One Year Reflections (the bad)

Congratulations to Us!

It is very strange indeed to think that today on August 8th we celebrated our First Anniversary of living in Norway. I'm actually kind of speechless. I'm feeling this mixture of relief, exhaustion, loneliness, success, anxiety, and some hopeful anticipation. Hmmm. . . . lots of negatives in that list. Yup. I think it's fair to say that I am feeling a little negative right now, and actually am not surprised to be in this state of mind at this point.

Over and over again I have said--and written--"I knew the first year wouldn't be easy" and other ex-pats have warned me of the same. I felt quite prepared that I knew what the challenges would be: the language barrier, new surroundings, new culture and cultural norms, the lack of friends, the switch from full-time working mother to whatever-it-is I am now. So, when the lows hit, they did not surprise me. I knew they were normal, I knew why they were happening, I knew things would get better. But knowing all that still did not make it any fun! I still had to suffer through those lows, and somehow dig myself out of them.

Norwegians like to ask us, "Trives du i Norge?" which literally translates to "Are you thriving in Norway?" THRIVING? No, I am definitely not thriving. I am getting by. I have days where I like living in Norway. I have days when I dislike living in Norway. I have very few days when I love or hate living in Norway. But, like other Norwegian phrases, I don't know think the literal translation entirely captures its meaning. I think it can encompass feelings more along the lines of "are you happy? Are you enjoying yourself?" So, instead of a stark: Nei. Jeg trives ikke! (hell no!) I instead answer, "Noen ganger!"  or "Sometimes!" I'm not even sure if that's an acceptable answer to the question, but it's the most honest one I can think of.

Perhaps this isn't healthy to dwell on, but I feel the need to express what has surprised me most about our first year. And by surprise, I think I mean, surprising me in a negative way. . .

My Job Situation
When I left my job as a midwife in New Hampshire, I optimistically told everyone that I hoped I would be working within a year. I figured that would be enough time to adequately learn the language. Never did I expect that one year later I would still be waiting for permission to work as a nurse--and that my midwife license application would not even have been considered yet.

I had no idea that a non-European Union education would be making this situation so so difficult, and because of that I feel incredibly naive. We don't need to get into how discouraging this whole situation has been.

Summertime
This summer has been rather difficult for me, in part because it has rained all summer long, and in part due to the nearly constant change of home base. We have had record-breaking rain for June and July: the rainiest June and July in history! I do like me some heat and humidity in my summers, which I knew I wouldn't get  here, but there have been perhaps a dozen days when I could stand wearing shorts. And knowing how quickly the weather turned fallish on us after our arrival last August 8th, I am dreading the return of even cooler weather.

Long-distance Friendships
I considered titling this one: Long-Distance Friendships and Time Zones, or Long-Distance Friendships and Technology, both equal players in this surprise.

I thought technology would be a big help when it came to keeping in contact with far-flung friends, and it has in many ways. Facebook--for all its flaws and time-suckiness qualities--has been a lifeline of sorts. I get little glimpses into the lives of my friends, and for those who I didn't see/chat/email with regularly, Facebook has been really nice.

But the Time Zone differences are killer when it comes to trying to communicate in actual spoken conversations, be it via Skype or telephone. Post-Greta-bedtime for me is middle-of-the-workday for US friends; after-work for US friends is sleeping for me. And because of the difficulties and expense in calling my Norwegian cell phone, or lack of Skype on ones home computer, or what have you, it is a rare situation when a US friend contacts us. 


I actually think this blog, in some ways, has hindered communication with some far-flung friends. Friends who are curious about what and how we are doing can read and feel updated on our lives, but I don't get anything back! I don't get their updates, I don't get the rewards and warm-fuzzies of an actual conversation, I don't hear their voice on the other end of the line telling me their funny or sad stories, or even have the knowledge that they are thinking of us. It can be very isolating.

On the other hand, the blog has brought me in contact with other American-in-Norway bloggers, who have become a strange new type of friends, and big cheerleaders in this whole experience. For that I am very grateful!

My situation. . . 
Am I a student? Am I a stay-at-home-mom (with a kid in full time preschool)? Will I ever be a midwife again? Who am I?

