Monthly Archives: April 2011

In your Easter Bonnet – -

Posted on by
3

As I was sitting in church yesterday morning, trying to digest the huge breakfast that had been served previously, I was looking over the crowd. My glance landed upon two little sisters sitting so prim and proper wearing their Easter bonnets, white gloves and new spring dresses. I’m just glad they didn’t have to wear their winter coats in order to get to church this morning.

I fondly remember as a little girl all the excitement of shopping for new clothes for Easter. My mother and I would take the Greyhound bus the 10 miles from our little town to the City and spend the afternoon picking out and purchasing just the right dress for each of us.

And of course we both had to have new hats, and finding just the right one could be a real time consuming chore. Back then everyone wore hats to church and all kinds of other functions. Easter morning was quite a sight with all the new bonnets – big floppy ones with lots of flowers, petite ones that someone who sat behind you could actually see around and in every color you could imagine. Hats kind of went by the wayside when the “Big Hair” became the fashion. After all, who would want to squash their hair after going to all that work of making a fashion statement?

Now I had to have been the epitome of fashion in this picture. It was taken in 1955 on Easter morning. My blue hat was kind of a fitted affair that sat on top of my head, and I was wearing a gray circle skirt with black felt records that had pink centers. It even had a matching purse. I was quite stylin’ and must have left the other girls in awe when they saw me that day.

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Lovely Daughter and Lars did dinner yesterday and it was delicious.  Things always taste so good when I don’t have to cook them.  Friends from Grand Forks came down for dinner also with their two children.  I get such a chuckle out of their kids as they call Ole “Grandpa Ole”, Lovely Daughter is called “Naughty” and Lars is known as “Uncle Wob.”  So it was a lovely day and enjoyed by all.  Even the weather cooperated for once with sunshine and some of the warmest temperatures we’ve seen so far this year.  Made it all the way up to 61 degrees ABOVE ZERO.

Not Quite the Nitty Gritty Details!!

Posted on by
2

Not the Nitty Gritty Details, but some pretty good stuff

Ole and I have had some very heavy discussions lately about what’s appropriate to share with all my on-line friends. He’s always so full of ideas that I told him HE should start a blog. But, of course, he doesn’t think he’s got time, you know. Says he’s way too busy drinking coffee in the mornings, reading his emails, petting Daisy and Simon, and things like that. So I guess it’s up to me to follow through on this sharing business.

One of the subjects that we’ve decided that it’s okay to share is our sex life. I’m sure you guys just are waiting to hear every explicit detail, right? Well, if you know anything at all about Finlanders you know they’re a horney HEARTY bunch. They have to be in order to have existed in Finland. And the same for the rest of the ScandiHOOvians – you know the Norwegians, the Swedes and I’m not so sure about the Danish because they live farther south, you know.

Those certain characteristics didn’t disappear when all those ScandiHOOvians immigrated to the United States. They’re still a very “playful” bunch of people with a wonderful sense of humor.

Now I’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty details of every move, even though I’m sure you all want to hear every last little tidbit. But – - Ole and I certainly do our share of “fooling around.” He always asks so nice and polite – and one morning we even took some pictures and decided to publish them. Would you like to see? Okay – here goes. Scroll down, okay?

*
*
*
*
* Keep scrolling
*
*
*
*
*
* You’re almost there
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

Ha Ha - Gotcha!!

Love Lena

The BIG Billy Goat Gruff – with horns and everything!

Posted on by
Reply

Do you remember the fairy tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff? Well, at one point in time we had the Big Billy Goat Gruff as a pet!  Lovely Daughter was just a little girl at that time, about four years old.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

And of course she named him Billy Bo. We had him one summer and he followed her around like a puppy. He was a neutered male that the previous owner had kept as a pet on a goat farm in the local area. Now how he came to our house is kind of an interesting story. So get your coffee and get comfortable – here we go again (snicker).

Ole was working for a large international company at that time, and he and his Buddy who also worked for the large international company (the one with the Viking season tickets from yesterday’s entry), decided they were going to play a trick on one of their mutual friends. Mutual Friend had his fingers in a lot of woodpiles, if you know what I mean. It was obvious that he made a LOT of money in a manner that was just barely honest enough to keep him out of jail. These three guys hung out together a lot, and when someone would ask Mutual Friend what he did for a living his answer was always, “Oh, I’m just a goat herder.”

