Uff da!: Julfest at Midnight Sun

By Karen Ganger

Uff da! Julfest at Midnight Sun is the 3rd book in the series for the Minnesota Scandinavian enclave. Through detailed vignettes, we find the citizens of Midnight Sun preparing and celebrating the holiday season in true Nordic fashion. Familiar characters return along with more for an entertaining romp e

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Sep 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781684862276

Karen Ganger

Karen Ganger lives with her husband near Seattle, Washington where her home is perched on a cliff over Puget Sound in sight of Mt. Rainier. Her career path included the medical field, retired casualty claims manager and historical archivist. She is an accomplished cook, gardener, traveler, cancer survivor, mother and grandmother. Her passion for over half a century has been to preserve cultural, historical and traditional recipes.

Book preview

1

Twenty-four days ago, Mayor Thorvald was elated with the election results. His job had been saved and he would be set in the mayoral seat for another four years. To him, it was a nail biter, a real swipe the perspiration from your forehead moment but to the citizens of Midnight Sun, it was a no-brainer. The competition was not even close. The poor chump who ran against the mayor had been put up to it just because. Somebody didn’t think that a person could run unopposed. That wasn’t democracy. True, a lot of people didn’t care for his blow-hard attitude, his wordy speeches, his self-imposed patting himself on the back but no one could argue that he was undeserving. His actions over the last few years had taken this sleepy little burg to become a wonderful place to live and work. It was now the showplace of Minnesota, a vacation destination, a fantasy shopping trip. His own imagination and dreams had developments springing up all over town and it was all due to his diligence to make it happen and create a special place.

Today, the mayor was more than elated, more than jubilant. The exuberance he felt caused him to float around the city offices with a sunny smile. He awoke to an early morning press notification, discovering that the World News had reported that Midnight Sun Minnesota had unseated the country of Denmark as the happiest place to live. It was beyond his wildest imagination that something like this could happen. Not that Midnight Sun didn’t deserve it, it did. He made an announcement over the PA system and bounced from one department to the next with a buoyancy he hadn’t expected. All the city employees seemed pleased and congratulated him as he traveled throughout the building. All of them had part ownership in the endeavor and the light-heartedness was shared by all.

There was one additional factor that had Mayor Thorvald bubbling with excitement. Despite the cool blustery day where the red, yellow, orange, and bronze autumn leaves blew wildly about, creating a windscape of beauty on excited shoppers, Midnight Sun was bustling with activity. It was Black Friday. The traditional holiday shopping season, the day after Thanksgiving had begun and from reports throughout Midnight Sun, the profits were already growing. Businesses were having a surprisingly fantastic day. People were out making money and spending money. All Mayor Thorvald could hear was the sound of cash registers ringing, bringing in more profit. It was better than Christmas and he knew that over the last few years of developing Midnight Sun, it was paying off big time.

There was one other issue that niggled him and that was the fact that the state of Minnesota was formally wanting to institute Midnight Sun as a full-fledged city. He had been formally notified and it bothered him. The difference between a city and a municipality was that a city is a large settlement, bigger than a town while a municipality is a district with a government that typically encloses no other governed districts such as a borough, a city, an incorporated town or a village. A municipality remains a political subdivision of a state within which a municipal corporation has been established to provide general local government for a specific population concentration in a defined area. This status is what Mayor Thorvald wanted to keep. To continue as a municipality provided benefits as he saw it; the ability to control itself without much state interference and secondly, the ability to keep finances local rather than the state scooping out excess to share with the rest of the state. They’d maintain a lower tax rate and that, in turn, would keep the people happy. Money would be reinvested right here at home and Midnight Sun would be better than ever. Plus, it gave him more power and authority.

The state was pushing to make Midnight Sun a city. In fact, a declaration had been prepared. A beautifully scrolled document was ready to present to Midnight Sun and the mayor. Yet, he kept postponing any official notice or public showing. He would reject real cityhood for as long as he could, and suddenly, he had come up with a solution. As in usual Mayor Thorvald fashion, he would give a speech and put the matter before the citizens. His devious mind had devised a plan. Knowing that he had backing from the community, he would make his announcement on Monday, after the shopping weekend had culminated and just before the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. The gigantic Norwegian Spruce at the end of King Harald Bluetooth Parkway where it met with the new shopping area of Gladstadt would be awe-inspiring on its’ own, let alone his announcement. It was all about showmanship.

