A week ago, Valtteri and I were in a specialty design shop where I spotted a plain bamboo hoop hanging on the wall. This reminded me that I needed to go to the local junkyard. For months, I’ve been talking about using a 12-inch bicycle rim as an unexpected wreath form—a point that Valtteri conveniently ignores whenever I bring it up.
Since months of pleading had gotten me nowhere, I decided that the bamboo hoop was the best I could do, at least for now. Valtteri obviously did not share my vision for upcycled door décor, which meant that I needed to convince him by example. Maybe with a prototype, I could persuade him to let me do more—to make a wreath full of character and charm and with a slight risk of tetanus.
It’s a tactic that we in the business call “demonstrating success.”
I took the hoop to the counter where the cashier, without irony, asked me if I was planning to make a wreath. I would have thought that was obvious, but also accepted that I was in a design store, where nearly half the items appear to have no discernible purpose and yet somehow actually serve two. Just a few minutes prior, I had picked up what looked like a set of baby bangles only to find out that they were pasta measure devices for one, two or three portions that doubled as a set of napkin holders. Normally I would wonder who would need such a thing, but there I was standing in the store, empty hoop in hand, answering my own question.
“We sell ready made wreaths,” the clerk suggested, not so much to me but to my husband.
“I’ll take the hoop,” I replied.
The clerk locked eyes with Valtteri.
“Let’s just look at what they have,” he agreed. “For ideas!”
We were in public, so I didn’t want to cause a scene but here on my blog, where I am allowed to be my complete and uncensored self, I’ll have you know that I had plenty of ideas flying through my brain, most of them violent. The sales clerk may not have known that I’m a creative at heart, but Valtteri certainly does. Besides, if either of them were paying attention, they would have noticed that I was wearing my backwards shirt, which should have been proof enough that I’m capable of thinking outside the box and sticking to my vision even after 25% percent of people tell me that I really shouldn’t.
“Here it is,” she said, leading us to a wreath that seemed to be decorated with the simple carbohydrates you see on cereal boxes and what seemed to be someone’s personal collection of twist ties. It was, without question, the saddest excuse of a wreath on this side of the Atlantic.
“Well that’s nice,” Valtteri said, nodding furiously at this wreath that would not require any assembly.
“It’s nice,” the clerk agreed, eager for us to take it off her hands. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that she and Valtteri were secretly in cahoots, cooking up ways to keep me from realizing my creativity and also grounding dried lilac into our living room carpet.
“I’ll just take the hoop,” I repeated. “I was thinking that I might want to incorporate beads.”
And I didn’t, really. I said that just to remind them how bad this situation could be. The way I saw it, I was already compromising my vision by not buying a bicycle rim at the dump. The thanks I get for that courtesy should not be to have someone doubt my ability to tie eucalyptus to a piece of curved wood.
In fact, if I had to do the interaction over again, I would have just bought the hoop and never told either of them what I was planning to do with it. I would have left the store and let them spend the rest of the day considering the possibilities—reindeer ring toss. Cat hula hoop. Ivy trainer. What, exactly, was my plan? They’d never know.
This, by the way, is how creative people think.
Like many self-proclaimed creatives, I have a bit of an inflated sense of self—the latest example of which you can see in my refusal to officially take my husband’s name in marriage. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not the kind of person who will get upset if you refer to us collectively as “The Karhunens” or buy me a luggage tag with a K on it. In fact, I welcome that. I actually get a little tickle out of reliving our flash wedding back in April, an event that finally gave me the sort of life in which a wreath is possible.
Besides, as far as names go, I couldn’t ask for a better one. Karhunen literally translates into “little bear,” which made me swoon the day Valtteri told me and still sends me into a tizzy every time I see a bear in a home décor store, which in these parts is pretty often.
But while I am happy to be Mrs. Karhunen, casually speaking, I stop short of making the change official. I have almost two decades of professional experience racked up under Halliwell. I’ve written this blog and guest posts under my own name for years too. Most recently I started a business—a one-woman shop with my name on the e-shingle. I have an identity and it is all my own.
I know a lot of women share in my concern about not wanting to lose any of that professional progress by switching names. But I will also admit that for me it is as much about my future as it is about the past. All the work I put in thus far and all the success that I expect to come should belong to me. I’ve earned it. And it seems unfair to let my husband, with a name so distinctly and obviously Finnish, share in the credit.
This idea isn’t something that I expect others to agree with or even understand. What I do expect is respect for my decision. And I feel grateful, albeit a bit surprised, that most people have given me that. Those who bother to ask what my plans are about my name seem satisfied when I blame the nightmare levels of paperwork filed in two countries—for visas and permits, passports, drivers licenses, bank accounts, digital IDs, voter registration—the list goes on and on for me and my little business too.
But if they know me at all, then they surely realize that administration isn’t holding me back—it’s the symbolism. I don’t want to there to be any disconnect between who I was, who I am now and who I want to become.
If I had to guess why people suddenly doesn’t care about my shirking of tradition, I would assume it’s a matter of timing. The world has real problems right now and whether or not I am disrespecting my husband by not ordering a new passport is neither here nor there to people who are worried about bills and job security and their basic health. With all that is happening, the use of a married name is of no real consequence to anyone, which is great because it never was to me and my opinion is really the only one that counts in this case.
It’s too early to look for silver linings in this situation, too soon to know if the things we are willing to let slip now will stay that way later, when things go back to normal or when they just start to feel that way again. I’d like to think that this situation is giving us all a nice healthy dose of perspective—for what matters and what doesn’t, for the decisions that are material, for what is even open for debate. I hope that when this is all over, when we all get some energy back and our worries are no longer a matter of life and death, that people will still stand behind whatever it is that I choose to put on my door, even if it’s a bicycle rim.
I mean… I think that wreath is elegant and understated. Even without cereal attached to it. IMAGINE.
Also… now I need videos of cats hula-hooping.
Elegant and understated… just like me!! Hope you are well and happy and not affected by smoke or fires. xx
I love your wreath! And your writing, as always. For what it’s worth, in my generation and my cohort of friends, no one changed their last names when they got married.
THANK YOU!! As for the name, it sounds like you have awesome friends! I know it’s not a new thing… but i still think there is a disconnect between a woman choosing how she wants to identify and what society is willing to consider an acceptable answer. on the continuum of options, i think most people are more tolerant/understanding of someone who keeps her name, versus someone who hyphenates or does a combination of like “at work/on LinkedIn, I’m X” “on facebook, i’m y”. This is like, too much for some people to handle apparently. I’m actually surprised no one pointed it out yet – just how “hard” it is to keep track of two names or how “out of control” it is when a man decides to take his wife’s name. The bottom line for me is that it’s a personal choice and it’s not subject to debate (unless they ask for opinions).
As much as I like Karhunen – who, in a post-Spice-Girl-Era, would ever give up on the name ”Halliwell”?
Besides, it is a great name!
I have to admit, I wasn’t even a huge fan, but every time I see the name, it’s all I can think about!
I know!! isn’t it so weird so we know some of the spice girl’s full legal names and then refer to the others as “Sporty” or some shit. Geri & Victoria understood the power of branding… (and maybe marrying a football star). Anyway I agree with you both – Halliwell trumps Karhunen.
I like the way you think. Although I don’t think my cat would appreciate your cat hula hooping idea.
ha! yeah… the cats do not appreciate my creativity. never have, never will. tried to make one wear a necktie once, nearly lost an eye. thanks for reading! xx