Tradition, Food & Bjärv- Part II

I'm not a morning person. Any of my close friends, family and former roommates can assure you of that. So when 6:30am arrived and I had only gotten 4 hours of sleep, I wasn't the happiest of campers. I was surprisingly enough, up when the knock on my door occurred. I wasn't ready or awake, but I was up.

Back in May I heard that some of our family friends were coming into town for Hyllningsfest. One of them (Gene) had even signed up for the 15k. I think because of the running frenzy that some of the members of my St. Louis church had, I thought it would be a great idea if my sister and I signed up for the 5k. Of course we didn't start training until August and then even then didn't really stick to it as well as we should. However, in the course of those months we had talked my parents into doing the 2 mile walk.

About a week before the race, when we decided we should actually sign up, my sister and I decided we would rather have this be a fun event and enjoy it rather than kill ourselves trying to run it. So we too decided the 2 mile walk was the event for us...at least this year. By the day of the race we had 7 adults and 2 kids signed up for the walk in our group. That all leads us up to that morning when my sister knocked on my door. Not long after that my parents joined us and we were off to the registration table. Did you know how dark it is at 6:30 in the morning? I don't normally see it from that side. ;)

 

At approximately 7:25am our race started. We were off! We set a pretty good pace and were enjoying the early morning with each other. Our group ended up splitting up a little with the first of us finishing at about 7:50am. Just as the first 5k runners were finishing their race. They did start a little after us, so as not to run us over. That gave us the rest of the time to watch the runners come in and wait for Gene to finish his 15k. Which he did in what I call a great victory! He was the 1st in his age group to finish. That earned him a well deserved medal. Way to go Gene!

After the race it was time to find our spots to watch the parade. We met up with my nephews, who were sporting their Swedish costumes. Of course they were, even the mail man was wearing his Swedish costume to deliver the mail. That's just what we do. Anyway, we had to find a good spot, because dad was one of the rifle men protecting the flags as they were marched down the street. So after that 2 mile walk, dad had to walk to the other end of Main to get in the parade, walk the parade route, and then walk back towards the beginning of the route to find us. I'd say he earned a Viking on a Stick or whatever he decided to treat himself with that day.

At the beginning of the parade one of the cars that went past was carrying the Ambassador of Sweden. I was sitting on the curb trying to explain to my oldest nephew what an Ambassador was, when I realized that the Ambassador was speaking to me. In Swedish! At first I thought he was just speaking to the crowd, then he said "Uppsala, ja!" My sister asked me "How do you know the Ambassador?" It was then that it dawned on my that I was wearing my Uppsala shirt and the Ambassador had noticed. If I knew that, I would have practiced my Swedish, but instead all I could do was smile and wave back.

I spent the rest of the parade helping the kids around me catch as much candy as possible and watching so they didn't run in front of a float to get said candy. They have so much candy now, I don't think I will have to buy any Halloween candy for them. But then what kind of aunt would I be if I didn't spoil them rotten? My oldest nephew even got picked from the crowd by the college basketball team to shoot a basket. They even helped him to dunk the ball in the moving hoop they had. Missed that photo opportunity, but it is still a great memory.

The rest of the day was spent working, but come night fall it was time to wind down. I had been invited to hang out with some friends. I was the perfect ending to a festive weekend. Hanging out with friends new and old. Sharing stories, singing (Abba, Journey, classic Disney hits, etc.), and laughing a lot into the wee hours. While it was not as traditional as my past Hyllningsfests, this might have been the best. Until next time.

Tradition, Food & Bjärv- Part I

This past weekend was Hyllningsfest in my home town. A celebration of our Swedish heritage. A festival that I have loved for as long as I can remember and while this year's was not quite the same, it is one to be remembered. My preparation for it started weeks before when my sister wanted me to help her make Swedish costumes for her sons. I was all for it and then proceeded to procrastinate until almost the last minute, but the vests I was making did indeed get done. And while I'm guessing they aren't going to hang onto their Swedish costumes like those of my past,

the pictures and stories will last.  And maybe even the story of how I waited until two days before Hyllningsfest to sew them will be remembered.

As Friday (the first day of the festival) came I was bound and determined to have a good time even though I was scheduled to work for most of the actual festivities. After working a crazy morning, I was headed of to join my parents and family friends downtown to watch the Folkdanslag (adult Swedish dancers). I have enjoyed watching them since I was a kid. They have such a passion for the dances and traditions. The members dancing don't to seem to have aged at all and are still loving what they do.