The mayor’s proposal would first butter up the citizenry with the World News report. This is the happiest place on earth to live and work. Secondly, since all the development had taken place, such as the King Harald Bluetooth Parkway, Gladstadt; the new small shop zone, Oversta Hyllan Centre; the big box shopping complex, and others, revenue had been built up to the fact that the tax brackets would be decreased. Property tax, sales tax, and other local taxes would be decreased. So much money was now pouring into the community that it had positively benefited the citizens. But now, the big bad state wanted to make us a city and take a giant chunk. If we remain a municipality, this won’t happen. If we agree to become a city, it will have a negative result. So, what will it be? Every adult resident of Midnight Sun will have to make a collective decision by means of voting. His next step was to hold a special election.

Mayor Thorvald also wanted to point out that the new Oversta Hyllan Centre shopping complex was generating enough revenue to fund the Tivoli Gardens project, a massive industrial center. Gulbransen Global would be a huge property owner for its’ new high tech international headquarters. Thousands of jobs will be here. In addition, Tivoli Gardens will include low income but beautiful housing with all the amenities of more affluent communities around the country. Who wouldn’t want to live and work in the same area without the need to commute? In addition, on the west side of the marina and current business district, new huge hotels and a resort area were in the works. This will bring more people and generate more income. This could be a real dynamic vacation spot on the shore of Lake Midnight Sun. He wanted to really infuse excitement about these projects and make the citizenry believe this had become an elite location to live, work, and play. After all, the translation for Oversta Hyllan means Top Shelf. Not an unreachable product, no. It means the best. That’s what we want and what we deserve!

The coup de grace, as he saw it, also included providing higher education. Besides the local community college, the state’s university system had now drawn up plans to build a new university here in Midnight Sun. The Scandinavian Cultural Studies Organization, funded and researched by social scientists from five Northern European countries had now invested fifteen million dollars to open a new research center here in Midnight Sun. As Mayor Thorvald said it best, they had plunked down enough money to build and invest in our future. What the Scandinavian Cultural Studies Organization wanted to determine was how Midnight Sun became the best place to live. How did the population of immigrant families develop such a wonderful place, especially here in America or anywhere else, for that matter? How could they supercede the success of their own homeland and create a better place? The mayor already knew the answer to that, but, what the hell, let them spend the money here. They can research and study us all they want but they are not going to tell us something we don’t already know about ourselves. By the way, do you know there is a town in Norway called Hell? The mayor’s mind skidded over a rail momentarily.

All he needed to do now was to prepare all the information he’d relay in his speech Monday evening, just before he hit the switch to illuminate the largest Norwegian Spruce anyone had ever seen and was loaded with millions of Christmas lights. It would be awe-inspiring, in so many ways. He couldn’t wait.

Unbeknownst to the mayor, a mole worked close by, down the hall, and close enough to learn secrets. His election opposition had slunk back to the shadows to near obscurity but not before reporting a few facts to someone in the state house in St. Paul. There was an earful of information to be given and once the state found out about Mayor Thorvald’s plans, Minnesota would not look so kindly on the man. The fact that the state had given the mayor grants instead of low interest loans for developing Midnight Sun now set off several communities. They wanted financial support but repeatedly were turned down. What was it that had sweetened the pot for Midnight Sun? Somebody in the state house Department of Development was a bit miffed and that somebody would attempt to put an end to Mayor Thorvald’s reign.Uff da.

2

The remnants of last night’s Thanksgiving feast and décor sat at the end of a quartz countertop in Gunilla Gunderson’s bright and sunny yellow kitchen. The ceramic glazed turkey salt and pepper shakers sat there next to a few statues of pilgrims and Native Americans. Various serving dishes shaped like turkeys or pumpkins, washed and dried, were ready to be put away. But Gunilla’s attention had moved on to the next holiday season.