So one day Ole and Buddy decided they were going to make Mutual Friend into a true goat herder and located a goat farm where they went to buy a goat. They loaded this goat into the back of the pickup, tied him up and headed for home. Unfortunately the goat, who was very people oriented, decided he didn’t like to be in the back of the pickup alone and started bleating loudly, and jumping and kicking the sidewalls of the truck box. The guys had to drive through the city to get to where they were going, and decided it wouldn’t look real good if this goat was throwing fits in the back of the truck. So Buddy hopped out and climbed in the back with the goat to reassure him, etc. The goat calmed down immediately as Buddy was stroking his head and scratching his ears. Well, of course, this was Ole’s opportunity to take advantage of this situation so he decided to drive right down the main street of the city at the busiest time of day and show off Buddy petting the goat in the back of the truck. In order to keep the goat calm Buddy had to continue to stroke the goat, scratch his ears and talk to him. Imagine his embarrassment – talking to a goat!!

They knew that Mutual Friend and his family were not going to be home that evening, so when they finally got to Mutual Friend’s house it was getting on toward dark. They opened the gate to the backyard and put the goat inside the fence. Well, the poor goat was there by himself for several hours, and of course didn’t like being alone, so he spent the evening raising quite a ruckus – bleating and making all kinds of noise. Needless to say by the time Mutual Friend and his family got home the neighbors weren’t too happy. Mutual friend immediately called Ole and Buddy and had planned to chew them out, but was laughing so hard he could barely talk. The only thing he could say was, “You got me!! I’ll never admit to being a goat herder again.” I understand the goat spent the rest of the evening on their deck looking into the patio door wanting to come in the house and be with people.

Well, the next day Ole and Buddy went to pick the goat up and decided they were going to leave it at the Branch Manager’s house, who lived in a rural setting. They knew that Branch Manager was on a fishing trip up in Canada and just his wife was at home. She happened to be outside when they pulled in the driveway and informed her that her husband had ordered this goat and they were delivering it. She thought it was a bit on the strange side, but told them to put it in the storage building where she could keep it confined. They unloaded the goat and left. They later found out that the goat didn’t LIKE to be confined and had started butting the overhead door with his horns until she came to let it out. She tied it with a long rope to a pole in her yard and proceeded to continue pulling weeds in her flowerbed. By this time the goat was in a somewhat ugly mood.

Now this woman was a rather large woman and had a wide-spreading backside. She made the mistake of bending over to pull weeds within the reach of the goat, who targeted her behind, took a running start, hit her square in the butt and sent her tumbling. Needless to say when her hubby got home that night from fishing she met him at the door with A LOT to say. It apparently didn’t help matters that he and his fishing buddy had been into the beer and all they could do was laugh about the entire scenario.

Well, now, what to do with the goat now that all the practical jokes were over. The next day here came Ole with the goat in the back of the truck. He unloaded the goat, and it didn’t take long to determine that this goat did NOT have to be tied up. All he wanted was to be around people and would follow everyone around like a puppy. If we were all in the house he would stand on the deck looking in and wait for someone to come out to be with him. He was really very gentle as long as he wasn’t confined, and especially liked Lovely Daughter. At that time we had a portion of our property planted in alfalfa, which should have been heaven for a goat. But his chosen delicacy was Canadian Thistles – imagine eating something with all those stickers!! But he loved them.

So Billy lived at our house for the summer, but as fall approached we knew we needed to find a new home for him. We have extra buildings, but Billy would have never stayed warm enough in them through the winter. It takes a number of animals to generate enough heat in a building to survive the winter temperatures we have here. Ole found a home for Billy with an old bachelor farmer about a half hour from our house. The last we heard Billy was sleeping on an old bed in the heated porch of the bachelor’s house. When the bachelor goes to town he opens the passenger door of his truck. Billy hops in, puts his front hooves on the dash and away they go.

He was quite the Billy Bo.

Love, Lena

Where Chocolate Easter Eggs Come From

Posted on by
1
Gee whiz and big golly whompers – I’ve neglected all you good folks for an entire week.  Guess I deserve TWENTY LASHES WITH A WET PIECE OF LUTEFISK – but please take the bones out first so it won’t hurt so much.   If I can be allowed to make excuses – there’s been a lot of stuff going on around here.  I’ve been busy watching the water go DOWN and the snow and the rain fall.  Man – this winter just won’t give up.  Every other morning there’s a new inch of snow laying on the ground.  Maybe this is going to be one of those summers without a summer if you know what I mean.
 