I'm not working (for pay) for the first time since 1997, and I really thought I'd be enjoying it more! It's not the identity crisis that bothers me as much as it is this pressure that I feel to learn the language, get a job, and help make this ex-pat experience financially do-able (this is generally self-imposed pressure, in defense of my very hard-working and uber-supportive husband). Since so much of that is out of my control, one would think I could just sit back and enjoy the leisurely life of language class 4 hours a day. But, instead I feel like my whole life is on hold. I'm waiting for this letter to arrive. . . I'm waiting for this application to process. . . I'm waiting for this class to begin. . . I'm waiting for this other letter to arrive to send in the next application. . .

I think I know--deep down inside--that 10-20 years from now these months will be just a blip on the screen of my life. In the meantime, I wish I could relax and more fully appreciate this unique experience of living in a foreign country. It's not the job or the work in itself that would make the situation better. It's simply the process of moving forward, of settling in, of progress. It's all been soooo slow--the license approval--the subpar language classes--the architect. It's the "life on hold" that's giving me gray hairs.

And one year into it, that's what I didn't expect.

Gratulerer to Oss: One year in Norway

One year ago today I stepped off an Icelandair flight outside of Oslo, with a 2-year-old who had slept for 2 hours on an overnight 10 hr international flight, a carseat on wheels, two carry-ons, four enormous suitcases, and a drugged nervous dog who had spent those 10+hrs in a crate with our suitcases. . . and we moved to Norway.  

And we all lived to tell the tales!

Good news from NOKUT

A little piece of good news arrived in our mailbox on Friday. NOKUT, the Nasjonalt organ for kvalitet i utdanningen (aka Norwegian Agency for Quality Assurance in Education), after nearly five months of deliberation, decided that my American bachelor's degree and master's degree are equivalent to a Norwegian bachelor's and master's. Actually, they ruled that my master's degree is in fact superior to a Norwegian master's degree, by 30 studiepoeng (essentially 30 credits). All in all, my 6 years of education amounts to 5.5 years of Norwegian higher education, as "det første studieåret av en høyere utdanning fra USA kan ikke godkjennes som høyere utdanning i Norge" (the first study year of higher education from the USA can not be approved as higher education in Norway). This is because high school in Norway takes a student through 13 grades, and college (a 3-year process) begins at the age of 19, not 18 as it does in the US.

So yes, this was good news, but in the end probably not terribly important. NOKUT just puts the stamp of approval on my degree, not the actual content of the education (i.e. comparing my nursing degree to a Norwegian nursing degree) or my nursing or midwifery licenses. For that we continue to wait for SAFH (State authority on health personnel), who stated the appeal process might take a month or more.

Incidentally, for anyone who is going through or contemplating going through this process, NOKUTs website stated this evaluation could be a four month process, and in fact it was nearly five months. Considered yourself forewarned. . .

SAFH appeal is (sent) in

Erik spent most of Sunday writing my SAFH (nursing license organization) appeal in norsk, in hopes that no minor nor major detail will be lost in translation (a true Valentine gift). The letter itself is four pages long, not to mention the few dozen pages of supporting documents. It was sent in two days ago, just in time for the 3 week deadline.

Let's hope they actually take the time to read the damn thing this time.

No word on how soon we'll hear back from them, either. . .

Breaking news from: Statens autorisasjonskontor for helsepersonell

Huh? you ask. What does that mean?


It means: "Norway thinks Emily's 4 year nursing degree from a private liberal arts college with Norwegian ties and 14 years of work experience isn't good enough to work in Norway as a nurse". That's what it means.


Ok, deep breath. It is actually the "Norwegian Registration Authority for Health Personnel" (known as SAFH), and I have been waiting to hear from them for the last 3 months. I spent several months this fall preparing two very fat, thorough applications for both a nursing license and a midwife license. For any American nurse who might be attempting this in the future, I will provide for you a list of what I included in my nursing application, and note: every copy must be a certified copy:

• copy of US Passport
• Professional resume
• copy of college diploma
• 3 page detailed course curriculum description of undergraduate nursing classes, prepared by my college, not by me (as requested by SAFH)
• college academic transcript
• letter documenting NCLEX-RN results
• RN license verification
• copy of UT RN license
• copy of NH RN license
• copy of VT RN license
• work testimonial from Utah 
• job description from first RN job as a nurse in a highly specialized and respected Newborn Intensive Care Unit at a Children's hospital, where I worked for 5 years (oooh, bitterness coming out)
• 33 pages of certificates documenting Continuing Education seminars for the last 8 years (yikes!)

