Excuse me

Hi all.  I have been thinking about this entry very carefully, and I think that it is just best to be honest and let you know that it has been a terrible week.  Yes, school is done, but I really don't care.

On Monday, I received some of the most horrible news that I have ever had in my life.  My best friend's baby died in utero.  She was due today.  Instead of spending today texting my friend every 10 minutes to see if she was in labor yet, I am trying to explain to friends and coworkers "how they are doing." 

I thought about being generic, but for some reason I have opted for bluntness.  It is just a shitty time and there is no way to sugar coat it. 

Do not mistake me, I am not angry that people are asking.  It shows concern and care.  Ask away, really.  Just do not be surprised if I do not have much more to say.  The plan has changed, and no one is happy about it.  It is painful, it is disappointing, it is unfair. 

Be patient with me and at some point I will be able to write again.  But for the first time in my life, words are very hard to find.

Humidity? Nah, I don't believe in it.

You know that you might be a little crazy when you are happy to see rain outside.  Thus is the case with me.  After the disgusting heat/humidity combination of last weekend and with the impending doom of a repeat of this weather for the coming weekend, I am not upset at all to see a "normal" rainy day.  At least the temperatures are decent, right? 

So you've possibly all been waiting for my update on this past weekend and Bonanza Valley Days.  Or not.  Whatever.  I have been a bit lax in updates due to the fact that my summer semester is gearing up to conclude.  Last night I gave my super exciting presentation of a comparison between the Statistics Canada website and the U.S. government's Data.gov website.  Thrilling, I tell you.

Now that the pressure is off for the public speaking component of the class, I can focus on the final two written assignments.  If you have learned anything from reading my blog thus far, you know that this is not something that I really stress over.  A five page paper?  Smeh!  Bring it on! 

With the formalities out of the way, I shall move on to the main event.  I have been a bit troubled at how best to summarize Bonanza Valley Days 2011.  I don't really feel that a daily play-by-play is necessary or interesting.  I shall try to cover the top salient points and hope that you will be able to get the general sense for what I experienced.

To set the scene, you must imagine a constant feeling of sweat, heat and humidity.  At times, to the point that even breathing presents a problem.  OK?  Now throw in a 2 mile walk/run with two dogs, but with my cousins finishing first and third in their group (go Ben and Joe!).  Add in numerous trips to the Red Onion drive-in.  Some bakery runs.  A failed attempt to have root beer floats.  Some amazing grilled chicken and out-of-this-world salsas and guacamole made by a gal from Arizona.  Buying beer with my 11 year old cousin (Note:  Not for him, just with him.)  Watching the bizarre people that the nightly street dances attract gather and preen in downtown Brooten.

Last but not least, there is the phenomenon known as Grandpa Geno.  How to explain?  I really can't, at least not in one entry.  Maybe in a multi-volume work?  Essentially, he spent the weekend baiting me over the fact that I dared to ridicule his honey supply.  His nearly-empty plastic honey bear with dried honey encrusted to the side.  Which he claims to use in his morning coffee.  And by "morning coffee" I mean the crystallized substance his sister, my great-aunt "Lena," left for him after her last visit in a small glass jar with a masking tape label displaying "INSTANT." 

In addition to continually asking if I wanted honey on any and all things I ate, he also proceeded to explain his "rationale" surrounding his decision to purchase and then not use his medication.  I am not talking big stuff.  Not prescription - although he has been known to ignore these as well.  No, he essentially has someone pick up allergy meds, reads the package and then decides that he doesn't "believe in them."  Don't even try to follow the logic.  Just know that this is what consumed a lot of my conversations last weekend.

So what are my big plans for this weekend?  Ummm.... back to Brooten?  You see, my youngest uncle is turning 50, and there is a party.  Complete with a cake that will hopefully read "Oh My Gosh, You're Old!"  At least that is what my cousin Joe suggested we use.  While I am certainly excited to return to good old Brooten again, I am even MORE excited that my brother is coming home for the event.  Of course this is because I enjoy seeing him, but it is also because is yet another witness to attest to the convoluted logic of my grandfather and who can share my sincere hope that such eccentricities are not hereditary.

