H&M for a shirt (how stupid of me to not have packed a long sleeve other than a hoodie) and “tuliaiset” – gifts – for my teens, and I only stopped once for some apfelpunsch at Stephanplatz (the jul-boot-mug was so cute I had to take it with me!), but I felt like the city was drawing me in and I could just lose myself there.

Finally I wound my way to my hotel, a little past noon. I hadn’t really taken so much time walking there, it just felt to me like time had stopped or something. My room was not ready yet, as I had anticipated, so I left my bag in the luggage room and set off to find my way back to Stephanplatz to take the U to the conference center from there. I thought I had my compass calibrated, but when I checked googlemaps, I was way off. A little detour it was then, but a pretty one. Anyhow, I was at the conference center sometime around 1pm. I registered, got my pass and asked about that roundtable thing but nobody knew anything about it. We looked for it for a while, until I thought to check my emails and, duh, it was canceled.

My whole day plan was kinda cancelled with that and for a while I felt lost in a different way, wondering what to do next. Sightseeing? Back to the hotel to see about my room? Walking a bit? For lack of a better plan, I started walking towards the shores of Donau. The bridge that showed in the map was not there, so I walked to the one where the U1 stops in the middle of the bridge. Donauinsel. Sun was shining sweetly and I already planned to walk all the way back to the hotel. Only three km or so. However, on the other side of Donau, my backpack started to feel a bit heavy on my shoulders and my feet started to feel a bit tired in the boots. I had already walked several kilometers with the extra weight of my backpack. So I hopped on the U again.

Back on Stephansplatz and I was hungry. It’s all kind of fancy there, design stores and modern looking restaurants and bakeries with extravagant chocolate masterpieces on display. I wanted a nice small restaurant, not expensive, no white tablecloths, no pretense and preferably a meal that would keep me happy until tomorrow, or at least late evening. I walked in circles, scanning the shops and restaurants and cafés and finally settled on a simple enough looking place that offered simple Austrian cuisine. I had some schweinkoteletts with fries and a coke (water was expensive there, and I have this principal about how much I’m willing to pay for water) and left happy.

Stopped by the Starbuck’s for a Grande Cappucino (ah, the warm feeling of safety in an international chain when it comes to coffee), visited a couple stores for a little bit of something for the kids and myself too before heading back towards my hotel again. On the way, though, I got lured to another Weinachtsmarkt for some glühwein, and then there was the call #2 from youngest teen.

When I finally made it to the hotel, I was handed my room key along with a “the wifi and minibar are free of charge for the superior room” and the bellhop brought my luggage all the way to the room for me and asked if there was anything else he could do for me before he left me in my room. I had barely settled when the phone rang, the room phone, and in my confusion I lifted the receiver to my deaf ear and wondered for a split second why the sound was so muffled. Switching ears, I heard the lady from reception asking me if everything was good and whether I was lacking anything. Slightly bewildered, I told her everything was just dandy. And it was, still is!

Here I am, feeling like a princess, or something. I mean, it’s not out of this world luxury or anything, but way finer than the Sokos hotel in Iisalmi, let alone that Seurahuone dump I stayed in the first time there. Here I am, exhausted but thrilled to be here, missing my family, but feeling as good about this kind of a trip as one can possibly be. I’m just so happy I’m not staying in any of those colossal hotels closer to the conference center. This here, perfect!

P.S. To my husband, who is probably worried: no, I have not spent hundreds of euros here. Just some very moderate shopping. And Desigual.

Sucker for the story-behind

23.10.2016 Marilka

In graphic user interface based software development there is the UX layer, the interface the user interacts with, and then there’s the functional layer with all the actual code in it. Probably somewhere there is also the data layer, that holds all the information the entirety of the software needs, the data the code intearcts with and then relays messages and actions to the user. Without the fuctional code, the user interface is just a pretty (in best cases) but dead picture. This code behind the user interface is referred to – quite logically – as the code-behind file.

This is pretty much how I view the world. Every image we see, every song we here, every person we interact with, everything we experience in daily life is just the superficial, just the user experience layer. We reeal a polished image of ourselved to other people. We receive and interact with a similar honed image of others. We watch a movie, we listen to an awesome band, we wonder about the kid who slapped another kid in school. Kids are not polished yet.

Often times, especially in the age of the Facebook, it’s quite easy to feel the sting of jealousy. Look at the perfect wedding and honeymoon photos of this person! See, how beautiful children that one has! Oh, these people are so perfect, they have it all! Just listen to this song, he is so talented and successful, his life must be a ball! Many people blame Facebook for this jealous behavior induced by perfect looking lives of other people, but even though I said “especially in the age of the Facebook”, I believe this is a very core trait in us people.

Who wouldn’t want to look good, even perfect in other peoples’ eyes? We show others what we choose to show, we tell others what we choose to tell, we share only what we choose to share. Whether it be in Facebook or in “real life” (I hate that term, by the way, because it indicates that communications in FB aren’t real), that’s the way we act. We show the nice UI, hiding the ugly looking story behind, into a story-behind file only a few people are allowed to access.

