The League of Champions

Today's Question(s) for the Reader:

1) What is an opportunity you have experienced or will experience in your life for which you are incredibly grateful?


Wake-up Call

This blog is dedicated to my friend Chris.

Chris and I aren't great friends--we don't hang out all the time and I've never met his parents. Chris and I really don't even know each other that well. What I do know of Chris is that both of our families have lake cottages on Wawasee and we both like to wakeboard and party in the summertime. I know that I enjoy his company, that he is very active, and that he laughs a lot. Everything I know about Chris tells me that he is a great guy.

"On Sunday afternoon (8-8-10 @ 5pm), Chris sustained an injury that fractured the C4 and C5 vertebrae in his neck. He was airlifted to Methodist Hospital (Neuro Critical care Unit) in Indianapolis. On Monday (8-9-10) at 2pm, Chris underwent surgery for 3-4 hours to fuse together the broken vertebrae and to stabilize them from causing any further damage. At this moment, Chris is mostly unable to move from the shoulders down."

This is excerpt from an online journal kept on Chris. I was informed of his injury soon after I arrived in Finland by mutual friends. My heart sank. Questions raced through my mind as I processed what had happened.

Can this be real? Might he really be paralyzed from the neck-down?

This can be fixed, right? A guy like that can't have this happen permanently.

How could this happen? He's young, healthy, and vibrant. He doesn't deserve this.

Why him?

And then I prayed and prayed and prayed. Just like everyone back home.

And, just like everyone else, I had to face the reality this can happen to guys like that. It can happen to anyone.

We've heard it all before: Life is short. Life is fragile. Give thanks. Carpe diem. The list goes on.

As we carry on in our daily routines the weight of those phrases beings to lesson. Life is short and fragile and blah blah blah... Gotta get to work, gotta write this essay, gotta pay this bill, gotta ace this test, ugh I hate my job, ugh that woman drives me crazy, ugh please let this week be over.

It's the tragic moments in our lives, the wake-up calls, that shoot us back to reality.

Planes fly into twin towers. 33 killed in a university massacre. 28-year-old girl dies of massive heart attack. Friend broke his neck and may be a quadriplegic.

Upon learning of these tragedies, we are silent and reflect.

And then it hits us: Life is fragile.

So what do we do about it?

That is what I'm trying to figure out as I peck away at my computer in my little apartment in Aland. I'm looking out my window. It's a gorgeous day. A Finnish woman with white-blond hair and a leather jacket just rode by on her bicycle. A tiny European car just pulled into the lot. Leaves rustle from the island breeze. I feel thankful to be here and for this opportunity and I wonder if that is enough. Are we ever thankful enough?

So far in my life, I have been lucky enough to be spared extreme tragedy. Gunshots were never fired at my university and I'm not in a neuro critical care unit hoping to recover my ability to move. And not only have I been spared such horror, but I have been blessed in countless ways. I have spent my life surrounded by loving people and have been given great opportunities. I am so grateful.

So again? What do we do about it?

What do we do for those who were not spared? What about my friend Chris, who lives in a Rehabilitation Hospital and has endless hours of therapy ahead of him with hopes that he may one day return to his life as he once knew it?


The Inspiration

Today I will play in biggest game of my life. In just over 3 hours, I will play in the European Champions League and face FFC Turbine Potsdam.

Potsdam, a city just southwest of Berlin, boasts this team of Champions League defending champs. Every single woman on the team is German with the exception of one Japanese National team player. Many of her German teammates also complete in International play. In last year's Champions League, they also drew the Finnish champions for the first round and beat them 8-0. I have seen video of them play. They are strong, fast, and their passes are precise and played with extreme pace. They are incredible football players--some of the best I have ever seen.

In short, we are the underdog.

I have 30 minutes until I will leave my apartment and ride my bike to our home-pitch. My heart is racing. I am nervous. I have heard that everyone from island is going to be there. I have never played for a crowd this big. No one expects us to win.

And maybe we won't. But I don't care. This is one of the greatest opportunities of my life. Not many Americans, men or women, have been given this chance to play in the European Champions League. I am thankful. We have nothing to lose. I love this sport and I get to be in the starting 11 against some of the best players in the world. I am excited. Even if we lose 12-0, I am thankful for this opportunity. And maybe, just maybe, we won't.

After over a month of rehab, Chris posted this in his online journal:

"Today came the biggest news yet. With the help of two therapists, I was able to completely put pressure on both legs and my spine, and stand completely upright for about 20 seconds!!! I didn't think I was ready, didn't think that would happen for several more weeks, but my legs have gotten stronger and it shows."

Chris, you are an inspiration. I read your journal every day. And now, without fear and because life is short and fragile, I'm about to play my ass off in the biggest game of my life.

Here we go, United!



Don't forget Today's Question for the Reader!

Jag backar!!!

Ladies and Gentleman, Mina Damer och Herrar, your American in Aland is back. And, in keeping tradition with the old blog, I would like to start with Today's Question for the Reader:


When was the last time you somehow embarrassed yourself in a silly way and what did you do to incur this embarrassment? Entertain me, readers! :)



Greetings!


After being an American in America for the last year and nine months, it feels good to be an American in Aland once again (you will have to excuse my spelling of the word Aland. The A should have a circle over it, as it does in the title of my blog, but my computer will for some reason not allow me to make that Swedish letter at this time. But I digress...).


Since I first left Aland in October of 2008, my life has changed in a number of ways. I made the decision not to use my teaching degree. Instead, I have been going back to school to pursue a field in medicine. This has entailed enrolling in undergraduate science classes at a local university and completeing a course to receive my EMT certification. And while I played soccer (or, as they say in Swedish, fotboll) in a co-ed league on Sundays and in a semi-professional league in my two summers away from Aland, I felt that I was forced to accept that my career as a serious soccer player was over.


That is, until, my old coach and friend gave me a call one day in late April while I was holed-up in the school library, reading about various forms of ferns.

"Hej Becca! It's Ubbe!"


The unexpected call from the familiar and friendly accent caused me to grin the biggest grin I'd grinned all semester.


"Ubbe! Hej! Tjenare?"


I racked my brain for more Swedish beyond, "What's up?" in an effort to show my old coach that I still had it. But I hadn't thought about the Swedish language in quite some time.


