This morning I found a pen and funky post-it notepad next to our workplace coffee machine. Unlike normal post-it notes, this pad is made up of four colors in narrow strips that peel off individually, probably for writing phone numbers down. While filling my morning cup with barely palatable coffee I wrote on two of the strips the words hiiri (mouse) and sika (pig). Throughout the day, much to my delight, the list has grown. Koira (dog), Pässi (ram), lammas (lamb), and hirvi (moose) have all been added.

Blue skies,
late May.
I'm freezing.


That sums up my Sunday afternoon playing five hours of lousy baseball. I'm always amazed that late May in Finland can be so cold... Ok, not freezing cold, but cold enough to make jackets necessary and still feel chilly.

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Matilda and Owen participated in the Lauttasaari children's Olympics yesterday. Owen competed in the 50m dash (20 sec.), the ball throw (3m, 4m, 3m), and the long jump (86cm). Matilda competed in the 60m dash (12.5 sec.), the ball throw (6m, 7m, 6m), the long jump (238cm), and the 400m run (she finished 7th out of some 15+ kids). The 400m run left her feeling bad, she'd pushed herself too hard. I felt bad that as she approached the finish I'd yelled "Go, Matilda, go! Run harder!" She responded by running harder and finishing the race nicely, despite feeling too strained.

Each kid got a metal, a soda, and a chocolate bar for competing. Owen proudly displayed his Orange Fanta to anyone who'd look, while Matilda was so proud of her metal that she wanted to wear it to school today.

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Yesterday morning Owen drew a car on his hand and a fish on his arm. They were pretty good. I love how well he draws things. Melina looked back at things Matilda drew at 2, but they were just scribbles.

Who says poetry doesn't pay? Thursday morning I discovered that Grasslimb will give me $10 for a poem I wrote. It's a nice gesture since I've never been payed more than a contributor's copy or two. That works out to about $0.34½ per word. I'd offered her longer poems, but the editor went for the pricier one...

Interestingly enough I chose to send my poems to Grasslimb because after randomly searching poetry journals online I noticed she'd published Warren Carrier in a previous issue. I took it as an omen, since he's the only "established poet" I've discussed my work with, and submitted. The poem she picked was the only one in the bunch improved by his editing pen.

I offer you in full, my most expensive text:

Waiting for Winter

I dream it tumbles
to the numb earth,

careless over
the bare branches,
yellow grass.

Soft on the graves,
cold on the roads,
it hides, shows.

Yellow daffodils,
radiant in the spring sun,
bloom early, & then?

But today, at last, it's raining an honest rain. Puddles gather on the factory roof below my office window. Wet cars on wet streets splash water in swollen gutters. I am contently melancholy: nostalgia and longing mingle with the gray clouds, keep time to the humming computers that surround me.

The year's daffodils are gone. Tulips still thrive in shady areas. I imagine the woods full of wild flowers, though they bloom without me. In parts of Finland, blueberry blossoms have frozen, betrayed by an early heat spell.

I've yet to see a swallow, though maybe I haven't looked enough. As I understand it, an ancient Chinese tribe chose swallows as their totem, because their return indicated when the crops should be sown. I am always surprised by their frenzied arrival; more surprised that they seem to have always been there, than that they've come.

Lauttasaari is filled with pheasants. Their grinding cries fill the day. I imagine the wind-up bird each time I hear them.

I'm waiting for mushrooms to come.

The Urhot failed to gather in sufficient numbers yesterday, so our scheduled doubleheader disolved into a few ragged innings of practice ball with the mighty Espoo Expos. It was actually pretty fun. Known more for their fiery take-no-prisoners attitude on the field, these Expos showed a softer side when it didn't matter. It all reminded me of recess baseball in elementary school when we gathered and got in as much baseball as we could before the bell called us back to class.
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Instead, too, I came home early and played whiffleball with the family. We deviced a game for the three of us (Owen didn't play... much), and it was pretty fun. Muscles Melina, with mighty swing, split a ball in two. Matilda got a rythmn going and keep pounding out hits. It was fun, pure and meaningless, the best kind.

As befits the world's worst gift-giver, I did not have a Mother's Day present when Melina woke to Matilda's breakfast preparations on Sunday morning. It's not that I hadn't tried. It's not that I didn't have an opportunity. We'd spent hours on Saturday in stores looking at clothing and things. I'd been sent on an errand to one of the largest malls in the nordic countries Friday after work. I'd even bought a card on that occasion. But when it came to pulling the trigger and buying something, I couldn't.

I went to sleep Saturday night thinking a plant from the flower shop across the street would do. But since it wasn't present immediately, I was emptyhanded as Matilda brought out her card and school-made hand-painted baby-food-jar tea-candle lantern. Given my history of gift-giving failure, it didn't look good.

A word of advice to all fathers out there: Don't appeal to the tyranny of expectations created by this artificial day, which benefits only retailers, etc. It never goes down well.

Truthfully, I've never liked "having to buy" a gift. Sometimes it's a good excuse to get something you've thought about getting, but need an excuse. These holidays give children exciting dates to look forward to, and I like the expectation Matilda displays counting down days until a birthday, name day, Christmas, etc... But if Melina wasn't such a good gift giver, I'd louse up the kids presents, too. Matilda is just as eager to give her school made gifts. I wish I could create something on demand to give as a gift.

