Man, This Is a Cheesy One

     

     What is a family? A group related with blood? A bunch of crazy hippies that live in a commune? A single mom and her baby? A man and his life partner who got married despite the death threats? Who do I consider as my family?
     I have a mom and a dad. I have two sisters who are blood related and three brothers. I also have a sister that grew up with us, but we have no blood or legal ties to her, now that she is an adult. But we claim her anyway. I am married with three children. Is this all of my family? It all depends.

There are a lot of us and none want to stay in a hotel when we get together so this is what happens.

I have known one of my friends all of my life, literally. Our fathers knew each other way back in the beginning of time. We lived together during high school for a couple of years. I have always known the whole family, and know that I am always welcome to visit any of them.She is definitely a part of my family, her and her whole family, including her parents and siblings.

My friend Tuittu and her little family. My children call her husband 'Uncle- Paul', and they worship them all. 

     An article "The Family Endures" by Philip F. Notarianni mentions families as tools for survival. I don't strictly speaking need a family today for physical survival, that's what grocery stores are for, but I do need them to survive socially and emotionally. The family I grew up in taught me acceptable behavior so that I can function in a society. My oldest friend helped me through some difficult teenager years. She knows my dark secrets and still she sticks with me. She provides me with a sense of connection that I don't have with anyone else in this country. She has the same background as I have, and she understands what it is like to be an immigrant in the U.S. I need her for my sanity just as much as I need to talk to my sisters every week.

My friend Owen is really the best friend of my brother's. We live only about 40 miles apart, so we've adopted each other, to make up for some of the sadness we both feel since my brother doesn't live anywhere near here. 

    I have also acquired more people around me that I feel are a part of my family. I gained a whole new family when I got married. My brother's best friend invites us over all the time for different things. I spend more time with my classmates some weeks than I do with my children. 

   

They're so going to hate me when they see that I took this in the first place.

     All of these people help me feel like I belong somewhere, and ensure that I survive emotionally. Even though I might not have as deep of a connection with them as I do with the people I have known for more than three decades, they make my life easier and more meaningful right now.

This is my husband's family, at least a lot of them.  It doesn't include any of my mother-in- law's family. That would be another more than 60 people. Nobody has a picture of all of us, there are too many people in this bunch to do that. 

     Families make things easier and they make things harder. With emotional connections come heart ache and disappointment along with happiness and contentment. All of this jumble hopefully helps us become more loving and considerate people. A story 'Creating Space and Place: The Life of a Mormon Polygamous Woman, Amy Teresa Leavitt Richardson' by Bonnie Bastian Moore tells this well through a polygamous wife who found her own set of skills to cope with a difficult situation that she felt that she needed to endure. She found solace in her home, and with her friends, and was able to grow with the help form them. 

This is Sam and one of our children. Sam was very sweet with the baby, and loved to play with the kids. 

     Many families, including ours, have some four- legged members. They can play a big role in survival, including social and emotional survival. They listen to you when nobody else does, and comfort you in a way that you don't understand. 

     In essence, family is what is around you, what molds you into the person you are, and also what helps you survive that molding. They don't need to be physically close to be important. Most people, including me, have family members that they haven't seen for years, maybe decades. They still are an important part of that person, and helps build us to what we are.

These are some of my siblings and cousins. I haven't seen some of them in person in years, including my younger sister and older brother. 

       I feel that the more people I can include in my family circle, the happier and more content I am. I have many flaws, and family is the perfect medium to help us accept that, and to accept other people's weaknesses as well. I love my family. For the most part we're all smart, loud, and obnoxious. When my family gets together, it usually means lots of good food, and games to play. Christmas has always been an especially important time for us when we make a special effort to have lots of food and play lots of loud games. You can always refer to the blog post before this one to read more about that.It's called 'Reindeer Is an Incredibly Stupid Animal', and it also has some nice pictures. We can talk for days on end, and never get tired of it. My sisters and I can read books next to each other and feel content. My older sister was the person who taught me to read, watch TV, and knit at the same time. 