Some people are more open about their story-behind and some lock it down more tightly. Celebrities often times gain from opening up the story file to all the curious fans of the world. Some celebrities go on to fabricate a life more interesting than they really had, hiding the story-behind even deeper and actually reveal another image instead of revealing any reality behind it. Some people write their stories just for the sake of writing it, maybe hoping that reading it will some day help someone else who is going through similar things, or maybe to shine light on some otherwise hidden larger story.

The world is full of stories. Every person has one, a quilt of stories made of different story patches. Ecery place has one, woven in history by the people who lived there and passed through and stayed a while. Every object has one – maybe not the cow bell you by from a souvenir store or the brand new winter coat bought from Esprit, not the things straight out of a factory, but after they see life for a while, they get their story too. Like the cow bell. Maybe one day when I am gone, my daughter will want to keep it and tell her children that granny brought it from Seefeld. Maybe my winter coat will keep someone else warm some day like my grandma’s winter coat keeps me warm now.

I am a sucker for that story-behind. I love to hear the stories behind objects, places, people, music and books. Understanding – hearing or reading – these stories attach me to the *thing* with a special bond. Like Purnumukka. I needed to go see the place, when I heard the story of this brave woman who lived there. Later on, I read her book and felt like she had become a friend. Like Foo Fighters and Dave Grohl or Chili Peppers and Anthony Kiedis. After reading the stories behind, the music caught up a whole new intensity and feeling for me.

Even though I think this trait is in me somewhat stronger than average, I don’t think it makes me unique in any way. Isn’t this exact trait the reason for all the biographies and making of [movies] -documentaries etc.? The very human desire to understand the story-behind of other people, of incidents, of things and places. The story behind the movie, the rock album, the band the small town, the little object you bought at the flea market. Isn’t that the very essential that makes something dear to us, knowing the story-behind?

I come from a family of story tellers. If it wasn’t for modern technology, if it wasn’t for the ability to write things in books and blogs and whatnot, my family would be passing on tradition by the camp fire of the village. My grandfather – as a teenager I loved to sit with him and listen to his stories – my grandmother, my dad, my mom, my mom’s parents, me, my sister, my kids. Story tellers. Tellers of the stories behind the appearances.

My best friend

24.9.2016 Marilka

When I was like eight years old or so, on second grade or so, we had this school assignment to write and draw a story about our best friend. I chose to write about my grandma’s dog, a wire haired fox terrier. She was my best friend while growing up, before I had any other real friends. We spent summers together at our summer place with my grandma, playing and asking for snacks and whatnot. I wanted to have my own dog, just like almost every kid wants at some point, but I lived to be almost forty years old before that happened.

My best friend

Now I’ll tell you what I did with my best friend. I tell about some of the days.

My dad’s mother and father have a dog named Delilah, but we call it Della. It isone year older than I. It is a girl dog. We play together most of the summer days. Now I’ll start the real story.

My best friend

One summer morning I woke up eight o’clock because a dog was barking. It was not Della, I knew it. I looked out of the window. The dog that was barking was brown and much bigger than Della. The dog was lost.

My grandmother woke up, too. She gave me some meat so that I could give it to the dog. The dog ate so much , I thought it had been many hours eating nothing.

The dog was light brown. I took the dog to my grandmother’s house. She wrote to the newspaper that a light brown dog is found.

The dog was with us two or three days. Then the dog’s owner came. She thanked us for taking good care of the dog. I was so little that I wanted to play dog. The owner had a little girl.

The dog was nice, but still Della is my best friend. We play so that I trhow a stick and Della gets it and brings it to me.

MOTHER! I WANT A DOG!

Do you know that I’ve always wanted an own dog, but I know I won’t get one.

I was four years old when that happened.

Joka viikko on kirjaviikko

23.9.2016 Marilka

Jotkut jo veti herneitä nekkuun, kun ei sellaista kansainvälistä kirjaviikkoa olekaan, ei ainakaan virallisesti, ei ainakaan Suomen kalentereissa. Pelkästään jo kyseisen meemin jatkamisen voi toki hyvällä mielikuvituksella nähdä tyhmyytenä ja ignoranssina, kun ei postaaja “tiedä”, ettei sellaista ole oikeasti. Jospa joku on sellaisen viikon perustanut? Tai jospa sillä ei ole väliäkään?

Jollain oudolla tasolla kykenen ymmärtämään ajattelun: jos menet höplään pienessä, menet höplään myös isossa ja kiertopäivityksen levittäminen on automaattisesti osoitus hyväuskoisuudesta ja höplään menemisestä. Tai ainakin ignoranssista, kun et välitä, onko jokin oikeasti olemassa vai ei. Fine, minäkin olen joskus tosikko, suotakoon se itse kullekin.

Minulle on yhdentekevää onko kirjaviikkoa olemassa vai ei. Minulle joka viikko on kirjaviikko, vaikka välillä luenkin vähemmän. Välillä voimavarat kuluvat muuhun ja lukeminen tuntuu liian raskaalta. Välillä taas laiminlyön kodin ja perheen, kun en saa kirjaa käsistäni. Välillä luen viihdettä, joka vie mukanaa, välillä vähän vakavampia kirjoja, kuten elämäkertoja ja muuta sellaista non-fictionia.