Raindrops on roses

Oh dear.  It looks like this past weekend my readership levels were pretty low.  Not that I am becoming obsessed with numbers, but I am not sure if should be worried or pleased.  Worried for obvious reasons, but pleased because it means that the people who read me actually do have lives and real things to attend to.

As for me, I have been busy.  Not only is school gearing up for the grand finale of work, but work has been a bit of a drain lately.  Oh, and I spent the past weekend in the crazy experience that is Bonanza Valley Days.  I shall have more to say on this in the future, but to keep it simple and within my brainpower (and to have it done in the 10 minutes I have before class), I will share a simpler story.

Last night I had the duty (or privilege, depending on who you ask) of sharing my bed with both my dog, Lena, and one of my parents' dogs, Pippi.  They are nice girls and usually give me no trouble. 

Unfortunately, Pippi has a slight issue when it comes to storms.  Specifically, she gets a little worked up over thunder.  Nothing major, she just can't settle down and sleep until its over.  Normally, she heads for the basement and lays on some blankets, but my bed was on the second floor and my door was shut.  Oh, and we needed to be quiet because my mother was to rise at 4 a.m. for work. 

After a weekend full of obscene heat and humidity (and allergies) I was more than ready to sleep soundly on Sunday night.  I gathered my dogs to slumber, when... BAM!  An extremely loud and slightly scary sounding storm hit.  It was so loud and unexpected that both Pippi and Lena were startled and a bit shaky.

What happened next was a bit strange.  At least for me.  In my own head. 

All of the scary storm noises paired with the fact that I was trying to comfort a couple of scared young pups in my bed made me draw a connection to something sort of.... dorky.

Have you ever seen the movie version of "The Sound of Music" starring Julie Andrews?  I have.  Many times.  I am not going to go into background and set up for this for those who have not seen it, but those of you who have, you should know where I am going with this. 

Essentially, in my effort to calm the dogs, I found myself humming "My Favorite Things" to the dogs without realizing why I was doing it.  After a few bars, it hit me that I was pretending to be Maria singing to the frightened Von Trapp children.  Oddly, there is a line in the song that says "When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad." 

Can the song still be comforting to a dog?  I don't know.  All I know is that until that storm officially passed over our house, there was no peace for me.  Don't worry, it didn't drive me to think that I could make the dogs cute outfits out of my mom's comforter. Mostly because I wouldn't have the first clue how to do that.

OK, it looks like my time is up and I have to head down to class.  I am starting to regret that I did not take this time to find food.  A handful of Triscuits for lunch might not be enough to get me through the next three hours.  Or maybe the hunger pangs will be what keeps me awake.  Maybe it's time to sing.

Keep a Cool Head

Depending on who you ask, you may or may not learn that I am prone to overreaction.  To some, I am deserving of the epithet of "laid back."  I believe this is largely due to the fact that I am a bit reserved in general.  Even shy if the mood strikes me.  It is true that I do not not obsess over things like germs, fashion, dust, hairstyles, decorating, etc. 

This is not to say that I do not care about anything.  Grades are important.  Being able to pay bills is right up there as well.  I also really care about Dansko shoes.  OK, so you don't really need a list of my likes, dislikes and don't cares, right?

I have been able to maintain the appearance of nonchalance for such a long time probably because I do not have children.  As long as my primary safety responsibility is for me and me alone, I think I have it pretty much under control.  I know now not to eat dirt.  I know that the water in the puddle is not for drinking.  I know that sharp pointy objects can hurt me.  Babies do not know this and children are in the process of learning these things.  This makes me a bit nervous to be around babies and kids at times, but I am pretty good at keeping these fears hidden from others.

Now that I have a dog, it has become a bit more difficult to keep the appearance of sanity at all times.

My dog is lovely.  She is usually very sweet and loving and despite her bouts of hyperactivity and Yoda/Cujo/Grover-like vocalizations, I think she is fantastic.

I do not really know the right way to phrase this, but Lena is also a bit "mouthy."  That is, she likes to pick things up in her mouth and carry them around.  Occasionally she will eat the object, but often she just likes to act like she is eating it.