She stood in front of what she called her baker’s cabinet and began going through inventory of all her baking ingredients, decorations and equipment to begin the process. She wanted to make sure her flour was new, not old or stale, that her colored sugars to decorate her cookies were bright and sparkly. She took a mental note of what she needed to buy. On two of her kitchen chairs sat plastic bins she had brought in from the garage containing over two hundred cookie cutters, kransekake molds, seventeen different design bundt cake pans, various Swedish specialty cake pans, rosette sets, nearly a dozen rolling pins, plain and carved, little specialty pans, and all the accoutrements of a professional international baker.

Her husband, Paul, strolled into the kitchen on his way into the garage. He saw her standing there shifting things in the cabinet bigger than a broom closet.

Hey, Smoochie! he told her as he passed, wrapping his arm around her and revolving her slightly to plant a kiss on her lips.

He called her Smoochie as an affectation. She was still as beautiful as the day he married her. She sported unusual jet black hair, straight and thin, cut straight across just above her shoulders and bangs. She was wearing a pair of colorful Nordic patterned spandex leggings and a white sweatshirt and white tennies. His wife could physically pass for a twenty-something but in actuality she was a fifty-two-year-old mother of four. It didn’t matter to him that she still exhibited youthfulness and good health, though it helped. He wouldn’t care if she toted around four hundred pounds either. He loved her through and through and every time he looked into her spectacular turquoise blue eyes rimmed with those dark lashes against that porcelain skin, he was entranced. He remarked to his own father one time, years ago, that Gunilla was like something from an ancient Greek folktale. Like a goddess, she had special powers and lured him into her lair. His father had laughed it off accusing Paul of drinking too much beer and aquavit but in her presence he always observed her very carefully and from a distance.

"I’m going through my baking cabinet. Trudi called me and said that out of town shoppers have already come in droves this morning and started cleaning out the shelves! I’m nearly out of parlsokker, the Swedish pearl sugar that topped so many delicious baked goods, vanilla beans, and I need some more saffron for my lussekatter. If I can’t get that, I can’t enter the Saint Lucia buns contest. Oh, Paul!"

He could see she was working herself into a frenzy. He knew it was important for her to enter the upcoming contests but she needn’t get upset about it.

Listen, honey, you know how your best friend exaggerates a bit. Don’t take Trudi’s comments so hard and work yourself into a big to-do. You’ll get your ingredients and everything will be fine. I promise.

She turned and gave him a kiss.

You’re right. I need to calm down. Sometimes she just hits me the wrong way and I over-react.

He smiled at her and gave her a squeeze. Then turned and started walking towards the garage door.

Hildi is coming down and she’ll put all the Thanksgiving stuff away for you.

Thanks, she responded half-heartedly. One less thing to worry about.

Yeah, he answered and shut the door.

Paul knew his wife had put extra pressure on herself. The whole month of December was filled with baking contests and competitions which she wanted to win. At the end of the month was the culmination of it all, the Scandinavian Midnight Sun Baking Star. If she won that, she’d earn a whopping twenty-five thousand dollars. She needed to score points before that last effort and her last entry, on New Year’s Eve, had to be an extraordinary bake. He tried not to ask Gunilla too many questions so that she could just focus on what she needed to do. Her ultimate goal was to win the money and procure a kitchen renovation that she wanted so badly.

Paul had started a wood-working project for Christmas. Ever since last summer when he built a wood shop in his garage, he kept coming up with more ideas and projects. Currently, he had secured printed over-sized photos of a Viking long house, a stereotypical Viking, the Viking goddess Sunna, and a Viking baby in a cradle. He had begun working on the smallest piece to the largest. Today, he’d cut out the Viking from plywood, glue the photo and seal it. After turning on a space heater for added warmth in the garage, he realized the saw was making so much sawdust, he couldn’t stand it much longer, even with a mask on. The air was filled with wood particles. He opened the garage door and with the blustery weather, it cleared the air almost immediately. It was then that his youngest daughter, Hildi, came into the garage carrying a large plastic bin.

Hey, Dad. She stepped down and looked for a place to drop the bin. Everywhere she looked were bits of wood, sawdust, tools, sheets of plywood, various metal hardware and more. Where do you want me to put this?