It’s over, Folks.  The river is pretty much back in its banks – not saying that the first heavy rain won’t bring it back up – but for now it’s done.  I feel so bad for the residents of Valley City, a town about 60 miles to the west of here.  Valley City is located in the Sheyenne river valley and is just below the Bald Hill Dam and Lake Ashtabula, which of course was a Corps of Engineers project when it was built and they, of course, continue to run it.  I truly wonder about the brightness of the light bulbs in their box.   All winter long that area has had tremendous amounts of snow, and the lake was at record levels going into winter.  Now “brightness” would say to drain down some of that water before the spring flood season starts.  And I guess they did – down to “legal limits” whatever they are.  As the Sheyenne River rose to flood level and beyond this spring and the people of Valley City were busy building dikes to protect their city, the Corps came out with the statement last FRIDAY that they would have to raise the release levels from 6500 CFS to 7000 CFS on Saturday, 7500 CFS on Sunday and may even have to go to 8000 CFS shortly thereafter.  This left the poor residents really scrambling to get extra diking in place and hoping that it would hold.  They went to a tremendous amount of expense and work, let alone the tremendous stress levels that these poor people felt, to accomplish this.  MONDAY the Corps came out with another statement that they wouldn’t be raising the CFS levels any higher than 6500.  Now I ask you – what was it that happened that caused them to renig their statement.  There were no weather events during those three days that would have caused any changes, nor have the temperatures changed much causing a quicker/slower melt .  Just think of all the headaches and heartaches that their MISCALCULATIONS have caused the people of this city and several others downstream.  And if you follow the Corps of Engineers you will hear these kinds of stories time and time again. 
 
Enough.  It’s story time.
 
I think Lovely Daughter was about three years old one Easter when Ole and I decided to have a bit of extra fun with her and her Easter basket.

The Easter basket was loaded with the usual things – the hollow chocolate bunny, marshmallow filled eggs, peeps, and of course her favorite Cadbury eggs. I think there was a stuffed animal of some sort and a few clothing items. I had also bought a package of jelly beans.

The night before Ole and I put the basket together and Ole picked out all the black jelly beans. Then he proceeded to place them on the kitchen floor in a trail leading from the kitchen door over to the corner where her Easter basket was hidden. Fortunately the two dogs we had at that time didn’t like jelly beans (snicker).

Easter morning she came tripping out of her room walking on her tip toes trying to be quiet thinking that she might actually catch the Easter bunny. Ole and I were sitting in the living room having coffee when she reached the kitchen door, let out a scream and came racing into the living room telling us all about how badly the Easter bunny had behaved by pooping all over the kitchen floor!! We finally convinced her that they were just jelly beans and that if she followed the trail she would find her Easter basket.

So, Easter bunnies, behave and don’t leave a trail of bunny poop behind on Easter morning.

 
 
I’ve been feeding my wild bunnies all winter so I’ve got the real thing out on the deck. I don’t have to resort to jelly beans this year.  So if I give you an Easter basket this year you better check closely to see what’s in it (snicker)!
 
Love, Lena
 
 
 

What Happens when Hens Eat Fruit Loops!!

Posted on by
3

 

First of all I have to say how grateful I am that Ole and I don’t live north of Fargo.  Those poor people are suffering unbelievably with the record setting flooding that’s taking place there.  At this point Interstate 29 is closed for 31 miles going north to Grand Forks due to water that is 6 to 8 inches deep over the highway.  Folks who have never had water issues before are inundated.  Here’s a link to a video that was uploaded to YouTube that will give you a good idea of what’s going on out there.  It’s awful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8TqY12etrY

Our river is up again due to last Saturday’s rains, but isn’t expected to reach the level that it did previously – so nothing to worry about THIS time.  It’s almost like living next to a bomb – you’re just waiting for it to explode but you never know quite when it’s going to happen. 

Anyway, on to more fun things.  Do you remember years ago when the farm supply stores used to have colored chicks available at Easter time?

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

I was cruising through a magazine the other day and ran across the above picture. I had no idea that this type of thing still went on anymore. Then I started doing a little research on the Internet and found a number of sites expounding on dyeing chicks before they’re hatched by injecting dye into the egg. Of course they assured the reader that the dye was nontoxic and caused no harm to the baby chicks. Okay – I guess science has probably come that far since I was a kid back in the dark ages. 

