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...

Oscar Mayer, anyone?

Today's Question for the Reader:

What is the most exotic and/or weirdest and/or most disgusting food you have ever eaten (or attempted to eat)? What were the circumstances that led to the consumption of this exotic/weird/disgusting food? And, how was it?

Let's see if we can get some participation from any of the Finnish/Swedish readers!

Relaxin' on the boat to Sweden!

Åsa, me, Eve, and Nicco

This past Saturday the team traveled to Sweden for a match. We played pretty well and had some great moments in the game which showed that this team has a lot of potential to do well. We came away with a 1-1 tie. Our goal was scored from a perfectly-placed free kick by Eve. Mycket bra, Eve!


The Burrito of Champions

There is a quote which says,"Don't fear failure so much that you refuse to try new things. The saddest summary of a life contains three descriptions: could have, might have, and should have."

I have been told my entire life that I am just like my father, Dr. Bob Robison. My dad is a "seize the moment" type of guy, who is competitive, outgoing, impulsive, hardworking, and loves to have a good time. He is always willing to try something new. My dad and I are the type of people that need someone like my mom in our lives--someone that is sensible, prepared, and as much as we hate to admit it, usually right. My three brothers and I all seemed to inherit the competitive gene from my dad. Whether we are playing soccer, basketball, football, wrestling, arm-wrestling, chess, Scrabble, Texas hold 'em, Risk, Trivial Pursuit, Kentucky golf, charades, or going fishing, each of us is full of determination to be victorious. Upon completion of any of these said competitions, the winner in my family (except for my mother, who is actually a gracious winner) is likely stand up and proceed into the Bob Robison victory dance, which entails getting in the face of the loser, making an obnoxious "Woooooo" sound, moving pointed fingers back and forth, and shaking the ass.

The point is, if you challenge us to something, we accept. This is how I have found myself the catcher of at least 4 different wedding bouquets. Trust me, I'm in no rush to get married, but there's just something glorious about beating those other girls to the bushel of flowers flying through the air.

It is with this competitive attitude and willingness to try new things that I found myself eating the most disgusting combination of foods I have ever tried.

So far I have been very pleased with all the food I have eaten in Åland. I mentioned in my last entry the deliciousness of the school lunch. But, in contrast, on our team trip to Sweden, I encountered a meal which absolutely must be discussed. After our game on Saturday, we were on our way to watch a match between two teams from the highest league in Sweden (side note: these teams were stacked with national players from Sweden, Germany, Australia, and more. They were amazing.). Since we would not be eating again until hours later when we would board the boat back to Åland, we stopped at a fast-food restaurant for a quick bite. Granted, perhaps I shouldn't judge all Swedish foods through the representation of a fast-food restaurant. If someone were to come to America only to taste the fine cuisine from White Castle or Taco Bell, I'd like to think he or she could have experienced some better options from our nation's menu. So, Sweden, I may be willing to give you another chance. But for now, my friends from the mainland of Finland will be happy to hear me ask, "Sweden, what were you thinking?"

I walked into the tiny restaurant which was bustling with seemingly-happy consumers. I looked up at the lighted menu hanging above the counter to find Swedish descriptions accompanied by pictures. Unfortunately for me, I had just taken out my dried-up daily contacts that I mainly wear for playing soccer. So, though I could see enough of the pictures to know that I had the option of eating one of many hamburger-looking-things or one of many burrito-looking-things, I was unable to distinguish what exactly came with each. I looked at Lena, our team's physical trainer, to ask her what was on Burrito #7.

"Uh, it says shrimp salad," she responded. "You like shrimp salad?"

Sure. Shrimp salad (like your typical eggs and mayonnaise chicken salad, but with shrimp) was the first thing I ate when I came to Åland. It's pretty good. It's not exactly what comes to mind when I hear "burrito," but whatever.

"Yeah Lena, I'll take Number Sjua."

Because I don't speak Swedish, Lena ordered for the both of us. And then she stepped outside of the restaurant to talk to my coach while I waited for our food to be prepared. I watched the woman who took our orders begin on Lena's meal. Apparently Lena had ordered one of the burrito options as well. The woman spread the burrito tortilla on the counter and readied some lettuce, onions, and tomatoes by placing them near by. No shock here. These are all normal burrito ingredients. Next, she scooped three heaping helpings of a thick, pink substance that I took to be shrimp salad onto the tortilla.

