A Very Roloff Sunday

Faithful Reader, I told you yesterday that this morning would be an early one for me, and now I'll tell you why: the girls and I got up around 5:00 A.M. to head north and visit my relatives' graves, and decorate my mom's, for Memorial Day.  Each year my sisters and I take turns providing flowers for Mom's grave, and this year was my turn.  Susan stayed behind to attend the commencement ceremony this afternoon at the school where she teaches (and is a senior class advisor), so it was a trip for just the girls and me today.  In addition to visiting cemeteries, we also visited out-of-state relatives who are in Williston for a few days.  All the details--and photos, naturally--are here:

Laboring for Her Room and Board

My sister Sandy was my helper for this week's Scandinavian Saturday meal!  Earlier in the week, she realized she'd be able to make a quick Easter weekend trip to ND from her home in NE.  She left after work yesterday and arrived at our house around 1:00 A.M. today.  She got a little shut-eye and then sneaked downstairs to wake her nieces (whom Susan and I hadn't told that Sandy was coming)!  Then Sandy spent part of the morning in the kitchen with me, helping me to make an ethnic dinner.  This afternoon we'll play a game of Norwegian whist (a card game from our childhood, thanks to our aunt and uncle Shirley and Lawrence), and then Sandy will leave before suppertime (which is why we had our "Scandinavian Saturday supper" at noon today) to go to our dad's home a few hours north of here.

Sandy's visit, like Sandy herself, is short but sweet.

Faithful Reader, I know that you're here for the photos.  In addition to the usual tantalizing pics of the tasty food, this post features photos of Sandy and the girls (and me), too!  Remember that you can click on any of them to enlarge them.  Check 'em out:

Aunt Shirley at Gramma Sharon's

No Scandinavian Saturday supper this weekend.  Instead, we drove to Williston, ND for the girls' swim meet there.  We had an uneventful drive there early this morning, taking I-94 to Belfield, then Hwy 85 north through Fairfield, Grassy Butte, Watford City, Arnegard, and Alexander.  I point that out because, on the way back, we took a different route with far fewer towns along the way: we took Hwy 68 south of Alexander and then turned off on Hwy 16 through the Little Missouri National Grassland, encountering no towns or cities until we reached Beach back on the Interstate, which we traveled east back to Dickinson.  Hwy 16 was a beautiful drive: very little traffic, scenic terrain, deer along the roadside . . . all with the added benefit of the sense of exploration that comes when taking an unfamiliar path.

Even better than what we got to see on the drive home was whom we got to see while in Williston:

Surprise!

I grew up on a farm not far from McGregor, ND; and both the town and its church--Zion Lutheran, which I attended while growing up--are celebrating their centennials this upcoming weekend.  So for months we have been planning to return for the celebration, as have my out-of-state sisters Cathy (OR) and Sandy (NE).  Little did I know, until today, that they also have been planning a surprise birthday party for me, which is why they encouraged us to go to Dad's a day early (the centennial events start tomorrow, but they planned the party for this evening)!  Susan was "in on" the party plans and collaborated with my sisters, even utilizing the time that I was in Chicago last month to bake and freeze a bunch of sweet treats to contribute to the spread for the party.

What Susan didn't realize until tonight is that she, too, was a guest of honor for the party!

Graveyard Tourism

In honor of Memorial Day, we like to visit the cemeteries where our relatives are buried. We admire the flowers and the decorated headstones, we say a few words to honor our loved ones, and we tell stories about them to our daughters to give the girls an idea of the kind of people that their grandmothers or great-grandparents, -aunts, -uncles, etc., were. As Suzanna pointed out yesterday, talking about our deceased relatives helps to keep them alive in our hearts and minds and lets the girls get to know people whom they don't remember well or whom they never even met.