I so distinctly remember one Easter when we lived in Pierre, SD, back in those days when we were Road Camp Gypsies (tweak, tweak). My mother, brother and I were downtown doing some shopping shortly before Easter. On one of the corners was a farm supply store and the corner window was huge and held a wire cage that was full of baby chicks that were every color of the rainbow. They were all fuzzy and cute and peeping up a storm, making all kinds of racket begging for whatever it is that baby chicks beg for. And of course I wanted to bring one home so very much. Big Brother, who was “Mr. Scientist” even back then, explained to me that the poor baby chicks would die within a few days because the dye that had been used on them would be absorbed through their skin and kill them. And naturally, he was right. One of my friends did manage to convince her mother, and brought one of the baby chicks home. I think it lasted a week and then turned feet up and croaked. 

Now just why I would want a baby chick that would/could grow up into a mean chicken or maybe even a rooster is beyond me. I’ve told you previously about how I tangled with the old hens on my cousin’s farm, trying to get the eggs out from under and getting severely pecked. Then there’s the story about the rooster that I haven’t told you!! Hang on here – this gets real exciting!! 

Before we moved off the farm my mother used to raise chickens. And of course the only way you get eggs and more chickens is if you have a rooster. Well, the rooster that my mother had was a mean old bugger. He really knew how to protect his harem. I’d go outside to play and if this mean old rooster caught sight of me, he’d come tearing over and attack. He used his wings, his claws, his beak; whatever was handy at the moment. For the life of me I don’t know why he attacked me because I certainly was terrified of him and was very careful not to make any advances toward either him or his old hens. 

One day my mother was going to town and was taking some of the hens along to sell. She thought she might as well get rid of that mean rooster too, so I could have some peace. So she loaded up the hens and rooster in some crates and headed off for town, with me in tow of course. When we got back home I changed my clothes and was sent outside to play – IN PEACE – or so we thought. I didn’t get very far and around the corner came this mean old rooster flapping his wings and threatening me AGAIN. Apparently she had loaded the WRONG rooster – the mean old bugger was still at home and the wrong one was going into somebody’s stew pot. The next day we went to town again and this time she got rid of the RIGHT rooster!! So there – you old cock of the walk!! I bet you were a tough old bugger!! 

I used to ride the “flowered” pigs. Apparently there was one pig that had been bottle fed from the time it was a baby and as a result was quite a pet. He was always hanging around up by the house like a dog, waiting for someone to come out and pet him or scratch him or some such thing. I remember climbing on his back and he’d just poke along always careful not to go too fast or make quick turns so I wouldn’t fall off. My mother was such a camera bug in her lifetime, but unfortunately I have no picture of me riding the pig. If I remember correctly, his name was Peter. 

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Then there was the white duck that would follow anyone around and fuss until you would pick him up. If you didn’t pick him up he’d grab your pant leg and lay down so that you would have to drag him along as you walked. This was NOT a dumb duck.

Now just how does my mind work, anyway? This all started out with colored baby chicks and went to mean roosters to flowered pigs to lazy ducks.

No wonder Ole says he’s given up trying to figure me out. HE should talk – humph!!

Love, Lena

Dumb Sh*t Insurance

Posted on by
1

Ole made an interesting discovery a few years back – we have dumb sh*t insurance.  First of all, I have to tell you that we have THE very best insurance agent there ever could be.  He has gone to bat for us through thick and thin and has covered our behinds at times when I wonder if he really should have.  I just wish I could tell you his name here, but – well, you know how it is.

To begin this story, I have to tell you that back in the days when she was in junior high school, Lovely Daughter spent a summer babysitting for Farmer Neighbor Dave.  She was to take care of the kids, keep them fed and keep the kitchen in a semblance of order.  Well, Farmer Neighbor Dave had a dishwasher that he used LIQUID dishwasher soap in.  Me?  I was still behind the times at that point and was using a powdered soap (still do).  As Lovely Daughter was loading the dishwasher over there, she got used to grabbing the liquid DW soap.  So one day when she was doing the dishes here at home instead of grabbing my powdered soap, she grabbed the liquid Joy dish detergent that was under the sink, filled the little cups in the DW to capacity,  pushed the buttons and immediately went to her room to do something – read or take a nap – or whatever teenagers do in their rooms for long periods of time.  Ole was in the basement doing something and I had gone to town so wasn’t home to witness this fiasco. 

