Latrine Dreams

As I mentioned when we signed the papers, our new home is pretty much perfect for us.  Nevertheless, The Swede has dreams of a deluxe bathroom with a jacuzzi, a sauna, a shower with a radio and a port for his iPhone, heated floors, and so on.  I don't think I need to clarify that our new home does not have any of these things nor does it have the space required to install them.  One can dream, though.  Which is just what we did on Sunday at Bauhaus.  We strolled slowly through the bathroom department, opening and closing shower doors and ooing and ahing over tubs big enough to host a pool party.  The luxury of two bathrooms, which I assure you has not been lost on us, will have to do for now, though.



The Wedding Day

Now, for a few pictures of our wedding day!  We got married on Friday afternoon at Kungsängen's city hall in front of Mama and Papa Swede, Sarianne, Magnus, Elin and Julia, who were all dressed to the nines.  When we first got engaged we thought we might have a wedding here in Sweden this spring and then another in the States during the summer, but Baby Swede came onto the scene and threw a wrench in that plan.  Since travel was out of the question for us and because it would have been nigh impossible to get all my loved ones here, we opted to keep it simple, which is much more our style anyway.  It's a good thing we did, too, because even as low-key as it was, we were both pretty nervous.  The ceremony only took about two minutes, though, then we signed our names in a book and dropped the little girls off at the sitter and headed into the city.

We had arranged for the six of us to stay at a hotel overnight so we checked in and gathered for champagne in one of rooms before dinner.  And dinner - wow - it was right up my alley.  We went to Wallmans Salonger and saw "Thank You For The Music", a tribute to the music of Björn and Benny of ABBA!  Just like the ceremony, we didn't know what to expect from the evening, but it tuned out to be perfect. 

 As tends to happen at these sort of things, they involved the audience in the show a bit and Papa Swede was lucky enough to be serenaded.

 And they announced our marriage with balloons and a special cake.  Swedes don't typically like to be the center of attention, but as you can see The Swede made an exception on this occasion. 

After the show, they cleared all the tables away to reveal a dancefloor and pumped all the greatest dance hits, including the classic American wedding song, the Village People's "YMCA".  We were exhausted - it was several hours past my pregnancy bedtime - but The Swede took me for a spin on the dancefloor as the perfect end to our perfect day.

As Long As We Both Shall Live

In the summer of 2008 I was in my last months of working in customer service and logistics at Swagelok Company in Cleveland.  I loved my job, but I had wanted to go back to school for a Masters of Theology for years and it felt like the right time.  That last summer at Swagelok was especially fun, probably because I was able to really enjoy and appreciate the positive aspects of my job knowing that there was an expiration date on my time there.  Also, the customer service department was hosting a group of European distributorship associates and my favorite part of that job was sharing meals and going shopping with visiting customers during the week that they were in Cleveland. 

One evening our department held a carnival-themed event for the group, an event that I was not signed up to attend but which, at the last minute, I decided to crash.  I spent the evening schmoozing with the Germans and the Italians and the Scottish without so much as a word exchanged with the Swede whose name nobody could pronounce.  I get a little shy around tall, well-dressed, smoking-hot foreigners, so I wasn't about to approach him.  At the end of the evening, though, when the crowd was thinning as the corporate employees headed home and left the Europeans to their own devices, the Swede came over to introduce himself.  "Hi," he said, "I'm The Swede, but you may know me as Carl from my emails."  I totally knew Carl from his emails.  He was the one who always said to have a great day or enjoy your weekend where most of my other customers were strictly business.  "You're Carl?" I said in disbelief.  "I thought Carl was old and fat!"  Maybe not my most professional moment, but I couldn't believe this tall, well-dressed, smoking-hot foreigner standing in front of me was good ol' reliable Carl, our favorite contact in Stockholm.  "Well I thought Damara was very boring," he answered and I fell in love.  He was in Cleveland for three more days, days full of meetings and a trip to Niagara Falls, but we spent every moment we could together in that time.  I couldn't wait to hear the next thing that was going to come out of his mouth.  We talked about getting married in Vegas dressed up as Elvis and Marilyn Monroe.  I loved the way he said my name.  He told me not to touch the hair.  I still don't know if he was kidding or not.  And after I dropped him off at the airport for his flight back to Stockholm I sobbed in my car until I made myself snap out of it since I would clearly never see him again and what, was I going to mourn a relationship that never actually was?

