Doing my part for Danish democracy!

So I'm sitting at Kastrup's (Copenhagen Airport) Starbuck's (big surprise, not) sipping on a grande Chai Tea Latte (suprise, for real!). Just didn't feel like having coffee, even though I got up at 4:30 this morning for my flight out of Amsterdam. Back to the topic - anyhow, I have just put my foot ever so discreetly up on the chair next to mine, hoping no one would notice, and no sooner do I settle back when I am approached by a (pretty handsome) uniformed guy (who reminded me of Johnny from the Danish TV show "Mordkommissionen").

He asks if I speak Danish, and I answer that I speak Swedish as I lower my foot back to the floor. Taking no notice of my civil disobedience, he continues to explain that he is with the Danish police, and as such, he dutifully flashes his badge, as though I would know a real one from a fake one. Still, this is the first time a badge has been flashed before me, so now I'm curious as to where this conversation is leading...

He's holding a gym bag, and I catch only about half of what he is saying, because native Danish is spoken as though your mouth is full of oatmeal. Basically they're training dogs to sniff out explosives, and would I mind if he places his gym bag by my stuff as a test? Uh, street-smart as I am, I realize this could easily be a scam, trap, diversion that could send my ass up the river indefinitely. But being the nice girl I am, I answer, "Sure!", and he places the bag by my suitcase as he takes my computer bag saying, "I'll just take this so it looks like I'm holding a bag while I sit over there (points to a table nearby).

Smart-street girl goes at this point mentally going beserk over yet another of Nice-girl's gleeful "Absolutely! I'll just keep drinking my tea like it's no big deal."

A couple of minutes later, three officers show up with two dogs. I do my best to play the part of the suave, international criminal offender, sipping ever so nonchalantly on her Chai Tea Latte (ironic, right?). The dogs, which are more like pups, instantly recognize their trainer who's sitting with my computer bag and seem to momentarily forget they're on duty, tails wagging wildly as though they hadn't seen him for ages. But then they're reminded of the task at hand by the other trainers, and pretending it's a fun game, they're led from table to table sniffing everyone's bags.

When they get to mine, I continue my portrayal of an aloof James Bond, but the Lab isn't fooled, and she sits right down beside me. "DUUUUKTIG HUND!" exclaims the cop holding an automatic weapon. "Goooood dog!!" And the dog is thrilled, "I found the explosives! Yippee!! I found the explosives!! Reward me!" The cop throws down a red ball on my handbag, and bomb dog jumps right on top of it in pure ecstasy.

The other dog, not sure of its race, is a little more subdued, but even she finds the explosives, and a new rain of "Gooood dog!" is showered over them, and everyone is so happy. Smiles and hugs and petting and jumping, and even the other guests are getting caught up in the festive spirit of it all, and smiles are exchanged all around.

A portrait of cheeriness that transcends all borders when a dog finds what could have been a bag of explosives. Surreal.

Beam me down (to Earth)

I have more than one unfinished blog entry, never to be published. Even though they are my words, coming from my inner voice, I just don't feel I can identify 100% with them. Looking back at older entries (the only ones I have, seeing that I've hardly written anything recently), I usually feel pretty good about what I've written. Even on days when I was feeling down, I could sense the silver lining, a glimpse of hopeful optimism, that the direction of my life was still on track. I wonder, however, if there is too much of a glamour-fog-filter (the kind used on each and every one of Captain Kirk's love interests) in my words.

So instead of just enveloping my setbacks in terms of yogic grace, I would like to see if I am brave enough to just be ordinary. Granted, I am keenly aware that pouring out the details of my life on the World.Wide.Web isn't an option for me. On the other hand, it's easy to use that as an excuse to over-censure my trains of thoughts in an effort to make my writing, well, maybe a little bit more interesting.

Just putting those last words up on the screen (can't really write "down on paper"), is a stretch outside of my comfort zone. But maybe, just maybe, I will be more consistent in keeping my blog updated if I give myself permission to write about everyday life? And that way the channels of thought that feel clogged will have a chance to air themselves out?

I could perhaps mention that I just finished reading MWF Seeking BFF. I bought it because I would love to find a female BFF. Although considerably younger than me, the author Rachel Bertsche still managed to strike a chord within me. One of her a-ha moments was discovering that one of the signs of true friendship must be when you, without hesitation, can pose the question, "Why do I have 4 jars of pickles in my refrigerator?"

In other words, no need for a glamour-fog-Star Trek- filter.