SEVENTEEN
17 years in Sweden, today. 17 years of lagom and fika and myskväll. 17 years of eating mazariner and semlor and kassler and köttbullar. 17 years of taking my shoes off when I come in the house. 17 years of speaking and thinking in and dreaming in Swedish. 17 years of trying not to complain about the weather and being glad every time I see the sun. 17 years of meters and liters and celsius. 17 years of missing family and friends from the States, but 17 years of making new ones here, both friends and family. 17 years of...