My friend Kate and I drove to Nashville to meet my new roommate and visit the Vanderbilt Divinity School campus that same day.  I tried to put The Swede out of my mind but then he called.  And he kept calling every day, and emailing, and then he bought a ticket to come spend a week with me at my new home in Nashville.  We visited Graceland and laid by the pool and went to the movies and watched a couple seasons of Entourage and bought inexpensive American clothes and ate good food.  He set up Skype on my laptop and we talked about me visiting him in Sweden at Christmastime.  And then he went home and I didn't feel like I'd never see him again this time, but I also knew that it was possible that this long distance, with four months before I'd see him again, may never work.  But we kept emailing.  We sent each other long messages every single day; if I didn't get an email one day I would have thought he had died, he was that reliable, that trustworthy.  He told me he loved me.  Despite the huge time difference, we Skyped whenever we could and I cannot begin to explain how important that was.  There were times when I missed him so much I felt like I couldn't breathe and then, when I heard his voice and saw his face, I was revived in the fullest sense of the word. 

Meanwhile, divinity school was knocking the religion right out of me.  I was disenchanted in a way I never could have predicted and made the decision in the middle of my first semester that I had no interest in spending tens of thousands of dollars to finish an education in something that I likely wouldn't want to be associated with when all was said and done.  I finished the semester and then withdrew; one of the best decisions I've ever made and one which led to another of the best decisions I've ever made.  The Swede and I started talking about me moving to Sweden.  He had a great job at the Swagelok distributorship and owned his home, while I was a grad school drop-out with a lease ending in June.  After visiting Stockholm during the last week of December in 2008, I knew it was someplace I could picture myself.  Scratch that.  Any place with The Swede was a place I could picture myself. 

When I got back to the States we started the process of applying for a Swedish residence permit, an undertaking that required a ton of paperwork on both ends, a trip to St. Louis for an interview with the embassy and a lot of waiting.  After four months, a FedEx envelope arrived on my doorstep with my passport inside and on one page was my new residence permit, one of the most beautiful and terrifying things I've ever seen.  I Skyped The Swede, my hands shaking and tears in my eyes, and we set a date for the big move.  But first he came back to the US one more time to meet my Cleveland and Nashville family and friends, who all approved.  Big time. 

In July 2009, one year and three weeks after we met and after only about 20 full days together, I moved to Sweden with two suitcases and have not stopped laughing.  The next summer we got engaged.  The following fall we got pregnant.  And yesterday we got married.  And I cannot wait to hear the next thing that is going to come out of his mouth.

Week Twenty-Four

It's week twenty-four and I'm in love.  The baby is moving around a lot these days and as strange as it sometimes feels, it's like a little greeting from within and it makes my heart burst every time.  Like the other day at our big business meeting in Switzerland I wanted to ask a question during a presentation and I got really nervous that I would sound stupid or trip over my words.  My heart was pounding so hard as I got ready to speak up until the baby patted me softly three times as if to say, "Calm down, Mom.  It's gonna be a-okay."  And it worked.  Settled me right down.  Then, last night as I lay down for bed, the baby stuck out its little leg and just held it out.  I flipped on the light to look at my belly and there was totally a lump on one side where its foot was and I cracked up.  Baby Swede wanted to get in one more chuckle before bed.  What a ham, this kid.  I think it's going to fit in just fine.   

On Labors Of Love

At Emerson Elementary School in Bozeman, Montana, the 2nd graders celebrated being able to count all the way to 100 with One Hundred Day.  I was in Mrs. Pool's class and we were told to bring in 100 of something - anything - on One Hundred Day.  Some kids brought 100 pennies, others brought baggies of food like raisins or Cap'n Crunch, but my mom sewed 100 different buttons onto the front of a blue sweatshirt for me to wear that day.  Just a little side project while raising 3 kids and studying nursing full-time at Montana State University.  And, no kidding, it looked cool.  In school on One Hundred Day, when we all gathered on the rug at the front of the room to share with Mrs. Pool and our classmates the 100 things we had brought, I knew in the unassuming way that a 7-year-old experiences pride that my 100-button-sweatshirt was the best.  I wore that shirt again and again until I grew out of it and I wish I still had it.  So here's to you, Mom, for those 100 buttons, on my 500th blog post.

Fancy Feet

The Swede and I have both recently been shopping for some fancy new shoes, having a fancy-shoes-required event coming up and all.  We went looking for his on a lunch break and I got some mom practice in, running back and forth between The Swede and the saleslady with different pairs and different sizes.  I skipped pinching the toe to make sure there's room to grow, though, since I'm pretty sure he's all done.  At least I hope so.  Fancy shoes aren't cheap so these need to last.  See, I sound like a mom already.