Meanwhile, the dishwasher was merrily doing it’s job, swishing my dishes clean and making LOTS of soap suds.  After a period of time Ole came around the corner in the basement and started up the stairway to be met by a mountain of soap bubbles that were several feet high and had rolled halfway down the steps.  He fought his way through the bubbles and managed to get into the kitchen where the entire room was filled with soap suds.  He found his way to the dishwasher, opened the door and another solid wall of soap bubbles came rolling out.  Somehow the two of them managed to get the soap bubbles cleaned out of the kitchen before I got home.  How?  I never asked because I didn’t want to know, although the kitchen floor and lower cabinets were somewhat sticky for a long time after that. 

Following that incident my dishwasher had gone on to the great beyond – wherever dishwashers go.  Ole said the soap had gotten into the computerized components in the door and gummed them up, so at least it wasn’t a painful death.  A new dishwasher was then in the works so the following Saturday I went dishwasher shopping and brought home a new model in the back of my van.  Ole had decided that he was going to install it himself and save the $35 installation fee.  Now one other item that I need to add to this story is the fact that just two weeks prior to this little incident we had just had a new kitchen floor and new counter tops installed.  It was a beautiful piece of shiny new vinyl that I had shopped long and hard for and had found just the perfect color and style for my newly remodeled kitchen.   

The installation was scheduled to take place the next day.  I helped Ole haul the new DW into the kitchen and then, once again, left to run errands in town.  When I came home several hours later and entered the house I could tell by the “color of the air” that things had not and were not going well.  I gingerly walked into the kitchen carrying my grocery bags and there sat Ole in the middle of the floor, old dishwasher in the center of the floor, new one halfway into the opening.  One of the legs on the old DW stuck when Ole was removing it and it tore a large hole in the new vinyl flooring.  The new DW was just a slight bit taller than the old one, and in the process of putting it into its location it took a chunk out of the edge of the new counter top. 

And that wasn’t the worst of it – when Ole had the DW disconnected, Lovely Daughter decided to throw a load of clothes into the washing machine.  She didn’t realize that the drain line for the washing machine hooked up to the same line that drained the DW.  So when the washer dumped, the full load of water went through that disconnected drain line and down into the basement. 

So I didn’t have the Buffalo River in my basement, but I sure had a mess.  And our insurance covered it all.  That should have taught me to never leave the house when the two of them were home alone!!

Love, Lena

I Have Water in my Basement!!!

Posted on by
5

There’s a reason I don’t have rummage sales anymore.  Haven’t had for years.  I would do this wonderful job of cleaning out my basement and closets.  I always had great plans of getting rid of all those things that accumulate that you haven’t used for years and probably don’t even remember that you have.  My policy is if you haven’t used it in three years you don’t need it anymore.  Now Ole, on the other hand, has a different philosophy in life.  NEVER THROW ANYTHING AWAY BECAUSE YOU MIGHT NEED IT 20 YEARS DOWN THE ROAD.  The only problem with that is by that time he can’t remember where he put it so he goes out and buys a new one anyway!  Makes sense, doesn’t it? 

So I would do this great job of getting all these “goodies” hauled out into the garage, organized, priced and set up so that the next day, when I opened the garage door, I would have all these bargain hunters standing there just waiting to pounce and take advantage of my wonderful treasurers.  NOT!!  Ole would come home from work the evening prior to the big sale and go through everything, item by item, and carry 75% of it back into the basement.  His theory?  “I MIGHT need that some day,” or, “This is still perfectly good, why get rid of it?”  My response (although it never did any good) was always the same. “Dear, we need to get rid of it because we haven’t used it in 20 years.”  Just as an example, we moved back from Iceland in 1971, and there are still boxes in the basement that have NEVER BEEN OPENED in all those years!!  Well, actually, I  have opened them and know what’s in them, but I’ll bet you a large amount of money that Ole doesn’t have a clue.  And he hasn’t missed one single item that stored in those boxes from 35 years ago.

Well, anyway, on with my story.  At one time Ole was “into” fish and we had four aquariums.  He eventually graduated to an aquarium that was installed in the wall in the basement – 9 feet x 3 feet x 4 feet.  It cracked one day and spilled 280 gallons of water on the carpeted basement floor.  But that’s a story for another day.  Anyway, he had managed to collect four smaller aquariums that were all retired and placed on the shelf in the basement when he graduated to the gigantic one.  I’ve suggested many times that he either sell the smaller aquariums or donate them to the Boy’s Ranch so someone else could make use of them.  Guess what – all four aquariums are still sitting on the shelf after 20 years because he MIGHT use them again some day.   