Although I was going to the Smorgasbord just about an hour after watching the dancing, I decided this might be my one and only chance to get a Viking on a Stick. This was an inspiration my family had once on a trip and suggested it to the Swedish Folk Dancers while my sister was in the group. They tried it, it worked and has been a tradition ever since. Since I only get a chance to get it once every two years, it almost seems better than Christmas presents. I know, I know, you are saying 'What is it?' Answer: Swedish meatballs, Swedish rye bread on a skewer, dipped in a batter and deep fat fried. AMAZING is what it really is. (I actually sent my sister on a quest on Saturday to pick me up more and put them in the fridge).

After the dancing and the Viking on a Stick, it was time to walk across town and take my mother to the Smorgasbord. We had planned to get there early, eat early and get to my dad's concert in plenty of time. WRONG. This was actually the first time I had been to the Hyllningsfest Smorgasbord and had only served at the Midsummer's Smorgasbord, so I didn't know how it worked. Instead they called ticket numbers. But it worked out because while waiting to be seated we got to listen to Bjärv. I didn't know it was that group at the time and I didn't know anything about the group. The folk music they were playing was so jovial that I was hoping the little girls I was with would want to go dance to it, but alas they didn't and I was to nervous to dance alone. The guys (Olof, Ben, and Petrus) were having such a good time and it made their music that much better. I was reluctant to actually go to Smorgasbord and leave the music behind. I couldn't have known this would not be the last time I saw them. So off to the Smorgasbord I went. Yummy food!

After the delicious food, we hurried to watch the Men's Choir, which my dad was a part of. It was a magical moment to be sitting the the church that I grew up in, seeing it packed, listening to my dad (and the rest of them) with my nephew sitting on my lap. It's memories like that, that remind me of why I moved back to Lindsborg in the first place. The men (40 of them) volunteer and only practice for one night a week for seven weeks before the hour long performance. It was the perfect dessert to the Smorgasbord.

To end Friday night I decided to see if any of my fellow classmates were at the Öl Stuga. There were very few, but I did run into Ryan. He and I had gone to school together from kindergarten through high school together. And low and behold, he was friends with Bjärv. I ended up staying, until last call which might not have been a great idea seeing as I had to be up at 6:30am to get ready for the race. But who needs sleep during Hyllningsfest? Day 1 more than complete.

Ace

There are a ton of great memories I have of my high school volleyball years. From running laps through the band room because it was air conditioned, to burning one of my knee pads into my leg. This one has been popping in my head for a couple of weeks now. It happened during my junior year at the end of one of the practices. We were told to serve 20 good serves in a row. Once we were done doing that we could go home. Usually I probably would have counted a couple that I had missed and gotten out of there. But for some reason I decided that I was going to play by the rules this time.

I served several and then served on in the net. Started over and served one out of bounds. I did this over and over. Over serving, under serving, low serving so it hit the net (back then that was an illegal serve). The more I missed the more frustrated I got. And the more frustrated I got, the more I missed. It's one of those vicious cycles. My fellow players were finishing up and leaving the gym. And then there was only me. It would have been easy earlier to  cheat, but now I was the only one the coach was watching.

She stayed giving me tips. And there was one other player that stayed as well. They were both there to support me and to help me get the job done. At one point I was so frustrated I was just slamming the balls and they were going every which way. Coach decided this was a good time for me to get a drink of water. I didn't want water! I wanted to finish this and get out of the gym. I wanted to be as far away from that gym as possible. I thought that I was just showing that I couldn't do this simple task. She was the coach though, so I went out in the hall and got a drink of water. The other player came with me and told me just to breathe and not to worry. I would get it done.

When I got back the coach said the same thing. Before she let me try again, she made me get my nerves under control. I started again. I messed up. The count started over. And again I messed up. I started a third time. I made it to 18. 19. 20! Finally! I still remember the coach and the player (I've chosen not to name her though, just in case) clapping loudly. I had done it. Sure it was about a 1/2 hour after practice had ended and everyone else had left, but I had actually finished it. I thank you two for doing that!

After that day my best position was serving. Serving was my main job my senior year and I ended up getting quite a few Aces and helped to win a spaghetti dinner for the varsity team. Even now I can help teach a serve better than any other move. When scrimmaging against the high schoolers, I still manage to get an Ace or two.

Oh Sheet!