 So, this is what SAFH responded with, and thankfully, there is an appeal process:

1) my degree is shorter than a Norwegian nurses education. They are educated for 3 years, and they claim I was educated for 2. Obviously, they did not understand that my nursing education was in fact 4 years. I also did not include any of my graduate school nursing education in my nursing application, as I included that in the midwife application, but that is an additional two years. 

2) They claim that my work experience does not make up for my lack of education, especially since my work experience was with babies. They failed to recognize that I also worked as an RN with women for 3 years in Labor and Delivery. 

3) That I must complete the following practical student experiences: 6 weeks in psychiatry, 8 weeks in med/surg, and 8 weeks in adult nursing. 

4) A 3 week foreign-nurses course (knew about that one, so I wasn't surprised)

5) Must take the nursing exam!

I am not ashamed to say that I cried for hours after receiving this letter and painstakingly translating the 4 pages of information. There are so many reasons why it just plain old sucks so much. It sucks to be told we don't think you're good enough. I feel like I had a top-notch education, and had even more impressive work experience, so that is really hard to swallow. I am also rather embarrassed (but will admit to you, dear readers, because that it what I am here for) that I had this arrogant Pro-America attitude swell up inside of me, and I felt like screaming, "Who do you think you are?? I'm from the f*@%ing United States of America! You can't do this to me!" But, you know what? They are doing it to me. And this American feels like I was punched in the gut.

It also just sucks because now I feel like we were really naive coming here, just assuming because I'm a midwife, they use midwives. We have similar educations and responsibilities that everything would be easy, smooth-sailing, and I'd have a job in no time. All I have to do is learn Norwegian. It's as easy as that! And I feel like, all I'm asking for is permission to work! Don't you see, Norway? I'm trying to lend you my skills and experience! Stop making it so difficult to contribute to your society!  And honestly, now I feel like we're stuck! We're here. We uprooted our entire family, home, possessions under this false assumption that I, too, could work and continue to further my career. I think that's what hurts the most. 

A friend asked: What's your Plan B?  Well, I'll submit an appeal, after consulting with a number of people, and include more information about my years of education and work experience, and I'll dig a little deeper and try to find information about student summer work experiences I did with adults and med/surg patients. . .  

In the meantime, I'm in a language class. I don't know enough Norwegian to do any of those clinical assignments anyway, so I might as well keep crawling forward. Maybe something will work out in the meantime, maybe not. Will I do a half years worth of nursing clinicals, to prove my worth, only to then take a nursing exam, and then and only then be able to submit my midwife application, when who knows what will be denied or questioned or refused with my midwife education and 6 years of experience? 

I don't know. I just don't know. 

Language learnin' . . . (now with a Tika update!)

My Grand Plan, upon arriving in Norway, was to immediately sign up for language classes and fully immerse myself in Norwegian. I have a Norwegian textbook and workbook that are used in American colleges, and I had dabbled in learning Norwegian in the months leading up to our move in August. But everyone kept telling me "oh, you'll learn it when you get there."  True. . . but it's not so easy.

Even Tika is learning Norsk.
Here I caught her studying "Se og Si", which is
pronounced "say oh see" but really means
 "See and say," which is so confusing I
still don't have it straight in my head after 4 months.

The week after we arrived in Norway, we went to the Volksenoplæringen (community learning center) to register for a norsk kurs. A first level class had started the week before, which I was hoping to join, but was told the course was full and I couldn't be squeezed in. The next class would start in. . . November. (Now, as I write this in November, you think "that's not so far away,"  but when I was told this in AUGUST, it felt very far away). This was not a part of my Grand Plan.

So, in the meantime, I continued my efforts at home in hopes that I might join the second level class come November. Just last week I received a phone call from the learning center informing me that the November class won't actually start until JANUARY. I politely explained how I hoped to join the second level class, and would this be possible. I was then tersely informed that "that class is full, and there is no room for you." Perhaps they didn't mean to be terse, and it was just the fact that they were being succinct with their English-as-a-second-language skills. But if felt really crappy.

I'm really not happy about what feels like my only option to join a first level class FIVE months after we arrive here. I've essentially covered a semester's worth of material at home on my own. I've also recently discovered a website with interactive assignments to be used with the Norwegian text they use at the learning center, and I've breezed through the first 12 chapters of that.