Enter the washing machine.  I noticed the other day when I was doing a load of laundry that there was kind of a funny gurgling sound coming out when it dumped.  Then I noticed that water was backing up in the sink next to the machine when it dumped.  Didn’t think anything of it at that time, just that maybe the high water was affecting our septic system and causing things not to work quite right.  Later that day I happened to be down in the basement in the room that’s located under my laundry room, which is on the main floor, when the washer was dumping.  To my terror I heard what I thought sounded like Niagara Falls!!  I quickly tracked down the sound of gushing water and watched as torrents of soapy, sudsy water came roaring down through a hole in the floor where the drain line ran from the washer, and filling up the 30 gallon aquarium that just happened to be sitting on the top shelf right under the washing machine drain line!

Yelling up the stairway, “Ole, Ole, come down here, we’ve got water in the basement!”  “Well, float the boat, then, I’ll be right down.” Ole hasn’t said, “I told you so,” yet, but I guess that’s one time it was okay to hang onto something we didn’t need anymore.  It just happened to be in a strategic location and held exactly one washer load of water!!  But I’d still like to get rid of the other three aquariums!!

Otherwise, all is quiet on the South Branch of the Buffalo River.  It continues to recede and leave behind a silty, black mess that will eventually be washed off when the spring rains come. 

Here’s a couple of shots I took over the last couple of days.  The one below is of a complete square mile section under water that’s headed for the Red River (lucky them).  There’s a few black spots of soil showing here and there.  You can’t see them on this picture, but farther into the field it’s covered with Canadian Geese, Snow Geese and Swans. 

Here’s a few of the family members crossing the road.  Water must have been better on the other side.

Daisy has a wonderful time chasing these critters and barking at them.  In the process of getting them to fly, she misjudged and slipped into the ditch for a swim all the way up to her neck.  She paddled around for a bit before she decided the water was cold and climbed out.  German Shepherds aren’t supposed to like water – but somebody forgot to tell that to Daisy.  She should have been born a lab or a spaniel.  She’s like a kid – if there’s a puddle,  she’s in it!!

Love, Lena

The Non-Event

Posted on by
3

I suppose I shouldn’t call this flood a non-event yet, should I?  Maybe I’ve jinxed us.  Let’s hope not. 

Neighbor Al came over yesterday and helped Ole get all the cars moved out of harm’s way and to lift a lot of things up off the floor in the shop and the pole barn.  The front yard looks like a used car lot – currently five vehicles and a riding lawn mower parked in front of the house on top of our “little hill.”  That’s when the river seemed to stabilize and then drop a good 8 inches overnight!!  But you know darn well if we hadn’t prepared it would have kept rising.  That’s just the way things go, isn’t it? 

There’s the old saying, “The good Lord never gives you more than you can handle.”  He must have known that Ole and I were just about at our breaking point from all the years of flooding.  I think if the predicted forecast of 17.9 feet would have occurred you could have shipped me off to the loony bin. 

The stresses have accumulated over a long period of time – not just when the river is on the rise.  The stress of dealing with the government entities over the last 5 years trying to get a dike built or get a buyout, and not getting anywhere has been added to in an over abundance this year.  The weather bureau and the news media started with the flood hype back in January, and it’s been nonstop ever since.  Every TV or radio station that you tune to, and every newspaper that you pickup has been filled with talk about the spring flooding and how terrible it’s going to be.  The constant bombardment has been overwhelming.  The snow melt has been quite delayed this year – so the anticipation of when that’s going to happen wears on one.  The longer it stays cold in the spring means that when the temps do warm up the melt could very well happen within a few days and it would be like flushing the toilet with water running into the main stream.  But I think we caught a break this year as we couldn’t have asked for a more perfect melt – slow and easy. 

I’m tired and I have a headache.  I don’t think I’ve slept more than 4 or 5 hours any night for the last two months.  In my lifetime I’ve found that I hold up pretty well during the issue – whatever it may be – but once the stressor has passed is when I fall apart.  The headache is the indication of the beginning of that falling apart.  It’s like, “Maybe I can actually breathe again,” and during the process of all the anxiety washing away comes the let down with all the side effects.  But it’s okay – I’m Norwegian and I will get through it!!

