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Published: July 15th 2009
Our Swedish Family
Kacka, Ellen, Mark and the Meatballs.When I was little, my Mom frequently said those words as we returned to the farm following an adventure…and an adventure might have been a trip to the local pool, the doctor or the grocery store…that didn’t matter. I loved when she threw that bit of whimsy onto the end of a trip and I still think those very words when I drive into the farm where I grew up. Home again, home again, jiggity jig.
We left our flat in Kullavik on June 30th, escorted to Mark and Kacka’s home by Gunnel and Anders, another great member of Kullavikkyrkan (aka “The Church”). We made the warm journey, had fika and were faced with the inevitable good-bye that I dreaded the most. I know I’ve been pretty forthright with my feelings here, but I truly can’t come up with words that express the sadness that I felt saying goodbye to my dear friend, Gunnel. In fact, in trying to come up with them right now, I’m choking back tears. Great sadness, for sure, but it was a sadness matched by the feeling of enormous gratitude that I have for this woman and the goodness that she has shown me and
my family. You know how I feel about Gunnel.
I was exhausted by the stress of cleaning and packing, my back ached and my heart hurt. Mark and Kacka prepared a great dinner for us, which we ate in the cool evening air as the sun considered setting…and then delayed, just as we did. The kids laughed and played, Signe and Ellen cramming in as much togetherness as they could in these waning hours. For this final sleepover, Kacka let them sleep out on the deck and their chatter continued after we settled in at midnight. Midnight, me? Yes, we played one more miserable game of Liverpool rummy, which I lost, but not as badly as Jeff did. The alarm was set for 3:30, but that infernal, internal clock had me glancing at the minutes beginning at 2:20 am. Jorgen was bathed and dressed in his travel clothes, so we let him sleep until we loaded the car at 4:15. The girls were so excited to be going home that there wasn’t a single grumble, which is remarkable considering the hour.
We had a packing dilemma. Due to a booking “glitch”, the two legs of our travel were
Farewell Swedish Sunset
Mark and Kacka flew the American flag, just for us! booked separately which meant that we had to adhere to the baggage requirements for our originating airline, Scandinavian Airlines, which told us that we could have ONE checked bag at 44 pounds. Our connecting airline, Northwest Airlines, allowed TWO bags at 50 pounds each. BIG difference, especially when you’re talking about a family of five and a year’s accumulation. Oj, oj, oj. At 4:45 am, I said a little prayer and approached the man at the counter. I explained the situation and begged for mercy regarding our 5 “slightly overweight” suitcases - and this man, who strongly resembled the Simpson’s bible banging neighbor, Flanders, answered my prayer, “lighten the suitcases to 50 pounds and I’ll check them through”. We dragged our bags off to the side and, in front of a bleary eyed crowd, hastily shifted jeans and jackets (and Zoega’s Moberg’s Blanding, my favorite Swedish coffee…Jeff pulled it out and gave me a quizzical look and I was thinking, “ditch the coffee and die, buddy”) into an auxiliary duffel bag - creating an extra bag which ‘Flanders’, in a final act of Swedish kindness, checked through to Minneapolis/St.Paul…free of charge. Just so you can get an idea of how
much we appreciate that act, it saved us almost $300. Oh, and I sent 7 suitcases at 50 pounds each home with 7 of our guests. Thanks for packing light David, Jan, Joan, Kris, Rob, Mary and Lydia!
I was thrilled as we headed through security for international departures and they actually stamped our passports with a Sweden stamp. For all the countries we’ve seen this year, we had just one stamp…London, which we only saw at the airport…in our passports. That’s because we traveled within the European Union and never had to pass through customs in any of those countries. I think we’ll remember where we’ve been, even without the stamps, but I’m sure glad we have Sweden in the passports. One of the shining moments of the journey home came shortly after we got settled at the gate in Gothenburg and Emma said, “I think I’d like to go to Asia next.”. My response? “Have a nice trip!”. I’m absolutely thrilled that our experiences this year have opened a world of possibility for our kids. That was the goal. However, I'm ready to explore the Good Old USA.