Susan's mom and grandparents are buried in cemeteries in town and nearby, but visiting my relatives' graves involves a trip to northwest ND. It's an opportunity to visit my (living) dad and stepmom along the way, and we often have other mini-adventures, driving by sites of interest from my childhood or stopping at tourist destinations or restaurants that we've never been to before. There are four cemeteries that we usually visit, each just a few minutes' drive away from the next. When we arrive at one, we pile out of the vehicle with our cameras, swat at mosquitoes or tighten our coats against the wind or rain or relax in the warmth of the sun (depending on the weather), and start wandering.

It may sound odd to spend time in graveyards; but really it's a beautiful enterprise to journey through the picturesque countryside to each cemetery, tour the plots, trace our relatives' names on their tombstones, talk to and about them, answer the girls' questions about them, breathe in the fresh air, and take in the beautiful vistas of the surrounding fields and valleys and creeks and tree groves, all beneath the expansive blue sky. It's good for the soul and a fitting way to spend Memorial Day.

Here are Suzanna, Abigail, and Hillary with my stepmom Beverly and my dad. Beverly recently had back surgery (and is recovering nicely), so we brought them dinner: fried chicken, fresh fruit, potato chips, and cabbage salad and rhubarb cordial from Saturday night.

When we saw Dad and Beverly last weekend, we gave Beverly a Mother's Day gift: some Hardanger needlework that Susan created. Susan was advised by her fellow Hardanger embroiderers to take photos of all her work--especially any needlework that she gives away--so Susan took advantage of the opportunity to do that today.

The morning was beautiful as we drove to Dad and Beverly's, but it was rainy and cool outside by mid-afternoon when we left their home and headed north to the cemeteries. Here I am doing what Susan and I spent the afternoon doing: taking photos. (We have wa-a-a-a-ay more photographs from today than I am sharing with you in this post, by the way!)

These are my maternal grandparents. I never met this grandfather, but Grandma Roloff was a warm, quiet, gentle woman who lived just a few miles away from us when I was a child, visited us frequently, and even stayed with us a few times (while recovering from illness or to babysit while our parents were away).

These are my paternal grandparents. Their home was only a half-mile away--just a quick bicycle ride down the road--so I spent a lot of time with them when I was growing up, helping in their garden, eating meals or snacks with them, playing card games with them, spending summer evenings with them in lawn chairs out on the driveway, etc. They were not quiet like Grandma Roloff, but they were just as loving.

My mom died just a few months before Hillary was born, so she regrets never having met Grandma, and the other two girls wish they could remember Grandma. My mom loved being a grandmother for the short time that she was one. The girls are lucky to have my stepmom as their grandma now; but, just the same, it's sad to think of what might have been had Mom not died so young and had instead gotten to experience being a grandmother to all three of our daughters.

My sisters and I take turns each year buying flowers for Mom's grave. This year it was Sandy's turn. Isn't this a beautiful bouquet?

On the way home from Mom's cemetery, we drove a route that took us through Stanley, ND, where we ate supper at Frostee Treat, a Dairy Queen-type restaurant at which one steps up to the counter to order ice cream treats or food made on the grill. The burgers were so delicious, as were the waffle-cut fries. We didn't have room for dessert, or else I would have tried a sundae with their homemade rhubarb sauce for a topping.

To get home, we drove south from Stanley and then west into New Town, a route that let us see even more of Lake Sakakawea than we usually do when entering New Town from the north (our usual drive home from visiting Dad). The way the evening sunlight hit the lake and cast shadows on the surrounding landscape was just lovely. The blue of the water matched that of the sky, which featured interesting patterns drawn in the clouds. There is such variety and beauty in the terrain in western ND, and what makes it beautiful changes with every season. It was a nice drive (despite the many deer hoping to commit suicide by leaping in front of us from the ditches along the way, thwarted only by my keen eye and responsive foot on the brake pedal).