He stopped and straightened up and glanced over to the side wall that was covered in racks. See that space over there? See if it will fit in.

She carried the bin and then lifted it slightly. As a high school junior, she was now taller than Gunilla. In fact, all the Gunderson children were taller than she was. She shoved it into the slot and turned around. Looking at her dad’s project, her face changed to a sour look.

Oh no! She mumbled. You’re not making a life-size nativity scene are you? People don’t put them out anymore. We’d be the laughing stock of the neighborhood and maybe a target for vandalism. You know liberals don’t like anything that pertains to religion.

Hildi, what are they teaching you in school? The answer is yes and no. It’s open for discussion. Believe me, this Christmas scene will be appreciated. You’ll understand when it’s finished.

I’m just afraid, Dad. I watch a lot of news on the TV and on my phone for my Media class. A lot of stuff is happening.

Don’t worry, sweetie, things like that don’t happen here. We live in a safe place.

I hope so, she looked worried as she brushed a strand of strawberry blond hair from her face. I’ve got hockey practice this afternoon. I’ve got to get ready.

Okay. Hey, were there any more bins to put up?

No, that’s the only one. Mom already put another away when she brought in her baking pan bins. Gotta go.

Hildi went back into the house and Paul returned to cutting out a Viking figure. He thought about the long house and how it would be easy, but large. Then he realized he needed to cut out a half dozen reindeer with antlers. That would be tough and redundant. He hated doing the same things over and over. Six reindeer, ugh. He thought he was nearly finished, now he realized he was only halfway done.

Hey, whatcha doing? Jens Amundsen asked as he peered into the open garage.

Making a Christmas scene, he told his next-door neighbor. Check this out.

Jens stepped into the garage looking at the work so far. Paul showed him a picture of the plan.

You’re doing all this by yourself?

Yeah. Cutting, gluing, sealing. I need to build the backing so they all stand up straight, reinforce with boards and hardware. I’ll install them in the front yard. It’s not to scale so when you look at it, it looks as if it’s in perspective. You know, the long house is smaller than a real one but when I set it in the background, like it’s farther away, it will seem right. Then, our spruce will be fully decorated with lights and I have plenty more ideas.

Got a question, Jens said as he looked Paul in the eyes. Can you just install all this about fifty feet over, you know, in my yard?

What? Paul fired back.

He pointed to the blueprints and tapped them with his pointer finger. It’s me! This may be Sunna, the Viking sun goddess, but it’s really my wife, Krista, and that’s our baby, due in a couple of weeks. Come on, Paul! I’m King of the Vikings, this year. I won the crown at the summer solstice competition. I deserve this in my front yard.

Make your own, Paul’s light blue eyes sparkled.

Aw, come on, Paul! I don’t have all this fancy wood-working equipment, all these saws, horses, and these… He pointed to pipe clamps and array of planes and sanders. I’m a football coach, not a shop teacher. I probably couldn’t make a decent wooden box if my life depended on it.

And you think I can? I’m teaching myself old time skills we’ve seemed to have lost. This is supposed to be a fairly simple project. I need to work up to complex things. It’s not a cake walk. You want to help me?

Can’t. I have to take Krista to do some grocery shopping. She claims it’s hard to do by herself since she’s about ready to pop. Her legs hurt, her back hurts, her hips hurt. She’s a mess.

I heard and lived through that story four times. I tell you what, I’ll put two of the reindeer in your yard but facing my direction and next year, I’ll guide you to make your own. Deal? Uff da.

Back in the kitchen, Gunilla had compiled a list of ingredients she was sure would cost a couple hundred dollars. Baking was not a cheap art, especially when using quality and prime ingredients, some of them imported and pricey. She’d head off to buy what she needed but first she had to tackle one more thing.

Glancing at the clock, she realized she’d taken more time than expected. She realized she should make lunch. Hildi needed to go to hockey practice and the rest of kids would be coming in from an early morning of shopping. Everybody needed to be taken care of before she left the house.