Lone Star

I didn't mention this in my big travel post from yesterday because it deserves a post all its own.  Oh, Arlanda Starbucks, lonely though you may be, you represent your brand so well.  I only get to have a Grande Decaf Skinny Vanilla Latte when I fly somewhere, but the three times this year have been such a delight and worth the wait every time.  Even The Swede, who hates coffee, agreed that the one I had on Thursday evening while waiting for our flight to take off was a work of art.  I am, however, still salty that this is the only location in the entire country, and even saltier that flying directly after consuming my delicious beverage means that I can only enjoy a grande otherwise I'm pretty sure my neighbors on the plane would resent my constant bathroom trips.

Swiss Bliss

I guess I should have mentioned that I was going to be away for a few days, but I always imagine that I may have internet access and the energy to blog at the end of a long day of international superstardom.  Alas, I had neither on this past weekend's trip to Switzerland.  Our company has a factory in Lachen, which The Swede and the rest of our colleagues visited on Friday after flying to Zurich and spending the evening at the swankest hotel of my life on Thursday night.  Two bathrooms, you guys.  More square footage than our apartment.  We were only in Lachen one night, though, and took a bus up through the Alps to Engelberg on Friday afternoon.

That evening we had a long, lively dinner at a sweet little Swiss lodge whose specialty was a cheese fondue so stinky that its partakers were relegated to an entirely different floor than the rest of the restaurant.  The meat fondue, however, was a big hit at our table.  As was the ever-flowing wine.

Even after that late night, most of our group was up with the sun to strap on their skis and tackle Mount Titlis.  The five of us who didn't ski spent the morning at a reasonable elevation, enjoying the warm spring sun in the valley below. 

Later, though, we took the Rotair rotating lift all the way up over 10,000 feet to the peak of Titlis and had lunch at the highest restaurant in Europe.  I thought Flat Destini might like it up there too, and she surely didn't have as much trouble breathing the thin air as I did.  'Cause, you know, she has thin lungs.  Heh.

We flew home yesterday evening, but not before visiting the cheese factory at the monestary in Engelberg where we endured even more stinky fondue.  Made me appreciate bland ol' hushålsost, that's for sure.

It was awesome to get to travel somewhere I've never been before and spend time getting to know my colleagues better.  Our flight arrived back in Stockholm after 10:00 last night so we were all incredibly tired at work today, but it was absolutely worth it.

Mamma Sushi

There are certain foods one is not supposed to eat when with child, all of them delicious and all of a sudden immeasurably more appealing than they ever were before when you could eat them whenever you felt like it.  Lucky us whose pregnancies are spanning Lent, making our sacrifices of deli meat, soft cheese, alcohol and juicy, rare steak a given.  Sushi, too, is under scrutiny and there's lots of varying information about whether or not it's safe to eat.  These days the general concensus seems to be that it's okay if you eat it the same day that it's made, but in case you want to be extra careful you can order "mamma sushi".  I've never seen this in the States and I ate a lot of sushi over there but every sushi restaurant I've been to in Sweden has a selection of vegetarian and cooked fish on the menu especially for those of use carrying chopsticks for two.  That's Sweden's Japanese looking out for our tiniest citizens. 

Something New

Of all the reasons a shotgun wedding may not be the most desirable option - no champagne being the most important, obviously - lack of availability of cute bridalwear is seldom mentioned.  It should be, though, let me tell you, because there really aren't that many options for the knocked-up bride.  Especially if she doesn't want long or white or too formal and the temperature is barely above freezing.  So I've been pounding the pavement and placing orders online and having no luck at all.  Today, however, a dress that I ordered from Nordstrom in the US arrived and it was exactly what I wanted.  I'm so relieved and super pumped to raise a glass in this little number, which you will see more of soon enough.

Vierdness

Everybody knows that Swedish is a silly language.  One of the sillier features, in my opinion, is the interchangeable usage and pronunciation of the letters v and w.  I'm mystified as to why both are pronounced with the v sound in Swedish (why even have w in the alphabet in that case, am I right?) and never fail to get a chuckle when I hear Swedes pronouncing an English v-word with the w sound.  Wiking, for example, or wolleyball.  Womit is another of my favorites.  Their English is still significantly better than my Swedish, but c'mon, I can't just let it slide.  That wouldn't be very American.  Anyway, I've grown accustomed to this silliness over the past 19 months, but nothing prepared me for the name of the nail polish I purchased at H&M today.  It's called Wawawoom.  It took me a second to even figure out just what I was reading and when it hit me it literally took my breath away.  Because obviously wawawoom is a far superior word to vavavoom. 