I meant to write and post this on April 1st, but got a little busy. So here goes now. April Fool's is always one of my favorite times of the year. I like to see what jokes I can come up with and who I can fool and I LOVE to see who can actually fool me. My dad is usually the one that can make a believable joke and get me to forget what day it is. There are two April Fool's days that come to mind when I think of the best jokes that I've been a part of.

The first would be when I was about 7 or 8 and it was time to go to bed. Dad said that he would come up with me and tuck me in. Looking back, this is the only time that I distinctly remember him tucking me in. When we got up stairs my bed was made. This was unusual as well, but I didn't think much of it. And then I went to get into bed. As hard as I tried and as many times as I tried, I could not get my feet to go down the bed. I finally look at dad and asked what was wrong. Why wouldn't it work. Dad claimed that he didn't know and I probably wasn't trying hard enough. So I tried and tried again to no avail. Dad just said "April Fool's!" I didn't even know what short sheeting the bed was at that age, but I learned and have never forgotten.

The second best joke would come years later. After I had graduated college, I moved back home for a short while. I was working in McPherson and that particular night I was working until close (about 9pm). I hadn't had time to do any April Fool's jokes yet, but knew I needed to correct that. Luckily the weather was going to help me. I call my dad and tell him that my car wasn't starting. I tried and tried and it would just make a clicking noise. The oil level was fine, so I had no other clue what could be wrong. So I was stranded in McPherson and a thunderstorm was rolling in. After about 20 min. my dad decided that he needed to come get me. It would take him a little while to get there, so I should just hang tight.

What dad didn't know was that I had driven home, turned off my lights and used the lightning to come up the drive way so my parents would see me. And had been parked outside the house for most of the conversation. I then asked him that when he came to get me, if he could turn on the entry light, so I could see to get in. With this he knew he had been fooled and I was happy to know that I was successful! I had finally gotten him back!

Attitude Adjustment

We all have those sayings that are said to us when we are kids, that make us roll our eyes. For me one of those was when my parents (especially my mom) would say that I needed to have an attitude adjustment. I can remember her saying it to me a few times.

One of those times, was when my birthday fell on the same day as I was showing my hogs in the 4-H fair. It didn't go as well as I thought it should have. I remember I went in to the poultry house to 'get away' from it all. She walked in and I said "This sucks!" I got the glare that only moms can give so well, and quickly changed my statement to "This stinks!" I got lucky that time though, because as soon as she said, "You need an attitude adjustment", my grandpa walked in and all was right in the world in my eyes.

The majority for the time though, my attitude adjustment wasn't so quick in changing. I remember having that statement told to me many a spring/summer Saturday morning. These were the Saturdays that I was sure the grass hadn't grown enough for me to mow our family friend's yard. Of course I would be wrong. I would go there thinking that I would get the morning to relax, enjoy crackers and cheese and watch cable. We would show up and discover (my parents would discover, I never wanted to look) that the grass indeed needed a mowing.

I had different tactics to try and get out of it. It was too hot, I could come back later in the week, whining that my sisters got to take turns and I had to do it all by myself. I can even see why these were all bad tactics now but back then, I thought I would be golden and get away without doing it. Sometimes the tactic of coming back would work with my parents, but really it was just silly for me to do it in the afternoon and not the morning. Oh, well. At times parents would 'threaten' to let someone else do it and make the money. That usually worked on me and I would begrudgingly get the mower out.

I always knew that there was no getting out of it when I got the "You need to get an attitude adjustment" line. I don't know if my parents know it or not, but once I got the mower out and started, there were quite a few times my attitude adjusted in the wrong direction. Looking back, I'm surprised that the mower lasted as long as it did. I would never intentionally try to break it (and I don't think I ever did break it), but I also didn't treat it respectfully. I would pound my fists on the handle bar and I would many a time, push the handle bar down towards the ground lifting the front tires off the ground and then I would just let go. The front tires would slam to the ground. I would do that over and over. I'm guessing that's not the attitude adjustment my parents wanted from me.

There are times I catch myself thinking that one of my students/athletes needs an attitude adjustment. Or I hear in my head, my parents telling me that I need an attitude adjustment. Instead of rolling my eyes, I now nod my head in agreement. It's funny how your parents become 'smarter' the older you get. ;)

Grounded

I've been very hard on myself this week. This is nothing new to me, but it takes weeks like this for me to remember that it's not all going to fall apart because I didn't get something done or get someone called back. I remember one time in particular that I 'tried' to ground myself even.