The best gift Melina has given me was a set of beautiful blue ink bookplates she drew, basing them on some Chinese drawings. They are amazing. They are packed with our young and artistic dreams then...

Later that afternoon (one potted plant richer), we set off for Sipoo, the Talvitie clan's stomping grounds. The weather verged on hot, the trees are green, and we ate outside Herman and Daniela's (Melina's brother and his wife) home. The kids ran wild in the country air. I finished the Schrödinger's Cat trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson.

In all, it was one of the least stressful family gatherings I can recall.

For the third year I'm playing baseball with the Urhot. We lost our first game 11-6 against the Vantaa Giants, but it was a good day anyway, what with the sun and warm weather (warmest 5th of May ever). The Giants are a good team to play since we match up pretty evenly against them. They are almost 100% expatriate Americans. Personally, I had a good game going 2-for-5, with one hit just missing being a home run. I also popped up to short, struck out swinging (first at-bat of the year) and got on base with an E6. The near home run was a bit disappointing since it ended up a long single. I turned the corner at first and slowed up to find out where the ball was, but the hesitation cost me. Instead of bouncing through the fence and becoming an ground rule double, it found a fence post and bounced staight back to the center fielder. Since I'd slowed up, making second was risky and I returned to first so I would not have made an out. We didn't have a first base coach out there, which would have let me run hard without worrying about the decision to go for two. (I was told later about where the landed, I was running and knew only that I'd hit it high and deep to center field.) Tony Jones, the opposing pitcher was impressed. He looked over at me with a nod and a smile.

Melina made a Lemon Meringue Pie from the American Classics cookbook. The result was delicious, though I only tasted a tiny pie she made just for me, since she took the rest to a bachelorette party that was more like a baby shower (appropriately enough, since the bride-to-be is more mother-to-be than bride). American Classics is a cookbook for wigged out perfectionists. It does have some interesting pointers though.

I think this blog has not accurately portayed me. It says too little about what makes me happy, what makes up my days, and generally leaves the impression of a maudlin boy that never outgrew his teenage pathos. I will attempt to remedy this by inserting more of what makes me happy.

That said, as I hope anyone that knows me will say, one thing about me is certain: I love food. I love trying new foods, cooking food, eating food. I love the whole process from market to table, (if I didn't live in an apartment I'd like it from garden to table, too). The colors, the smells, the possibilities seem endless. Though the season for such things is nearly passed (thank the lord), here's something I whipped up last night:

I improvised (don't have the recipe anymore) a Japanese Beef Stew that I found very tasty. I tried a recipe once long ago which formed the basis for my attempt, but otherwise I winged it.

1 lb. Roast beef, sliced into thin strips
4 Medium sized potatoes, peeled and sliced into thin strips
2 Medium sized onions, (you guessed it) sliced into thin strips

Broth:
2c. Beef broth
4-5T. Soy sauce
3T. Red wine
½-1T. Molasses (or use brown sugar)
½t. Ginger

Fry beef and onions together in cast iron skillet, adding pepper, for about 10 mins, or until onions translucent, beef browned.

Add broth mixture to skillet, bring to boil, add potato, and simmer for 30 minutes, or until potato is tender. Skim off the scum that rises to the top. (Is that a political statement?)

I added thinly sliced yellow pepper to the bowl as it was served, which I liked. Maybe shitake mushrooms would be good, too, lightly cooked and added at the end...

Matilda and Owen both ate it up, though they are pretty picky about some things.

Brave May World
The weather came out for Vappu (or Wappu, or May Day). And when the sun shines, the people celebrate. On Friday evening, Havis Amanda received her ylioppilaslakki (a student cap, received after graduation from lukio, a non-compulsory high school) and the Hoggard's braved the reveling crowd of Esplanadi to buy balloons for the kids. Owen bought a small Teletubby one in the traditional Mylar shape, while Matilda selected a big colorful parrot, with outstretched wings. We ate dinner at Kynsilaukka with some of Melina's old schoolmates. Though the garlic-themed food was decent, as usual, the service was incredibly shoddy, as usual. I doubt we'll go back again.

The next morning, Vappu proper, the weather switched back and forth. While we ate a leisurely breakfast in our sunny little dining room, clouds crept in and a cool wind blew by the time we went out for a short bicycle ride. Wind or not, people filled every green space (which are truly greening), wearing their student hats, or funny antennae, celebrating the impending warm weather. They brunched on picnic fare and sipped champagne, beer, cider, and maybe even the traditional Vappu sima (mead).

The sun came out again after Owen's nap. The day's new warmth was clear from the first step into the yard. Leaving Matilda and her friends some freshly fried munkkia (donuts, another Vappu tradition), courtesy of Melina, the rest of the family took a nice walk through across the island to a video store. We chose Punch Drunk Love and I was not disappointed later that night watching it after the kids went to bed.

On our return journey we watched an elephant and bear cycle by on a tandem bike. Such is Vappu's zany spirit. The clear air, the blue sky, the delicate green tips of tree limbs about to burst with life, white and blue flags fluttering in the evening sun all leave deep impressions in my mind. If everyday could be such a joyful celebration, the world would be a wonderful place.