Tag Archives: Norway

Norwegian Legacy Beehive

21 May IMG_6089 - Version 3

This is my legacy. My Norwegian legacy beehive. My mom (a sweetheart and a good sport who has let me be a knuckle-head my whole life) has been wearing her hair like this for as long as anyone can remember. I decided that maybe now, on my most recent visit to her childhood home in Norway, would be a good time to have her pass down the comb and show me how to put my hair up the way she does.

Before beehive or what I think of as B.B.

After Beehive or A.B.

I set up the camera in what is now a hallway but was my mom’s bedroom, where she started making her hair so high all those years ago and my sister Chris managed the filming. (Thank you Chris and nice job.) You will see a painting of my mom at 17, that my dad had a portrait studio in Cherry Hill NJ paint of her, his sweetheart, that hangs in her home that she left 46 years ago. Oh, and that good-looking guy at the end is my cousin Anita’s husband Chriss. (Thank you Chriss.) And, of course thank you Lisa for your wonderful editing!

Let me tell you how I came to be, how my mom ended up leaving Norway to live in NJ. My dad at 26, while eating a can of Norwegian sardines, decided to ship his Cadillac to Norway and ride around the countryside. This was 1964, before Norway was rich with oil and according to him, his was the first Cadillac to touch pavement there. His Pan Am ticket’s flight and seat information was filled in with pencil. He met my mom on a tourist boat, the Skibladner, that traveled up the fjord lake Mjøsa. She was selling candy and was 17. He came to visit her once more and then came back a third time and they were married where the painting now hangs. I am the product of my father eating sardines on his lunch break, daydreaming and staring at the picture on the can of sardines and how dreams and motivations can come out of anything and anywhere. I like that.

If you live in the Philadelphia area and like to film and edit and enjoy MQA, please contact me. I’m eternally trying to assemble a crew for this project that resembles the kids from Goonies. And I have a zillion more three-minute films, more than a cat lady’s coin purse of pennies, that are waiting in my mind to be made. All are welcome.

© Mad Question Asking – 2012 All Rights Reserved

Her Whiteness

3 May Nordicism, bottled and sold.

Being in Scandinavia last week and being intentionally conscious of my white skin was different from past visits when I was not paying attention to it. During the two days I was bathing in the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, I only saw one black woman, two black men and maybe half a dozen Indian men. I was at the airport in Reykjavik three times in eight days and it was a busy sea of very tall white people. I am 5′ 10″ and was average height in this crowd, I’ll admit it made me feel something I wasn’t expecting, to not be the tallest gal in the room.

It’s really white in Iceland. If you’re paying attention to your whiteness, it’s weird. Or not, I know not every developed spot on Earth is going to be a kaleidoscope of color, and probably not this isolated northern island that doesn’t even have trees. But I truly wonder who besides the minority in the room or the ones filled with hate are paying attention to it? Are you paying attention to how racially mixed your surroundings are? Does it matter or mean anything to you?

Two summers ago I started to pay a lot of attention to it. I realized that every summer I’d spent in Mt. Desert Island ME for the bulk of my life, was a place with mostly white tourists or visitors. That summer, the same summer the Obama family came for holiday, I started to look around and spotted almost no nonwhite people. Except the very dark Caribbean workers shipped up from Florida hotels to work in Maine hotels in the summer. I started a head count at every regular spot I frequent that summer, from the Opera House Cafe where I drink bad coffee and check my email, to Sherman’s where I buy books and counted almost no nonwhite people. Millions of people descend on this island every summer, but according to the statistics running in Ingrid’s mind, the guests were 95% white.

Besides fairly regular incidents of stereotyping (the bitchy cousin of racism) for being part Italian, I had been living a white life for so long I didn’t consciously even think about it, thinking that because I am not racist that I got a pass but what the hell? Part of my life is spent in all white places? What does that mean? Is it like the pat-yourself-on-the-back wealthy liberal towns with great schools and picturesque holiday parades that only have mostly white residents? These places are everywhere, in every state, I live next to two such towns. It’s plain exclusionary and full of intentional, silent or unconscious racism.

Why do we want so badly to be with look-a-likes? Does it feel like something, is the difference in our skin tone filled with fear? Fear of what? Is it a conscious thought? Is it biology? Is there nature involved? Jesus, that sounds creepy and hitleresque even to write down. But for all the colonialism, genocide, racial superiority and skin lightening cremes I just want to really fucking understand why it’s all so. Why do hate and racism exist?

