The Irishman and the Norwegian

The age-old battle between the Irishman and the Norwegian continues to rage; at least in our family. But it is all in fun. My husband is Irish, and my mom is Norwegian. They have enjoyed harassing each other ever since my husband and I married. My mom enjoys it as much as he does, and she can dish it right back. It gives us all a good laugh. I especially enjoy it because I am of both descents; my dad also has Irish blood.

This past month, we have been able to honor both nationalities with a celebratory dinner. We thoroughly enjoyed both.

We were finally able to take my folks to the Norwegian dinner that is put on in our area every year. I have promised I would take my mom to this dinner for years. It finally worked out so that we could all go. The Sons of Norway put on this feast and it consists of lutefisk, boiled potatoes, carrots, beets and of course lefsa.


Lutefisk

We all had a great time, but of course no one enjoyed it more than my mom who is so proud of her heritage. The other one whose joy was apparent was my husband. He was lucky enough to sit next to a couple who also had Norwegian and Irish heritage. The man was Norwegian and his wife, Irish. My husband had someone to share all his jokes and stories with. He told many on my mom. Good thing for him that she was at the other end of the table where she couldn't hear. He was in "7th heaven" as they say.

I actually enjoyed the lutefisk this time. I have never been able to eat it before. But I was determined this time. I smothered it in melted butter and dug in. I was pleasantly surprised. It simply tasted like cod. Very non-fishy, and I realized in the past it was mostly the texture I couldn't endure. But this time it was a little more solid than I remember in the past and much easier "to stomach." Maybe, I finally just grew up.

Norwegian Flag

Around the middle of March, we had my folks out to our home for our annual St. Patrick's Day dinner. I don't know how long we have done this, but I am sure for almost as long as my husband and I have been married. He IS Irish, after all.
We always have the traditional corned beef and cabbage, and I try to make things very festive with GREEN sides, and Irish décor. The Irish/Norwegian jokes continue at this dinner, as well.
                                                             This year, I made a Jello dish that my mom used to make when we were kids. I used green Jello of course. Mine was not as pretty as hers, as she always used to use her fanciest goblets when making this. It was always such a treat. I don't know if the Jello was what caused our excitement as kids as much as it was the beautiful goblets. I probably enjoyed this more than anyone else did this year. I love traditions. I cherish memories.
                                                                                                 
My dad loves to eat and he was very satisfied with his Irish meal. His compliments were heartwarming. He mostly ignored the Irish/Norwegian banter.

This month somehow we were also able to fit in a truly American meal. There is nothing more American than Texas Roadhouse, is there?

Regardless, meal time is always a great time where we love to get together and break bread, no matter from where it comes! May the feud long continue!!

With My Heart

I guess I do like Kenny Chesney. I didn't think I did. I only moderately liked him. I thought he was arrogant. I don't think that anymore; I was wrong. I see something else.

In reality, I always sang along to his songs, but I never really listened. I finally listened with my heart.

Don't Blink

That's the Good Stuff.

Bathroom; let Bullet out; let Bella in; feed buddies; open drapes; make coffee; feed horses…smell the rain; pause to listen to the meadowlarks. So goes my morning.

Interruptive text – “I have a package on my porch.”

“OK...just feeding the horses.”

“Is it raining?”

“I will go get it.”

So. I go get my keys and start my car from the front door. :-) I fill my travel mug with the freshly brewed coffee and off I go...jammies, robe and slippers. :-) I love where I live!!!

Kenny Chesney comes on the radio: “That's The Good Stuff”. I turn on my electric seats; put on my gloves to save myself from the cold steering wheel and off I go. I travel no more than a half a mile, when I see the TL ambulance leaving a home, full code. I pull over and for whatever reason, I start to cry…then I pray for both the patient and the men in charge. I know them and the patient is in good hands. I love where I live.

I drop a text of my own. “Here comes TL bus on R. Code.” After they pass, I pull back out onto the road.

I love it here.                            

The rain is coming down hard. Just a bit further down the road, I see a neighbor out on his tractor, spreading his pasture. I know him. It’s raining, it’s early; it’s Saturday. You get the job done, when you can. I LOVE where I live. I belong here. That’s the good stuff.

Finishing text" "Package is ok; they put it under the eve...only wet on one side." :-)

Job complete; I take a look around, thankful that no one can see me in my jammies. But then as a second thought, I realize it would be ok if someone did. This is home. If it were sunny, I would sit down on the deck and finish my coffee. Instead off I go.

When I am just about to turn the corner on my own street, a car comes barreling down the road, turns the corner without stopping and almost hits me. They didn’t even know I was there until the last minute. Seems there always has to be one. One to remind you this isn’t perfection. No perfect people, no perfect neighborhoods. UGH! I know exactly who that is, too.

I turn onto the road where I live, muttering under my breath about the neighbor that moved in who I wish never had. Guess I should pray for him, too. I’ll work on that.

Then a big, blue pickup slowly turns the corner, moving over a bit to give me space on the narrow road. I smile from my heart. I LOVE this guy!! But just for today, I hope he doesn’t stop me to talk like he usually would…jammies, ya know.

He gives me a big wave and smile. I wave and smile back with a big fat sigh. That’s the good stuff…and the muttering mellows. OK, I will pray for the nuisance neighbor. Gosh, I love where I live.

 

  More of "The Good Stuff" ...glad it was playing on my car radio today.