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Sad Family Reunion

We're leaving my dad's now for the sleepy drive back to Dickinson. We got up in the wee hours this morning and drove to Tioga to see Dad and my stepmom as well as my sisters, visiting for a few days from OR and NE. It was nice to see them, of course, but we wish it had been under happier circumstances. You see, we were reunited today for the funeral of my uncle Curtis (my mom's brother).

He died last week, but the funeral wasn't until today in order to accommodate traveling by so many out-of-state relatives. Many were able to return, too; there were enough of us family members attending that we took up about a third of the pews in the church in McGregor. We gathered in the fellowship hall beforehand and shared condolences and did a little catching up after years of not having seen some relatives (e.g., "Ah, these must be your kids" or "Is this your husband?" or "And where do you live now?").

The funeral service itself featured three particularly touching elements.

1. Three of Curtis' grandchildren who couldn't return for the funeral instead wrote letters to be read aloud by the pastoral assistant. They were all beautifully written and described meaningful memories of Grandpa Curtis.
2. Two of Curtis' grandchildren joined their mom (Curtis' daughter-in-law) to perform special music. Kristian and Janna played "Ashokan Farewell" on the violin, accompanied by Mary Ellen on the piano. The siblings are great string players, and their mom is a skilled pianist, and the overall effect was both lovely to listen to and emotional.
3. As an Army veteran (who witnessed the Nuremberg Trials--I had never known that!), Curtis was recognized with military funeral honors. His casket was draped in the flag of our country, which two uniformed members of a local honor guard ceremonially folded and presented to Curtis' son Wilmer. Before that, other members fired the traditional three-volley salute outside the church, followed by the playing of "Taps." Very respectful and moving.

After the funeral, the ladies of the church served a mid-afternoon lunch* in the fellowship hall, where we gathered to visit with relatives and others who live in the area, many of whom it had been years since we'd last seen. The chats were good but brief, and somehow all our relatives managed to rush out of the church before we realized that they were gone (yes, as is typical, our Moberg family was the last to leave) . . . so we got no photos of these aunts and uncles and cousins whom we so rarely see and whom we were so hoping to have pose for quick snapshots. I don't know what their hurry was, but it was sad to look around and see them all gone with no plans for the extended family to gather afterward over supper to visit some more and share memories of Curtis.

So our family drove back to Dad and Beverly's and visited amongst ourselves and had a nice supper of ham, scalloped potatoes, baked sweet potatoes, and cake for dessert. Before supper, Susan set the timer on our camera and got some good photos of our group. And after supper, it was time for us to pack up, say farewell, and head home (the girls have a piano recital in the morning). It was a brief visit, but we're grateful to live close enough to my family that we can make the drive there and back in a day if necessary. Curtis was a good man; may he rest in peace.

back row: Sandy, Beverly, Dad, and Cathy;

front row: Suzanna (holding my step-sister's dog, whom Dad and Beverly were dogsitting), Abigail, Hillary, Kevin, and Susan

* To my delight, it was the same kind of funeral lunch food that I grew up with: some sweet salads (involving a combination of Jell-O or pudding and fruit and Cool Whip), some savory salads (like potato salad and coleslaw), open-faced sandwiches on homemade buns (including brown buns spread with Cheez Whiz and topped with slices of pimiento-stuffed green olives), homemade pickles, and a separate table of cakes and bars for dessert. Unfortunately, the beverages were just as I remember them from my childhood, too: water colored yellow for lemonade and brown for coffee (i.e., both of them made too "weak" flavor-wise).

It Was Greek to Me

I am another year older as of yesterday, and it was a very relaxing birthday. It started with a feast for breakfast: eggs Benedict, sausage links, hashbrowns, a caramel roll, half a grapefruit, orange juice, and coffee. Then the lovely ladies gave me gifts (although I had requested no gifts): a krumkake iron (you might want to refresh your memory) and some scented bath products for my morning routine. Because of my recent interest in Scandinavian cooking, I'm sure I'll be trying out the krumkake iron very soon, but I decided against breaking it in yesterday. Instead we gathered as a family to play Catch Phrase, Snorta (Abigail's choice of animal sound for her duck: "Whack-a-quack!"), and Taboo throughout the day.