I spent a lot of time in those
Ready for Take-off
This is what I'm talking about...they were all holding hands and looking out the window. final days imagining what it would feel like to be home. During that final day of travel, just thinking of that landing choked me up. Many people had asked us who we thought would be at the airport and we knew that Tim & Mary, our close friends from St. Peter, would be our official greeters. However, I had a strong feeling that my brother, Dan, would do everything in his power to be there. He, his wife Suzi, and their two little girls, Lily and Lauren, live in St. Paul. Logistically, it made sense. Logistics aren’t the driving factor for Dan, though, and it’s one of the things that I love the most about him. Dan LOVES an event and family - our homecoming qualified in both categories. He and the little girls were waiting at baggage claim, they had a big bouquet of flowers and Dan had a huge grin on his face…and I cried. I knew I would. Heck, I cried when we were flying in and then again when we landed. I've become a big, soft baby this year. We headed to his home in St. Paul where Suzi had picked up LeeAnn Chin takeout and
Whiling Away the Hours
Six and a half at Heathrow. where our dog, Maya, awaited.
At this point, I want to just say that I only picked up the camera one time after the airport and it was to hand it to Jeff saying, "please take some pictures". Both of us were jet lagged, shell shocked and delirious for about a week after our return, so we don't have a lot of great photos that truly express our joy at being home. You'll have to take our word for it.
We arrived into our Sky View Ridge neighborhood late that first night to big signs practically shouting, “Welcome Home Jeremiasons” - decorated with both the Swedish and American flags. This might not surprise you, but it made me cry. Thanks Susan and Jeff Owen. I think it’s obvious that we missed home, however, I had started to wonder if, in our loneliness and uncomfortable days, we had built up “HOME” as something bigger and better than it really was. We didn’t, home is great. Mary and Tim had filled the fridge with some essentials, including my favorite Blue Moon beer. Our beds felt good…REALLY good. I awoke early to the sounds of a symphony of birds and a
Teenage Version
Again, whiling away the hours at the airport. gorgeous sunrise. I enjoyed my Swedish coffee on the deck (it was only half a pound and totally worth it) and it was a great start to a busy day of unpacking and reaquainting with the neighbors. It was great to see the Dahlseid’s, Rob and Nancy, Denny and Rhonda and Jeff and Susan - the bright red chairs out front and our two tall cottonwoods standing sentry over the house. Yep, we were home. But there was more “home” to be had.
The morning of July 3rd had us heading west to Howard, SD…home of Mormor and Morfar (that would be Grandma and Grandpa Scott). This stint in Sweden was the longest I had gone without seeing my parents and I was anxious to see their faces…and they were as good and beautiful as I remembered. Mom and Dad were just the beginning (so to speak!), the family kept arriving throughout the day. Some of us headed in to Howard to check out the local Rural Life Museum, a fantastic addition to the community. While there, Kristen arrived sporting her vintage Michael Jackson T-shirt and a sparkly, single glove. She was officially in mourning for the loss of
her high school musical hero, some of us just have to laugh through our pain and Kristen is the best at making me laugh. Before the weekend was over, we saw all but one sister…Anne was on call and unable to be more than 15 minutes from the hospital. The kids jumped right in with their cousins, and had the run of the farm. They went swimming at the local pool, shot fireworks, rode bike, played with the cats and treated us to a 4th of July parade. We feasted on BBQ’d ribs (ahh, glorious meat and flavor!) and Mom’s Most Amazing Baked Beans. We ended the 4th with the not-to-be-missed hayride, featuring Grandpa’s old Case. Jeff and I were exhausted, the jet lag was hitting us hard, but it was great to be in the heart of my family and we’d do it again.
I went to church Sunday morning with my Dad at his little Methodist church. As we sat quietly amongst the people so familiar from my childhood, I contemplated being home. When a young woman sang a beautiful rendition of “God Bless America”, I cried (quietly, of course). The final song for the service was
Welcome Home!