On the other hand, I'm also not convinced that attending classes at the learning center will be all that I hope it will be anyway. I've had at least 4 sources who have either first- or second-hand knowledge of the courses tell me the courses move extreeeeemely slowly, which can be very frustrating for the motivated student who wants to learn as quickly as possible. I've been told the slow pace is due primarily because the courses are mostly filled with asylum refugees who may have little formal education, no knowledge of a Germanic language, and are essentially being paid by the Norwegian government to attend classes and therefore have little incentive to learn quickly. This sounds pretty racist when I put it down in black and white (it also sounds rather black and white), and I am just reporting what I've been told, and haven't witnessed myself. But it does make me wonder if my expectations for these courses are way too high.

In the meantime we've come up with a few alternatives, with suggestions from other English speakers who have successfully learned the Norwegian language in Norway. I'll continue to hit the books at home; we'll actually try to watch more TV--Norwegian TV, and hopefully with subtitles; listen to the radio, even if it's just background noise; read newspapers and magazines; and finally, go to a 3rd grade elementary school class!

This last suggestion was made by at least two American friends now living in Norway, and was made possible by one of Erik's colleagues who has a 3rd grader at a local school. The school is an "open school", which quite honestly I don't know what that means, aside from the fact that parents are welcome to visit as much as they wish. The 3rd grade teacher, who I will call A., was very open to the idea of me coming. So last Friday, I attended my first day of Norwegian 3rd grade.

Those are some smart little Norwegian kids. Their Norwegian is so good! They speak so quickly! ARG! Maybe I need a remedial 1st grade class!

I've attended about 4 days (only 2-3 hours a day) of school thus far, and I can understand the jest of the topic of conversation, but not usually the details that are rather important. Such as "students. . . conjugated verb. . . book. . . . you can. . . . table.  .  . conjugated verb. . . lunchtime. . . . red car." It's very overwhelming, even though there are absolutely no expectations that I do anything. I've listened to a morning theme discussion about Hindu-people and how they pick a baby's name, the Stoneage people and what the first housepets were (goats and pigs, in case you're wondering), math class about volume, learning to write a cursive "R" and "r", and crafts where they sewed a button onto a felt pouch they had made and braided a handle. That was the first time I felt I could actually communicate with some of the kids.

Erik and I plan on visiting the learning center soon, and make a personal plea to let me join the second level class, letting them know that there is essentially a job awaiting me as soon as my Norwegian is "okay". We're hopeful this might melt their icy Nordic hearts.

Tour of our (rented) house

Living room #1 and #2

And now for a tour of our home. 


I want you to make note of a few things before we get started here. 

1. We are renting this home for one year. We have not bought it. We could not afford to buy it. We can barely afford to rent it!
2. This is not a typical "rental", nor, in my limited experience, is it a typical Norwegian home. 
3. Whatever home we buy will in no way be able to match this home in space, view, bedrooms, storage, etc.

aka "playroom" or "TV room"

As we were making our preparations to move to Norway, finding suitable housing was a huge challenge. Erik’s employer doesn’t typically hire ex-pats, so they were not accustomed to finding housing for their new employees. We were on our own.

We didn’t feel like our housing needs were that unreasonable: minimum 2 bedrooms, storage for outdoor gear, and dog-friendly. As it turns out, Lillehammer has a very tight rental market, in part due to the college in town and students filling every available rental. Or what is left is college-student grade rentals. In other words: bleech.

View from playroom into living room

In May we had verbally committed to renting a 2 bedroom home across the river/lake in Vingnes that we had found on the internet. It was very clean, modern, efficient, dog friendly. . . with NO storage. Not even a covered parking spot to store bikes. As the contents of our home were loaded into a 40ft. shipping container, we became more and more nervous about where our belongings would actually go once they arrived in Norway.

Fireplace room, where pioneer action happens

The day after our life’s possessions disappeared in the shipping container we saw THIS house on the internet. We knew we had to rent it. Erik immediately called the owner, and within 10 minutes it was “ours”. 

We feel soooo fortunate for so many reasons.

1.        FIVE bedrooms. We use two. But have room for guests!
2.          Owners are lending us their spare car! We didn’t have to buy a car when we arrived!
3.          Our dog has space to run and sniff and explore and lounge and survey.
4.          So much storage—closets galore, two barns and a garage, a basement.
5.         Tremendous views of the valley and Lillehammer.
6.          Darling home, cozy, warm, inviting. Feels homey. Our stuff blends in perfectly.
7.      Can walk/run/bike to Greta’s barnehage on maintained dirt roads in under 10 minutes. And we randomly got placed at this barnehage before we knew where we were living—and it’s the closest one. Amazing luck.
8.         Property backs up against the lighted ski trails, which connect to the Olympic Birkebeiner ski trails.
9.     The owners had apparently had inquiries from dozens and dozens of people wanting to rent it, and he turned them away (college students, athletes). But we were a family, with a kid going to his kids’ school, and he knew people who worked with Erik, and. . .  here we are!

