Hannah is not in CPH
It’s time to move on from the ramblings and ruminations in Copenhagen. Thanks for reading and liking and commenting through the many months. You can now follow my artistic pursuits at my new blog: Art Below.
Doing it Again
Sometimes a friendship just clicks. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, you can pick right up where you left off. Last week, I left the isolation of my small town for a visit to Paris. There, I met up with Will, a fellow DiScho whom I hadn’t seen in nearly two years, and spent a few hours with a French friend who I knew from Copenhagen swing. It was so nice to laugh over Danish words, speak a little French, and be reassured that I’m not living in a lonely bubble far away from everyone after all.
I’ve spent many days in Paris, and there’s always something new. This time, we saw a meat delivery guy drop a shank in the gutter, pick it up, wipe it off, and put it back on the stack. We also enjoyed the entertainment supplied by our early-rising dorm fellows and compatriots. Although it was overcast and rainy at times, we still managed to power through the tourist attractions, and this time ascend the Eiffel Tower, albeit only to the second floor. I had the chance to introduce Will to many of my colorful friends throughout the various museums. They’re always a lovely bunch.
You’ll also notice some pictures from a little touring here in Germany with Will and my parents.
Done in Denmark
Got my SAS orange tag! Heavy without going over. I’m now unpacked into my parents’ house and boy do I have A LOT of stuff, and a lot of space, my very own lot.* I used to have the choice of two chairs or a bed. Now, I’ve got more chairs than I can count (that’s an exaggeration, I am capable of counting but not interested in exactitudes at the moment) and room to prance about. It’s nice to walk/run/prance on a level floor. The sidewalks and old buildings in Copenhagen are so wonky.
My last Denmark post wouldn’t be complete without a post about food, in this case the last ingredients in the kitchen.
*Anyone know if “lot” comes from the choice of the Biblical figure by that name?
Birthday and Bonvoyage
Photo: Leah Emerson
So I’ve been waiting for years for this equation to be true. Feel free to bask in my middle school algebraic glory. Today h=(1/2)m when h=23 and m=mom’s age. Hard to believe my mom was my age when she had me.
More fun with numbers. I have lived in Denmark 8.5% of my life, Germany 13%, East Coast 24%, Ohio 48%, and 6.5% elsewhere. It’s good to diversify, right? I like that Ohio no longer has claim on most of my life history.
It has been quite a year, more smiles than frowns, I think. Here are a few of my biggest moments from 2013 according to Facebook:
“I think my nearly 20 km bike ride this evening warranted a Starbucks frappuccino.”
“Finland accomplished.”
“Staying up late, coloring.”
“Inadvertently bought a compilation of Berlin obituaries. I definitely need to work on my German.”
“I debated going to sleep early or dancing. Dancing won. It always wins.”
I’m not good at goodbyes. Facts are easier to handle than feelings. I am now 23 and soon leaving Copenhagen after a blessed year+. I’ve learned a lot, found myself in many uncomfortable, but usually amusing situations, developed valuable friendships, and had a significant relationship. Oh, you didn’t realize? Haha. Unfortunately, we broke up yesterday in Hoje Taastrup. She held up pretty well considering the circumstances. I’ll certainly miss the Brown Beast, but there was just no way she could cope with the trip or the German terrain.
Thanks, friends, for all the kind words on my birthday and for the future. See you around!
Wrapping Up
My goodbye speech is written and I have list after list of things-to-do-and -buy-before-leaving. It’s about that time, but I’m ready for it. 4 Thanksgivings, 1 Julefrokost, 1 Christmas concert down. A few dinners and dances to go. I’ve got detailed plans for finalizing tasks at work, finishing up my foodstuffs, and laundering sheets before the new tenant takes my place.
Lately, I’ve been cramming in Scandinavian literature and movies. I just finished A Death in the Family by Karl Ove Knausgaard, and I’ll probably still have a book hangover tomorrow, it was that good, that touching, in addition to being utterly seamless and engrossing. Another good read was Just as Well I’m Leaving, a sort of biography/travelogue of Hans Christian Andersen. It started out funny, and while I anticipated stagnation, as I experienced with another recent biography, it maintained momentum and kept me well entertained through elliptical rides and dark Copenhagen evenings.
For my last bit of vacation, I borrowed DVDs from the DIS library and cried by myself in the cinema. A Hijacking was okay, but to be honest, I preferred Captain Philips, which although Hollywood dramatic, had a better plot and no where near the number of loose ends. In a Better World, however, was a complete tearjerker, (that is actually a strange word when you look at it) and I really enjoyed it. Life, death, psychological tension, hatefully human protagonists, and beautifully filmed – worth the tissues.
Yep, so I’m wrapping up here, figuratively and literally as I prepare for Christmas with the family.
It snowed last week, and I kept biking 🙂
Day’s Report
Date: 26 November 2013
Sunrise: 8:06
Sunset: 3:47
Current time: 19:05
Current temperature: 1 degree C
Days remaining in Denmark: 22
Notes: Broke off my kickstand, will get a new one. Made pumpkin bread. Wrote a card to my friend who is going to receive the habit on Sunday (not everyday you get to write something like that). Left work earlier than usual to do laundry. Now you know.
40 and 41 or Cancelled and Delayed
This weekend I celebrated Thanksgiving early with my parents and friend/colleague Julie. In honor of my 40th appearance in the Copenhagen airport, SAS arranged an alternate flight, which I was too cheap to buy in the first place, and a free lunch, which I enjoyed at 8.00. They even invited 5 colleagues to keep me company for a little while.
