Midsommar

MELLBY STRAND - A short train ride carried us across the border from Denmark to Sweden (Malmö to be precise). Typical American panic was still creeping around inside me as I became aware that no one was checking any passports and I was now in another country and no one knew about it. I was sure I must be doing something wrong.

"It's fine," I was assured and would need to be again several times over the next few days.

We arrived at Jenny's parents' summer house on the coast. It was a beautiful and peaceful place. A true kind of quiet that is hard to find.

A five-minute walk took us to the beach where we jumped around in sand and my foot became a sculpture.



That afternoon I took a short nap despite my deep belief that I am immune to the effects of jet lag (I continue to argue the fact that I had barely slept the several nights before, almost didn't sleep at all before flying, and managed to only sleep an hour or so on the flight while crossing over multiple time zones and seeming to lose track of what month I was even in...)

Jenny had prepared dinner while I slept and we sat eating and talking. Most of the remainder of the night (I use the term night loosely as I haven't experienced full darkness since arriving) was spent talking.

Except during the game.

Jenny will insist she doesn't like football. Doesn't care.

I'm unconvinced.

There was a game that night between Sweden and Russia and things didn't go well for Sweden. I watched, amused, as Jenny randomly shouted and probably swore at the TV.

Ahh... Just like growing up in a house with my father around the time any Chicago team makes it to some kind of playoff and totally blows it. Lots of yelling, jumping up from seats, and shaking fingers at televisions.

The next morning, the first one to arrive was Jenny's father. I'd like to believe I made a good first impression.

Others slowly filtered in over the course of the afternoon, mostly friends of Jenny. Tobias, Martina, and Dan arrived first. I found that Dan was English and had moved to Sweden to be with Martina, so I knew if nothing else, I had a native English speaker to fall back on. Although I soon discovered that everyone spoke English very well and were very happy to speak with me.

Later we would see the arrival of Anneli, Lena, Jasper, Maria, Jenny's sister Julia, and her mother.

Jenny's mother greeted me with a big smile, a bigger hug, and a warm "Welcome to Sweden!"

I smiled.

Everyone else looked on suspiciously.

I was told that she is never that nice to someone new and I had best be on my guard. For the remainder of the weekend, I think I flinched a little whenever she called my name.

Everyone was very nice to me right away and interested in learning more about me and sharing about themselves.

The closest I got to anything other than a warm reception was from a friend of Jenny's parents, Christina (sp?), who exclaimed, "You're not from Sweden!" as I introduced myself and replied, "No. I'm from America."

"Oh."

Later, we sat and talked for quite some time about the troubles in America, its image around the world, and the teaching she had done in Sweden. At the end of the weekend, I got a big hug goodbye, so I'm chalking that up as a personal victory.

The next day we got up and the day slowly began. Midsummer is the biggest holiday in Sweden (or a close second). It marks the time of the longest days of the years, the official beginning of summer, and is a great time to get together with lots of family, friends, and Schnapp's.

We watched the dance around the maypole (yes, I know... very phallic). The community celebration was taking place in a field right next to the house so we sat out there for a bit and watched the crowd.



Some of the girls had gone out to collect flowers, a part of the holiday. If you collect seven different flowers and place them under your pillow, you are supposed to dream of your future husband.

I don't know that anyone actually slept with flowers under their pillows, but they did make some nice headwreaths, which made the rounds...



We all met for dinner at a long table in the yard. A traditional dinner with lots of meats and potatoes. There was no fish at this meal, but never fear, I got stuck eating some earlier in the afternoon.

"Would you like some fish cake, Nick?" asked Jenny's uncle.

"Uh... Uh..."

Trying to balance my desire to not offend and my interest in trying new things with my insistence that I not get sick in front of anyone along with the personal commitment I made to never eat anything named "fish cake", I felt kind of stuck.

"Uh... Uh..."

Stammering and stuttering was not helping my case. Nor was the fact that Jenny was just staring on with a very amused look on her face.

"Oh, Nick. I think you should."