Dining room (with landlord's hutch  

Hallway of doors and mirrors
(and closets)

View of kitchen from dining room

Kitchen, with enormous fridge in the corner

Greta's cozy room

Lovely bathroom (with
heated floors)

Our bedroom, with door to back deck

Heavenly walk-in closet
and view into hallway

Stairs to upstairs, door to right into
front hall, door to left into kitchen

Front hall (also with heated floors) and too many
hooks for people like us who have too many coats

Front hall, view into laundry room

Photo Essay: What I did this summer

It takes approximately 4- 6 weeks for a container of household goods to be shipped from Vermont to Norway. We decided that the easiest transition for our little family was to maintain consistency by plopping ourselves down in essentially one location: Minnesota. Minnesota is home to both sets of parents/grandparents, who would welcome all 4 of us for as long as we needed a place to stay. 

Greta and Erik visiting
Great-Oma Stange

After a quick tour of Princeton, New Jersey, where we visited Greta's Great-grandmother, she and I flew from the Princeton area (Pennsylvania, actually) to Minnesota, while Erik and Tika drove the trusty Subaru.

Greta and Tika in the backseat of a very full Subaru

We picked strawberries, 

went canoeing,

played on the beach, 

hung out with Minnesota friends, 

and Minnesota grandparents, 

took side trips to Texas to visit college roomies, 

and to Washington DC to visit Uncle Jeremy and Amber*.   And that is how we spent our summer vacation. 

*My apologies to J&A, as I do not have a picture of us all on this computer. Stay tuned.

New Appliances: Updated List

When we left the US, we had to leave behind loads of electric appliances that we couldn't use in Norway (TV, DVD, stero, alarm clocks, microwave, blender, food processor, slow cooker, toaster oven, hair dryer). Some we were happy to leave--our vacuum cleaner, for example. Others, like our trusty $20 garage sale coffee/espresso machine, were harder to part with.

We've been lucky that the home we are renting has a number of appliances in it that we can use, so we haven't had to rush out and buy a TV, stereo, toaster, washer/dryer, vacuum cleaner.

But, in case you wish to psychoanalyze our priorities and deep-seeded needs, here is what we felt we needed to buy, in order of their purchase.

1. Hair dryer and Alarm Clock (3 days into our stay)
2. Baby monitor (1 week into our stay)
3.  Cell phones (we don't have a land line)
4.  Espresso machine (used, and not working well)
5.  Microwave (5 weeks into our stay)
6.  Electric toothbrush, iron, and. . . anyone care to guess what this is?

To be continued. . . .

Week One: Settling right in

Believe it or not, the view from our deck. 

Our first morning in Lillehammer

Sitting on moss, "fishing"

We arrived in Lillehammer around 5pm, just Erik, Greta and me. After a quick dinner, Greta and I were in bed by 8pm, and slept soundly through the night.

The next two nights weren't quite so easy for either of us. Both Greta and I woke around midnight, and were up for quite a while. This persisted for a few days for me, but after the third night in Norway, Greta's sleep schedule seemed to normalize.

We spent our first full day in Lillehammer, a Sunday, enjoying the perfectly beautiful weather. We walked just a quarter mile up the road to the trails that Erik and I had hiked on 3 years ago. We found some blueberries, and enjoyed a little time by the lake. We missed the energy of Tika around the house, but she would be joining us soon.

Picking blueberries with Pappa

Monday: the Day We Sell the House

 Greta and I hop on the train in Essex Junction at 9am sharp, and enjoy a leisurely 11 hr train ride to New Jersey. Erik is in Thetford, VT, about 20 minutes from our house, and finishes returns to the house to finish some last minute straightening up.  The closing is scheduled for 11am. I’ve already signed Power of Attorney papers—oh yeah—did that on Friday along with the other important errands.


Around 9:30am, I get a phone call from Rowan, our realtor, saying that the money wire hasn’t gone through, and they want to delay the closing until 1pm. Erik has a 6 hr drive to make to NJ, and now needs to make a detour into Queens, in order to pick me up in Trenton by 8pm.