This is fine for most things - socks, tissues, sticks, mulch, pinecones, etc.  Unfortunately, I discovered the extreme downside to this habit recently.

As I was preparing for work one morning (at my parents' house), I noticed that Lena was doing her usual routine when she has something foreign in her mouth where she rolls it around on her tongue and spits it out on occasion.  I heaved a sigh and went to see what the objet du jour would be, and to my horror and dismay, it turned out to be a straight pin.  If you are unsure of what a straight pin is, it is the kind of pin used by tailors and seamstresses the world over - a long metal pin with a small plastic ball head at one end.

After retrieving the pin from the floor, I examined it.  The pin was not bent, but the plastic end was indented as if with teeth.  My mother was not home to consult in the matter, but I set the pin aside to ask about later.

When I finally was able to show my mom the evidence, she was as shocked as I.  I honestly am not sure where Lena picked it up, but I did not find any more, so I was hopeful that this was the last of them.

Move ahead to last weekend.  I believe I have told you how I have tapped the domestic part of my skill set to embroider a cross-stitch sampler for my friend's soon-to-arrive baby girl.  Yes?  Good.  In order to complete said sampler before this baby's due date in two weeks, I have been working furiously in my free time and I am happy to say I am nearly done.

In order to keep this pace, I was forced to bring my stitching supplies to my parents' house.

If you have any knowledge of embroidery, you know that it requires a needle to pull the thread through the fabric to be embroidered.  It bears some resemblance to a straight pin in that it is small, sharp and metal.  It is usually a little bit thicker than a pin, and instead of a plastic ball at the end, there is an opening, or "eye" through which thread is, well... threaded.

With this in mind, picture this scene.  I was sitting in an armchair in my parents' basement.  I have a blanket on my lap, and Lena is on top of said blanket, napping.  I am working on my sampler.  My mom is in bed already.  My father is upstairs working on his computer.  All is peaceful.

Got it?  OK then.  Next, picture me finishing a section and preparing to place my needle on the table while I regroup.  Suddenly, something upsets my balance and the needle slips from my grasp and falls towards my lap.  Lena does not sense this and continues to slumber. 

At this point my brain flashes into alert readiness.  I carefully examine the area where I think it should be, but I see nothing.  My next thought is to get Lena out of there ASAP, so I gingerly pick her up and escort her out of the basement and shut the door to keep all canine investigators at bay.

Then the insanity starts.  Actually, no.  I think I was pretty calm at first.  I checked the expected places - the chair, the floor, the blanket.  Nothing.  Of couse it didn't really help that the carpeting in the basement is the color of dead grass, about 20 years old and not always thoroughly clean.  When my initial search turned up nothing, I had the momentary brilliant idea that I could perhaps use a magnet to help find what my eyes and fingers could not. 

A magnet.  Great.  Now where would I find one of those?  Maybe greater minds than mine would have thought of a better idea, but my first thought was the refrigerator.  I quickly proceeded up to the kitchen and selected what appeared to be a good specimen:  an orange square magnet with a black and white photo of a small child with the caption:  "Like most politicians, my pants are full of crap."  A former gift of mine to my mother.  Perfect.

With an episode of NCIS playing in the background, I laid on the floor and systematically swept the magnet across the ground.  Result?  Nothing.

At this point, I was starting to get worried.  And sweaty.  Our basement is usually a bastion of cool in the heat, but not that night. 

Anyway.  As I believed that I had exhausted the floor as a potential location for my needle, my attention turned to the chair.  It is a nice chair.  Comfy, etc.  My parents have owned it for many years, and I believe it came to us during the "Wisconsin Years."  The seat cushion is easily removed, but as no needle was immediately visible, I turned my eyes to the nether regions of the furniture.

I soon discovered that at the edge of the seat base there are deep indentations that can be accessed only by forcing one's hand deep into the dark reaches.  My preliminary expeditions gave evidence that there were indeed "objects" to be found in the depths, but I was not 100% sure my needle was among them.