Minä päätin aloittaa “Viikon sitaatti” -meemin: ota vapaavalintainen kirja hyllystäsi ja avaa satunnaiselle aukeamalle, osoita sormella satunnaista kohtaa ja kirjoita virke fb-statukseesi. Kerro myös kirja, josta sitaatti on.

Voi olla, että olen ainoa, joka sitaatteja ikinä koskaan postaa ja voi olla että kyllästyn itsekin noin ensimmäisen sitaatin jälkeen. Lue: unohdan koko asian elämän tiimellyksessä. Ei sillä väliä; rakastan kirjoja ja minusta nämä satunnaiset sitaatit ovat kiehtovia. Tässä ensimmäinen sitaatti, jonka jo naamakirjaankin kirjoitin:

Aloitan: “Se oli ainoa, joka kiinnosti häntä ja hän tiesi, että hänen levollisuudellaan ja kylmäverisyydellään pääsisi pitkälle,” – Birgit TH.Spare, Vanhan kartanon Diana

***

Same in English, the short version: some people have already got a bug up their ass about this international book week meme, since no such week officially exist.

So I decided to start a new meme: “Quote of the Week”. Pick a random book from your book shelf, open it to a random page, point your finger on a random sentence and type it in your FB status. Also, write the author and the book the quote is from.

I’ll start:

“Among those foolish pursuers of pleasure, they recon all that delight in hunting, in fowling, or gaming: of whose madness they have only heard, for they have no such things among them.” Sir Thomas More, Utopia

I might be the only one ever posting any quotes, or I might forget about this whole thing after the first post. I don’t care. I just love books and I think these random quotes are intriguing!

Dolmades on the way to Iisalmi

14.9.2016 Marilka

At approximately 14:30 today I was about to board a train in Tikkurila. Confused as I frequently am with our beloved VR (Valtion Rautatie, i.e. State Railway) and the ambiguous way of marking the cars, I darted back and forth on the platform as the train arrived, trying to determine the correct car to step into. My ticket was for car one, but as has been the case before, the train had two car number ones! Apparently car number seven was also marked as one since at Kouvola the train split and the latter half continued to Lappeenranta.

Some sort of recollection and maybe even a lucky guess kicked in and I picked the closer one of the car#1’s, asking the train conducter on my way (in plain Finnish), if this car was, in fact, the #1 to Oulu, as I had already figured out that that was the correct one for me. He confirmed and I stepped in and settled into my seat, sipping my tall latte. The conducter stepped in and before the train even left the station, he started checking the tickets.

I offered mine from my phone, the VR app which is a very Finnish app, so I suppose simply the act of having the UI language set to English was reason enough for the said conducter to assume that I am English speaking, despite the fact that I had asked him a question in Finnish only 28 seconds earlier – then again, I guess I can’t assume he remembers every redhead who asks directions from him. So anyhow, while he informed every passanger individually about the coffee, water and cookies offered in this business class car, he effortlessly switched to English when addressing me.

Train travel is just as boring to me as flying. I travel alone, I do not like to sit in the restaurant car, especially since it means leaving all my belongings to the other car (unless I want to drag all my luggage along, which I don’t) and I hate sitting trapped to an uncofortable chair for hours. So I tend to snack. I like to eat in the train. And most commonly I have my own snacks with me – a little bit of candy, some nuts etc. unless the trip takes as long as this one. Five hours in this intimidating green worm. I packed myself some dinner: dolmades and a pulled pork sandwitch.

I’m quite certain that up until my daughter called me and I spoke in Finnish with her, the other passangers in the car shared the assumption od the conducter. I was reading my book about the life and times of Dave Grohl (a bit too much background of the DC punk scene in the book, tends to bore me badly) and eating my dolmades while the normal people went to the restaurant car to get ham on rye (the Finnish rye, Reissumies). Then, I am known (in my own vast mind at least 😉 ) for having strange snacks on travels, like fritatta for example.

In Kouvola we waved goodbye to the latter half, err actually first half, since this car#1 was really, logically, the last car of the train until Kouvola. Did I mention that the car numbering of VR is confusing? I have already learned, though, that it is thorougly Helsinki-centered, as the car#1 is usually the one at the Helsinki end of the train, whether it be the last one (en route out of Helsinki) or the first one (on the return trip). Currently, though this is already topsy-turvy and car#1 is actually the first one while we are north-bound. My head is spinning, but the main thing is, I am in the correct train and still on my way to Iisalmi, not Lappeenranta.

Enough about all this train car confusion and blabbering, adding to the language confusion, or at least just something that strikes me as funny, is this business with these very American mormons who boarded the train in Mikkeli. While addressing me, a definite – if maybe not mainstream – Finn in English, the conducter spoke Finnish to these very obviously American mormons (I have never ever in my 41+ years of life in Finland seen Finnish mormons dressed up in those uniforms). Then again, for a while there, they baffled me by speaking Finnish among each other. Must be part of their training or something. They’re not old enough to have been here for very long.

Two more hours to go. I wish I could just nap.