Ubbe laughed, congratulated my attempts at Swedish as he always did, and went on to explain that Aland United was suffering from multiple injuries. What was I up to? What have I been doing for the last 17 months? Have I been playing any fotboll? Was I fit? And, would I have any interest in playing fotboll at the top level once again?

My heart stopped.


"Wait, you are calling to check my interest level in playing for Aland United?"


I looked down at my colossal biology book. I stared at a mind-numbing diagram representing the multiple fertilization processes of Staghorn ferns. My eyes then wandered to my school calendar, opened to reveal a flurry of assignments and test dates.


Would I play soccer again?


Are you kidding me?


"Yes! Yes, I am absolutely interested!"


The next couple of weeks consisted of discussions with the new head coach--discussions in which I hoped I could convince her that she should sign me to her team rather than an ex-WPS player. The next thing I knew, the contract was sent, and I immediately signed.


Goodbye, library.
Hello, perfect, green pitch. I have missed you.


So, once again, I find myself on the Finnish island of Aland, in the middle of the Baltic Sea, where the people welcome me with open arms and Swedish words, to play the sport that I more than enjoy. I am passionate about this sport--about running, jumping, heading, slide-tackling, fighting, shooting, scoring, and winning. This sport was my identity from the age of 5 until 23. And now, at 25 1/2 years old, I get to be Becca the Soccer Player once again.




Hell yeah.







Aland United, 2010

Now that I am here, let's discuss what has happened in the last week.


1) I practiced and played in a game with the team to discover that this team isn't just good, they are great. The team is currently in 3rd place in the league. We have to win out and the #1 team has to lose one game for us to take The Title.


We won our game this past Saturday (I made my debut and played the second-half), and I have no doubts that we are capable of winning the next 7 games. It will require focus and hard work, but the women on my team love this sport as much as I do, so they eat focus and hard work for breakfast.

Oh, and did I mention that the team is playing in the Champion's League this year after their success last season? Not a bad thing to add to the soccer resume.


2) It wouldn't be my life on Aland if I didn't have a second job delivering newspapers, now would it? Thanks to some help from my awesome teammate Maiju, I start Monday. Bring it on, obnoxiously large, yellow, newspaper-delivering bicycle!


3) I have a great little apartment located steps away from my best buddies Emelie and Ante and just down the road from a beautiful beach. The apartment has all the essentials and a comfortable bed.


There is only one draw-back:


The Laundry Room


If there is an award for the creepiest laundry room on the face of the planet, the laundry room in my apartment complex wins by a kilometer. Allow me to attempt an expression of this absolutely direful place of wash:

The way to The Laundry Room begins with a dark, spiral staircase that plummets into the ground and looks as if it belongs to the deep entrance of a dungeon. These stairs are open-backed, which any child with an imagination knows that this is perfect for sub-stair lurkers to reach through and grab the legs of unsuspecting stair-descenders. The staircase leads to a damp, empty room, above which there is no working light. The room leads to a barren, eternal hallway. Follow the hallway. On the left, there is an unmarked door. Inside: the washing machine.

THIS IS CREEPY, RIGHT!?

I tried to capture this extreme and undoubtable creepiness of the staircase on my camera.



Here is the spiral staircase which I must brave to launder my clothes. By day, not so bad. But creepy, no less.





















This is the same spiral staircase by night (look closely to see the stairs). The light leads to the eternal hallway, where I feel as though I'm more likely to find witches brewing potions rather than machines washing clothes.

If I disappear, chances are pretty good that Pennywise the Clown got me in The Laundry Room.

The Perfect Present

This past Sunday was my dear friend Ante's birthday. He was kind enough to invite me over to share cake with his family and close friends. And since the invite was somewhat last-minute, I was unable to get Ante a gift. Luckily, an opportunity arose before the party which would allow me to give Ante the perfect present.

My good friend Jolanda was gone for a week with her mother visiting a Swedish island. Because Ante is such a nice guy, he offered to watch Jolanda's mother's dog while they were away. Mille, the dog, is 11-years-old and looks more like an overgrown guinea pig than a canine. He is a fat little chihuahua with long, shaggy black fur. He's like a dust-mop with a face. He's adorable.

Unfortunately, due to either his old age or to separation anxiety, or perhaps it was something he ate, Mille has a pooping problem. The problem is that he poops inside.

Because Ante is a busy man, he needed the help of my friend Emelie and her roommate Frida to step-in and take care of Mille whenever Ante has had to work this past week.

The first night at Emelie's apartment, Mille pooped on the floor. Emelie had no choice but to get on her hands and knees and clean up the chihuahua droppings. Emelie was feeling sorry for the little guy. Maybe he was sick!

The second night at Emelie's apartment, Mille pooped on the floor. This time, it was Frida's turn to clean up Mille's excrement. He was beginning to look a little less cute.

The third night at Emelie's apartment, and also the day of Ante's birthday celebration, Mille pooped on the floor.

Since Emelie and Ante live two steps from one-another, I first went to Emelie's apartment before heading to Ante's for cake.

I rang the doorbell.

No answer.

I rang it again.

Still no answer.

I pounded on the door.

Finally, Emelie threw the door open and immediately turned to swoop away and out onto the balcony with Frida and Carro.

"Watch your step!" she shouted as she went, "He's done it again!"

But due to the overwhelming stench, I already knew.

There, on the doormat, sat a healthy helping of Mille pie. Or, perhaps 'custard' better describes the state of this specimen.

Gross.

I plugged my nose and leaped the doormat to join the girls on the balcony, which was the only place in the apartment with breathable air.

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed, "That odor is absolutely horrendous! Is someone gonna clean that up?"

"Not me!" shouted Frida, "I cleaned it yesterday!"

"And I cleaned the first one," said Emelie, "I'm not touching that again."

I looked at Carro's face. "No way," she stated.

"It's Ante's dog," Emelie shrugged,"he can clean it when he gets home from work."

It was then that I was struck with the idea for the perfect present. It's not that I wanted to, so much, but that I felt that I had to.

"No one wants to clean up dog shit on his birthday," I sighed. "I'll clean it."

Armed with plastic bags, paper towels and stove cleaner (apparently the only cleaning spray available at the time), I began to clean the poop.

While cleaning, Ante came home from work and knocked on Emelie's door. She opened it for Ante to see his sweet, American friend on all fours scrubbing poop out of a rug.