What I needed now was something to prop open the crevasse to allow me to search with a flashlight.  But what to use?  After many failed attempts with a remote control and dust buster (useless piece of junk) I discovered that the dogs' Gumby rubber chew toy was perfectly designed for the task.  Armed with this setup, I retrieved about 42 cents in change, a safety pin and two pieces of ancient tortilla chip.  No needle.

By this time, I was really getting frustrated and even more sweaty.  How would I ever be able to let the dogs safely roam the basement ever again?  Would my parents disown me for negligent stupidity?  What would my veterinarian brother and his veterinarian girlfriend say? 

In one last effort to search the floor, I lay prostrate on the ground while all these overdramatic hypothetical questions ran through my head.  Finally, with my hands full of dog hair and dust (and goodness knows what else), I sat up and forlornly gazed at the magnet I had left sitting on the couch. 

GASP!!  I swear, I nearly fainted when I saw what was stuck to the backside of my little magic finder tool.  It was the needle.  I know you're thinking that I need to have my vision checked out right about now because I honestly did NOT see it there before.  So I have no idea when or where it picked up the needle during my search, but the important thing to know is that I FOUND IT. 

I triumphantly opened the basement door and Lena came rushing down to join me.  I apologized profusely and promised never to be such a klutz again.  I contemplated laying down a tarp around the chair while I sewed, but I nixed that idea quickly because I sensed that my mother would not go for it. 

So far, I have kept my promise.  Mostly.  I did drop the needle one more time a couple of days ago, but I was able to find it in two seconds because I actually saw where it went. 

The good news is that I am almost DONE with the project.  Until Baby Girl arrives, that is.  Then I will need to enter her name, birthdate and weight into the designated spaces.  But THEN I will be done.  Forever?  Quite possibly.  Or at least until the next baby comes along.  Hopefully my parents will have replaced the basement carpet with something that renders objects more visible.

I survived the 4th

It looks like I had a serious downtick in viewings over the weekend, but that is a good thing (in my opinion).  That means that instead of sitting indoors on your computer, you were out there in the world, experiencing the joy that accompanies an extended weekend celebration of Independence Day (if you are from the U.S.) 

In case you were wondering, my weekend was very nice.  Pretty relaxing, actually.  True, I was not quite as productive as I had hoped to be, at least from a scholarly standpoint.  On the other hand, I did complete my three chapters of reading and pretty much completed the work for this week's assignment.  It just needs to be typed up.  Oh, and I also did manage to locate some articles for next week's presentation just in time for tomorrow's deadline.  Boo-ya.

One important revelation I had this weekend is that I am really anxious to start spending some more time at home.  Nothing against my parents and their hospitality, but paying out for a mortgage every month really makes me feel drawn to actually sleep under that expensive roof once in a while.  Thankfully, two weeks from tomorrow, summer school will be OVER.  It has indeed gone by quickly, but I will not be sorry to see it end.

To be honest, I am feeling a little bad that I do not have anything interesting to share with you about my weekend.  Of course, this should be balanced against the fact that my next two weekends are going to be full of interesting stories to share as I venture out in both instances to scenic Brooten, MN. 

If you've never heard of Brooten, you really must Google it sometime.  You're sure to be impressed.

A Cry for Help

The time has come yet again for me to call upon you, my Accountabilibuddies, to help me help myself. 

Under no circumstances should you ever EVER EVER EVER EVER let me think that it is OK to consume Papa John's Garlic Sauce with my pizza.  No matter how much I beg, rationalize or threaten, you must hold firm.  It is absolutely VERBOTEN!

Here is an illustration:



Apparently I am contemplating the unthinkable.  What do you tell me???



Simple enough, right? 

As a thank you for your continued diligence, please enjoy this festive piece of art.  Happy long weekend!



Just Do It : New and Improved!!!

You know what?  I have been working on this entry off and on for FOUR days.  I suppose it is time to hike my skirt up and give 'er the old "Publish Post" heave-ho.  Sorry for the delay and any frustration, angst or confusion it may have caused. 

Apparently, the literary critics in the crowd (my mother) found my first entry to describe the Hallinglag adventure to be "boring."  I don't know how many others agree with this assessment, but I shall endeavor to liven this one up.  Maybe with some last minute plot twists, explosions or dancing cats.