About an hour later, Erik calls me with the following news items

·      The closing has been postponed until 1pm, but that’s ok

·      Uncle Tom, in Princeton, will pick me and Greta up in Trenton

·      He needs the extra time because the ammonia filled ziploc bag we were using to clean the stove-top thingies leaked on our butcher block table, and so the table top needed some sanding and possibly refinishing

·      The upstairs toilet had a leaky pipe, which leaked into the downstairs bathroom ceiling, requiring the ceiling to be opened up, and the toilet attended to by a plumber!

·      He would be meeting me in at the WRJ train station in 20 minutes with a car seat so Greta could safely ride with Uncle Tom.

·      He needed the extra time to pack, since we had so much crap to bring to Queens and then to MN, that fitting it all into the Subaru was going to require some very creative packing.


In the end, the closing goes down without a hitch, although our buyer is very nervous about the toilet leaking. Our realtor deposits our check, which essentially bounces a few days later, because the issuing bank required both mine and Erik’s signatures, and only had Erik’s. It is being mailed to us—to our PO Box in Wilder—meaning it will then get forwarded to us in Minnesota, but we have yet to see it.

Erik makes it through Queens and to the warehouse, drops off our multitude of treasures, and continues on to New Jersey. But not until he crosses the George Washington Bridge into NJ, misses the exit off the bridge, decides the best option is to cross back into NYC to take the bridge out of the city a second time, this time knowing when and where the exit is. Turns out, it is free to leave NYC on the GWB, but it costs you $8 to return back into the city.


He arrives in Princeton around 11:30pm, where Greta and I landed in a hotel room about 2 hrs earlier. Tika is relieved to be reunited with her whole family, as are we.

The Morning After: the internet saves the day

 The night of the move, I slept so poorly. I tossed and turned, worrying about all the stuff left behind and how this was all going to it into a 2 bedroom house with no storage, uncomfortable on the rock-hard guest bed, Tika pacing nervously around the bedroom, and then Greta woke at about 1am, and was awake—tearful and clingy—for nearly 2 hrs.

We brought her to daycare for one last day that Friday morning, nearly breaking my heart on the way imploring, “I want to go hooooome, Mama. I want go to hooome!” Tika was still rather anxious and clingy herself, and we brought her along with us to the house.  Our goal was this: it’s Friday—we have one day to clean this house with no child underfoot. We want to be in Burlington by the evening to spend Saturday and Sunday with friends, because by Monday at 10am, we will be closing on the house.

Erik jumped into the cleaning and organizing of the leftovers, and I ran a few last minute errands around the Upper Valley. You know, important stuff like depositing $1.63 in pennies into our bank account, and getting that $3 dividend from selling Greta’s baby bathtub on consignment. And about $25 of consignment money from the Pink Alligator. That was actually worth it.

Back at the house, I take in all that was left behind by our Professional International Movers in their rush to get the hell out of Vermont:  two large, framed posters, all our laundry supplies, a large solid butcher block cutting board, our tea kettle—sitting on the stovetop, my Cookie Monster cookie jar, 4 nested ceramic bowls, the entire contents of our spice rack, numerous cooking/baking supplies, curtains in the kitchen (OK, not so obvious), our shower curtain, my yoga mat in my handknit yoga bag, formal dresses hanging in a dry-cleaning bag behind a door, and several jars of jams and local maple syrup (very important to us “Vermonters”). Basically—LOTS of stuff that was important to us!  I was so furious. That is not to mention the mess that the movers left behind—empty rolls of packing tape and packing paper and packing materials—stuff that our contract said would be cleaned up when they left.

And then there’s the stuff that we made split-second, last minute decisions NOT to move, and now had to find homes for: namely a double mattress/box spring set, and a small kitchen table/desk, and numerous yard tools.

We post the mattress on Craig’s List (it’s worked so well thus far) stating it was rarely used (from our guest room), great condition, must pick up TODAY and was Best Offer. By the afternoon, a woman from Portsmouth (2 hrs away) takes it for $75, along with an additional $20 for the table, which she didn’t even know she needed.

Our day is looking up.

Earlier in the day, Erik and I were looking at the piles of garbage cans and bags that were going to require us driving to the dump (we do not have city garbage service in Wilder), using up at least 30 minutes our of our precious cleaning time. But, as we take in that sight, I spot a privately owned dump truck pull into our neighbor’s driveway across the street to pick up his garbage. Hmmmmm. Erik runs across the street, asks the man if he’d mind making a few bucks off of our garbage, and $6 later, we’re free of our pile and with 30 extra minutes on our hands.  