"Oh my," Ante said as he stumbled back in reaction to the smell, "It stinks."

"This is your birthday present, Ante!" I shouted while simultaneously attempting not to inhale the scent. "Cause no one wants to clean poop on his birthday, right?"

Ante laughed, thanked me, and quickly disappeared into his own apartment. It was almost party time and people would be arriving soon.

When the fecal matter was finally cleaned and bagged, I was prepared to take it to the outside garbage.

"Wait!" Frida said as she chuckled, "You should give Ante the bag of poop!"

I laughed and thought about it. I mean, it would make the present official.

"Good idea! I'm on it."

I walked the two steps to Ante's apartment and rang the bell. "Antaaayy!" I shouted from outside, "I have something for you!"

The door slowly creaked open and once the gap was wide enough to fit my arm, I blindly shoved the bag of poop through the opening and shook its contents.

"Here you are Ante! Happy Birthday!"

The girls were laughing from Emelie's apartment and I too giggled in anticipation of seeing Ante's face once the door was fully agape.

The door opened all the way.

Oops.

That's not Ante.

That's Ante's mother: a sweet, elegant woman that I had met once before but very briefly. She more knows of me than knows me. She had apparently arrived at Ante's earlier in preparation for the party.

So there I was, standing in my friend's doorway, making my real first impression with his mother by shaking a bag of dogshit in her face.

She was clearly in shock and plugged her nose.

I lowered the poop.

Wow. This is awkward.

I rambled something about a dog pooping and it was Ante's dog so I was gonna clean the poop as his present and this is the poop in the bag Happy Birthday Ante ha...ha... ha. . .

"Ante is in the shower," she said in Swedish.

"Ok," I responded as I slowly backed away, "I'm really sorry."

I turned and ran downstairs, a flush of embarrassment reddened my face.

Did that seriously just happen?

In the end, I had to face Ante's mother and go back to his apartment for cake. I apologized once again the moment I entered. She laughed and gave me a big hug. What a lady.

So what about you, reader? What's your embarrassing moment? :)

Apologies and Conclusions

Today's Question (Prompt) for the Reader:

Finish this sentence:
I really, really miss...


Hello, everyone. Writing this post has been hanging over my head for months now. I swear, I started it at least 30 times without ever having finished...unable to write for reasons that I'd rather not share with with the entire blogosphere. Of course, there's a good chance that I no longer have any readers so I could probably spill it all, but I'll just stick to what blog was about--my life on Åland.

Though all signs point to the contrary, I want to assure you all that I never forgot about this blog. It never became unimportant to me. I enjoyed writing every entry, whether it was in some way introspective or just a chance to tell you all a funny story. It was a great way to keep up with people back home and to connect with new people in Finland. This was my first blogging experience, and it really opened up to me the joys of writing. Yes, I was an English major. My academic curriculum in college mainly consisted of reading and writing papers. But besides the diary I sporadically kept in middle school (full of emo woes, I'm sure), this blog is really the first time that I have ever written for myself. And that you all read it, asked for more entries, and even made comments, really meant a lot to me. So I am very sorry, to you and for myself, that I stopped writing.

All of that said, I should clarify that I am back in the United States and have been for a month. But not a day goes by that I don't miss my life on Åland. Jolanda, Emelie, Åsa, Tiff, Micke, Ante, Poomi, Nicco, Sarah, Becci, Julia, Emma, Eve, Mimmi, Ida, Carro, Mathan, Adde, Hannah, Jose, Karring, Lisa, Bethan, Johanna, Maria, Monika, Ubbe, Vesa, Lena, Robban-- I really, really miss you guys. And the fact is, Åland captured my heart. So now, I'm a girl in love with an island.

I'm not sure what it was about Åland that made me fall in love with it. I guess one of the obvious reasons would be the fact that it was the place on which I was once again given the chance to play the sport that I enjoy so much. Fellis, Robban, Ubbe, Khaled--I can't thank you enough.

And I suppose that another obvious reason for being love-struck would be that Åland is beautiful, and anyone can fall in love with beauty, right? Waking up every morning and looking out my window to see the sun shine and ripple on the sea, happening upon jungles of hanging trees and wild flowers, witnessing sunrises and sunsets that engulfed the entire sky in flame-- this was all more irresistible than velvety lips and deep brown eyes. Of course I fell in love! It had me at hello (er--at "hej").

But there was something else about this place that took a hold of my heart and will probably hold a little piece of it forever. And I think that goes back to that list of people three paragraphs above. I came, all alone, to an island which was previously unbeknownst to me, somewhere off the west coast of Finland, where the people speak a language I had never heard. That was scary. That had potential to be unenjoyable. But you people, up there, in that list, you took care of me. You welcomed me, you got my number and put it in your phone, you called me, you checked on me, you laughed with me, you taught me Swedish, you played your hearts out with me, you celebrated with me, you cried with me, you made this experience unforgettable. And I will always, always, be so grateful to you all. Thank you. I love you guys and it is certainly because of you that I will always love Åland.

So...what's next for this American back in America? Who knows. More fotboll? Maybe. I'm formulating my next adventure as we speak (As it turns out, adventure is addicting). But I have a feeling that it is my first adventure that will always be the most special. I'll be seeing you again, Åland, sometime in the near future. 'Cause a girl in love can only stay away for so long.

To all my friends, know that you always have a place to stay if you ever make it to the US. I hope that you will.

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to answer the Question for the Reader.
This is An American in Åland, signing out.

In Case Anyone Still Checks This Thing...

I'm Back!!

Best Roommate Everrrrr

Me and Kira :)

Today's Question for the Reader:

Since I've been gone for so long, I think I'll have a few questions today. Feel free to answer just one or all of them if you like!

1) What is the weirdest/most random/most disgusting/most embarrassing job you have ever had? Details! Details!

2) Tell me one place in Europe I must see (or one thing I must do) before I return to the United States. Please justify your answer.

3) If you were reincarnated as an animal besides the homo sapien, which animal would you like to be and why? I'm just curious...

Hello Everyone!!!