You get the idea... an old hymn called, “This Is My Song” and its lyrics said, “This is my home, the country where my heart is” (more crying, quietly, of course) “But other hearts in other lands are beating, with hope and dreams as true as mine”. It’s a song about peace, which I love, but it also spoke to my still sleepy and confused heart about recognizing that we need to know that our immediate world isn’t the only one. It’s another reason we spent a year abroad, so that our kids would know that there are other world views besides ours..
On Sunday, we packed up and headed to Canby, home of Farmor and Farfar (that’s Grandpa and Grandma Jeremiason). We were greeted with a welcome home banner crossing the deck that we had to break through as cousins Kalie and Lauren sang their rendition of the Swedish birthday song...it was the only song they knew and we thought it fit just fine. It wasn’t long before Leah arrived, teenage squeals made perfectly clear Emma and Leah’s delight in seeing each other. We enjoyed another great meal, the kids caught up with their cousins and we slept soundly at our final
family homecoming.
Fast forward to the most asked question, “how does it feel to be home?”. The short answer is “great”, of course. The long answer isn’t quite that easy. The kids are thrilled to be back in their space. Jorgen is lost to me, spending every waking moment with his neighbor and friend, Rowan. This is the first day that I have internet and home phone, so I’ve made a lot of progress unpacking without that distraction. I’ve slowly been reconnecting with friends, and that’s a great feeling. Connie stopped over to chase the kids down for a hug, Sarah dropped off a vase of sunny flowers from her garden, the Snyder/Kennedy gang had dinner here last night…just like old times. I was thrilled to walk into the bank and to be warmly greeted by Molly and Melody, who couldn’t believe that our year was over so quickly. That is all good. But it isn’t all there is.
Many times during the past 11 days, I’ve had the feeling that I’m dreaming. I feel fairly certain that we actually spent the year in Sweden…I mean, I’ve read the blogs. We traveled, we lived by the sea, we
made friends. It’s such a surreal feeling to have lived a completely different life and then to be plopped right back into a place where everything feels the same (well, everything except for the ripped up road running through our town!). I feel different. I feel older. I even feel a little wiser. Mostly though, I feel confused.
A couple days ago I sat up in my room and cried. Jeff returned home from a baseball trek up north to Sebeka. He’s thrilled to be playing with the 35+ guys again, he’s excited to be back on campus and moving into his new (and radically improved) office. The kids are excited to be playing with their old friends and swimming at the town pool. Emma is on a team building retreat with the cross country team and is looking forward to high school in a language she knows well. I’m feeling lost. I miss the sea. I miss Gunnel. I don’t have a job and I need one. I went to Target the other day and I was overwhelmed…I flashed back to my first trip to the Swedish grocery store when I didn’t know what laundry soap to buy…there
were only two kinds, but I didn’t know what either of them did. I couldn’t read the label. It was a bad feeling. At Target, there were too many to choose from and my head was spinning. Do I want HE, Oxy, one for whites and a separate for darks? Should it smell Mountain Breezy or Fresh Breezy? I grabbed the one on the end cap, it was probably the most expensive, but I couldn’t handle the pressure. Do you get where I’m going with this? I’m overwhelmed with choice, overwhelmed with the piles in my house, overwhelmed by feelings of indecision and what lies ahead for me. For 9 months we planned a year in Sweden, for 11 months we lived in Sweden. Now what? I'm taking suggestions.
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anonymous
non-member comment
I am a cousin of Mary Johnson who is a friend of Jan and Jerry's...she forwarded all of your writings to me and I have thoroughly enjoyed reading them, some I even read more than once; they were EXCELLANT! What a wonderful experience for a young family. We have met Jan and Jerry in AZ as they are in the same park we stay in for a few months in the Winter, and have enjoyed their company as well. Bob and Joanne Chevalier rcheval@msn.com 1208 Cedar Way West Fargo, ND 58078