Ian

Having determined that I'll need to buy my own lefse-making stuff, I finally remembered today to start my usual process of purchasing anything: asking V to do it for me, heh.

I sent them a list -- rolling pin, ricer, flat griddle, and what we call a lefse spatula the internet seems to call a lefse stick or lefse turner; I included a photo of one to make it clear -- and they did a great job; almost everything is on the way already. But it meant an afternoon looking at and thinking about the kinds of things I haven't in a while -- krumkake! which my grandma made when I was very little before declaring it too much work, which is fair enough but that means it took on near-mythical status in my mind; the other Minnesota Culture asserting itself stuff you find when you search for this because lefse has become a symbol of white Midwestern heritage. You can buy t-shirts that say "lefse ladym" modeled by someone holding a lefse spatula, but they don't sell the spatula, it's just a prop. There's shirts that say

Lefse&
Hotdish&
Pop&
Lutefisk

All these cultural markers lined up in a row. It's all both compelling and repulsive to me.

I've inherited a little money from the sale of Grandma's house -- despite all my attempts to refuse it, Mom insists that I buy something for myself with it. I'm going to make sure that she knows a bit of it is going on inferior versions of stuff that she never considered collecting for me because she refused to have anything to do with the house clearance, to make some point to her sisters that neither they nor I understand. An English friend perceptively pointed out "I'm guessing that sort of 'I'm having to buy a thing that you already had and (effectively) threw out' inflicts a very specific kind of midwestern sting." I could hardly have put it better myself. I'm not doing it to be passive-aggressive, though I imagine it'll be perceived that way.

Thinking about this all afternoon has led to feeling so immersed in things I miss so much. It's been kinda sad and tiring.

You know you had a bad day when the next day angelofthenorth brings you coffee as soon as she gets home, saying "well your blog post from yesterday made me think you'd need it!"

I actually had a much better day at work today: no meetings to speak of and I even started messing around with the slides for the presentation I have to give on Tuesday. Plus, Tuesday turns out to be the London staff's Christmas lunch and I can go to Wahaca (yes, that's how they spell it) with them, they're all excited about Taco Tuesday.

I was able to slip away from work early enough to walk Teddy before D and I went to see Pillion, which was well-acted and horny (even in the audio description!) and had some genuine funny moments but is a little too Fifty Shades of Gay in that its basic message that being a dom makes you a dickhead who is incapable of healthy relationships. But I had fun and I'm glad we had time for a pint in the twinkly outdoors before coming home to delicious homemade stew and dumplings.

And before I'd finished eating, angelofthenorth offered cinnamon tea and when I made interested noises brought me some in the clear glass mug with the flower petals between its two walls which V bought in the Hebridean Tea Store, and then D asked if anyone wants a mince pie, so I had my first mince pie of the season with the perfect tea pairing for it.

Before bed I unloaded the dishwasher so V could load it up again, emptied the food waste bin, locked the doors, turned off the little plant lights, and changed my bedding. How nice to be in such a functional house, doing my little bit to reset, maintain, upkeep.

All this made me think of Kurt Vonnegut saying:

My uncle Alex Vonnegut, a Harvard-educated life insurance salesman taught me something very important.

He said that when things were really going well, we should be sure to NOTICE it. He was talking about simple occasions, not great victories: maybe drinking lemonade on a hot afternoon in the shade, or smelling the aroma of a nearby bakery; or fishing, and not caring if we catch anything or not, or hearing somebody all alone playing a piano really well in the house next door.

Uncle Alex urged me to say this out loud during such epiphanies: "If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is."

So I do the same now, and so do my kids and grandkids. And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, "If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is."