We were working on a family tree book for English my freshman year of high school. On my dad's side of the family we have the Courter Family Book. I somehow talked my parents into letting me bring it to school, with a strict warning from my father about how important it was. So what did I do? I left my back pack on the concession stand outside of the gym while waiting for the pep bus. I just wanted to see what the other kids were doing in the gym.

When the bus showed up, I went to grab my bag and it was gone. I looked around and tried asking people if they saw someone grab it. No one knew anything and the bus was about to leave. I climbed on with a sick feeling in my stomach, not knowing how I would explain this. As luck would have it as I was walking up the drive-way, my dad was just turning in and stopped to pick me up. I don't know how I told him, but somehow I did. He was disappointed and he and my older sister went back to the high school to look for my bag.

I decided to 'ground' myself to my room. The sick feeling not going away. After a while I went to tell my mom, that I had decided that I didn't deserve to go to my thespian induction that night. In hind sight, I now see that I probably did that so that I would go, but at that time seeing people was far from what I thought I wanted. My mom decided that it was best for me to go.

After explaining to my drama coach (who happened to be my English teacher) and getting some support from my drama friends, I ended up having a good time. Though I never quite got rid of that sick feeling in my stomach. My dad and sister came up empty handed, but a couple days later, it mysteriously showed up.

Maybe I'm a little over dramatic when I don't live up to mine or someone else's expectations. To this day I still get a little teary eyed when I think of that day, even though all turned out well. I am still learning to forgive myself for my shortcomings. A tough lesson to learn, but one that will never be forgotten once it is learned.

A Bird's Song

I had no intention on writing today. I just wanted to enjoy this BEAUTIFUL spring day. I decided that I would sit outside and enjoy the weather. I brought my book and my dog. Mainly I was thinking a nap outside was the perfect idea for the afternoon. Then I heard it. A familiar song. I don't really know anything about birds, but there are a couple birds that I heard that immediately took me back to the farm.

I remember summers or those few Saturdays in the spring that my parents would let me sleep as late as I wanted. It was the song of these birds mixed with the warmth of the sun coming in my east window that would wake me up. It was the best way to wake up. And usually I would lay in bed for a while longer thinking about what the day might bring.

It usually meant a lazy day for me. I would get to take a walk down the driveway to get the mail, with the dogs chasing each other all around me. And maybe I would feel energized to 'race' them back to the house. I would be able to take a nap in the yard (working on my tan of course). Or maybe I would actually help out and mow the yard. Though to be honest this was yet another way to work on my tan and be productive at the same time.

Maybe it was a day that I would run around the farm playing with all the animals and pretending all the buildings were a little city. Or better yet, building my own city with a stick, a dirt driveway and a whole lot of imagination! I could lay on one of the 'beds' and watch the clouds roll by. What shape would they turn into next. Listening to the old leaves of fall breeze by like natures wind chimes. Smelling fresh air and maybe the alfalfa field down the road. It was all there for me to enjoy. To savor. To remember. And maybe if I got really lucky, there would be a magnificent sunset to finish off the day.

Maybe there is a little country in the city after all.

Grilled Cheese & Nibs

First I should describe what this experiment is for me. I decided that I wanted to write down a memory a day for a year. That hasn't exactly been going well for me, but I thought that if I tried a blog, maybe it would at least make me write down a memory once a week.

I've been thinking a lot about my grandparents the past couple of weeks. It really started when I picked up a package of Nibs at the gas station. For me Nibs are one of those things, that no matter how much time has passed, will always remind me of my Grandma Milly. It got me thinking of all the other ordinary, sometimes everyday things that are now special reminders to me. Nibs don't even mean anything to my sisters, but to me I think of Grandma Milly every time I eat them. They were the last Sunday candy I had before she passed. General Hospital also makes me think of her as does rearranging furniture.

For my Grandpa Wally, I think of John Deere, jam, honey roasted peanuts and the Fourth of July. Another special memory is grilled cheese sandwiches, cottage cheese and milk at the sale barn. My sisters would say grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate milk, but I didn't like chocolate milk, so I got the cottage cheese.
For Grandma Lynn it's apple juice, greeting cards and crackers. Grandpa Frank it would be polar bears, lemon drops, tic-tac-toe and motorcycles.

I could list items like these for every person I know. And some would mean the same thing to others, and some would be my own personal reminders. I'm thankful for these items and the great memories that they bring me.