Over the weekend Susan had asked me what I wanted for a birthday meal; and after watching Ina Garten make a Greek meal on Barefoot Contessa the other night, I requested Ina's menu:

• spanakopitas -- Susan left out the toasted pine nuts because she couldn't find in local grocery stores any pine nuts to toast
• marinated lamb kebobs -- Susan used whole chicken breasts instead of chunks of lamb . . . and she skipped the red onion . . . and she grilled the breasts as is instead of spearing them with kebabs . . . so, really, she just used the marinade from Ina's recipe, but it worked well with chicken
• Greek salad -- Susan added couscous to it, too
• grilled pita crisps dipped in tzatziki -- Susan used dill from our back yard (where it still grows back summer after summer, a persistent remnant from the days when our predecesors in this house had a backyard garden)

Susan left the girls and me to our games and spent the last part of the afternoon making us a Greek supper. It was absolutely delicious. I had requested another Ina recipe for dessert in lieu of birthday cake (because there'll be plenty of cake in the house tomorrow for Abigail's birthday), but Susan got sneaky and made a cake to go along with the Ina recipe (and it turned out to be a very refreshing combination):

• fruit salad with Limoncello -- Ina's lemon liqueur/lemon curd/yogurt sauce, which Susan served with fresh blueberries and strawberries
• pound cake -- Smitten Kitchen's "lighter, airy" version of a traditional pound cake

Throughout the day and evening, I received a telephone call from one sister and a greeting card and e-mail from the other as well as numerous electronic greetings from friends and relatives (a good part of my day was spent logging on and responding to online birthday wishes). My aunt/godmother Shirley wrote me a particularly wonderful note, reminiscing about having known me my whole life and noting, "Now you are all grown up, a very good-lookin' guy with much charm and intelligence along with a very nice family." The only part of that that I can confirm is the very nice family, but I just love rereading the rest of it. Thank you, Shirley!

I don't feel any older, but the silver in my beard is often cited as evidence that I'm nearing senior citizen status. (And here I was hoping that it came across as "distinguishing.") But maybe I am old considering how quickly I chose--when asked, "What would you like to do for your birthday?"--just to hang around with my family all day. And it was great!

P.S. Eleven-year-old daughter Suzanna wanted to make supper for the family again this past Sunday, so here's what she made for us . . . entirely on our own (while Suzanna cooked, Susan washed dishes and cleaned kitchen counters so that she'd be available if needed, but Suzanna didn't call on her):

Spicy queso con carne with tortilla chips

Baked beef and bean burritos

So, that was Norwegian for supper Saturday, Mexican for supper Sunday, Greek for supper Monday, and Italian for supper tonight (spaghetti). Not bad!

Friends and Family

Monday, July 6

• My sisters and I left Eagan (remember?) early in the morning to get Cathy to the airport for her flight back to Portland. Then Sandy gave me a ride back to Dickinson! She's en route to our dad's to spend the rest of the week with him and Beverly, so I hitched a ride so that I can get some work done at home this week while Susan and the girls head to East Grand Forks to spend some time with our friends there.
• Sandy and I had a tasty dinner at Extreme Pita in Fargo. For supper I grilled Omaha steaks and served them with French fries, buttered corn, pickles, celery sticks, and cold beer. After a late-night walk around the neighborhood to burn off some of those calories, we watched some TV while enjoying dessert: vanilla wafers dipped in a "chocolate bliss" cheese ball and some chilled Riesling.

Tuesday, July 7

• For breakfast I served Sandy scrambled eggs (with onions, ham, and cheese), blueberry muffins, grapefruit halves, and coffee. Then she was off to Dad's farm via Williston, where she hoped to visit our aunts who live there.
• It was my friend Chris' birthday, so I took him out for supper at Applebee's. Afterward we met other friends for drinks at Maverick's Saloon, a place I had never been before. It's a very small bar--the length and width of a double-wide mobile home, perhaps. Not even kidding!