Oh, maybe this is mine, not Lena's.

But this thought quickly disappeared at the lady's next move, when she dug another spoon deep into a bucket and pulled out to reveal, much to my surprise, an impressive scoop of gloppy mashed potatoes. She then slapped it upon the meal.

What the...??? Mashed potatoes?! With shrimp salad?! Okay, that's not mine.

Two more shovels of mashed potatoes joined the shrimp salad on the tortilla, which was becoming quite crowded. She threw on the vegetables to make what I assumed would be a completed burrito. But wait...she wasn't done. What is one more additive that could make this already-curious combination the perfect and ingenious invention of a meal? Maybe some sort of sauce or condiment? Perhaps a sprinkling of minced nuts to give it a little crunch?

No. Ladies and gentleman, what this burrito needed was a hot dog.

I'm not kidding.

She laid a footlong hot dog on top of the goulash, then mushed it all together as she wrapped the burrito and covered it in foil. Ding! Finished!

Shocked at what I had just seen, I poked my head out the door. "Lena, what did you order?" I asked incredulously. "Anyways, I think it's ready."

Lena's response: "I didn't order anything. I only ordered for you."

Oh no.

I looked around. The rest of my teammates weren't claiming it. I squinted up at the menu to look at the picture that coincided with Burrito #7. Oh my. There is was. I hadn't seen it before. Sure enough, I had missed the skinny, rounded tip of a hot dog poking out the end of this poster child for the weirdest burrito ever made. Ugh...

I considered my situation: tortilla, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, shrimp salad, mashed potatoes, hot dog. Each of these can be enjoyable--when served alone. Mashed potatoes are excellent on Thanksgiving. A hot dog is perfect at a ball game. But together? Wow. But I was starving. I'd just played 90 minutes of soccer and we weren't eating again for a couple of hours. Plus, I didn't want to come off as picky or wasteful or as though I thought of myself as too good for the hot dog-mashed potatoes-shrimp salad burrito.

I claimed it.

I walked outside, phenomenon in hand, and mentioned to my coach Ubbe that I had never seen a burrito with a hot dog before. He sensed the skepticism in my voice, and said, "No, it's good! Come on, I thought you were a risk-taker! You have to try it!"

That's it. He challenged me. I had no choice. And before I could stop myself, I blurted, "I am a risk-taker. I'll eat the whole thing."

(Insert foot in mouth)

Instead, I had to insert the first bite of the burrito freak show. I pulled down the top-half of the foil and went straight for the money-bite, getting some hot dog, some mashed potatoes, some shrimp salad, and some veggies all at once to be sure to experience the full flavor this burrito had to offer. I was afraid, but part of me thought that maybe there's something magical that happens when these foods come together. Maybe there's a chance that for some reason it's really, really good.

Nope.

I gagged.

Then spit the bite in the trash can.

It wasn't even the mashed potato-onion-tomato-shrimp salad combo that got me. It was the key ingredient of the rubbery hot dog that I couldn't handle. It had to go.

"Ubbe, this is disgusting," I grimaced. "I can't have this hot dog in here. It's already weird enough. You want the hot dog?"

"Oh yeah, I'll take it," Ubbe said as he walked toward me.

"Sorry, I already bit it," I mumbled as I grabbed the butchered end of the hot dog and attempted to pull it from the burrito. Problem. It was stuck. Probably suctioned down with great force from the sticky mess within. I wiggled it around. No dice.

"Um. I can't get it," I said and I looked at Ubbe. For some reason, I then held out my burrito in a 'you want to try?' gesture.

The next thing I knew, Ubbe was knuckle-deep in my burrito, attempting to wrestle the hot dog from the obstinate grip of mashed potatoes and shrimp salad. A small crowd of my teammates began to gather round as the mixture started to ooze through fissures in the burrito's thin shell. I looked up at Ubbe again and I think we both realized how ludicrous this situation was. He pulled his fingers out, sans hot dog, and apologized. I laughed.

But now, the hot dog had challenged me too. It was coming out, dammit, and I was going to eat that burrito like I said I would. I went back into the burrito, managed a steady handle on the hot dog, and pulled--nice, and slow. I heard an "ew" from one of my teammates.

"I got it! I got it out!" I said proudly.

"Ha!" laughed Ubbe, taking the hot dog in hand. "It's a girl!"