My Medalist

Somebody in this family is a champion and his name is The Swede.  Today my betrothed woke up early and headed out to the lake to compete in yet another ice-fishing competition and apparently the practice has paid off because he won in his demographic and, even more impressive, beat Papa Swede, Master Fisherman.  So along with smelly laundry, The Swede brought home 100 kronor, a medal and oodles of glory.  Just one more reason I'm a lucky lady.

Week Twenty-Two

If you've ever been pregnant during the internet age, you're probably aware that there are any number of pregnancy websites that will describe, week-by-week, how your baby is developing.  Beyond details about organ development and how it's looking (ours has eyebrows now!), the sites often compare its size to that of supermarket produce.  So this week, at about 10 inches and 1 pound, Baby Swede is the size of a spaghetti squash.  Now, I enjoy a good gourd as much as the next guy, but I don't know a spaghetti squash from a hole in the ground.  What I DO know is burritos.  I didn't get out a scale or a ruler or anything, but I imagine 10 inches and 1 pound are the approximate specifications of tonight's Serrano burrito dinner.  Which means I fit TWO items of those dimensions in my gut this evening and I probably deserve a pat on the back.

Baking Some Breakfast

I don't feel like cooking especially often these days, let alone get a hankering to try making something for the first time, so when I got it in my head to try baking biscuits today I figured I'd better go with it.  There are plenty of things that biscuits go well with, of course, but they felt like part of breakfast in this case so I picked up some potatoes, eggs and bacon on the way home and fixed a big American breakfast for dinner.  The biscuit recipe promised that they'd turn out like KFC's, which I can assure you they did not, but I can also assure you they weren't half bad for my first attempt.  And now my conscience is relieved a little if I decide to skip cooking the next couple of dinners.

More On The Topic Of Cheese

Hushållsost = household cheese.  Like household cleaner or household budget.  Something that every household requires that you don't necessarily need specifics on.  Maybe I'm the only one who thinks this is funny, that there is apparently not a better way to describe just, you know, cheese.  Because that's all hushållsost is, really.  Not brie, nor cheddar, nor gouda.  Boring, generic and yet something that no household should be without.

With A Capital A

The Swede and I are spending our Monday evening watching the Oscars, which we set up to be recorded WAY after our bedtime last night.  The red carpet was wonderful, as always, but once the actual award show got going, well, geez, Awkward much?  Seriously, we're squirming here in our seats.  I got the impression that it was going to be like this from my Facebook news feed this morning, but I guess I needed to see the trainwreck for myself.  Plus I like dresses.  Big, beautiful, sparkly dresses.

The Corn Cough Kills Me

Just in case you haven't seen it yet, here's the best thing to come out of Sweden so far in 2011.  This is a clip from Las Palmas, which won the prize for best short film at the Göteborg International Film Festival this year.  Does this prestigious festival mean nothing to you?  Fine, here's another accolade for ya:  it won First Prize in my Funny Baby Videos category FOR LIFE.

For Elin

We celebrated Elin's birthday last night at Mama and Papa Swede's.  Love watching this pretty lady smile.

Separate Rooms

As of the last paper-signing session this afternoon, we have officially sold our apartment.  It feels like a huge relief and a great success, as I'm sure you can imagine, and not just because we can catch our breath from constant thoughts of real estate.  No, not just that.  See, one of The Swede's worst burdens is about to be lifted.  We will soon be moving into a home with doors.  Sure, we've had one on the bathroom this whole time, but I can't sleep in the bathroom while The Swede watches late-night television and I can't Skype in there when there's a sporting event on that cannot be interrupted.  Our new floorplan, however, will be much more conducive to my outrageous sleep schedule and his undisturbed sports viewing.  It's just too bad it didn't happen in time for the skiing world championship that will be going on for the next several days.