Wednesday, July 8

• Once a month I have dinner with my friend Kelly, formerly my colleage at the university and currently an independent business owner (counseling, life coaching, and holistic therapy). Today we ate at Badlands Brew, a quaint coffee shop that serves delicious panini and soups in a funky setting (a building that used to be a church--in fact, most of the seating consists of two-person pews at the tables, and the windows are stained glass). Kelly shared several items of good news regarding her personal life and her business, so it was an especially pleasant meal!

Surprise Visit for a 50th Anniversary

I grew up in a family that stayed connected with extended family members by visiting my relatives' houses regularly for birthdays and anniversaries, by attending my cousins' confirmations and graduations and weddings, by attending my aunts' and uncles' and great-aunts' and great-uncles' funerals, etc. My dad is one of six children, and my mom was one of eight, so I have a lot of cousins. And because I'm the youngest cousin on one side and among the youngest on the other, many of my cousins had children whom I got to know while I was still a kid myself.

On my dad's side, we still get together occasionally, especially for weddings, funerals, and some holidays (and for my cousins' kids' graduations, when the drive isn't too great). On Mom's side, though, it's pretty rare these days. She seemed to be the instigator of get-togethers amongst her siblings, and nobody has stepped up to plan the occasional reunion since Mom died eight years ago. My cousins are spread around the country, busy with their own families (at nearly 40, I'm the youngest cousin--so imagine the ages of my cousins' kids--and grandkids--and how busy their own lives must be!), so it would take some deliberate planning to gather everybody in one spot at the same time. I understand what keeps us apart, but I miss getting together.

So, when I learned that my cousin Jill was throwing a party today in Minot, ND for the 50th anniversary of her parents, Betty and Herman (my mom's oldest brother), I knew that we should attend. Jill is close in age to my sisters and made for a good playmate when we'd get together. Betty is a gentle lady who always fed us well when we'd spend holidays at their house; I especially recall her bundt cake, riced potatoes, and flatbread. Herman liked to tease gently, but he always seemed interested in my school accomplishments and proud of me, reminding me with a smile on each visit, "Remember, I'm your favorite uncle." We were pleased to be able to be at their party this afternoon!

The girls had to sing for church in Dickinson, but we left immediately afterward and arrived an hour into the party held at Herman and Betty's church in Minot. We hadn't told anyone that we'd be coming, so the relatives whom we saw were surprised to see us! There was much ooh-ing and aah-ing over how much everybody had changed since the last time we had seen one another--and, of course, some of them had never even met our children before today. We made sure to take lots of photos and to visit quickly before the party wrapped up and people started heading home. We spent six hours (round-trip) on the road for probably one-and-a-half hours of interaction with relatives, but it was worth it!

Afterward we did a little clothes shopping at the Dakota Square before eating supper at the Royal Fork and then heading back to Dickinson. I'm usually the chauffeur, but Susan drove for this trip so that I could get some work done on the laptop for a meeting first thing tomorrow morning. (Thank you, Susan.) But now it's time to get to what most of you have come here for: the photographs!

The happy couple! Fun fact: Herman is wearing the same suit that he wore for their wedding! It's a dark blue wool suit that still looks in style and not at all "vintage"; if he hadn't told me, I never would have guessed that it was a 50-year-old suit.

And here are Betty and Herman with their youngest nephew (me) and their great-nieces Suzanna, Hillary, and Abigail. Do you see any family resemblance?

And here we are with my cousin Jill, Herman and Betty's daughter and the planner of the day's event.

The oldest of eight children, Herman is followed in the line-up of siblings by William (deceased), Curtis (next to me in the photo above), Marcella (in Washington), Adeline (in Kansas), Lucille (in Williston, ND), Lawrence (in the photo below), and my mom, Mary Ann (deceased).