I'm back!!! And I'm very, very sorry for the extreme delay in blog postings. Let me explain:

First of all, in case you haven't heard, I have a roommate! My American teammate from Purdue University, Kira Bilecky, has been here for almost the last 2 months. (Wow! I can't believe it's been two months since she arrived and since I've blog posted. Sorry!) As a result of living with this funny, dry-humored and spontaneous individual, I have had a hard time sitting at my computer long enough to write an entire entry. You see, Kira and I are living in pretty tight quarters over here. Our beds are about a meter apart (that's right, I use meters now). We share the same bathroom and the exact same schedule. We even share the same desk. Her computer sits one foot from mine (okay, but I guess I still use ft). And if you think I can sit here and type out an entire entry when Kira constantly interjects with random and funny stories or comments, then you are mistaken. Plus, having her here has given me someone with whom to do things on Åland--whether it's trips to the museums, the beach, the coffee shop, other historical sites, or whatever. The point is, Kira's a lot of fun. Therefore, I cannot sit at a computer.

In addition, I have found a good group of friends to keep me distracted in the evenings after practice. We have spent a lot of time together watching the Euro Cup or just sitting around laughing and sharing stories. Plus, the island has warmed up significantly and it's just too beautiful to be inside.

So I'm sorry! But you couldn't sit here either!

But I'm back, and we have a lot of catching up to do.

Hmmmm...but where to begin...

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

So, as I have told a few of you back home, Kira and I had a paper route these past two weeks as a second job. And for some reason, many of you found this to be incredibly humorous. What, do you normally picture 13-year-boys when it comes to paper routes? Not women in their 20's? You think this occupation is only reserved for little Jimmy who has just hit puberty and whose voice cracks in excitement as he explains that he's about to start his first job?

Well, you were wrong.

Exhibit A:

This is me, at 3:45 in the morning, about to begin the route.

Don't act like you aren't jealous of my ridiculously large bicycle.

Exhibit B:

And this is Kira.

No, that's not a lightsaber on her shirt...just the reflection from her mailbag.

"I see that your Schwartz is as big as mine. Now, let's see how well you can handl' it." ...20 euros to the person who can name that movie without googling it!

Ok, but I think my friend Doug put it best in an email to me:

"Delivering papers! That's hilarious. You realize you are now living every 12 year old boy's dream, right? Paper route. Soccer team. No parents. I am jealous. So are my nephews."

Haha. Thanks Doug.

But seriously, delivering papers turned out to be a great gig for us (we are done for now because we were just filling in for someone for 2 weeks. But we are on the list of people to call any time they need someone to fill in). It was perfect because it didn't require us to speak Swedish and it paid fairly well. Kira and I just rolled out of bed every morning at 3:00 (well, Kira got out of bed at 3:00. I probably didn't move until 3:20. I'm not really the "hop out of bed in the morning" type. Maybe that's why I had detention after detention in high school for my constant tardiness to first period...), we threw on a few layers (it's cold in Finland at 3 am), jumped on our bicycles and rode the 6ish minute ride into town and to the post office.

Oh, but I should mention that this early-morning bike ride was different from any other time we might ride into town...

As it turns out, slugs (yes, slugs) also wake up at 3 am in Finland and have places to go and people (slugs?) to see. And they like to travel via sidewalk. But who says it's just for the human promenade?

So, every morning, Kira and I were faced with the task of doing some serious slug-dodging ("If you can dodge a wrench, then you can dodge a [slug]."). Sounds easy, right?

Wrong.

These aren't just little baby slugs I'm talking about. I'm talking about big, fat, sausage-like slugs that are 6 inches long and boast giant antennaes and polka-dots and leave a trail of thick slime as they go.

They are so, SO, gross.

And it's not just see one or two slugs. They are everywhere! I don't know how these things reproduce, but it is working! And Kira thinks I'm crazy, but I swear I can smell the slime. Yuuuuummy. Nothing like the fresh sent of slug ooze to wake you up in the morning.

Since there are so many of them, perhaps you think it wouldn't a big deal to run over a slug here and there. But I try to avoid it at all costs. Here's why:

First of all, I am a pretty big fan or letting harmless, living things continue to live. I don't kill slugs or spiders or any other peaceful kind of bug. The first time I saw a slug in Åland, Kira and I were on a walk and we came upon a 5-incher making his way across the sidewalk. I had no idea that he would be the first of thousands that I would see on my stay here. So, afraid that he would be made into slug-mush by a passing bicycle, I made Kira wait while I found a stick, put it in front of the slimy little monster, allowed him sloooooowly slide on, then put the stick, with him aboard, in the grass. Why shouldn't he have the chance to live out his entire little slug life?

But besides this simple fact that I don't like killing things, there is another reason that I do my best to avoid hitting a slug on my bicycle. And believe me, you would too, because it is not pleasant. Hit one of these suckers on your bike and suddenly you've got green slug guts and slime spinning off your front tire and at your face. Now that's slug-dodging. It's like being caught in open fire. It's disgusting. And if you thought they looked gross alive, a smushed slug on the sidewalk is even worse. Ugh. They have the right to live, but I shudder at the thought of them...

Ok, but where was I? Yes, so Kira and I arrived each morning at the post office at about 3:30, parked our regular bicycles and loaded up the post bicycles with all our newspapers. I usually put the new Coldplay album on the iPod and we were off.

And it came as a surprise to me but I actually really liked being awake at that time. It was incredibly peaceful riding through town with no one else around. And the sky was always brilliant. On our second-to-last day on the job, I swear, I've never seen the sky so pink. Actually, "pink" doesn't really do it justice. It was fuschia and rose and lilac and magenta and lavender with a touch of fiery orange. Absolutely breathtaking.

And then, depending on if Becca or Reba showed up to do the job, we were usually done in a little over an hour and back in bed by 6am.

But who is Reba, you ask?

Meet Reba

Reba is about 5'4", has an athletic build, has long, blondish-light-brownish hair, blue eyes and some freckles on her cheeks. She plays fotboll for Åland United and wears #9.

Wait, does this all sound familiar? This sounds like me...Becca...

...right?

So who is Reba then? My long-lost twin seperated at birth? A random, Finnish look-alike?

No.

She is none of those things. Unfortunately, I must claim Reba. I am Reba.

She is my alter ego.

Reba was the name given to me by my lovely roommate Kira whenever I do something...well, stupid. Reba leaves home without taking her bike key. Reba can never remember where she put her cell phone. Reba often speaks without thinking first. Reba can never remember which way to go on the paper route. Reba actually took too tight of a turn on her enormous newspaper delivery bicycle and ended up falling to the ground in a sort of slow-motion fashion, splaying newspapers everywhere. Oh, and Reba thinks she is really good at singing. And dancing. And goal-keeping. And walking on her hands. And she laughs pretty hard at her own jokes.