I believe I left you all with the big reveal that I had a margarita with my lunch and that this was for good reason. 

That reason = Ulen, MN. 

Google it, I dare you.  Find it on a map.  Or just click on this word:  VIKING.

I have no interest in explaining the slightly ridiculous and hardly credible story of how a sword was discovered in a field that the locals believed to have magic powers or something equally implausible. 

Just know that I have been to this place.  Oh, and also know that if you are ever going to a new and unknown place and want me to drive, get specific directions.  I am very good at finding my way, but I am a firm believer that streets are given names and numbers for a reason.  Guessing at how many miles out of town we are to decide which random gravel road to turn on to is not going to make me happy.

Apparently this shed is old.  Some ancestor of mine may have built it.  Are you impressed?

Another old building.  Actually, I think the precise grass mowing is quite impressive as well.

Another view of the spectacular lawn.

The best part of the trip.  A barn full of vintage tractors.

As I am now paranoid about boring everybody to tears with my ramblings, I will give you the shortest version of the remaining events possible (from me).  After Ulen, the next big event was a "banquet" at the Fargo Sons of Norway Lodge.  I could probably spend some time explaining Sons of Norway, but you can just Google it, right?  Right.

At this point, I should probably gloss over the rest of the weekend.  Especially as it has now been one week since the events started.  However, I feel I must break for a moment to explain a strange and eerie occurrence.

My grandfather is a collector of "art."  His walls are amply covered with mostly framed enlarged photographs.  Two of his most noticeable non-photographs are large portraits of the former King and Queen of Norway, Haakon VII and Maud.  They are not originals; my father has always surmised that they were purchased or received free with other purchase of some other object at some point in our family's farm history.  At present, I believe they are located in my grandfather's bedroom where he can gaze upon them while resting in bed.

The point of this explanation is that these pictures are very familiar to me and other members of my family.

Imagine my surprise when I was wandering amidst the antique bric-a-brac of the Ulen Viking Sword Museum only to discover that the exact same pictures were hanging on the wall in the mock-up living room section.  Frames and all.  I quickly drew it to the attention of my father and uncle who were all just as baffled as I was to see their familiar faces.  In the end, we had a good laugh, took a few pictures and moved on with the day.

Sorry for the glare. 

An even greater shock was in store for us later at the Sons of Norway Lodge.  Immediately within the entrance to the building, right there on the wall above the sign-in book, guess what we saw?  You should be able to deduce the answer, but if not, I will tell you.  THE SAME PICTURES.  Twice in one day.  Coincidence?  You tell me.

I apologize for getting in the way.  And again with the glare... on my glasses.

Dear readers, I tried SO hard to find images of these pictures to share with you online.  I was completely unsuccessful, thus adding to the mystery.  How could two such paintings as ubiquitous as these not be out there for the finding in a simple Google search?  Maybe they are trying to send me a message.  Am I the mysterious true heir to the Norwegian monarchy?  Interesting thought.

Blech.  This entry has taken WAY too long to write and I just want to finish and be done.  It is time to start the 4th of July weekend already and I cannot bear the thought of this conclusion dangling over my head as I try to get some "real" work done on my upcoming school projects.  Therefore, please pardon the lack of detail in the conclusion of this narrative.

Someone is bored with my blog entry and clearly being overdramatic about it.

My Hallinglag experience concluded with the business meeting for the group where I also claimed my silent auction item that I was victorious in winning despite no opposing bids, followed by a trip to the Scandinavian Festival at the Hjemkomst Center in Moorhead, MN.  I do not wish to imply that this event was not fun/interesting/worthwhile because it certainly was.  But in the interest of saving time, I will simply share that the highlight was the food.  Real Scandinavian food.  Especially the Danish Æbelskivers.  Mmmmm...

Perhaps I will write again this weekend as I endeavor to work ahead in my studies to avoid last-minute stress over assignments due to the fact that the next two weekends are going to be busy for me.  Procrastination in the form of blog writing is always good to get the scholarly brain juices flowing.