That's funny, if I had to choose a sex for a hot dog it would have been a boy...wait, what am I saying?

Comparing the removal of a hot dog from my burrito to the miracle of life did not increase its edible appeal.

But, as promised, I ate it. Right down to the last horrible bite of sloppy tortilla. It was disgusting, and my stomach still hadn't recovered the next day, and I still get the chills when I think about that first bite, but it was all worth it. My friend Elise likes to say, "Do it for the story," encouraging ridiculous and spontaneous behavior simply for the fact that recounting the ridiculous and spontaneous behavior makes it all worthwhile. Imagine if I hadn't eaten that burrito of champions. I would have no material for my blog!

I will always try new things, at least once. Sometimes this leads to regret, but it's better than the regret of never trying at all.

What about you, reader? What interesting food did you dare try?

The Saga Continues...

A ship crosses by, as seen from my apartment.








New Feature: Question for the Reader

I've decided to make a new feature on my blog. Every time I make a post, I'll have a question for the reader. This may lead to only responses from my mom and dad but perhaps there are some other readers out there who would also like to join in the fun (I would still love to hear your answers, Mom and Dad! ;) ). Go ahead and respond in the comments section, and feel free to be honest, dishonest, creative, witty, funny, whatever!

Question for the Reader: If you could choose to do any profession for a year, and you could do it anywhere in the world, what would you do and where would you go? And why?


An Ice-Breaker
(Kids, Don't Try This at Home)

Since we had the day off from soccer, Asa and Eve invited me to join them in an amazing and relaxing trip to Mariebad, which is a spa/natatorium equipped with a water slide, a fun pool, a lap pool, a Turkish sauna, a regular sauna, a hot tub, etc. There is also an outdoor pool, one that is accessible by swimming from the fun pool, under the wall, and to the outside. Keep in mind that we are in Finland. It's not warm here. But, I reluctantly followed my teammates under the wall to a spectacular view of a beach and the sea. For those of you who have been to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, it reminded me of the view from the dolphin pool and the way the water seems to extend into Lake Michigan. While we were out there, I couldn't help but shiver. Naturally. It's really cold. As I did, Asa asked me if I had ever heard of winter bathing.

"Winter bathing? No, what's winter bathing?"

Ok, so remember when you were a kid and perhaps you were on vacation, staying in a hotel with a swimming pool and hot tub, and your brothers dared you to sit in the hot tub for 5 minutes and then run and jump into the big pool? The big, cold one? Yeah. Or maybe you've done something like my younger cousins, brothers, and I like used to do when we'd go skiing in Whistler, Canada, and we'd sit in the hot tub after a long day and then create a how-long-can-you-sit-in-the-snow challenge clad only in a bathing suit? Well, I bet you thought you were pretty tough, huh. So did I. But this is nothing compared to the practice of winter bathing.

Up here in the Scandinavian countries, winter bathing is actually quite common. First, you should know that sitting in the sauna is a very significant part of the Finnish culture. So when people winter bathe, they begin by relaxing in the hot, steamy comfort of a sauna. Next, it's time for the crazy part. They head outside and because all of the lakes and inlets are frozen over, they must go outfitted with some sort of jackhammer or saw. Then, and I'm not kidding, they bust a hole in the ice. And this isn't necessarily thin ice--we're talking up to half a meter of thickness here. Do you see where this is going? After draping some sort of rope ladder into the hole, the Finn will then lower his or her self into the ice-cold water. Not all the way though, just up to the shoulders. After a nice, refreshing dip, it's back to the sauna.

Does this seem crazy to anyone else!?

Eve said that she used to do it twice a week! But what about hypothermia? Well, Asa explained that because you go right back into the sauna, it's not problem. In fact, apparently winter bathing is actually very good for your skin and blood pressure, it builds up your immune system, and even seems to cure rheumatoid arthritis pains. And it's a totally revitalizing experience. So, next time I need a little pick-me-up, I'll know what to do.




Sssssshhhloppy Joes!

Yes, I am quoting the lunch-lady from the hit movie Billy Madison ("Lady, you're scaring us."). It seems to be fairly understood in the American culture that eating the school lunch could be risky business. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I am one of the biggest procrastinators you will ever meet, I never got around to making my own lunch for school and was subsequently forced, as my middle-school friends know, to become a frequent eater of the school lunch. Yes, I dared the suspicious tacos, the unsightly vegetables, and may have even tried the mystery meat.

