Being Norwegian

I was joking with one of my students about my tiny hope that Norway will decide to keep me (so I don’t have to go home and be ruled by racist cheeto). He suggested that I work toward becoming the most Norwegian Norwegian so they can’t help but let me stay. He suggested, for instance, that I pick up some traditional Norwegian clothing and learn how to do this traditional Norwegian (pole?) dance. I’ve already forgotten. I’m terrible at being Norwegian.

The traditional clothing, however, I can get behind. I’ve seen it for sale in a few stores. On Norwegian Constitution Day (May 17th) I’m told that there’s a huge celebration in Oslo where people dress up in these fancy duds and get day drunk. Sounds like my kind of celebration.

I could totally pull this off. 

I saw these at a store in Oslo. They’re so-so. There are a few dresses at a shop here in Moss that are to die for. Unfortunately, it aint cheep to look this good. I could be the best Norwegian ever if only I could afford such marvelous treasures.

Sandwiches, on the other hand–much more attainable. I’ve been embracing the Norwegian open-sandwich lunch. TO MAKE: You start with a flat round bread thing designed for half-sandwiching. You can also start with a cracker. Then you apply a layer of “salad” which could be potato, shrimp, egg, beet, or carrot. This mayo-based spread is not a side dish, it’s a condiment. Then you throw on some meat, maybe some cheese. I like to finish it with avocado or cucumber. I know what I said before about Norwegian sandwiches versus American sandwiches, but look how tasty:

I make this like 4 times a week. That means I’m Norwegian now, right? 

I did another Norwegian thing today: I decorated my window! Some of the lovely flowers that Will sent for Valentine’s day were staring to wilt, so I made three smaller arrangements out of the unwilted flowers and I put them in the window. Now when my neighbors peep in on me, they can enjoy these beautiful flowers AND my kitchen solo dance party.

How’s the language coming, you ask? That’s another story. Norwegian is hard. I can’t make my mouth say the words right. And I don’t follow the logic of the language. Damn you, Duolingo! But, in my defense, just look at this juice situation:


I don’t think there’s much hope of my being Norwegian. Come May, they’re going to give me the boot. But that’s alright. I miss everybody too much to stay away anyhow. But I’ll keep doing some Norwegian things for the fun of it.



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