Family is who will allow you to be who you are that day. They are patient enough with you to endure when you're cranky, in the hopes that tomorrow you wouldn't be. You don't have to suck up your gut to look skinnier with them. They're your homies. It won't matter where they came from, or how you got together, as long as they are there, as long as you're there for each other. And when your blog post gets too cheesy, they're there to send you virtual barf and farts to lighten up the mood.

This is all but my youngest brother and sister back when my dad had only a little gray hair.

    

Our friend Jasper is part of this mess too. 

Enough said.

      

Reindeer Is an Incredibly Stupid Animal

     Christmas has always been our holiday. It's what we prepared for and anticipated. We started well in early December by slowly cleaning the whole house. Every child had their own little calendar to see how many  more days there were until Christmas. In Finland, we celebrate on Christmas Eve. This has roots in history when Christmas Day was revered enough that it was inappropriate to have big celebrations on that day. You would generally go to an early morning sermon at your local church, and then come home. The rest of the day would be spent contemplating the importance of the day, and later maybe visiting with neighbors.

Vanaja Lutheran church. It is one of the newer medieval churches in Finland and was built in the 1400s. Many of my relatives and ancestor are buried in the old cemetery right next to the church.

     So Christmas Eve was for partying. We all knew that Santa is really from Northeastern Finland, and he of course visits every Finnish child on Christmas Eve. The preparation would start the day before, on the 23rd. We would go and find our Christmas tree. Our dad would take us, and we generally would drive to a wooded area somewhere where we knew the landowner. We would then walk around the woods looking for that perfect tree. My older brother always had the task of carrying the ax. We could never understand why our dad couldn't borrow someone's chainsaw for the occasion. It was cold and the day would start to get dark again around two in the afternoon. Our toes would always feel frozen, no matter what we were wearing. After the tree would be found and cut, we'd head back home, like a car full of icicles.
     Our mom also would make us clean the whole house. And we'd spend a considerable time baking. We take our Christmas celebration seriously, and made enough goodies to feed a small army.

"A Christmas Star", it has puff pastry and a prune jam inside. Very delicious.

Gingerbread cookies like grandma used to make.

   

     After cleaning and baking all day, we'd be exhausted and excited. We had a star that had a light inside that we would hang in front of the window. My mom loved candles, and they were everywhere. Not the big, nasty, smelly ones, but long and beautiful. All the Christmas cards we had received were displayed somewhere. The house would be ready, and everyone was starting to feel almost reverent.

      Come Christmas Eve morning, and my brother would bring the Christmas tree into the house. My sister remembers several near misses when we almost smashed different light fixtures while doing it. We'd set the tree in a stand, and first my dad would put up the candles in it. We had electric ones, since my mom was convinced that we'd burn down the apartment with real ones. We all agree now that she was right. We'd then decorate the tree. My mom says that she always wished for a tree that didn't look like a bunch of kids had decorated it, but she saw how much fun we had doing it, and didn't have the heart to change anything.

     Our great- grandmother had real candles in her tree, and mom always made her swear she wouldn't light them while we were visiting. 

Our candles. We loved them.

     After the tree was all dressed up, it was usually time to listen to the declaration of peace. For more than 700 years, a declaration of peace has been read in Turku, Finland at noon on Christmas Eve. It is an official start of the holiday, and essentially asks people to celebrate calmly and in peace. It also warns that anyone breaking the peace will be punished to the maximum extent of the law. This is still the case in Finland, where during the three day holiday, anyone breaking the law will receive the maximum penalty.

People have gathered at the Old Marketplace in Turku, Finland to listen to the declaration of peace.

     We would soon after go to sauna, and then have dinner. Before dinner, my dad always insisted that we read the Christmas story from the Bible. He didn't grow up in a religious home, and never really celebrated Christmas as a child. For him it was important to remember how the holiday started and be respectful of it. And then we would eat. And eat more and more and more. It was insane. There would be so much food, we'd be eating leftovers for three days, loving every minute of it. There was a pork butt roast, and 'mokko', and carrot casserole. My mom would make sure everyone got something they wished for. This was not a small thing, since there were seven of us. My older brother always wanted pickled small onions. I always wanted cold smoked salmon and pickled herring. My sister wanted mushrooms. We set the table with all the best china we had, and for once had a table cloth and candles on the table. It was beautiful and delicious.