What does this have to do with me being an American in Aland, you ask?

Well, this past Friday I was asked to go to one of the local schools to speak English with some of the kids and answer any questions they had about futbol or America. The 10, 11, and 12-year-olds that I visited were shy and cute and really fun to be around. Most warmed up to me after some time and felt more comfortable to ask me questions about my family, what I like to do in my spare time, and if I have ever met George W. Bush or Britney Spears (what excellent representation our country has!).

Now what I want to know is why the American school system isn't designed more like this one. This school is set up as follows: the students, in grades 1-6, arrive at 8:30. They pour into their respective classrooms where they begin their lessons for the next hour and a half. And then they get to go outside and play for 10-15 minutes. After that, there is another 45 minutes of class. And then they get to go outside and play for 10-15 minutes. 45 more minutes of class, and then it is time for lunch. Which brings me back to my opener.

This lunch is nothing like the stereotypical American school lunch.

Each table, adorned in placemats, awaits the students with a freshly-made meal, hot and ready to be served. On Friday, after going through the salad-bar line, I found at our table a crock of delicious-smelling beef and vegetable stew, made to be poured atop steamy white rice. It was a real meal, and it was fantastic. At this school, no one brings their lunch. And if eating school lunch is cool, "consider me Miles Davis."

After lunch, the kids go back outside and play for 10-15 minutes, and the rest of the day, until 3:30, follows in suit. 45 minutes of class, 10-15 minutes of play. The theory in all the play time is that this is the only way that students at these ages can really focus for 45 minutes at a time. And I agree! Oh, how different my life would have been were I a child in Aland!

Here are a few pictures from my visit:







Jumping rope with the kids!














Apparently bunny ears are universal.














Sollett!!!






Ok, well I don't think I'm spelling that correctly, but "sollett" is an insulting Swedish term that you would yell at an opposing goalkeeper in order to "talk trash." It means that the goalkeeper stops about as much as a sieve (she might get the big stuff but the rest just goes on through). Of course, I didn't know that.

Meet Emelie.

No, she's not the one flying gracefully through the air.



Emilie, in addition to Asa, is one of our goalkeepers. She's about 6 feet tall and knows what she's doing in the net. She just joined us from Sweden on Thursday and will be a very valuable asset to this team.

On Friday, at my first practice with Emelie, the final drill of the day was to shoot on the goalies. Since "skjut" ("shoot" in English)is one of the only words I know how to say in Swedish, my head coach Robban thought it would be funny if I approached Asa and Emelie by saying, "I'm ready to skjut on you now, sollett!" I actually thought I was complimenting them. "Sollett," sounds like "solid." I thought I was telling them that they were solid goalkeepers.

Wrong.

Emelie walked towards me.

"What did you say?" she asked in a slightly-incredulous tone.

I hesitated. "Um, I'm ready to skjut on you now...sollett...?"

This was when I realized that it doesn't mean "solid."

Emelie stepped right up to my face and towered over me as I skrank in her shadow. She held out out her arms as if to say "Bring it on!" and then let me have it in a slur of Swedish. She gave me a little shove to make sure I knew I had insulted her.

But I looked up at her face, and she was smiling.

Phew!

I think the relief showed on my face and everyone had a big laugh. It was just a little bit of friendly trash-talk.

Thanks, Robban.

I think Emelie and I are actually going to be good friends--the kind that loves to give each other a hard time. Unfortunately, the poor thing got a bad ankle sprain in practice on Saturday.
Take care and feel better, Emelie!!




That's all for today. Don't forget to answer the Question for the Reader!
Godnatt!

Pictures!

Here are some pictures that I have taken so far on Aland. Enjoy!

To your left is the view from my balcony. Not bad, huh?










These next three are some pics that I took as we drove out of the main town and into the country. There are inlets everywhere and, as you can see, they are beautiful.

Next are a few pics taken out in the country. I really love the red roads.

I thought this barn was especially picturesque.

This a picture that I took of one of the photographers. Ha-Ha! How does eet feel?




We came out here for a photo shoot, but I had to take some pictures of my own.

Yeah, I live here.

This picture was taken at a port just down the street from my apartment.

For now, uploading these photos is slow and frustrating, so I gotta stop. More to come later!