And here's Lawrence (who's also one of my godparents). Since I see my maternal aunts and uncles infrequently, whenever I do, I am struck by how much more they seem to resemble one another now than they did when I was a child and saw them more often. Also, I saw in Herman, Curtis, and Lawrence today gestures or expressions or facial features that reminded me of Mom or Grandma (their mom, also deceased)--so it was especially nice to be around them and experience the happy reminders.

This is my cousin Cleone, Curtis' oldest child. Our cousin Mary Beth, William's youngest child, had been at the party, too, but left before we arrived, so we didn't get to see her. We also didn't get to see Layne and his wife Jo or Shar and her husband Ben (Layne and Shar are two of Lawrence's kids). Jill, Cleone, Mary Beth, Shar, Layne, and I were the cousins present today.

Well, in fact, another cousin was present today, too: my cousin Myrna, who is actually my cousin on the other side of the family! She's my dad's older brother's youngest child, and next to her is her mom, Goldie (who's also one of my godparents). Both of them live in Minot, and Myrna happens to be Jill's friend as well as my cousin. Myrna helped Jill with organizing the event, keeping the food stocked throughout the afternoon, etc.

Here we are with even more relatives! From left to right: my great-aunt Marian (Dad's dad's sister), Abigail, Gisela (more on her in a second), Hillary, me, my great-aunt Arlene (Dad's dad's other sister), Suzanna, and Carl (Mom and Herman's cousin as well as Dad's former business partner as well as Gisela's husband). Marian and Arlene live in Minot, too, but Carl and Gisela drove from Tioga for the afternoon . . . and they were leaving the Royal Fork just as we were arriving for supper, so we saw a lot of them today!

Hearing My Story in Someone Else's Words

Today I attended a luncheon featuring a reading by musician and writer Debra Marquart, who is on campus for the university's annual Women's Voices celebration. She is a native North Dakotan who has written a memoir about her childhood here, and she read aloud excerpts from that book: The Horizontal World: Growing Up Wild in the Middle of Nowhere (read this and this).

Each passage was terrific and managed to be both ordinary and extraordinary simultaneously. She wrote about topics that I could have written about, except that her perspective is a decidedly feminine one. Other than the woman's lens through which she views her rural childhood experiences, her looking back is not unlike my own; and the places, events, and people she recollects are similar to those from my past, just with different names.

Marquart writes about family members and, now as an adult, tries to make sense of their behavior and character traits in light of their life circumstances (something that, as children, we don't bother to do--for example, we just know Aunt So-'n'-So is peretually grouchy, but we don't take the time to walk in her shoes and understand the causes of her demeanor). Marquart also writes about the physical world in which she grew up--the farm, the countryside, the small town--and the way in which she and others her age came to know this setting by interacting with it--by doing farm work, by attending parties in the hills outside of town, by driving the main street with other teens as a social activity.

Most impressively, Marquart finds larger truths in the smaller details of ordinary daily life. She comes to admire the struggles that her parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc., faced and the hardships that they endured silently as a matter of fact, their lack of complaint a reflection of the character both prerequisite to and a result of making a living on the plains. In what she read aloud today, I heard her describe relatives who could have been my own, who had gone through trials in life that my own immigrant ancestors must have. I heard her describe childhood experiences and attitudes that were my own or those of my friends and neighbors. She described life on the farm the way I might, and she now looks back on her childhood with an insight brought about by the passage of time, her own maturity, and a poet's ability to see the world in metaphors.

I had tears in my eyes occasionally as something she read brought back vivid memories of my own past: a particular relative, an item in someone's home, a summer moment outside on the farm, a feeling about growing up in the country and yearning for life in the city, etc. The final passage, one that she hadn't ever read aloud for a group, brought tears even to her own eyes. It was a great way to spend a lunch, and I'll definitely check out her book.