Awkward Single Girl Behavior

Yesterday I went home from work after lunch to clean then had to vacate the apartment for part of the afternoon and early evening for another showing.  The Swede stayed at work so I amused myself by walking around Kista Galleria, which quickly became exhausting.  So for only the second time in my life I went to see a movie in the theater all by my lonesome.  I bought a ticket to The King's Speech and a small popcorn and settled in among the dozen or so retirees who were also interested in seeing a feel-good period piece at 4:30 in the afternoon.  It was significantly less awkward than my previous lonely-movie viewing experience with Factory Girl, a film riddled with nude scenes, and I didn't have to share the popcorn so, while I felt bad indulging in a movie while The Swede was still at the office, I count it as a success.

Pause

We did a lot of running around earlier today.  We cleaned the apartment once again prior to the open house, took the cats to the fishing cabin to cool their four heels while prospective buyers gave our place the once-over, met up with Sarianne at Babyland so that she could advise us on what we're going to need for Baby Swede, stopped by an ice fishing competition, then picked up the cats and took them home.  All óf this worked up the ol' appetite so we took advantage of the best part of every fishing competition:  the hot dogs.

Kitchen For Sale

Recognize that gleaming, spotlight-illuminated blog photo backdrop?  That would be our kitchen, now famous all over Stockholm because it appeared in today's Dagens Nyheter.  The realtor will be showing our apartment on Sunday afternoon so we've been cleaning,  painting and relocating the cats yet again in our next step toward moving in to our very own Barbie Dream Townhouse in Kungsängen.  By the way, it should be noted that the realtor chose this picture because it showcases the best room in the place, which The Swede renovated entirely a couple of years ago when he moved in.  So that you can get a proper idea of his skills, this is what it looked like before.  Old fashioned and blah.  And totally not a good blog photo backdrop.

Week Twenty

Baby Swede better start really packing on the pounds 'cause its days in there are numbered.  As of today we're halfway to the love of our lives.

The first image was gratuitous baby bump.  This one is gratuitous goofy tooth.  You're welcome.

Meet Flat Destini

Bridget, a friend of mine from college, is now a 3rd grade teacher.  In my opinion, 3rd grade is probably the best of all the grades to teach because it's right about that time that kids learn to hold in farts but they're not yet old enough to throw down all kinds of attitude.  Furthermore, 3rd graders get to participate in the Flat Stanley Project.  It works like this: each student sends a flat paper version of themselves through the mail to someone somewhere around the globe and the recipient then takes their new friend around their area taking pictures and writing about what their flat companion saw.  Bridget enlisted the help of friends who live far and wide to help her students with the project and I got to be one of them!  I got Flat Destini in the mail yesterday, along with a letter that described a little bit about who she is and how she came to be flat, and packed her into my purse so that she can be close at hand when we see any Stockholm landmarks or anything else particularly Swedish.  Flat Destini came with us to the baby store on our lunch break today, which isn't especially geographically educational, but we thought it would be funny how tiny she would look sitting with us at this giant table.  Stay tuned for more adventures with Flat Destini!

His & Hers

The Swede and I hadn't planned to do anything to celebrate Valentine's Day.  They don't make as big a deal about it here as they do in the States, plus we had just had a date night on Saturday, on top of which it's basically romance 24/7 around here anyway.  On the way home from work, though, we decided we would go out for dinner at Gusto, a nice restaurant here in Sundbyberg.  We had a lovely time, but the food was underwhelming so on the way home we popped in to 7Eleven and picked up a dessert that we knew wouldn't disappoint.  Couples Ben & Jerry's.  Thank you, St. Valentine.

Vikingarännet 2011

Today was the annual 80 kilometer skating race from Uppsala to Stockholm and, while we didn't have the same glamorous front row seats as last year, we decided to stop by Kungsängen while out and about today to take in a bit of the action.  The boat house in Kungsi was both the starting point for a half version of the race and a blueberry soup pit-stop for those who had already travelled the great distance from Uppsala.  Folks just starting the race, then, like these two plus the pooch, began by skating through a gauntlet of warm-berry-soup-wielding teenagers on deep purplish-red stained ice

Just A Little Saturday Night

The Swede and I headed to O'Leary's this evening to catch the second half of the Tottenham match out on the town.  It was packed there, though, so we found a cozy corner table at The Bishops Arms instead and chatted for hours.  Sipping water on a Saturday night is significantly more enjoyable than it may sound when you consider that I was with this guy.

Diappearing Act

That's right, ladies and gentlemen:  no more feet.  See you in again in the summer, my little friends.