It was a bit frustrating to be in Norway last week and not be able to watch the Breivik trial because the news is in Norwegian, a language I don’t speak. (Norwegian is just not a language that you hear spoken in NJ, perhaps if I’d grown up in parts of Brooklyn or Minnesota I’d be fluent.) There was also no wi-fi at my grandmom’s house, so I just did a lot of question asking instead, and this is what I gathered. But I need to give you some back story.

So Norway is a rich (like crazy fourth richest country in the world rich) socialist country. Their money coming from owning a lion’s share of the world’s oil, every citizen a trust-fund kid to one of the richest parents on Earth. They believe in equal, for the most part, distribution of wealth. It’s frowned upon and also hard to become that much wealthier than your neighbor. This of course works really well if your population is small, for them five million people. The average income is 55k a year, everybody has an education and fab healthcare. Every citizen is taken care of very well.

I think in this environment the Norwegians have set up a sort of utopia or experiment by way of ideals. I think that Norway and its ideals vs. Breivik (his trial, its outcome and the whole story) may be a case of chicken/ egg. Norway is a non-violent, very intellectual place and he could just be a one-off, or did these utopian ideals of equality create a monster of such freakish proportions? One who killed 77 people, mostly children?

Most interesting, true to the non-violent and intellectual beliefs of Norway’s people, from what I gathered, Breivik is getting some public sympathy. For being human. It was explained to me like this. The Norwegian news has been reporting and watching his every move. Questioning what it means if his left hand touches the right side of his nose. And I was told that all this minute detail is forcing some Norwegians to see him in a humanistic way and creating sympathy for him. This feeling is not about his crime. For some people this may be impossible to understand, in particular Americans. But with Norway’s commitment to non-violence and humanitarianism I can see how they’d feel this, the ones who do. He is a human being, a terrible one, but human none the less. I found this so fascinating, like being in the future, or in a book. His sentence and trial an experiment, so different from the barbaric way the rest of the world would deal with a barbaric criminal of this type. But I wonder, when it comes down to basic human nature, is this utopian country a model that would even work anywhere else, will it work in Norway? Or is Breivik showing the very hidden extreme side of nationalistic nordicism, possibly a feeling many have?

Nordicism, bottled and sold.

There’s more.

I started to think about love when I was rolling the idea of hating a person based solely on their skin color, religion or origin around in my mind. (When I don’t understand a perspective, I try with all my might to wrap my head around it, get deep inside it, usually sitting in a chair lost for an hour.) Maybe hate works just like love? Maybe the mechanics are the same. It’s easy to love your family, children or friends. You have a history with them, it grew. Same way hate for family and friends can show up, history. But to love or hate a person (with little or no history present), type of person or group of people is maybe the same too. Love gets a lot of attention in its mystery, um like every song ever written amount of attention. To fall in love with someone you barely know, there is no logic in it, no reason. But still it exists quite powerfully in you, physically visible to the outside world, even glowing off of you, and that power of deep feelings overrides reason and logic. Maybe feeling hate is the same? Maybe the feeling is as powerful and mysterious as falling in love? Maybe it swells inside of you with no logic present and forces you to behave irrationally. Just like the fool in love?

I may never understand what I believe is the complex stupidity that is hate and racism but I want to. My good friend Anjali and I talk about this topic all the time. We even joke that it’s an awesome hobby we have, albeit strange.

I wish more people would want to understand racism, really deeply think about it. I think the hoodie nonsense in FL was a perfect example of just how unwilling we are, as a society, to talk about what’s really happening. The moronic hoodie sound bite told me a couple of things. One was that as a society, the level of critical thinking is startlingly shallow and in this kids case, life-cheapening. I kept wondering if he had his pants below his ass, instead of a hoodie over his head, if celebrities would have been photographed like that or would society have silently agreed he had it coming to him? And to be just so plain dumb to get swept up in a story about a hoodie, and talk about that, because it is just to uncomfortable to address what really lurks in our minds. If we did talk about racism, maybe than we could get past it. Maybe.

© Mad Question Asking – 2012 All Rights Reserved

On Wool

21 Apr Dope wool sneakers

Dear Wool, you are misunderstood by this modern world, with its forced hot air heating and thoughtless disposable clothing purchases. Seems as though people living today don’t even know that the reason you keep a hat on and button your coat is to protect your head and heart, they would never understand something as practical and old-fashioned as you. This world doesn’t remember that you last forever, keeping me so warm when wrapped tight. And like all things that are worth loving, a little itching or discomfort presents itself first, but fades. The feeling of not being cold is long remembered after you’ve had the shelter of a hand-made Norwegian sweater.

My 30-year-old sweater, good as new, my daughter wore it to school last week.