It was nice to spend time with my mom touring Frankfurt museums and then the region surrounding my future home. Less than one month now… Thanks to Julie, 42 kg of personal belongings made the trip. Hopefully the rest will be no more than 23. I don’t like throwing things away. You know by now that I’m a hoarder.
I do question whether I will actually live independently on the second floor of my parent’s house – mom’s kitchen is on the ground floor, the shower is on the ground floor, the cat is on the ground floor, the piano is on the ground floor, not to mention the TV, winter garden, and cozy couch. We’ll have to see about that.
The return flight was also delayed due to cabin crew issues, but Julie and I amused each other pretty well. She might think otherwise. Back now and trying to make the most of the remaining time. Two more Thanksgivings and two Julefrokosts to come. Number 42 should be fortuitous.
Cater- and paterfamilias
In a Time Lapse
Dim from the start, undulating womb walls, staggered balconies, and the meandering yellow horizontals of stairs. A piano and some equipment on the Konserthuset stage. Warm and nestled in a corner seat.
Einaudi enters in the anticipating darkness, reverberating with the pulse of a large drum. He caresses the keys, bring forth simple, pregnant melodies woven in and around the strings. The genius with his instrument, bathed in a golden spotlight. From where I sit, the keys flame, the orchestration emanating flawlessly from his imagination. No director, no gestures, just raw feeling.
Every note, every sound is present, rumbling to the core. It gnaws at your chest, aching heart begging to be set free, to be exposed completely. Shivering along with the orchestra. If you could only breathe deeply enough.
There is no intermission, no program. An hour passes, then another. It all blends together. An uninterrupted soundscape, as far as the ear can hear.
The building begins to creak, strange and terrible howls, screeches, dzjooing. Indiscernible instruments. Clicking, clunking, plunking, tribal sounds, war sounds. It’s not so scary if you cover your ears. Suddenly, the stage is blood red. Strobes flash. The inescapable birth pangs are upon us. An adrenaline rush without film.
Melancholy and lonely, the pain subsides, to be replaced by a gentle solo. Jellyfish of the memory recall with their burning tentacles the first time I heard “Fly,” yearsnbefore the Intouchables was popular, favorited sometime between The Fray’s “Enough for Now” and Manana’s “Miss Evening.” Truly in a time lapse. Floating somewhere between the waters of the deep and the twinkling stars of the unfathomable expanse above, anchored in firm bass chords. These are the sounds of life and death, of earth, of the universe.
Then, it’s over. It’s still dark, but silent now. Einaudi breaks the spell. He speaks. He is real. Everything is real, but the mysterious atmosphere has dissolved. Back to real time.
Ludovico Einaudi and his orchestra at DR Konserthuset with works from his latest album, In a Time Lapse, and classics like “Fly.”
A Confession
I am a hoarder. It runs in the family. I don’t hoard newspapers or tupperware or tea. I hoard sentiment. Okay, maybe that part about newspaper is a lie. I might have some sentimental newspapers in a box tucked away somewhere. If you’ve ever sent me a card, I probably still have it. Ticket stubs – I’ve got those too. You want thingamabobs, I’ve got twenty. Love mementos, yep. Now that I’m thinking about it, I really hope the first Valentine’s rose has been thrown away by now, I had enough trouble with moth larvae in my old t-shirts and collection of little boxes. Maybe my hoarding tendency is why I like to account for finances and collage all the receipts I saved.
To the point. I cleared three years worth of Facebook timeline history today. It was time. Why did it take 6 years to reach that stage? Well, I didn’t want to dispose of the record of my life. Those posts revealed so much about my day to day experiences. What if I’m famous some day and people want to know who I kept in touch with or what emotions I went though upon receipt of SAT scores and college acceptance? Yes, but, that information was public. I don’t post anything that I’m ashamed of, however, do my employers and colleagues, friends though they are, really need to know when I was happy, bored, lonely, in love, and out of love while in high school? Probably not. (I genuinely hope no one actually bothered to read that far into my timeline).
At times, I pictured myself in my bedroom in PA, studying for AP Euro, reading grapes of wrath, solving integrals, and watching my newsfeed (more likely refreshing the “Friends Online” page). Other times, I vividly recalled Freshman year in Harrington, curled up at my desk lit by a stale fluorescent lamp, skyping my then boyfriend, my roommate (who is now a nun) studying French in the background. I could have just hidden everything, clinging to the dust of emotions stirred up in memories of the past, but I deleted them.
That 17 year old girl is someone else now, and the things that ignited me are different. That was a girl who was afraid of hugging, embarrassed around boys, breaking her heart over and over. But, she was also a girl who strove for excellence, was blessed with good friends, a scholarship, and made an effort to keep in touch with three high schools worth of friends. I look back and see a different person, like a voice recording that doesn’t sound anything like my head voice, but, it made me who I am. I can delete the data, because the evidence of what brought me here will stick around in the way I think, act, speak, feel. If I deleted an old post you wrote or liked, I’m sorry. At least know that I read each as I waited for FB to process the deletion.
It will inevitably be a while before I do another timeline purge. I’ll probably be 25 by then, and I’ll be looking back on 2013 thinking, what a weirdo, petting seagulls and kicking pigeons? Yep.
Rødgrød Med Fløde 