Usually, when any of the above occurs, Kira shakes her head and says, "Reba, go home. Send Becca back please."

But Reba always finds a way to be there. Remember the story I told you about being caught naked in sea while there were apparently people watching and I had to go to the hospital with a rock in my foot?

Yep. Blame Reba.

And remember the time I accidentally ordered a hot-dog mashed-potato shrimp-salad burrito?

And ate it?

Yep. Blame Reba.

And just a month ago, I decided that I would use the flat iron I brought from America to straighten my hair before going out. I don't know what you know about electricity and outlets or why one is not supposed to use an American appliance in Europe, but I don't know any of the scientific reasoning behind it. But, bottom line, you should not attempt to use an American appliance in Europe. I knew that.

But then Reba stepped in.

And you would think that the smell of smoke when I plugged in the American flat iron (with a European adaptor) should have been enough warning.

Reba, unplug the flat iron. I know you really want to do your hair but something isn't right...

But, of course, Reba never listens and the lingering aroma of a possible electrical fire wasn't enough to stop me. I decided to straighten my hair with it anyways. And, I must say, my hair looked pretty good when I went out that night.

But the next day...

I awoke to find that I had absolutely fried the top layer of my hair. I found it dry and thin and kinked and when I put it in a ponytail it stuck straight out. It could easily hold a pick, if that tells you anything. In essence, I accidentally made half of my hair into a pathetic version of an afro. It's been almost a month and it has not yet recovered. Thanks a lot, Reba.

Of course, I've given Kira a name too. She is known as Kiiiiiiiiiiiira when she has her special moments. And our friends Micke, Ante, Martin, and Emelie are called Micky, Ant-ay, Poom-ay, and Ken Lee when they have their special moments. But for some reason, it seems that Reba is called out more than any of the others. In fact, Reba is sort of just my name now. My teammates just often say, "Hey Reba!" Or they ask, "Is it Becca or Reba today?" I usually swear that it's Becca, but Reba inevitably pops out somewhere in the course of the day. And if there's any wine involved...well then Reba really likes to take over. But I'm not even going there... :)

OMG! American Girls Are Sooooo Last Season...

Okay, so I don't know if you've been keeping up with any of the latest fashion trends but here is what's in and what's out for this summer:

In-

-bright colors

-cut-out swimsuits

-short shorts

-flirty frocks

Out-

-dull colors

-capris

-long shorts

-American girls

Yes. You heard me. American girls are OUT.

Well, at least they are according to an article Kira and I came across in a newspaper here on Åland called the XIT.

I have mentioned many times in my blog that I have met a lot of incredible people on this island--people that have gone above and beyond to make sure that Kira and I are happy and comfortable. Our team mom Monika takes care of everything we need--from hairdryers to cell phones. And she always does it with a smile. Our coach Ubbe and main translator helped us find the cheapest plane tickets for our trip to Paris. My teammate Åsa has made countless trips to our apartment to pick us up and drive us wherever we need to go. Another teammate Julia has written out many lists of Swedish words for me and translated them into English so that I can practice. My teammates Sarah and Carro took me with them to Stockholm for a shopping trip. Our friend Micke lets us borrow his car any time we ask (Kira has an international driver's license).

And I could really go on and on about how great the people have been here and how much I really appreciate them. You all have been awesome!

So, because of the way Kira and I have been received on this island so far, this article took us a little off-guard. You see, what had happened was that Kira and I were sitting in our apartment, minding our own business and going about our daily lives, when I came across a picture of Kira's face. I had been flipping through the XIT newspaper. Of course, I can't understand the majority of it because it is in Swedish, but it seems like a paper directed toward a younger demographic and I like all the pictures so I was giving it a quick skim.

"Kira, you're in paper," I told her. Kira and I have been in the papers here before but usuaully it is with a picture of us playing fotball. And this was just a headshot.

"Oh. What for?" Kira asked, hardly turning from her computer. Kira's not really the type that gets exctied about seeing herself in the newspaper. Don't get me wrong, she doesn't dislike it, but she's just laid-back girl that doesn't thrive off of that sort of attention.

"I don't know," I responded. "It just says, 'Grill-Amerikanskor' in bold letters and is then followed by a short paragraph. It says something about Åland United."

"Hm," said Kira, still fairly uninterested.

And then I realized that Kira's picture was part of a list. In the left column, there was a list of Swedish words accompanied by pictures that all had arrows pointing up. In right column, where Kira's picture was found, there was a list of things with arrows pointing down.

But I still didn't understand it so I finished flipping through the paper and threw it aside.

It wasn't too long after that I received a phone call from a very good friend here, Jolanda. I met Jolanda on all the trips I took to the schools. She is my age and I have spent a lot of time with her in her classroom. She is an excellent teacher. In fact, I don't know that I've ever seen someone handle middle-school aged students as well as she does.

She called and was very upset about the article.

"What does it say?" I asked, surprised.

She explained that it is somewhat difficult to translate into English, but that "Grill-Amerikanskor" is a slang term. It would be applied to American girls who only come to the island for the summer, simply as a sort of vacation to party, grill-out at barbeques, and hook up with all the Finnish boys...

And then the paragraph specifically talked about the Americans playing for Åland United, wondered if people were finally over the "craze" created by them, and then put a picture of Kira's face.

So, according to the What's Hot and What's Not list, Kira and I are OUT, because we only come to the island for a few months in the summer to barbeque and meet boys.

Riiiiiiiight...

By the way, I've been here since the end of March and Kira since the beginning of May. And we will be here until the end of October. I'm pretty that my seven-month stint here is more than a few months vacation during the prime-time summer months.

And trust me, there are plenty of barbeques and boys at home. In fact, it's kind of hard being away from home right now. I miss my family and my friends. A lot of people who are very important to me have gotten or are getting married this summer--namely my cousin. Believe me, I wouldn't miss these weddings for BBQ and boys.

Kira and I are here for one reason: To play fotboll.

And for it to be suggested that this is simply a vacation for us, especially when the author of this article has never even met us, is just a little rude. And to put Kira's face right next to it? Come on...