When I was a kid we had wool everything. This seemed to be one of the few things my mother brought along with her 18-year-old self from Norway, that she was going to pass on as tradition. Well, besides being open-minded in a way I don’t know anyone else ever being. I’ve never heard my mom remark about someone’s race, looks, income, nothing like that. She did once, on me complaining about my daughter’s dance teacher lacking charm, say “Ingrid, she is a Burlington County woman.” I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair.

Dope wool sneakers

My Grandmother's Socks and Mittens

I still have all the sweaters I was knit as a kid, my daughters wear them now. My grandmother knits daily, she has hundreds of socks and mittens. She sells them in one of my favorite shops, in my mom’s hometown that is an hour outside of Oslo, it’s called Handverkstua and they sell crafts made by the town’s seniors. I like everything about that store, beautiful hand-carved framed mirrors, doll clothes, and hand-tooled leather belts with embossed motorcycles on them, even though I’m sure the items sold there would be the equivalent to craft afghan blankets here. I once bought a knit stuffed black cat that my grandmother’s friend, Aslaug made and on hearing of the purchase, Aslaug was beside herself at the transatlantic honor bestowed her knit cat. This cat was going to America. I imagined arriving at Newark Int’l Airport with a sea of Etsy chicks before me, half of them midwestern, warm and chubby, the other half Park Slope moms screaming with Beatlemania for Aslaug’s cat.

Rest in Peace Aslaug

© Mad Question Asking – 2012 All Rights Reserved

Hello Norway

19 Apr Serious Ingrid eugenics-reading face. That is one big dark book.

I’ll be in Iceland and then Norway all next week, and my visit coincides with the Anders Behring Breivik trial that just began.

Racism fascinates me to no end, and I will say that Nordicism, the ideology of racial supremacy or a master race, will weigh heavy on my mind as I watch the reactions to the trial. I wonder, how do Norwegians really feel about race?

I did a racism round table in my home a few months back and what I got out of it was that as a white woman, I have no idea what it is like to experience differential treatment on a day-to-day basis because of what I look like. Three of the participants in the round table were not white and when I said I felt superior but it wasn’t because I was white (I meant because I think I may be the missing link between man and woman, but so far nobody will co-sign this theory, I’m guessing because I have no boy-parts but I mean that my mind is just not very girly) the reply I got was, well you will never know. Meaning I don’t walk into a room or a store or a doctor’s office and get treated like a second class citizen because of the amount of melanin in my skin.

This was very confronting for me, it made me see I may walk around not having to feel something very ugly, and maybe it did have something to do with my sense of freedom and self-esteem. It took a minute to sink in, because since I am not racist and don’t know anyone who is a blatant racist, I wouldn’t think it was a day-to-day offense, sometimes subtle in its ugliness. But according to my friends who were at my round table, all with master’s degrees, one who is a physician, it is a daily occurrence for them, to be treated a certain way because they were not white. This blew my mind, but what really blew me away, was that when I shared this with other white friends, a few of them sort of dismissed these stories, saying maybe they were being over-sensitive. Wow, to straight-up deny someone’s perspective and personal story is to me maybe the biggest offense of all. The bigger wow part was that most of the white friends who had this response grew up privileged in all white communities, places they said they never heard anyone speak like a racist. Well I have to point out the obvious, if you live somewhere and everybody looks the same, of course you are not going to hear racism. But if like in Norway’s case, you open the northern socialist gates of asylum and welcome in hundreds of thousands of refugees with dark eyes, skin and hair, who are suddenly dating your daughter or getting a job you want, then I guess racism and superiority would show up. It certainly did for Anders Behring Breivik.

I wonder if Norwegians feel a sense of superiority in being considered a master race? An underlying feeling of self-worth? Or as my friends suggested, a deep unconscious sense of security that comes with being white? Do all white people feel this?

Serious Ingrid eugenics-reading face. That is one big dark book.

This trip also coincides with me reading Edwin Black’s War Against the Weak- Eugenics and America’s Campaign to Create a Master Race. I will not only be playing cards with my 86-year-old grandmother all week but doing some heavy thinking on race.

I want to tell you I personally have a bone to pick with that bastard Breivik. I was so excited to watch Rupert Murdoch’s family empire go up in flames or at least half a summer’s worth of juicy news and then wham! out-of-nowhere, like the devil’s hand maiden himself, this nutjob Breivik stole the whole show. And the Murdoch story disappeared. Poof! Gone. I remember questioning if Rupert Murdoch himself somehow timed that whole thing or was the devil himself and just with a snap of his fingers made it so.

 

© Mad Question Asking – 2012 All Rights Reserved

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