The Groundhog saw the Swede
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The Groundhog saw the Swede
Punxsutawney Phil told us this year that there will be six more weeks of winter. One might think this prediction is based on the myth that he saw his shadow. Nothing could be further from the truth. He saw the Swede.
It all started innocently enough, we were sharing our morning coffee around the wood burner and reading the newspaper. We do not need the wood burner for heat; we have a very modern and efficient heating plant to keep us warm. We need the wood burner more for the symbolism. It tells us from whence we came. And for the past twenty-two years that we have occupied this house the winter mornings are shared around the old black smoke belcher.
When the coffee is finished and the newspaper exhausted, we talk. Well, that's not entirely true. The Swede talks, I mostly listen. And again, that's not entirely true. I half listen the way husbands do that have been married for forty years to the same women. But the six words that came out of her mouth at the beginning of this month hit me as if they had been spoken through a bullhorn. "I tink we best visit home" came through loud and clear in her Swedish version of English. Hope against hope I clung to the minute chance she was referring to a quick visit to see my mom down on the ranch. But all my siblings are already scheduled to visit mom over the Memorial Day weekend to celebrate her ninetieth birthday so the chances for a visit prior to that weekend seemed slim. "Your home or mine" I quizzed already knowing the answer. "I tink it time to see da family" came the reply. With that it was settled. We were headed to Sweden. And spring that seemed so close now seemed so far away. I was headed back into winter.
I really didn't want to travel much this year outside of the monthly trips to Chicago to see the kids and the grandkids. I wore out my passport last year with trips to Europe, China, Japan, Korea and Argentina. It was a whirlwind and told me once again that I was getting older and the rigors of international travel were harder to ignore. I snuck in a quick trip to Florida late last month to fish and hunt hogs and enjoy the warm weather. But old man winter managed to muck things up on that trip as record low temperatures were recorded every day we were there. I longed for the warmth of spring and the sounds of gobblers seeking a hen. A trip to the land of ice and snow in February was certainly not in the cards. I offered no resistance. I offered no complaint. I knew nothing would come from either. We were going "home" and no power on earth was going to sway the Swede.
We will visit her family and we will ski. We will visit quaint pubs and we will ski. We will eat at local restaurants and we will ski. Did I mention we will ski? The Swede will ski me into submission. She was born on skis. I didn't see snow in person until I was eighteen years old. I hope I survive. And over Memorial Day down on the ranch I will put her Swedish butt on a horse every day to get even. Two can play this game.
I must admit, I very much enjoy her family. We have some communication problems with the language barriers, but hell, I have that on a daily basis in my own home with her to this very day. And they are very tolerant of the Yankee "cowboy" she married and grant me large leeway with understanding what is acceptable and what is not. And I can guarantee you that at least once I will be asked if I still see any Indians when I go home to Texas. Those old western movies die hard in the land of ice and snow.
We leave Thursday. Don't know when we will be back, the return tickets are open. I know I will get wifi in the airports. And some of her relatives have computers with internet connections so I can check in. But I won't be around for a while. So speak kindly of me while I am gone.
I need to take up groundhog hunting again.
I'll show him his damn shadow!
It all started innocently enough, we were sharing our morning coffee around the wood burner and reading the newspaper. We do not need the wood burner for heat; we have a very modern and efficient heating plant to keep us warm. We need the wood burner more for the symbolism. It tells us from whence we came. And for the past twenty-two years that we have occupied this house the winter mornings are shared around the old black smoke belcher.
When the coffee is finished and the newspaper exhausted, we talk. Well, that's not entirely true. The Swede talks, I mostly listen. And again, that's not entirely true. I half listen the way husbands do that have been married for forty years to the same women. But the six words that came out of her mouth at the beginning of this month hit me as if they had been spoken through a bullhorn. "I tink we best visit home" came through loud and clear in her Swedish version of English. Hope against hope I clung to the minute chance she was referring to a quick visit to see my mom down on the ranch. But all my siblings are already scheduled to visit mom over the Memorial Day weekend to celebrate her ninetieth birthday so the chances for a visit prior to that weekend seemed slim. "Your home or mine" I quizzed already knowing the answer. "I tink it time to see da family" came the reply. With that it was settled. We were headed to Sweden. And spring that seemed so close now seemed so far away. I was headed back into winter.
I really didn't want to travel much this year outside of the monthly trips to Chicago to see the kids and the grandkids. I wore out my passport last year with trips to Europe, China, Japan, Korea and Argentina. It was a whirlwind and told me once again that I was getting older and the rigors of international travel were harder to ignore. I snuck in a quick trip to Florida late last month to fish and hunt hogs and enjoy the warm weather. But old man winter managed to muck things up on that trip as record low temperatures were recorded every day we were there. I longed for the warmth of spring and the sounds of gobblers seeking a hen. A trip to the land of ice and snow in February was certainly not in the cards. I offered no resistance. I offered no complaint. I knew nothing would come from either. We were going "home" and no power on earth was going to sway the Swede.
We will visit her family and we will ski. We will visit quaint pubs and we will ski. We will eat at local restaurants and we will ski. Did I mention we will ski? The Swede will ski me into submission. She was born on skis. I didn't see snow in person until I was eighteen years old. I hope I survive. And over Memorial Day down on the ranch I will put her Swedish butt on a horse every day to get even. Two can play this game.
I must admit, I very much enjoy her family. We have some communication problems with the language barriers, but hell, I have that on a daily basis in my own home with her to this very day. And they are very tolerant of the Yankee "cowboy" she married and grant me large leeway with understanding what is acceptable and what is not. And I can guarantee you that at least once I will be asked if I still see any Indians when I go home to Texas. Those old western movies die hard in the land of ice and snow.
We leave Thursday. Don't know when we will be back, the return tickets are open. I know I will get wifi in the airports. And some of her relatives have computers with internet connections so I can check in. But I won't be around for a while. So speak kindly of me while I am gone.
I need to take up groundhog hunting again.
I'll show him his damn shadow!
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Re: The Groundhog saw the Swede
Women?Mike P wrote: I half listen the way husbands do that have been married for forty years to the same women.
Wow, Mike ... I'm only married to one woman ... and that's a big enough listening job for me!
Grizz
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Have a great trip Mike! We're all looking forward to hearing of your adventures. Enjoy the skiing!
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Sent from a mobile device - So spelling and grammar may be questionable!
---
"Team DryFire"
Vixen, Micro 315, HHA Optimizer, Boo & VixenMaster strings, Munch Mounts, Dr. Stirrup accessories.
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