You’ve all heard the story about the little boy who cried wolf one too many times?  When he finally was actually being chased by a wolf no one would believe him and come to help him.  There was an article in today’s paper stating that the Moorhead mayor is upset with the complacency of the residents not wanting to sandbag.  He’s afraid they’re going to wait too long to see if the river is actually going to rise to their predicted high, and then it will be too late.  I know exactly how they feel.  I’ve lost my trust in the weather bureau’s predictions, the information that the news media puts out and many of the emergency management people.  This has been going on for years.  The Buffalo was predicted to crest at 17.5 feet.  According to the gauge that’s just downstream from here it reached a height of 16.2 feet, stayed at that level for about 24 hours and then dropped rapidly.  Ole and I have lived along this river for over 35 years.  Historically, this is how it has acted in previous years – stabilizes for 24 hours and then drops.  At this point they’re still telling us that it hasn’t crested yet and won’t until Friday with another level of 16.5 feet.  I don’t know where they’re getting that – but I guess they have to do something to keep the public stressed.  Yes, I understand we’re to have some rain showers toward the end of the week – but depending on which station you listen to – it could either be just a trace, not enough to more than wet the sidewalk, up to a major rain event.  So which is it?  And why such a huge discrepancy? 

Personally, I think it’s over for the Buffalo River - I may be wrong – but I doubt it. 

I’m soooo tired.

Love, Lena

How High’s the Water, Lena?

Posted on by
3

It’s 14.9 feet and rising – it’s come up about a foot since yesterday and if the NOAA predicted crest is accurate, we’ve got about three feet more to go – supposedly in about a week.  So this will be a stressful week, wondering where it’s going to stop and when.  We did take the motorhome out a couple of days ago – so it’s safely parked where it will stay dry.  Tomorrow Ole will be getting all his old cars out to higher ground, securing things in the pole barn and the shop, and then it’s a matter of waiting things out.

We were very fortunate in the fact that we didn’t get hit by the rain/sleet/snow storm that was predicted.  It all went north of us so we won’t have to be dealing with more melting snow.  The northern valley had less snow than we did so they’re better able to deal with this late storm. 

Daisy and I took a little road trip this morning and I didn’t see anything that was terribly alarming.  Many of the fields that had water in them several days ago have no more standing water.  I carefully inspected the big drainage ditch to the east of us – the one that has caused us so much trouble in the past – there’s still a lot of water in it, but the level has dropped substantially since Ole and I last checked it out.  So that was encouraging also.  Now I need to check with Neighbor Al that lives 6 miles south of us on the river and see if it’s still coming up there, has stabilized or is dropping. 

One of the fun things I saw this morning was tons of Canadian geese that are working their way north.  They had landed in a field that was covered with water, busy feeding and honking and splashing water, etc.  When you can stand out on the deck at dusk at this time of the year and hear all the honking flying over you in the sky, you know that spring has truly arrived.  And it’s certainly about time for this part of the country. 

With the coming high water situation and the stresses involved, a thoughtful friend sent me this email yesterday.  I feel it’s definitely worth passing on. It says a lot about the people of the Upper Midwest.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Just a personal observation…as I watched the news coverage of the
massive flooding in the Midwest with the levee’s about to break in Fargo, ND, what amazed me is not what we saw, but what we didn’t see…

1. We don’t see looting.

2. We don’t see street violence.

3. We don’t see people sitting on their rooftops waiting for the government to come and save them.

4. We don’t see people waiting on the government to do anything.

5. We don’t see Hollywood organizing benefits to raise money for
people to rebuild.

6. We don’t see people blaming President Obama.

7. We don’t see people ignoring evacuation orders.

8. We don’t see people blaming a government conspiracy to blow up the levees as the reason some have not held.

9. We don’t see the US Senators or the Governors of North Dakota or Minnesota crying on TV.

10. We don’t see the Mayors of any of these cities complaining about the lack of state or federal response.

11. We don’t see or hear reports of the police going around confiscating personal firearms so only the criminal will be armed.

12. We don’t see gangs of people going around and randomly shooting at the rescue workers.

13. You don’t see some leaders in this country blaming the bad behavior of the North Dakota/Minnesota flood victims on “society”.

Enough said!

Love Lena

The Atrocities of being ScandiHOOvian

Posted on by
5
After all of the uproar of the previous days here at the Adventures of Ole and Lena, I just have to post the following:  I have a deep, dark secret that I need to share with my Blogging readers.

(Whispers behind hand) I’m a half-breed!!  (I sure hope THAT word doesn’t get me in trouble!)  Yes, I am of mixed blood, not that that makes me either a better or a worse person than any of you. I’ve posted pictures of myself on previous entries, and even though my pictures are of someone who is tall and blond (Ole says I’m platinum, (gray) makes me more valuable, ya know) with blue eyes, and not as thin as I used to be, the truth be known – I’m a half-breed. And it HAS affected me greatly throughout my childhood and on into my adult life. My mother was Swedish and my father was Norwegian – a mixture that, back in their day, wasn’t supposed to mix well, so you can imagine what it’s done to my psyche.