Jasper and Maria were already getting up to and dusting themselves off to follow along for the show.

"Uh... Uh..."

"Yes," said her uncle. "You will come and try some fish cake."

As I was being marched to what I felt was surely my death (or just total embarrassment in front of a bunch of people), I tried to look for a way out.

Running? Too cowardly.

Fainting? Too embarrassing.

Faking a seizure? Too unbelievable.

As Jenny, her friends, her parents, and assorted other grown-ups watched, all trying to stifle their laughter, I took the knife to cut a piece for myself.

"That's too small," Jenny chimed in.

"It's plenty big," I replied, probably sounding a bit more desperate than I wanted to. "Why don't you have some?"

"Oh. I can't. Vegetarian."

Dammit. I should have gone full-vegetarian before I left.

I sat down with everyone and cut a small piece. I tried to engage in the conversation, stalling a bit, but there wasn't much I could do.

So I took a bite.

And chewed.

And it wasn't bad.

Kind of like potato salad, except fishier. But not bad. It had a good taste to it. I said so and they all just laughed and said they didn't believe me. I would have eaten more, but the thought of eating fish was what was getting in the way.

I finished my piece, sighed softly, and walked away with chuckles behind me.

So, as I was saying, there was good news in the way that no fish was available at the dinner. We sat down to a large feast: Meats, potatoes, vegetables, corn on the cob, various salads... it was all very good.



There was much drinking and several toasts during the meal, courtesy of Joel.



We had dessert later, which was something very well known to me: cake. Strawberry covered cake to be precise, much like what I'm used to having around Memorial or Labor Day cookouts.

Delicious.

Just check out how much Albert enjoyed his piece.



The evening was filled with music, stories, and laughter and I had a great time, even/especially when I didn't know what was going on. I found myself bursting into laughter with everyone else even after someone was several minutes into a story in Swedish. I've made the decision that laughter is one of those universal communicators. You need no other common denominator because there are certain truths you will find again and again.

Like the fact that older people love to break loose and dance when they're drunk.



Everything went on very late into the night. I've found myself to be full of energy sometimes at all hours because the sun never really sets during the summer. It simply drops below the horizon and pops up again soon enough on the other side. There have been times I was sure it was rising at the same time it was setting, like two suns were going at once...

The next day was considerably more laid back and there was a bit of rain at one point. I think most people were a bit tired from the festivities of the day before. We had another big meal at the table.

At one point, it felt like the dinner tables at Thanksgiving or Christmas. We were segregated by age: Adults in a yard on one side of the house, kids on the other.

Kids' Table and Grown-Up Table.

The kids decided it was time to hit the carnival and we all headed out. Like the Midway at a fair, there were rides, food, games, and carnies everywhere.

Carnies around the world are all kind of creepy.

We hit the bumper cars and had a blast, although the only people on the ride were those in our group. This meant we were able to reach top speed while screaming across the floor before slamming into one another, only being held in place by a loop around our midsection.



It didn't exactly hold us in place very well.



Not that it slowed anyone down.



So we all emerged, battered, bruised, and laughing.

Afterward we sat around in a caravan, listening to music, joking around, and I told some ghost stories, sharing a bit of home.

Everyone filtered out by late the next morning. I took a nap and then helped Jenny straighten the place up a bit. I desperately needed to wash some clothes and felt confident I could get the washer started on my own with intuition.

Wrong.

I stared at the knobs, not knowing at all what they meant and finally gave up to ask for help.

Maybe I had offended the washer, because it tried to eat my clothes. It refused to change cycles on its own, took forever to finish, and finally had to be almost broken into at the end.

Perhaps I'll include my artist's rendition of the event at a later time.

We tossed my wet clothes up in front of the fire (it was raining outside at the time) and poor Jenny had no time to wash her clothes. We eventually abandoned the foolish idea of drying my clothes and I tossed them into a bag with the promise to finish it later.

One last search went through the house, making sure everything was turned off, no food was left out, and all things were packed.

Locking the doors and starting the car, we were bound for Gothenburg...