Betsy Devine: Funny ha-ha and/or funny peculiar

I spent seven hours of Christmas-Eve-Eve-day (today) trying to find our lost suitcase in Logan Airport. I hadn’t been waiting long when three men appeared–not Magi on camels, but young men in silly red hats who carried a trumpet, a trombone, and a big golden French horn. They sat down on folding chairs, rustled sheet music, and started to play, rather softly, “Joy to the World.” They gave it an oompah bass line that was somehow funny and touching at the same time.

The music transformed the way I experienced all the people around me–and the airport was packed with holiday travelers. I saw them as people who wanted to be with their families.

I remembered my brother Mark’s great delight in driving children around to see Christmas lights. I remembered my mother’s pride in her Yorkshire pudding.

Looking for my suitcase today meant I had to bother a whole bunch of busy, tired people. Every one of them treated me with kindness and concern.

Some of the time one of us said “Merry Christmas” to the other and some of the time one we didn’t, and some people say “Happy holidays”
instead, and it amazes me that people who think of themselves as Christian can get angry about “Happy holidays” or because you can’t see baby Jesus in the White House crèche.

Anyway, I didn’t find my suitcase (drat!) but I did find the spirit of Christmas in the kind and caring way people were treating each other, all over that crowded airport.

And also, of course, in the oompah backbeat to “Silent Night.”

The longest night of the year (winter solstice) is over!

Northern Hemispherians (Hemispherites? Hemisphericals?) can
rejoice–our days now start getting longer, the sunshine gets warmer.
The lovely gray midday twilight of snowy we enjoyed in Kiruna now starts to stretch out and get brighter. On the morning of New Year’s Day, a real sunrise will happen.

Southern Hemispherosians, you just saw midsummer pass by. But your
equivalent months for July and August still lie ahead–so I can’t feel
too sorry for Southern Hemispheratics.

The longest night of the year ( winter solstice) is over!

Northern Hemispherians (Hemispherites? Hemisphericals?) can rejoice–our days now start getting longer, the sunshine gets warmer. The lovely gray midday twilight of snowy Kiruna now starts to stretch out and get brighter. Not too long from now, a real sunrise will happen.

Southern Hemispherosians, you just saw midsummer pass by. But your equivalent months for July and August are just ahead–I can’t feel too sorry for Southern Hemispheratics!

I blogged last year about some Swedish surprises, many enjoyable but others disconcerting.

One
of my discoveries this trip is that Swedish “aha” isn’t quite like an
English “aha.” In (American)
English, “aha!” is an exclamation of great surprise, said with a bounce
like “Wow!” or “Eureka!” or
“Unbefriggin’lievable!” In Swedish English, “aha” expresses a kind of
friendly interest, something like maybe “Mmmm”or “Tell me more.”

Why is this disconcerting? Imagine somebody who often says “Wow” in
tones of polite restraint and you’ll understand.

My brother Kevin just sent me some great photographs–this one reminded me (aha!) of my first surprise at the northern European “two-bed double bed.” In America, two people who share a bed are sharing one undivided mattress covered by the same top sheet and quilt(s). In Sweden, the shared bed now has a cold hard divide down the middle. The best thing about the Swedish two-mattress system is that nobody will tease you about stealing the covers all onto your side of the bed.

One great surprise this time was the
meringue cake served at the Operakälleren. Fortunately, the
wonderful Lena (who races sled dogs in her spare time from winning
prizes for cooking) says that she will send me the recipe–because that
cake is  Aha! and Wow! and even Eureka!

One of my original goals in Nobel-blogging was to help future laureates dodge those “if only I had known” moments. So, here in one handy location, are just a few:

1. When you fill out a form with everyone’s name, profession, and title–“title” doesn’t mean “job title” as in the US, it means titles like Professor, Dr., Mrs., maybe HRH or even Duke of Earl. Oops! I was surprised but not unhappy to end up with “Författare” (Swedish for “writer”) on my Nobel banquet place setting–but I wonder what happened to friend Naomi, whose dual career I’d summed up as “Film director and hotel owner”…
2. Laureates and spouses don’t have to figure out how to get to the Grand Hotel from Arlanda Airport–or how to get anywhere else, for that matter–because the Nobel Committee delivers a huge Volvo limousine with a great driver (thank you, Harald!) almost to the door of the airplane.
3. When you arrive at the Royal Palace for dinner on December 11, don’t draw the conclusion from previous banquets that you should start shaking hands along the huge reception line to your left. Your job is to stand in a reception line on the right.
4. Don’t worry about making my mistakes, or new ones of your own, because your “Nobel attendant” (thank you, Cecilia!) will rescue you with good-humored clever kindness.

One of my original goals in Nobel-blogging was to help future laureates dodge those “if only I had known” moments. So, here in one handy location, are just a few:

1. When the Nobel committee asks you to list each guest’s “title,” they don’t mean “job title” as in the US, they mean titles like Professor, Dr., Mrs., maybe HRH or even Duke of Earl. If you know this, you won’t end up with “Författare” (Swedish for “writer”) on your Nobel banquet place card, and I hate to think what they listed from my friend Naomi whose dual career I summed up as “Film director and hotel owner”.
2. Laureates and spouses don’t have to figure out how to get to the Grand Hotel from Arlanda Airport–or how to get anywhere else, for that matter–because the Nobel Committee delivers a huge Volvo limousine with a great driver (thank you, Harald!) almost to the door of the airplane.
3. When you arrive at the Royal Palace for dinner on December 11, don’t start shaking hands with all the people lined up in a huge reception line to the left of the door. Your job is to find your own spot because you have to stand in the same reception line they do.
4. Don’t worry about making my mistakes, or new ones of your own, because your “Nobel attendant” (thank you, Cecilia!) or some other helpful Swedish person, will rescue you with good-humored clever kindness.

A delicate snow is falling on Cambridge right now–I love Halley’s flour-sifter image.  Good-bye, stick-figure skeletons of summer mint plants! I don’t want my memories to have similar
fates…

The SVT tape of Frank with the Rymdgymnasiet students who dressed up as aliens will probably vanish by Thursday, Dec. 30 (but thanks to Odd Minde for sending the link to me)

http://svt.se/svt/jsp/Crosslink.jsp?d=2528&visaart=true&visadep=false
Torsdag kl 22.15 (Frank starts about 2/3 of the way through the program)

Of course, I can still ask Frank to sing Abba tunes in real life…

Anyway, I’ve started posting my own Nobel photo albums.

And thanks to Digitala Bonder–someone I don’t know–who Flickr-ed a photo of me with Prince Carl Philip.