I’ve made reference previously to my ScandiHOOvian-Lutheran upbringing, and if any of you are familiar with the old-time ScandiHOOvians, you know how stoic they are. Showing any kind of emotion is against the rules, regardless of what the issue. A good example would be the day that Ole and I announced that there would be a baby Ole or Lena in about nine months. My father was sitting at the kitchen table with a grin from ear to ear, but the first words out of his mouth were to Ole, “Well, when shall we go fishing, then? There’s a big one waiting to be caught.” That’s when I knew he was excited about having another grandchild.

Another unspoken rule was never to brag about yourself or any of your accomplishments. That would draw attention and that was certainly something that you didn’t want. Fading into the background was a much more positive attribute. ScandiHOOvians believed there was only one right way to live – their way. From their vantage point problems were either black or white and all solutions were cut and dried. There were no such words as “feeling blue” or “down” in their vocabulary – but the words “buck up”, “pull up your boot straps,” etc., were heard frequently.

Speaking of black and white, color was another thing that was almost non-existant. Show me a ScandiHoovian woman who wears bright dresses and red fingernail polish and she sure must have some Italian or Spanish in her blood somewhere. ScandiHOOvian women bought red nail polish for one reason – they used it to mark the bottoms of their dishes and pans that they brought to funerals and other doings. It held up better than masking tape. To this day IF I put polish on my fingernails, it’s always a pale color, most usually clear or natural. And I so well remember my mother and Big Sister, marking their bowls and pans with red nail polish.

The ScandiHOOvian preference for white can be seen in their food choices also. Among the favorites are lutefisk, lefse, fish balls, potatoes, onions, cabbage, flatbread, buttermilk, fattigmand, glorified rice, rommegrot, a krumkaka here and there. And as far as spices go, salt was a staple and pepper was getting quite daring. You were really brave if you used ketchup! Foods from other ethnicities were adapted and toned down. If you wanted to add color and flare, you just added a can of peas. Homemade vegetable soup was brightened with carrots, but topped with dumplings. Marshmallows were put over squash and corn not only creamed but covered with crackers. How about chocolate cake covered with white boiled frosting, and the staple of all ScandiHOOvian gatherings, red jello toned down with a white banana floating on top.

Beige isn’t white, but it was the closest thing to colorless that a ScandiHOOvian woman could find. Historically, the lady of the house never went in for show. She would put on a beige dress, paint her nails with clear polish, splash on a dab (not too much now) of Evening in Paris and that would be about as much flash as you could expect to see. She would anxiously anticipate Memorial Day so she could once again bring out her white shoes.

Additionally, religion somehow got mixed up with trying to keep things pure and white. None of the Big Shots in the church knew that the uproar caused by the introduction of the NEW RED hymnals had nothing to do with the music or liturgy at all. Who would imagine that the Lutheran Church would ever have agreed to have RED hymnals in the back of the pew racks?

And then there’s the story about when Lars Olson died. His wife decided to have an autopsy done, and when the doctors got to the brain they had a terrible time to determine what was in it. When they finally got it open they found 1) white matter 2) red matter and 3) black matter. They couldn’t locate any gray matter. As a matter of fact the bulk of the brain was pretty much all black and white.
The biggest area was the black matter. It was determined that this area was made up of personal problems, but was buried so deeply that it was hard to explore. Everything was all blackened out with the exception of a few words that surfaced – “Keep it to yourself, it’s not that bad. No one should know if you’re unhappy.”

Next came the white matter, which was divided into the sections of farming, fishing, passion and communication. It shouldn’t surprise you that the passion and communication areas were by far the smallest.

Then the red matter – the doctors weren’t sure if that came from all the jello the man ate at doings or the pent up anger against the new red hymnals that were introduced in the late 50s.

So now you know all about the inner conflict that I deal with on a day to day basis and why it’s there. And then adding Ole to the recipe, who is a Finlander, makes life more interesting – but that’s okay. I’ll just keep it all to myself. It’s just not that bad. I’ll just buck up and pull up my boot straps.

Love, Lena

10:39 A.M:  ADDENDUM TO THIS STORY:  I’m in trouble AGAIN – I was just notified that the word “half-breed” is indeed a derogatory, racist term.  It’s used to describe anyone who is mixed Native American (especially North American) and white European parentage.   I guess the PC Police are really watching me now!!