Today—December 6, 2025—is the 108th anniversary of Finland’s independence. The celebration will include a review of troops and a ceremonial march. Many of the day’s events will be broadcast live on TV1, Radio Suomi, Yle.fi and Yle Areena. The president, Alexander Stubb, and his spouse, Suzanne Innes-Stubb, chose Missä muruseni on, a song written by Jenni Vartiainen and performed by her and the Guards Band as their first dance, which will take place this evening at the Presidential Palace, followed by an afterparty at Hotel Kämp. My only real connection to Finland is embedded in memories of our one-day visit to Helsinki. We arrived in Helsinki early in the morning, after an overnight cruise from Stockholm, across the Baltic Sea on a Silja Line cruiseferry. Following a day walking through Helsinki under an overcast sky, we boarded a cruiseferry for the overnight trip back to Stockholm. I took no photographs. I bought no trinkets to serve as memorabilia. My memories of Helsinki are cloudy, but I recall having a lunch of reindeer stew and beetroot soup at a small restaurant. That single day’s exposure to Finland sparked a deep appreciation in me of the country. I have already written about that one-day introduction to Finland (I believe my visit in 2004), so there’s no point in another post about it. Yet I was almost as enamored of my few days in Sweden during the same trip; another trip which I have mentioned before. Perhaps I am running out of happy memories, forcing me to recycle some of the best ones. Had my early life taken a few sharp turns in different directions, I might be living in Scandinavia now, or somewhere else in Europe; fluent in Swedish and Finnish and proud of my decision to escape the religious and racial and myriad other bigotries that have found a comfortable nest in the USA.
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Courage. Bravery. Fearless determination. Those characteristics—necessary to escape the uncomfortable bondage of claiming to have no choice but to submit to the invasive slavery of patriotism gone off the rails—never took root in me. I wanted to be strong, but I think the requisite attributes were smothered under a blanket of so-called socialization. Artificial bravado, a crucial part of the educational curriculum designed to inculcate obedience in moldable children, blocked the real thing from becoming part of me. Not just me, of course. Millions of others, herded into conformity with easily manipulatable norms, experienced the same pressure…not to question social conventions that buried the spirit of adventure beneath layer upon layer of conformity.
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I hope I emerge from this lethargy very soon. Within minutes, not hours. I felt tired and spent last night, so did not join my gathered family for dinner. Again, I slept. And slept. And slept. At the moment, I feel like I could easily drift back to sleep again. Whether this sense of listlessness is based on mental or physical reactions to chemotherapy on Wednesday, I do not know. Whatever it is, I want it gone. I want a fresh infusion of boundless energy. I want to break out of the doldrums.
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Fog makes the trees outside my window look…vague. As if they are trying to decide whether to reveal themselves fully. The only movements I detect outside are the chipmunks (or whatever) darting across the driveway. Everything else…the leaves on the trees, the fog, everything…is as still as a painting, long-since dried. Perhaps I am vague, too. But not for long, right? Right?
