It's Just a Cup of Coffee

We've been here five weeks now. The sense of zeal we first had for all the new challenges has worn off and now it's just down right frustrating. We are entering a phase of smoothing out daily and weekly bumps in the road. We need to be fed daily with patience and tolerance to get through. Then again, the old "bitch session" with the other American ladies works pretty well too.

Let me paint a picture of life as a new ex-pat on one given day. After biking the children to school and biking back, getting in my physical therapy & strength training, I prepared myself with a specific shopping list of necessary items to buy at a Target-like store outside of town. "Bilka" is the equivalent to Wal-Mart in that the sq. footage is so large it must be out of city limits. Locals stock up on things in a Costco-like frenzy, if Danes could muster such an emotion. But in order to find the store, I had to research the address (not easy without internet or phone book) and then plug it into my gps in the car. I found the place o.k., followed directions into the underground parking lot and went 2 flights upstairs to Bilka. I then discovered that shopping carts (the British call them "trollies") were back on the parking lot level, so down I went and returned.

This store has everything from groceries to table saws, fabric, bicycles, linens, furniture, but hardly any salespeople to help. I wandered from aisle to aisle searching for what I needed and trying to read the labels in Danish. This day I needed a power drill, vacuum cleaner, head shaver, baking ware, bicycle baskets and equipment and many other household items. After my cart was filled to eye level I proceeded to the check out, waiting 15 minutes til my turn. The process at check-out in this country is the customer does all the work: unloading to the conveyor belt, then loading your own bags (which you bring yourself or pay dearly for one of theirs). Since I know the routine I've gotten pretty quick. The cashier then told me the amount and that they do not take non-Danish credit cards. So while everyone in line behind me waited, I hunted for the ATM on the other side of the store, squeezing every penny out of 2 American bank accounts' daily limits, then hurrying back to the cashier.

Perspiring from humiliation and 2 hours of shopping I return to my car and load up, glad to have my gps to lead me home. I proceed to the parking turnstile to realize I cannot get out because I didn't validate my ticket. At this point the gentle swear words started finding their way to my lips. Eventually, I had to reverse my car against traffic and return to the lot, repark, validate my ticket at which time I was able to exit, leaving not-so-gentl explitives all over the place. How am I supposed to know about all these things? Obviously, the answer is trial and error. That's what these first few months will be about.

But wait, it doesn't end there. I get home, unpack and I have 5 minutes before getting on my bike to collect the girls from school. I find my way to the bathroom where I have just enough time to make a necessary "deposit" in peace. But who should show up but the gardeners, who proceed to have a discussion right below the open bathroom window! Fortunately they go to the door and knock, giving me time to finish up. After a hurried discussion I jump on my bike, get the girls at school, ride to the Hellerup Library, check emails and check out books, ride home, then prepare dinner, do laundry, oversee homework and bedtime routine. Craig was in Aarhus for 3 days.

That night, Molly touched the hi-tech stove buttons in a way that locked the whole system. The next morning when she woke me at 6 am for the day, I tried for one hour to push all the buttons, even resetting the fuses and nothing could get the stove to work. I had no manual, no internet to look on-line, too early for phoning the landlord and all I wanted was a cup of coffee to jump start the day ahead. I called Craig to ask his advice, only to feel his frustrations from work, parallel to mine. As he hung up he said to me, "Peanut, it's just a cup of coffee".

The next half an hour I grimly made it through the morning routine, getting lunch, breakfast and the three of us ready for the day, the whole time wallowing in an escalating amount of self-pity. It wasn't just the cup of coffee that got to me, it was what the cup of coffee stood for: the simple ease of daily routine, where no brick walls stood in my path. That cup of coffee saved me from moments throughout the day where I feel like a square peg ramming into a circular opening. The glitch in the stove represented the continual series of steps that we must take to figure out the simplest of tasks. And I just had it. I had it with everything for the last 3 months. And I lost it. I gave in to tears while brushing my teeth. And then the sobs followed and I couldn't stop. The girls were mystified and awed and a little concerned, but very loving. It was a good teaching moment and heavenly cathartic. Needless to say, I knew it would come and I'm so glad that day is over.

After the girls went to school I sat at a cafe with a very large latte and morning roll with butter, jam and cheese and read my (English) novel before carrying on. Later that day I got a hold of the landlord and he directed me to a manual that had directions in English, imagine that! That was 2 days ago and seems like an eternity. Things will get better, but we'll have a lot of yucky days as well.

So think of me during your next cup of coffee and remind yourself of how easy the simple things are and be grateful.