Again: our day is looking up.

As Erik posted our mattress to Craig’s List, he quickly browses the Norwegian website for all homes for rent or sale. He discovers that a beautiful 4-bedroom house (for rent) that we had considered but decided was too expensive had dropped its rent into our price range. Or at least into our price range of what the 2-bedroom rental plus a storage facility that we were realizing we would need would cost us.  We decide on the spot that we need to back out of our other rental agreement (verbal only, no papers signed, no monies exchanged) and rent this house. Erik immediately does a Skype phone call to Thorstein, the owner, and within 10 minutes, we have agreed to rent his home, available August 1.  Our day is sooooo looking up.

In our final coup, as Erik and I discussed how to best handle our complaint and concerns with our moving coordinator, Joy (do I take a bitchy angry approach, or a sugary sweet approach, and who places the call?), Joy herself calls us! Taking me a bit off guard, I’m able to just lay it all out very honestly—our disappointment in how the job ended, the rush at their “end of the day”, the numerous items that were left behind, and the lack of any walk-through for us to agree that “yes, in fact, you have everything”. 

Joy was very apologetic, and also disappointed in her “favorite crew”. She pledged to only charge us half of the extra cubic footage (which ehhh, I’m still not sure if that’s entirely fair)—although this is something that she put out there even before she heard what happened as the crew left. But we also agreed that Erik would drive the remaining items bound for Norway down to their warehouse in the Bronx, NY on his way to Princeton NJ on Monday, and they would be included in our shipment at no extra charge. 

Again, our day is looking way way up.

I’ll stop there, for Friday. We get the house within an hour or two of being clean, rescue Greta from daycare at 5pm sharp, and hit the road for Burlington (Tika being left behind at The Ranch, aka doggie daycare, for the weekend). We have a relaxing weekend with Scott, Artemis and 18 month-old Antigone, and I decide that Greta and I will stay an additional night and instead catch the train from Burlington on Monday morning at 9am, instead of driving back to the Upper Valley Sunday night, only to catch an 11am train in White River. 

Wednesday: The Day Before the Movers Come

Since we had hired professional movers to not only move us, but also to pack us, very little was required of us in terms of packing ahead of time. However, we were warned by friends who have “been moved” to be very aware of what’s packed—because everything will be packed, including your packed bag for vacation, or your car keys for your car, or the dirty Kleenex  in your garbage can. We took every picture off the wall, placed them in one location, emptied drawers of stuff, gathered breakables in one location, gave away contents of our refrigerator, did loads of laundry, emptied the attic of junk, taking many trips to Listen, our local Salvation Army, moved several piles of stuff into the basement, which we dubbed “the  sanctuary” because anything in the basement was off-limits to the movers, and would be brought to Minnesota. We packed our bags for the next 6-8 weeks, and I did what seemed like a very important task—refilling every somewhat empty spice container with the bulk spices from the co-op.

The great stress of the day occurred when Joy, our moving coordinator from the moving company, called around 1pm to remind us about paying the bill tomorrow. Oh yeah, that minor detail. Crap. Honestly, that was kind of something we had forgotten about: That minor $12,000 bill. The move was going to be paid for by Erik’s company, NINA, but I wasn’t part of those discussions, and it seemed that the payment was likely going to come in the for of reimbursement. I was informed that we could pay via personal check, bank wire, money order/transfer, but not credit card.

Well, this might require some major shuffling, and a quick call to ING (our online banking) informed me that if I set up a checking account with them—right then and there—and applied for the money order before 2pm, then they could have the money to the movers by the next day. This was at 1:40pm. I had 20 minutes. And that would only be half the money we needed, the other half being in other accounts.

I am freaking out.  In walks Erik, fresh from his last moments in the woodshop finishing up a very last minute project. Not a good combination.

Cooler heads prevail, phone calls are placed, and we are loaned the money from a generous family member, who will be reimbursed by NINA, of course. Maybe in the form of plane tickets to Norway, totaling $12,000, but still paid back nonetheless. Only kidding.