Best Phase Yet

I have had a very complicated relationship with food these past few months.  Things that I used to love, like garlic, make me quiver at the very thought.  Indeed, it was hard for me to write that word.  Sometimes I'll be in the middle of eating something, literally moving a forkful of food toward my mouth, and realize that I hate it and couldn't possibly taste another bite.  It's also been difficult to know what I'll be able to stomach beforehand, which makes meal planning virtually impossible.  So when I find something I can stand I go with it full-force.  This has made for week-long, three-meal-a-day baked potato, clementine and chicken noodle soup menus, among others.  The Swede has been forced to fend for himself more often that I'd care to admit.  Things are much better in the tummy region lately, but nevertheless today, sometime during a slow afternoon at work, I decided that this evening would start a cake phase.  The Valentine's Funfetti cake my mom sent, specifically.  No, I can't wait the five days until Valentine's Day.  And frankly, I doubt any will still be around for the holiday.

Squeal!

Back when I got that package from my mom I mentioned that there was more to it than I told you at the time.  I couldn't show you then, though, because I wasn't ready to drop the news about Baby Swede yet.  Because the other items in the package were this adorable baby gear: Cleveland Indians onsies from Mom and Ray and a T-shirt and finger puppet from my sister and her family out in Montana.  This baby's never gonna forget where its mommy comes from, that's for sure. 

How To Make Me Laugh

Basking With The Birds

It was super warm today, as in, like, several degrees above freezing and the sun was shining in a way I haven't seen in months.  As soon as I woke up I opened the door to let the cats enjoy the fresh air out on the balcony and made up my mind that there was no way I was spending my afternoon in the laundry room as I usually do on Sundays.  The Swede felt the same so we threw on our jackets and headed out with a few slices of nearly-expired bread and made the ducks' day down by the lake.  Or, I made the ducks' day, since The Swede was concerned that all of the flocking would bring unwanted (i.e. any) attention our way.  He played photographer instead. 

Long Time No See

I spent this afternoon luxuriating in the company of a Serrano Carnitas Bowl, my friend Davida from SFI and her 3-year-old son Raphael.  I don't get as much opportunity to see my friends from school as I used to since the ol' 9-5 has filled up all my 9-5's, so it was really nice to have a whole afternoon of girl talk and to catch up with a friend I haven't seen in months.

Blogging For Two

Oh, yeah.  Baby blogger on board.  Guys, I've wanted to tell the internet about the tiny Viking in my belly for months and months and now that it's time I don't even know what to say.  We had our ultrasound this morning and our baby looks perfect, complete with the majestic triceps surae of its father.  Obviously we're over the moon.  Baby Swede drops mid-July!

Tulpansäsong

It's tulip season in Sweden and your chances of getting a bouquet of tulips, like we did from Gurra and Gunilla as congratulations on our house, are better than ever.  This is especially true on January 15th, Tulip Day.  Oh yeah, it's not just pastries we're celebrating up in this, it's flowers too.  When I first noticed tulip fever last winter I figured Sweden had some trade agreement with Holland to push tulip sales here for no apparent reason (except, of course, that Swedes love a good holiday) in order to get those wooden-shoe-wearing-gouda-eating-windmill-tending-bike-riders through the slow winter season.  The reality, though, is that the tulips are so undemanding of their environment that they can be grown right here (with Dutch bulbs, of course) right through the winter.  At any rate, isn't it nice to see one of the first flowers of spring popping up in vases all over the country when the ground is still covered in snow?  Especially if the vase/drinking glass is in my kitchen?  So I'll forgive you for this ridiculous holiday, Sweden.  This time. 

And No, I Don't Know Why

I can't believe I've never mentioned this before.  Perhaps it's because taking your shoes off indoors is such a regular part of life in Sweden that I don't even notice it anymore unless it happens in some unexpected setting, such as it did last Friday.  It's so regular, and so famously un-American, apparently, that The Swede's folks wanted him to remind me to take my shoes off when I arrived at their home to meet them for the first time.  So anyway, Friday.  We went into the city to sign the papers on our new home.  The real estate agent's office is on Sveavägen, probably the biggest commercial street in Sweden, in an area where one would expect that the shoes would make the outfit.  We're talking Stockholm, not Rome, I know, but fashion matters here.  Curious, then, that we were greeted with a sign asking us to take our shoes off just inside the entrance to the realtor's office.  If I had known, I surely would have matched my socks to the rest of my ensemble.  And I definitely wouldn't have worn my prized Christmas present - those gorgeous Ugg boots you see there - which I dreamed for the next couple of nights that someone stole Carrie Bradshaw-style while we were inside buying our home.