My Norwegian-American Experience
"Er du rusukute, Bestefar?" ("Are you out of your mind, Grandpa?") was my shocked response when, as a 4-year old who wouldn't go to bed, I stood halfway up the stairway and noticed that my grandfather, at the bottom of the stairway, was holding a spanking stick behind his back! I was later assured that this was a very clever statement--for a 4-year old!
Until the age of 7, I Heard Norwegian spoken constantly. From family and friends. Then we moved into a predominantly German community and Norwegian was put on the back burner of my mind.
It wasn't until I had spent many years of work in Japan that I was once again in touch with the language of my childhood.
Two aunts, my Seattle cousin Arlene, and I went on an adventurous trip to the land of my father's parents and Mother's birth. It was June, a beautiful time to be in Norway.
Primarily, I was struck with the clean, orderly, attractive homes, often complete with beautiful handmade furniture. This is a land of competent carpenters. Colorful flowering plants graced picturesque windowsills. And long lace-covered tables, artfully set with delicate china, held delicious meals. Fish and salads, I decided, were greatly responsible for the trim physique of these gracious people.
One night Arlene and I decided to explore the countryside. Though it was nearly 11 P.M., it was still broad daylight. This was, after all, the "Land of the Rising Sun." We took a winding road up a hill from which we could survey the luscious, green valley where we stayed. It looked as though an outdoor manicurist had just finished his job. In fact, neatness pervaded most every place I saw. I remember even seeing curtains on a barn window!
But it was after I settled in between the unique, white fluffy down coverlets for sleep that I faced my biggest problem and became very troubled! Why couldn't I speak Norwegian? I understood a lot of what was said and even translated for Arlene, sometimes, but not one word would come out when I needed it. I had been face to face with people, but frustratingly, couldn't pull out the right words and sentences to carry on a conversation.
It was then I realized that my Norwegian was buried under not only English, but Japanese, which I use for my work in Tokyo.
Still, as I lay quietly night after night, I found that my mind had been activated and was digging up the long-hidden words I knew as a child. I began to form full sentences--there in the darkness where I didn't need them!
I finally came to a realistic conclusion: I didn't need to speak Norwegian for my work on an every day basis, but I also reassured myself that if I had 6 months in Norway, I could become quite proficient in the language.
It's a great heritage, this Norwegian-American Experience. Two of the best combinations and I'm proud of both. Thanks to my Mom and Dad!
Until the age of 7, I Heard Norwegian spoken constantly. From family and friends. Then we moved into a predominantly German community and Norwegian was put on the back burner of my mind.
It wasn't until I had spent many years of work in Japan that I was once again in touch with the language of my childhood.
Two aunts, my Seattle cousin Arlene, and I went on an adventurous trip to the land of my father's parents and Mother's birth. It was June, a beautiful time to be in Norway.
Primarily, I was struck with the clean, orderly, attractive homes, often complete with beautiful handmade furniture. This is a land of competent carpenters. Colorful flowering plants graced picturesque windowsills. And long lace-covered tables, artfully set with delicate china, held delicious meals. Fish and salads, I decided, were greatly responsible for the trim physique of these gracious people.
One night Arlene and I decided to explore the countryside. Though it was nearly 11 P.M., it was still broad daylight. This was, after all, the "Land of the Rising Sun." We took a winding road up a hill from which we could survey the luscious, green valley where we stayed. It looked as though an outdoor manicurist had just finished his job. In fact, neatness pervaded most every place I saw. I remember even seeing curtains on a barn window!
But it was after I settled in between the unique, white fluffy down coverlets for sleep that I faced my biggest problem and became very troubled! Why couldn't I speak Norwegian? I understood a lot of what was said and even translated for Arlene, sometimes, but not one word would come out when I needed it. I had been face to face with people, but frustratingly, couldn't pull out the right words and sentences to carry on a conversation.
It was then I realized that my Norwegian was buried under not only English, but Japanese, which I use for my work in Tokyo.
Still, as I lay quietly night after night, I found that my mind had been activated and was digging up the long-hidden words I knew as a child. I began to form full sentences--there in the darkness where I didn't need them!
I finally came to a realistic conclusion: I didn't need to speak Norwegian for my work on an every day basis, but I also reassured myself that if I had 6 months in Norway, I could become quite proficient in the language.
It's a great heritage, this Norwegian-American Experience. Two of the best combinations and I'm proud of both. Thanks to my Mom and Dad!
posted by Lila @ 12:27 PM
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