So, Zandra Lundberg, if for some reason you ever read this, I just wanted to let you know that we were a little offended by your article. I'm sure you are a nice girl and that if you had actually ever met us, you wouldn't have written it. And I don't know if you've ever been to the United States, but in case you ever do go, I hope that you are welcomed with open arms and treated with respect. Because that's what people deserve, right?

Okay, now that I have that off my chest, we can move on.

Eurotrip!

Unfortunately, I must stop writing now. I need to finish packing for the Eurotrip that Kira and I are embarking upon at 4:30 am Sunday morning. We will be joined by Micke and my good friend Charles from the United States for this week-long adventure. We're off to Paris, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Brussels.

I can't wait!

I apologize if this entry is full of typos, misspellings, or jibberish, but I didn't have time to proof-read. For now, just enjoy these next pictures and don't forget to answer the question(s) for the reader!!

Remember Emelie, one of our goalkeepers? She texted Kira and told her that we might want to look outside our balcony in two minutes...

And then she drove up our street in this, gave us a quick wave, turned around, and drove away.

I think I almost peed my pants I laughed so hard.

This is a group of girls that Åsa and I helped coach one Saturday morning. That's us down at the end of the table.

They were a great gruop of girls!

That's me in front warming up the girls while coaching.

I tried speaking Swedish and they thought it was pretty funny :)

Showing the girls how to do a scissor-step.

That's me, sporting #15. We're listeing to Coach Åsa!

Fotball pics:

Åland United, lined up before a match.

That's me, the far person. It looks like I'm waiting for a punt to come down.














Um. excuse me, could you please move? I'm trying to shoot here...

Remember when I said that I was running for Finland's Next Top Model? Well I think this is another picture I'm going to include in my portfolio.

But seriously, I definitely won that header...

Run Kira, Ruuuuunn!!!

Scenery

A view of the beach very close to our apartment.

Not bad, huh?

The view from Micke's cabin. We were there for the Midsommar holiday.

Another picture taken not far from our apartment.

Beautiful!

View from a lookout point.

Lookout point

Me hiking

Teammates and Friends

Teammates celebrating Nicco's graduation

Becci, Nicco, Sarah, Julia, Annica, Hannah

Sarah, our captain, and Kira

Me, Emelie, and Kira

You will often see Kira and I riding around this way.

But Kira rides and I drive. Kira is bad at driving...

Kira and me

Clowning around :)

Kira, Micke, and me

Poomi love!

Micke and Martin (aka Poomi). Don't worry, they are just friends. :)

With our favorite boys on the island!

Martin, Kira, Ante, Me, Micke

Cracking up

The girls!

Lisa, Sarah, Mattan, Becci, Julia

Kira and I attempted to make a beirut table into an American flag...

It's okay to laugh...it looks like it was made by a couple of kindergarteners...

Dancing with my friend Thomas!

Some of our non-fotboll buddies!

Me, Jolanda, and Maria.

With my favorite couple!

Åsa, Jonas, and me

Think "Poop."

Today's Question for the Reader:

What is an injury you have incurred in an embarrassing or stupid way? Was it due to your own clumsiness? A bad decision? A momentary lack of common sense? Details! Details! :)



Have a Happy First of May!

The first of May is just another day in the United States. But here, in Finland, it is recognized as a national holiday. I'm not sure where it originates or what it celebrates exactly (I think the coming of spring?), but I know that most people get today off from work and if you do work, you get paid double. Basically, I'm gathering that maybe this holiday is just an excuse to get together with your friends and family and do a little partying. Sounds a little bit like Mardi Gras. Most people begin the celebration the night of April 30 and carry it on to the next day. My teammates and I have a scrimmage tonight against a local boys team so we could not get too crazy last night in participating in all the festivities. Instead, some of us went to my teammate Carro's summer home to enjoy the scenery, grill out, laugh, relax in the sauna, and do a little swimming.

Though the island is starting warm up significantly (the temperature reached a high of 15 degrees Celsius yesterday...I think this is equivalent to the upper 50's in Fahrenheit, so pretty warm!), once the evening rolls around it becomes quite chilly again.

Does everyone remember winter bathing? Well, I didn't exactly bust through a meter of ice to dip in ridiculously cold water, but I think that what I did yesterday is close enough.

After enjoying a delicious meal of fresh greens, potato salad, and hot dogs (NOT in burrito form), some of us decided to crowd into the sauna Carro's family has built off the side of their home. I've been in saunas before in the US and a few times since I've been here, but this one was certainly the tiniest of any of them. It was not much bigger than a couple of telephone booths stacked side-by-side. I sat on the top bench, squeezed between Eve and Sarah, and tried not let any discomfort take control of me.

Breathe, Becca. Breathe. This is relaxing. This is nice. Don't think about the fact that you are stuffed in a small, crowded, dark, stiflingly hot, wooden box with thick and un-breathable steam for air. Look at Eve. She loves it. You should love it too.

Evelina is from the mainland of Finland which automatically makes her tough. The main-landers can out-drink and outwork anyone and without a trace of struggle. She loves the sauna. And it can never be too hot.

Someone threw more water on the coals and the heat instantly struck my face like a hot frying pan. "Ah!" I said in surprise and immediately covered my face with my hands for protection. I then heard Eve let out a laugh--or more of a cackle, I should say. I removed my hands and looked up at her through the steam. She was completely amused by my rookie reaction as she leaned comfortably against the back wall. She might as well have been lounging in a La-Z-Boy armchair in front of the television.

"More heat," she demanded in her heavy accent. An evil grin spread across her face and I couldn't help but picture devil's horns growing out of her head. This was hell and she loved it. I put my hands in my lap and attempted her same casual position and visage.

"Yeah," I said. "More heat." But I'm not sure anyone bought my poker face.

Three minutes later I was done.

"Forget this. Let's go swimming."

Sarah and Eve followed me down to the inlet which stretches up through the woods to Carro's property (See picture below!). We were wrapped tightly in our towels and shivered as we approached the water's edge. Carro, Nicco, Mina, and Åsa joined but only to observe, not participate. This was probably smart.

Sarah dipped her toe in the water. "Ah!" she shrieked and then said something in Swedish. I took it to mean that the water was really cold. Eve tried it too and had the same reaction. We all stood on the bank and looked at each other. Who's going first?