Stage Directions: Enter Little Girls; Exit Daddy

I'm about to go meet my cousin Tyler (well, first cousin once removed) and his friend for some beverages at a local establishment. It's been many months since we have socialized, and tonight seems like the perfect night. Not only is it the end of a very hectic week (I've been going from school to school to supervise my students serving in field experiences in classrooms here in Dickinson as well as in surrounding towns), but it's also the beginning of a very hectic night/morning in our house: Suzanna is having a sleepover!

For Suzanna's belated birthday party (her birthday is in December over Christmas break, when many of her friends are out of town visiting relatives hither and yon and unavailable to celebrate then with her), she is having a "glama-pajama" party--a pajama party with all sorts of glamorous ("glama") events planned, such as manicures and pedicures, a makeup/fashion show, karaoke, movies and popcorn . . . who knows what else? It sounds as though there are 34 girls in the house, but here's the actual crew:

They're already riled up, and they've just arrived! I predict not much slumbering at this slumber party. It's a good night for me to leave the house! (Critics, be advised: my outing with Tyler was scheduled before tonight's birthday mania was.)

Suzanna's belated birthday cake is from The Donut Hole, a good longtime bakery in town.

This 11-year-old girl doesn't look much like a little kid anymore . . .

Thanksgiving on the Farm

Wednesday night we packed the van with groceries and drove to my dad and stepmom's farm so that we could spend Thanksgiving with them yesterday. Susan worked like a Turk beforehand to plan the menu, buy the food (including lefse made by local church ladies), make the pie crust dough, and pack everything before we hit the road. Yesterday morning she made an apple pie and a pumpkin pie, peeled and sliced sweet potatoes and baked them, made dressing, made a Jell-O and fruit salad, made mashed potatoes, prepared and roasted green beans and Brussels sprouts with bacon and fresh rosemary, made scalloped oysters, and whipped cream for the pies. My stepmom, Beverly, invited her son, Dennis, and his wife, Julie, to join us, and Julie made and brought out the turkey (and a fluffy cookie salad). I filled the pickle dishes and poured the wine (yeah, I know: exhausting!). It was really a terrific meal.

We brought a DVD of the girls' performance in Seussical (remember?) and in the afternoon showed everybody just the scenes featuring the girls (since Dad, Beverly, Dennis, and Julie had wanted to see the show but did not make it to Dickinson to see a performance). Then there was lots of visiting and more eating (turkey leftovers) and goodbyes when it was time for Dennis and Julie to leave and then full-bellied exhaustion as we all fell into our beds.

This morning Susan made pancakes and eggs for breakfast, and my aunt Penny stopped by to visit on her way past the farm. In the afternoon when Dad and Beverly went to town for an appointment, the girls and I took Dad and Beverly's dog, Bandy, and "went on an adventure" to explore the farm. The girls wanted to see some of the places that I used to play with Happy, our family's dog when I was growing up. So I took them into the trees on the east side of the farm and showed them where my sisters and I played in a little crumbling shack and claimed various openings in the trees as our homes during games. I also told them how terrifying it was to play nighttime games of hide-and-go-seek in the summer; when I was "it," I would count to 20, shout "Ready or not, here I come!" and then look up to find myself surrounded by inky black darkness on all sides, knowing that hiding somewhere in the trees were my sisters and our cousins, able to see me standing beneath the yard light but completely hidden from my sight within the twisted branches of the trees, which scraped together ominously as the wind passed through them. It was a test of my bravery just to go off in search of the hiders! Thank goodness for Happy, who could usually be counted on to sniff out the kids no matter how well hidden; I had only to follow her in order to find someone or other!