     After overeating for quite awhile, the main event would come. There would be a loud knock on the door, and we could hear someone asking  if all the children had been good. We all knew who it would be. Soon Santa Clause, or 'Joulupukki' in Finnish, would be sitting in our living room, talking to us. He would always had a large sack full of presents for us. We'd sing to him first, and then he would give us our presents. When we were little, we would usually be frightened of this strange, bearded man who demanded to know about our behavior. But as we got older, it was fun to have him visit. He would never stay long, since he was so busy that night, but every Finnish child would have him visit. It is one of the most cherished traditions we have. 

      Our favorite part was always opening the presents. We love to play games, and watch movies together, so we would usually get lots of games. We'd then spend most of the night playing together, and later maybe watching a movie. A couple of our favorite games are Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit, and we can spend days playing them together. Christmas Eve was always the one night nobody had to go to bed, even my baby brother and our little sister. Eventually they would fall asleep somewhere, and we'd take them to bed, and continue playing and eating. 

     We all agree that this has always been our favorite time of year. We love to spend Christmas together. Now that I live so far away, we spend a lot of time on Skype talking. I have difficult time getting Christmas dinner done between all the time I spend on the computer talking to my family. We usually call my parents when we my children are opening their presents, so that grandma and grandpa can be a part of it. Of course it's not the same thing as them being here, or us being there. But it's the next best thing.

A side note: since I have no emotional connection to the American Thanksgiving, I didn't want to write about it. I conducted a couple of very nice and lengthy conversations with my parents and five out of my six siblings through Skype. God bless whoever invented that thing. Only my little sister wasn't available, since she's in Sweden. 

Crazy Old Ladies

I guess we have a bit of a temper problem. We are proud and stubborn to the point of idiocy. And we are always right, every single one of us. It makes for a bit of a mess sometimes.

My great- grandmother Anna is in the middle. On the left is her mother Vilhelmiina, holding her sister Hilja. On the right is her sister Elli, and in the back is her sister Impi, who is the sister in this story. 

My great- grandmother Anna was no different. She was one of the most complicated people I have ever known. As a child, I was scared of her. I'd go visit her with my family, and children were expected to shake hands with her and curtsy or bow, and then sit quietly until she asked you something. At the end of the school year, she'd want to know all the details about your grades. And you better have a good explanation if your grades weren't up to her standards. I remember my cousin and my brother having to explain themselves to her several times. 

My great- grandmother was a hard worker. She had a farm that she inherited from her parents. She never let my great- grandfather forget that it was hers and not his. He never even had the keys to the house. He was an alcoholic, so the majority of responsibility was on her shoulders. She grew sugar beets as a cash crop, and had an enormous kitchen garden. She was an excellent gardener, and locally quite famous for it. She worked long hours every day but Sunday, and as far as I know, never took a vacation. She chopped her own firewood until she was well into her 90s, and if you ever tried to offer to help her, she would smack you in the back of your head. 

She was also one of the most generous people I have ever known. Back during the war, she took in several relatives from different cities that were being bombed, and housed and fed them for years. She also expanded her kitchen garden to several acres so that she could send food to all of her relatives who lived in the bombed cities and couldn't get away. 

My great- grandmother had 15-25 extra people living in this house at any given time during the war. It has two small bedrooms upstairs, and two downstairs. 

After the war, a boy, a cousin of some sort, stayed with her family. His parents had died in the war, and he had nowhere to go. She raised him as one of her own, even though she already had five children, and there were other relatives still living with them all. The story goes that he got a cut on one of his toes. Nobody remembers what happened, and who said what, but my great- grandmother and one of her sisters disagreed on weather or not the boy should be taken to a doctor. They didn't really have any money, so it would have been difficult for them to do so. The boy's toe ended up getting a bad infection, and it had to be amputated. The sister who wanted to take the boy to the doctor got so upset at the other sister, that even though they lived next door to each other, they didn't speak to each other for eight years. If one was outside, the other would go inside. If one of them saw the other in the local store, they would go home rather than be in the same building at the same time. The story doesn't tell if they ever started communicating again, or truly forgave each other, but they never were really friends again. 