She started preparing roast turkey and lingonberry sandwiches on a fresh multi-grain bread studded with dill seeds, poppy seeds and minced onion. The iceberg lettuce will give it a good crunch, she thought to herself. Then suddenly, her mind thought about the recipe for the kladdkaka, the Swedish chocolate sticky cake she planned on baking for the Sons of Norway Lefse and Lutefisk dinner. Where did she leave the handwritten recipe? Walking away from the kitchen counter she started rifling through her junk drawer, the tole-painted recipe box, a couple of cookbooks, and discovered she couldn’t find it. Her black straight hair fell into down into her face that started turning a mottled red. Unconsciously, her breathing increased and she started to gasp for air. Panic started to set in. No one had this recipe, it was special and now, was it lost?

Forgetting about making lunch for the family, she could only focus on finding that slip of paper. To try and recreate it would be too difficult. She thought about her kladdkaka, the luscious treat that was more brownie than a cake, crispy on the outside and gooey, almost a molten lava cake on the inside and oh, the taste! Well, at all costs, it had to be found, that was truly a treasure, a family heirloom.

Swedish Kladdkaka

1 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp. best quality vanilla extract

½ tsp. sea salt

¼ cup cocoa powder plus extra for the pan and finishing

¾ cup all-purpose flour

½ cup plus 2 T. unsalted butter, melted

½ cup mini semi-sweet chocolate chips

powdered sugar, optional

sweetened whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, optional

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter an 8" round cake pan thoroughly, then dust with cocoa powder. Tap and shake out excess.

In a medium bowl, combine the sugar, eggs, vanilla, and salt with a whisk, until smooth.

In a small bowl, combine the cocoa powder and flour, blending well. Whisk the dry ingredients into the sugar mixture and beat until smooth. Add melted butter and blend in thoroughly, then sprinkle in the mini chocolate chips. Stir quickly but effectively so they are evenly disbursed. Turn batter out into your prepared pan and smooth top so that batter is even.

Place in preheated oven and bake for 20-25 minutes or until the edges of the cake start to pull away from the pan and the top looks set.

Remove from oven and let cake cool in the pan for only 3-5 minutes, then flip it onto a large dinner plate. Then, immediately flip it again, right side up onto your serving plate.

Dust with cocoa powder. Take a sharp knife and lightly run it down north to south, then east to west. Score two more line in-between the original lines so that it marks out 8 slices. Serve warm.

Option: Instead of dusting the top with cocoa powder, you may dust powdered sugar over the top.

Serve plain or add a dollop of sweetened whipped cream or scoop of vanilla ice cream.

It should be stored covered at room temperature. Slices can be reheated in the microwave oven for approximately 15 seconds.

Serves 8

3

In Matti Juergensen’s basement, there was plenty of whooping and hollering going on. Besides Matti, his next-door neighbor Karl Walmbach, was playing a heated foosball match with friends Sven Mathiesen and Ole Henrik Carlson. They’d split into two teams and were playing best of seven until their beloved football team, the Minnesota Vikings, started their game with the Da Bears from Chicago. It would be a tough game and all four men were rooting for their home team. They wanted to go to the Super Bowl this year.

There was already plenty of beer being drunk along with a crock-pot full of chili, one of smoky sausages swimming in barbecue sauce, a variety of chips and pretzels, French onion dip, and a platter of jalapeno poppers.

Hey, I thought we’re having wings, Sven said, standing on the sidelines of the foosball game.

Linnea is going to make them after the game starts. She says we have enough down here to eat until then, Matti answered just as he spun a row of players to hit the ball.

Matti’s sandy blond hair was falling into his face and he kept sweeping one hand up to push strands away.

Why don’t you put it up in a man bun? It’s distracting and you can’t focus on this match. I don’t want to lose against these two! Karl said.

Who said we’re going to lose? Matti grinned slyly then slammed the bar forward in an impressive move and scored.

The four men roared and clinked their beer bottles before taking a heavy pull.

Glad it’s over, my shoulder’s killing me. Matti complained as he rolled his entire arm in a circle while trying to release some tightness.

What’s up with you, old man? Ole Henrik asked as he slammed his hand into Matti’s sore shoulder.

Matti winced and rubbed his shoulder.