"Try it," Sarah said, meaning that I should also dip my toe to test the temperature. But I am a firm believer that dipping doesn't help anything. Dipping the toe only gives you a taste of how miserable your entire body is going to be once you completely submerge yourself. Dipping only increases the fear and wait time before actually entering the water. I never dip because if I know before hand how cold it is, then I may never go. Go big or go home.

"Screw it," I said as I tossed my towel aside and attempted to run straight into the water.

I say "attempted" because that's exactly what it was. An attempt. I got to where the water was about two feet deep and could no longer move. I discovered that the floor of the inlet wasn't sand or seaweed but deep, sticky mud. My legs were stuck like two hot dogs in mashed potatoes and shrimp salad. The mud came up to my knees and the water on top came to my hips. I wrestled one leg free to take another step forward but was suddenly struck with a terrible aroma. "Oh my god! It smells!"

Think of the thickest, softest, smelliest mud you can imagine. Think "poop" and you'll have a pretty good idea of the malodorous paste in which I was trudging. Each struggle for a step caused the mud to whirl in a dark cloud in the water, releasing its terrible stench. I don't know if it was actually poop or not. I think I'd rather put that on the list of things that are better left unknown.

"Keep going!" my teammates yelled and laughed from the bank, encouraging me to continue into the cold water.

"I'm trying! I can't really move!"

"Well you have to get down! Get in the water! They'll see you!" Sarah shouted.

I forgot to mention that I was naked. Here in Finland, I have discovered, there is a common who-wears-anything-while-swimming-? mentality. I'm sorry if my being in the nude is too much information but I would really like you to get a sense of how undignified this situation was. So there I was, in my birthday suit, stuck knee deep in mud, with cold, dirty water up to hips, shivering and cowered over. And now, Sarah had just said, "They'll see you."

"What!? Who?"

I had thought we were alone.

"Them!" Sarah pointed to what I previously assumed was an empty home across the inlet.

I squinted. Oh. There they were. Two people on leaning on the railing of their balcony. Apparently everyone else already knew they were there, but that was communicated in Swedish.

"Shit!" I shouted.

I was faced with a decision. I could either A) immediately get down in the water, thus sinking my naked ass into the dirty, probably parasite-and-leech-infested poop-mud, or I could B) continue the slow struggle through the mud to deeper water, completely visible to the onlookers but in hopes that I was far enough away that they wouldn't be able to tell that I wasn't wearing a bathing suit.

I chose option B. I don't know if they could see me or not. But I think I'd rather put that on the list of things that are better left unknown.

Sarah and Eve joined me and we made our way out to deeper water. We got to a level where we could bend our knees and dip down without sitting in the mud. We splashed around for a minute with the water up to our shoulders and then, as quickly as we could, made our way back through the muck to the bank and our towels. Suddenly the warm sauna sounded quite nice.

We washed off our dirty feet and reentered the sauna. I was leaning against the wall and actually enjoying the warmth when I realized that my heel on my right foot hurt. I felt the bottom of my foot, which was still a bit dirty, and brushed away some of the filth. But something wasn't brushing away. I got up and stepped outside so I could see my foot in the light.

As it turns out, a small rock had lodged itself into my heel. I guess my feet have become so calloused from years of playing soccer that I didn't even feel it when it happened. I dug at it for a bit and was finally able to remove it from the slit it created in my foot. It was small and didn't really hurt, so it wasn't that big of a deal, but it was kind of deep and pretty dirty. The last thing I need is an infected cut on my foot.

I jumped in the shower in an unsuccessful attempt to wash it out then asked Sarah and Carro if there was any peroxide or Neosporin or anything else to clean it up.

Carro ran into the kitchen and came back with something better: Tequila.

I laughed. "Are you serious?"

I guess when you are in a cabin the the middle of the woods in Finland and you hurt yourself, this is what you do.

"Haha. All right. Whatever."

I sat at the table and twisted my leg around while Nurse Sarah attempted mini-surgery by pouring tequila into my tiny wound and using a sewing needle to remove the dirt. But we still couldn't get it. The opening of the cut was too small and the the dirt was deep enough that it made it very difficult to remove. We also didn't know if perhaps it was still just a piece of rock stuck inside.

The girls suggested that I go to the hospital to get it cleaned out. I initially refused, embarrassed to go to the hospital for a tiny excuse for a cut. They called Lena, our trainer, who agreed that I should go just to make sure it was clean. So we went and after a 5 minute visit with the doctor, my foot was good to go.

What a day!

Don't forget today's question for the reader! And enjoy these pictures from yesterday!

The muddy water. Ew!

Eve and Nicco

Kiss the Cooks!

Carro and Nicco

Dinner is served!

Sarah, Carro, Emma, Nicco, and Eve's hot dog

Mina, me, and Eve

I feel like I should show you a normal picture of Åsa before you see these next ones. Haha.

This is why I love Åsa. I looked over and found her sitting like this. She said it was for mosquito protection.

And then Nicco put a dog cone on her...

But she didn't seem to mind...

This is me at the hospital, pretending to be in excruciating pain as the doctor looks at my foot.

Notice Sarah laughing in the background. Does my pain make you laugh Sarah? Hhhmmm???

Meet the Superheroes

"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero."

Yep. It's true.


Tonight, all three of my brothers were at my parents' house, in town for my cousin Chris's wedding (which I was quite sad to miss). They all crowded their heads into the view of my parents' webcam, along with my mom and dad and my brother Ben's lovely girlfriend Jackie, to say hi. I haven't seen Ben or Aaron since February, and haven't seen David since right before I left.


As usual, David (or "Davey," as we call him), my little brother, was his pleasant and quiet self. He just smiled and laughed as he always does. He was rocking a new and unexpected haircut, one very clean compared to the shaggy-to-long hair he has sported for the last 4 years. I almost didn't recognize him. It looks nice though. :)


Aaron, my 2nd oldest and always thoughful, engaging, and witty brother, was the one typing and leading the conversation (we had to type because it was late and I did not want to wake my neighbor!). He asked me questions about my apartment and team and made me laugh with funny faces and usage of Swedish.


Ben, the oldest, stood in the background, and as usual, was the one making hilarious comments to crack up the entire room. I think I may have woken my neighbor in spite of my efforts to be quiet. But it was so great to hear my entire family laugh and laugh with them. Ben always provides these moments.