This is my family, a bunch of stubborn, crouchy, and crazy people.  

Twofaced Stubbornness

Picture by Erkki Jauhiainen

          Katumajärvi is a beautiful lake near where my mother grew up. The name translates literally into 'Lake Regret' or 'Lake Penitence'. According to legend, aka my grandma, the name has its roots deep in history. Back in the day, everything was apparently great. You have to understand, that for a Finn, the definition of 'great' involves independence from both Sweden and Russia. As long as they're not in the picture, and we beat them in ice hockey, we're pretty content. 
           Towards the end of the first millennia AD, the Swedes started to convert into Christianity. It seems that for awhile they had been trying to come up with an reason to expand to the East. Their new religion gave them the perfect excuse to hop over the Baltic Sea into Finland, and start to convert the evil pagan Finns. The story according to grandma goes, that the Swedes would force people to convert into Christianity, and to be baptized. Seeing an army with superior weapons, the Finns obliged, for the most part. But, as soon as the Swedes would leave, the locals would head to this particular lake, wash off the baptism, and go on with their old evil pagan lives. There is some truth to the last part, there is evidence of a crusade into Finland lead by Birger Jarl, a Swedish statesman, in mid 1200s because people in this particular area were relapsing into the old beliefs and practices. 

Picture by Google Earth       

           Knowing my family and relatives makes this story believable. We're stubborn, have a strong, independent streak, and are slow to adopt new things. We're naturally shy and suspicious of new people, especially of the Russians and the Swedes. And all those other foreigners. Finding stories of defiance is easy. It's in our genes. 

Picture by Juuso Kurvinen 

All the historical information is from Suomen Kansallismuseo, or the Finnish National Museum, a very interesting and worthy place to visit, if you're ever in the neighborhood. The website with the information is http://www.nba.fi/fi/kansallismuseo/opetus/opetuspaketit/esihistoria/tietoa/rautakausi

Their page in English is http://www.nba.fi/en/nationalmuseum

Oh Mercy

On the left is Tuittu, in the middle is Effe, and on the right is me back when I was still skinny.

This picture was taken by a random bystander at a shopping center. Most likely they would have been there to do their Christmas shopping. It is nothing but a snap shot by someone who is an amateur. The picture was taken to preserve a memory for the people in it. When I look at it, a thousand emotions go through my head. I get homesick. These two women are my friends. I have known them all of my life. I love them and miss them. 

This was taken just before Christmas when I was still in high school, in early or mid 1990s. We were poor. To make some money, and to spread some Christmas cheer I guess, we went to a shopping center to sing as street artists. Our group was perfect. Effe is a soprano. Her voice is like a flute. She could sing the bits that I wanted to, but couldn't. Tuittu is also a soprano, but a lower one. Her voice is like a songbird. I was the whisky base of the group. I have never been able to sing high notes, even though I always wanted to. With these ladies, it didn't matter, we complemented each other well. Together we could sing in perfect harmony. We sounded good. 

Instead of the same old versions of the same old songs, we sang from a book "Carols for Christmas" by Metropolitan Museum of Art. The arrangements and the art work were influenced by Renaissance. The combination is beautiful. We also sang a song called 'Dormi Jesu'. I found the music to it at the music academy library by accident. This shopping mall concert was not monetarily very profitable, but I loved doing it anyway. 

When I look at the picture, my eye goes first to our faces. We look like we're having a good time, and we did. The faces are right in the middle of the picture, so it is natural to look at them first. The back ground is a fabric store. We were assigned this spot by the shopping center. I think we would have chosen a more central location to earn more money. 

The picture was taken with a regular camera, on a regular film. It has not been edited in any way. I am the owner of the picture, and I think there is only one paper copy of it. I have no idea what happened to the negative, it's been too long, and it was taken in a different country. I keep it in my photo album that I look through when I'm especially homesick. As of today, it has never been published anywhere. Today it will be on Facebook and on this blog, so that all of our old friends can share it with us. 