Since Wednesday night, I’ve been working on renovating some old sleds. Linnea and I were thinking we’d take the kids sledding down Inspiration Point. Just waiting for a nice snow base now. Everything’s been sanded down, varnished and painted. I even sharpened the blades. You could cut sashimi with them so thin you could read through the fish: that sharp.

Well, my friend, Karl added, that might not happen.

Why?

I heard a rumor that on Wednesday night, the city council held a secret meeting. One of the things they talked about was sledding at Inspiration Point. It seems some people are so concerned for safety now, they don’t want sleds, coasters, inflated inner tubes and other things like that to be on the slopes at the same time as skiers and these teenagers using snowboards. It’s too dangerous mixing the equipment. And…those teenage snowboarders are careless, having no courtesy for others.

For crying out loud, people have been sledding and skiing on the slopes together for a hundred years.

Really? What kind of society are we living in now? Everybody has wimped out. Oooo! Somebody might get hurt! Give me a break… Sven shook his head in disbelief. We used to play together on the slopes with everything and look, we’re still alive.

Yeah. It’s not fair.

Ole Henrik slapped the back of the sofa like a recalcitrant child. He obviously was irritated.

"Somebody snitched and said maybe a compromise could be made. Sleds on one day and skiers the next. But get this, Mayor Thorwald said that in addition to these activities in the parks, he wanted to shut one side of the King Harald Bluetooth Parkway, just for people to slide all the down. Can you imagine, skiing downhill a mile and a half all the way from Nordic Highway to Gladstadt? What a ride!"

Karl laughed and then let out the loudest burp anyone had ever heard. So loud, it seemed to rattle the glassware in Matti’s bar.

Well, maybe it will all work out. I hope so. That was a lot of work I put in.

Ole Henrik turned and looked at the TV screen. Hey, there’s Howie and Terry Bradshaw. I think the pre-game show is starting.

They all moved and gathered their seats, then started noshing on the snacks laid out in front of them. One of the most important games of the year was just beginning. The Vikings won the coin toss and they were ready for kickoff.

Meanwhile, the ladies were upstairs in Linnea and Matti’s dining room. The room was elegant in its’ Swedish minimalist style simplicity. The walls were all bright white and painted white chair rails. A short strip of stenciling raced above the chair rail showing off a Nordic snowflake pattern made to look like red embroidery done with red Xs. It was effective but not in your face. Linnea’s accent pieces on her large double hutch and sideboard were all in red and clear glass, which gave sparkle to light and movement. The furniture in the room were all built using birch, a light wood that seemed to lighten a dark Swedish winter. The flooring, a whitewashed light pine, complimented the furniture and Linnea had used a large area rug under the dining table, in an abstract red pattern. Despite the style, it felt welcoming and comforting.

On the wall above the sideboard, a framed large print by Swedish artist Carl Larsson depicted a young girl in her red bonnet and coat. Her clothing festooned with floral embroidery and she held a sprig of spruce in her hand. Matti had bought it for his wife, but it was really for himself. He said the girl looked just like Linnea when she was young and to him, it was a picture of her even though it had been painted a hundred years ago. The subject bespoke beauty, and youth, joy, and innocence. Larsson had died in the early twentieth century, however, his pictures were timeless. The watercolors he painted could have been done yesterday. Linnea could not argue the resemblance. In fact, in the family photo album, there was a picture of her standing in front of a large spruce tree. She wasn’t holding a sprig but rather her hands were stuffed into her white rabbit fur muff. The story told of the family going to a Christmas tree lot and it was her turn to pick that year’s tree to bring home. Her father complained that the tree was so full, they had a hard time hanging ornaments and zigzagging the light strings around, but the tinsel that was placed carefully on the tree made it perfect. She liked the picture enough as décor but didn’t care when someone commented on it. It was a breach of privacy. To Linnea, it was gift of love to share just between Matti and herself.

Linnea had invited her next-door neighbor Birgitte Walmbach, and two other friends, Elin Mathiesen, and Mari Carlson over to make Christmas wreaths for their front doors, while the husbands were downstairs watching football. The ladies were cutting circles of cotton holiday fabric. The patterns were all quite festive with red and white candy canes, green holly leaves with red berries, green Christmas trees, white snowmen, reindeer, tomtes, and other designs that reflected the holiday season.