It was really, really good to see them all and it made me so happy that I had to write this quick entry about the brothers of whom I am so proud. I don't know if sisters are cool or not, but it's hard to beat being raised with three superheroes.






Aaron, David, me, and Ben



Love you guys! :)

The Sight of the Stars...

Today's Question for the Reader:

What is one place or time in your life that you enjoyed or loved so much that, if given the chance, you would immediately go back to do it all again?



Time Flies...


It's official. I left my Indiana home 4 Thursdays ago. I have already been living in Åland for one month. Can you believe it? I'm having a hard time believing it myself. It doesn't seem too long ago that I woke up early one January morning to find that I had an email confirming that a team, called Åland United, was going to offer me a contract to play professional soccer in Finland. I immediately ran back to my parents' room to tell my mom and then jump up and down with her in excitement while our dog barked and leaped at our feet. I then texted my brothers (in spite of the fact that it was only 7:00 AM Chicago time) and paged my dad to interrupt the surgery he was performing. Paging my dad at the hospital is a rarity in my family. He deals with life and death every day, so while he's working, my mother only contacts him if it's something very important:

"Ben needs an appendectomy."

"Aaron blew out his other knee today in a soccer match."

"Becca needs stitches again. It's her hand this time."

"David needs his neck X-rayed. I think it's broken."

Given our family's paging history, if my dad receives one from home, he always calls back immediately, slightly nervous to hear the report. This particular January morning, a nurse held the phone to his ear while he executed bypass surgery and I exclaimed, "Dad, it's happening! I got a contract! I'm going to Finland!"

He quickly laughed. "That's great Bec! I gotta' go now! I'll call you when I'm done!"

He called me just after he scrubbed out to share in the excitement and hear the details.

From there, I did everything I could to get ready for my journey to this small island, which I had never heard of, to play soccer once again. I hadn't been on a soccer team since my last season with the Boilermakers in the fall of 2006. Yes, I had kept in decent shape--taking long, leisurely jogs, bouncing up and down on the elliptical, and playing pick-up soccer here and there. But now, I had less than three months to get ready and put my body back in the place it once was where I could get on the line to run countless sprints and squat 200 lbs in the weight room. Every day brought me closer to my departure, and I was beginning to find it difficult to sleep due to the overwhelming excitation and nervousness I felt in anticipation of getting another round at soccer. I had realized in its absence, more than ever, that it was my passion and main source of personal identity. I had thought that my soccer career was over. Suddenly, I was back to being Becca the Soccer Player.

And now, here I am, one month into this adventure, and all I can do is marvel at the fact that time flies.

But wait, I don't want time to fly. I've been here one month already!? But that means I only have six left! Only six more months as Becca the Soccer Player on this gorgeous island teeming with fun loving and happy people. I'm falling in love with Åland a little more every day and though it sounds strange, I'm already saddened by the fact that in six months I will leave. Because time flies, and six months just isn't that long. And then what? Do I have to grow up? Make life decisions? Choose a career that can't possibly be as fun as playing soccer? Settle down? And *gulp* get married?

Okay, I know I won't have to do all that the minute I return (and I should throw in here that there are a lot of people and things back home that I will be happy to see again). But these are all things that people in their 20's are concerned with, right? Face it, we're not children any more. At some point, we have to make commitments. But here, in Åland, all those concerns--those frightening, heavy topics, seem miles and miles away. Here, as Becca the Soccer Player, I feel like a kid, and I don't ever want to grow up. Åland is like my Never-Never-Land. I wake up every day with sunshine flooding into my bedroom and the only weightiness I feel is how I can make myself a more valuable asset to my team. How can I improve my vision on the field? I really need to work on my ability to quickly switch the point of attack. How can I make myself more offensive-minded? I need to improve my first touch with my left foot.

These concerns I can handle. These concerns I enjoy confronting. But what will I do in six months? And why is it all so scary to me? Am I the only one completely lacking maturity?

Time, don't fly.
Slow down and let me enjoy this.
Rest your wings...

Of course, I have no choice but to concede. I lose. I can try to fight it but time will fly. It always has and it always will.

C'est la vie, non?

So what does that mean, for people like me, who are afraid of the quickness of time?

I think it means that I may be required a new perspective on life, and that is one thing I am learning here in Åland. Let's see if I can sort out these fresh feelings. I cannot fear time, the Inevitable. My time here in Åland will end, and even if I come back to play for another season or five more seasons, eventually, I will settle down somewhere in the United States to be in close proximity to my family. I will have to make commitments. And maybe, just maybe, that doesn't have to be so scary.

Why?

Well, it all comes back to life perspective. Åland is just a place. And Never-Never-Land isn't real. But the way I feel on Åland--completely energized by the sun and the sea and the breeze, completely intrigued by the people who speak Swedish and love to laugh, completely engulfed in the competition of every practice and game--is real. Being here on this adventure has made me completely excited to be alive. And I'm beginning to realize that this excitement, though catalyzed by Åland, isn't limited to the boundaries of Åland. Loving life is a life perspective that can be taken anywhere.

We've heard it said a thousand times: Life is short. And it's true. Life is short. Time flies. But so what? What are you going to do about it?

I like it best put by my favorite painter, Vincent Van Gogh, a man sick with passion for the beauty of the world around him. It is probable that you have heard this quote before, as ingenious words are often repeated. He said:

"I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."

He's right. We know nothing with any certainty. We know nothing of the future or if we will even see tomorrow. But the sight of the stars makes me dream. The sight of the stars and the earth and my family and my friends and the soccer field and the sound of music and the kids laughing outside my window and all the wonderful things that life has to offer makes me dream big and ready to live.

And I hope that I will take that excitement into every step of my life--whether it is in my life here an Åland now, or back home, in my eventual career, in my next relationship, with my family, and with my friends.

We must always laugh, must always love, must always give, and must always dream. Make yourself happy. Be passionate about what you do. Never be ashamed or who are.

I'm not the first to say any of this, but it feels different when it comes as a revelation. "Growing up" is a made up term that scares me because it doesn't sound fun. But I have been blessed with my health and food on the table. I have no excuse not to always make life fun.

Don't forget today's Question for the Reader.
It's Friday night. It's beautiful out. If you think I'm sitting in this apartment for a second longer, typing away on this computer, think again...