This Is Why I Am Fat

My grandma Irja and my grandpa Mikko right after they were married. 

Recipe

            As long as I remember, I have either cooked or helped my mom cook. It is the way of life back home: everyone has to learn it, at least the basics. My grandma was good at this. Her bread was better than from a bakery. Her cinnamon rolls were heavenly. I could have eaten nothing but her mashed potatoes and gravy. But the best thing she ever made was what she called ‘mokko’. It is sort of a potato casserole. It is sweet, but doesn’t have sugar in it. It takes all day to make it. But it is worth every hour you have to wait.

            When I was about seven, she taught me how to make it. It was just after Christmas, and we were over there for a visit. I would ask her about the recipe. “You­­ don’t need one”, she would say, “You just need to know the right feel to it.” Over the years I followed her making it several times. Every time I would try to get her to give me the recipe. “There isn’t one", she would reply, "this is how we’ve always made it.” After some asking around, my great-grandma told me that her grandmother had taught her how to make it, and that it had been in the family longer than that.  By now, the recipe is more than 200 years old.

My great- grandmother Anna on the left. Her sisters Helena (middle) and Hilja (right) at Anna's 80th birthday party in 1981.
These ladies cooked so well that you could have eaten until you burst. They all lived well into their 90s and 100s, probably because their food made them so happy. 

            After a few years, my mom and I wrote down how to make it. You take about 7 kg yellow potatoes. Don’t use new potatoes, it just won’t work at all. You boil them with peel on until fork tender. You peel them while they are hot, and mash them, preferably with an electric mixer. Put a couple of tablespoons of wheat flour into it, and mix well. Cover with towels to keep warm. Put somewhere out of drafts and cold so that it will stay as warm as possible without cooking more, usually between 50 and 75 degrees Celsius. Let it sit for at least four hours. Up to six may be needed if you didn’t get the potatoes peeled when they were hot enough. Add whole milk until it is like pureed but still thick soup. Add salt to taste. At this point, if for some reason you weren’t skilled enough, and the concoction doesn’t taste sweet, you can add a little bit of molasses to make it sweeter. Put it into casserole dishes, but only fill them half full. Put small dabs of butter on top, bake in about 125 degrees Celsius until it is bubbly and dark golden brown, usually two to four hours. Eat with a pork butt roast, gravy made from drippings, and whatever else your heart desires.

            This is my soul food. This is who I am.  

            

Ramble On

Picture by Aki Kaarakainen

I come from a very musical family. All of my siblings play at least two instruments. Music education was expected from me as a child, so at the ripe old age of four, I started my education. First it was just piano lessons. Then we added music theory and a children's choir. After that came the flute. Then music history. All this while I also had the regular curriculum for school. I felt a closer connection to music than I did to most people. One of the composers I became very familiar with was Jean Sibelius. He is a national hero for us Finns. His music is part of our brain cells. If you don't revere his music, you're unpatriotic. I can hum most of his works to myself, including four of his seven symphonies. One of the pieces dearest to my heart is one of his violin concertos. Even as a small child, I felt drawn to it. It calmed me down, when I felt overwhelmed and couldn't sleep. It comforted me when I was stressed out with school. It made me feel better when I was depressed. When I was in high school, I hear a version of it that was so masterfully played that it branded into my brain until I could summon it back into my mind any time I wanted. It was played by a German violinist Anne Sophie Mutter. Knowing how much effort it takes to be the best, I have a lot of admiration for her talent. She brings the notes alive so that I can almost smell the lakes and woods back home. I can see the midnight sun behind some trees and a lake while there is a fine misty fog on the water. I can hear a moose skaddumpple around in the woods, breaking everything in its path. A fish splashes the surface of the water while trying to catch insects flying in the air. I can feel the cold water around me when I go skinny dipping in the misty water. The combination of  Sibelius and Mutter is superb. It is the perfect thing to tell everyone where I came from.

Picture by Vastavalo.fi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHcZ179KCEA