Minor crisis adverted, but I am still irked that we weren’t reminded a little sooner than 18 hours before the movers come just how much money they are expecting in their hands. I’m also remembering reading something, somewhere about tipping the movers—how much is customary, etc. I remind myself to look this up. Care to guess? $6-8/hr per mover! The movers call that afternoon, and tell me they expect 4-6 guys to come, to arrive between 8 and 10am and to pack for “a full day”. “What does this mean exactly?” I ask. The response was, “If we arrive around 9, probably until 6 or 7”. That’s a long day, and a big tip.  I continue to remind myself, “it’s just money, it’s just money”.

            I add, “go to the bank for cash” to my Thursday To-Do list.

The Great Honda Civic Hybrid Escapade

While the selling of our Civic Hybrid initially brought great relief in last our week in Vermont, you will eventually see how it eventually played a big role in the craziness of the move.

16 months ago, we bought a 2003 Honda Civic Hybrid for $11,000. It was a nice little tan car, getting about 45MPG, with tinted windows that we found especially helpful when driving with a young tot in the back seat. We bought it rather impulsively, when Erik’s 1993 Accord died a deserved death with 250+K miles on it. We thought “we like Hondas, we are environmentalists, we will buy a hybrid”. A quick search on Craig’s List found one for sale in Burlington, and off we went.

16 months later, we need to unload two cars as we head to Norway. Norway has incredible import taxes on cars: 105% of the value of the car. Neither one of our cars, the hybrid, nor our 1999 Subaru Forester are worth that. We’ll buy a new (ish) one in Norway. Additionally, we have a large (ish) dog: 80lbs of Weimaraner/Lab muscle who requires special space in our vehicle. The Honda won’t cut it, and the Subaru is too old.

 So, we’ll sell the Honda, and drive the Subaru to Minnesota for our month long stateside furlough, with the dog riding shotgun (the rest of the car filled with possessions that will be filling my in-laws last remaining corner in the basement).

As I said, 16 months later, in May 2010, our 2003 Hybrid is now worth $8500, or so says the Blue Book. We think we have two potential buyers—one Dartmouth med student, who backs out when she finds out on an Internet search that 2003 Honda Hybrids have transmission problems. We haven’t had any transmission problems, so we aren’t too worried.  In preparation for our second potential buyer—one of Erik’s fellow ecology grad students—we take the Honda to the dealer to run a 40-point inspection to prove it is a solid car. The report comes back with it passing 39 points, but the 40^th is that it needs the start up clutch re-burnished. Our second buyer looks through our records (something we haven’t exactly had time to do) and points out that this procedure was actually done back in August, 2009. 

A quick call to Honda tells us that if you’ve already reburnished the clutch once, that the next step is to actually . . . replace the transmission. And a new transmission will cost us  . . . . $4900. Keep in mind our car is worth only $8500.

Our second buyer backs out, not to our surprise. We are beginning to freak out—with our movers arriving in approximately a week—and consider the possibilities of parking our Lemon in our friend’s driveways, having them sell it, donating it to charity, or perhaps staging a major accident. Has anyone ever prayed that their car just get totaled?

Instead, on a Saturday morning we list it on Craig’s List for $3500—5K off our original asking price—and clearly state that the car “needs transmission work”, with every intent that we will explain the necessary work over the phone once the potential buyer has been intrigued enough to call.  Within 30 minutes of placing the online ad, Leon, a Russian from Albany NY (3 hrs away) calls me, begging me not to sell it to anyone else. His other car was totaled, he needs a car for work, he has cash, he will come that DAY and buy it. We get at least 3 other phone calls with the HOUR, and several emails, and Leon calls at least a half-dozen times to confirm that we have not sold it, and are holding it for him.  I am VERY clear with Leon that this car will eventually need $5000 worth of work done to it, but yes, the car does seem to run just fine now.

 While I was not privy to the actual interaction or transaction between Erik and Leon the Russian, a quick peak out the window as I put Greta down to bed at 7:30pm confirms most of what Erik and our friend Chad reported. Leon and his Russian-only speaking friend arrive, resplendent in very Eastern Bloc style dress, converse quickly in Russian, turn the car on, lift the hood, but do not test drive it. They give Erik $3500 in cash (Erik checks each bill for a watermark secretly in the house before handing over the title), and they sign a Bill of Sale provided by the Vermont DMV website, including a mileage statement.  A bit of foreshadowing: Leon elects not to sign the title when we give it to him, stating he might have his wife sign it instead. Doesn’t seem like a big deal to us, but whatever . . . . We wonder out loud what kind of shady deal this car is going to be a part of in the future, but for now it’s sold, and we have bigger things to worry about and at least $3500 in our pocket.