Soon, they would be taking wads of polyester quilting stuffing and placing it on the circles. A needle and thread would be used to create a running stitch along the edge and when the thread was pulled tight, a fabric ball would be formed. After knotting it off, they would be threaded or sewn onto a light metal ring which formed the wreath. Further decoration such as tying ribbons or adding real pinecones, small toys, or other objects could be added.

Linnea had served a pot of coffee on a tray with sugar and creamer along with a plate of her spritz cookies.

Does anyone need or want anything else? She asked.

No, nothing for me, Birgitte answered. I ate too much on Thanksgiving and now I will have to diet until Christmas.

Elin shook her head in agreement. Yeah, I over did it, too.

Mari just waved her hand advising she didn’t need anything.

It’s really nice to do something without the baby. What a break! Mari stated.

It is! Thanks, Linnea for suggesting this. Do you think our parents or in-laws would approve of doing this once a month? Taking the kids for a few hours? Elin smiling.

Well, we can always try. Hey, excuse me for a few minutes. I promised the guys some buffalo wings. I’ll cook them up and deliver them downstairs. Keep working, girls!

Linnea got up from her chair and went into her kitchen to start another appetizer. Her kitchen was sparkling white, with only a few items on her counter. Her accent color again was red, except for the flow blue Bing and Grondahl plates that hung on the walls surrounding her kitchen table. The plates celebrated their birthday years and the year they got married. She had Mother’s Day plates and Christmas plates. There were several others, some going back a few generations. She didn’t have the heart to pack away heirlooms when they meant so much to other family members. The eating area had been constructed pushed out with several windows for viewing the backyard. It was nice that the eating area was off-set and kept open space to the rest of the kitchen. She foresaw that when the kids finally went to school and had homework, they could sit there completing it while she made dinner.

The ladies continued with their wreaths while Linnea deep fried up the chicken wings and sauced them. They talked about many things and how their Thanksgiving dinner went. Elin told them that her mother-in-law seated two-year-old Ansgar at the table to keep him out of trouble. While Elin put the food onto serving platters and her mother-in-law delivered them to the table, the beefy little tyke reached over and ate half a casserole dish of mashed rutabagas with the serving spoon. By the time, they had noticed it, he had smooshed vegetable all over his face and her tablecloth had blobs of it everywhere. Well, some kids don’t like vegetables, she mused, but he’s not one of them. He’ll eat anything.

The conversation was light and easy. Soon, Linnea returned to the table to resume making her wreath.

Birgitte, how’s your mom doing? I see her going to her she-shed every day.

She’s doing pretty good. Had a bad spell about a month ago, but she’s better. Yes, she goes there every day and spends a lot of time. I can’t tell you what she does in there. She doesn’t really allow anyone, especially my dad to come in. Sometimes, her best friend Elsa goes but doesn’t spend much time. I don’t go in, either.

She must value her alone time, then.

You betcha. She’s wanted her own place for a long time. It’s sad to see my dad scuffling around outside though with a hang dog look on his face. He’s just having a rough time adjusting to full retirement.

Maybe he needs a hobby, Mari offered.

He needs something. I bet if he was asked by his best friends, he’d say he wants his wife back.

Aw! A joint round of sad faces went around the table. That’s so sad.

Some men want to get rid of their wives.

More laughter rang out in the dining room.

Well, I know some women would like to get rid of their husbands, too! Linnea said.

Yes. There are just some things that bug the heck out of you, Elin said. Like Sven. Every night when he brushes his teeth, he walks around the house doing it. Maybe he’s checking on the door locks or whatever but then he comes in the bedroom, sits on the bed, gets up and sits on my lounge chair. Why can’t he just stay in bathroom in front of the sink? I’ve yelled at him and tried breaking him from that bad habit but I can’t seem to do it.

That would drive me nuts! Birgitte said. For years, Karl would take his socks off right before he crawled in bed and leave them laying on the bedroom floor. It would really irritate me. I complained, I ordered him to pick them up and place them in the hamper but to no avail.

What happened?

"Well, since he never picked them up, I left them there. I was fed up. It really got on