Then the girls, Bandy, and I walked the prairie trail along the trees north of the house, and I showed them the old combine (parked for eternity just inside the tree rows) that I used to use as a fort. From there it was a short walk westward to the pasture, and I lifted the barbed wire fence to let them in. We walked the fence line northward, alternately looking up to take in the vistas and looking down to avoid the soggy cow pies until we reached the northern border, which we had to climb over in order to get to the old railroad tracks. A few years ago, the railroad company ceased using it and actually removed all the ties and rails, so now it's just a raised path overgrown with weeds. We followed it east until we reached the railroad bridge over the creek running through Dad's pasture . . . except that the railroad had removed the bridge, too! So we climbed down onto the ice and then headed south through the long grasses of the lowest part of the pasture, through the short grass on the hillside (which had been hayed and lay dotted with hay bales), and then through the tall grasses of the field at the top of the hill just north of the house.

By the time we were done, we had walked a few miles, and the girls (including Bandy) were "plumb tuckered out," as we used to say. The girls had a great time, though, asking for details about my childhood trips along those same paths with Happy and listening intently to my stories as we walked. I enjoyed remembering the good times playing outside with our dog and exploring the pastures and trees as though it were all undiscovered country and Happy and I were adventurers investigating the land for the first time. Bandy enjoyed sniffing around and seeing new sights (Dad and Beverly never take her for long hikes across the countryside!), but she wasn't crazy about any terrain that didn't allow her clear sight lines into the distance. When there were tree branches strewn across the ground or taller-than-Bandy grasses surrounding her, she was hesitant and stuck pretty close to my heels. Where there were clearer paths or shorter grass, though, she took the lead and pulled on the leash, letting me know where she thought we should be going.


Susan turned the leftovers into a tasty supper after we got back from our hike, and then we all sat at the kitchen table and played Norwegian whist. It's a variation of whist that my uncle Lawrence taught us years ago and that we used to play all the time when going to his house to visit. My own sisters and parents and I used to play it whenever we were all home together for a holiday. We'd each grab a can of pop and fill a napkin with some snacks: Christmas cookies or peanuts salted in the shell, usually, although Mom and Dad would often polish off a box of chocolate-covered cherries while we played! I looked up "Norwegian whist" on the Internet and found instructions for what we would consider to be basic whist! So perhaps Lawrence's version of "Norwegian whist" was his own invention--who knows? It didn't take long for the girls to get the hang of it tonight, so I think we'll be able to play it in our own house now, only with Susan and I playing the roles that Mom and Dad used to play. Sigh.


After packing the vehicle and saying goodbye, we were off to return to Dickinson. First, however, we pulled over alongside the highway by Dad's house for a photo opportunity. Just a couple miles from his farm is a drilling rig on my uncle Lawrence's land, and it's located mere yards to the north of the highway--much closer to the main road than most drilling locations are. It's brightly lit through the night as the men work continuously to reach oil. We have a vested interest in its success; my mom owned mineral acres beneath that land, so my sisters and I could gain a few bucks if the well is successful. Dad himself is enjoying occasional checks for the oil wells on his land, too. In any case, it's impressive to watch the enterprise of drilling for oil, especially when it's so easy to pull off the road, roll down the windows, and watch.

After the table prayer but before we ate our Thanksgiving dinner, Beverly asked each of us to name something for which we were thankful. The responses were varied and heartwarming. I said that I was thankful for being close enough now that we can make more frequent trips back to the farm, no matter how brief. The girls were definitely thankful for the chance to play on the farm ("I want to live here!" they said more than once) and see Grandpa and Grandma and Bandy. We were all thankful, too, for all the work that Susan did to haul the food and prepare the meals. Finally I was thankful that all the suicidal deer gathered in the ditches and standing on the shoulder of the road decided not to leap into our path as we drove home tonight. At least they kept me alert!

Cocktails and Cookies with Cousins

Last night I got to reconnect with some relatives on my mom's side of the family, whom I don't get to see very often. I see family members on my dad's side at occasional weddings, funerals, birthday parties, and get-togethers when we're home to visit Dad, but there don't seem to be very frequent events to bring together Mom's relatives. Many of those aunts, uncles, and cousins I haven't seen since Mom's funeral seven years ago.

In any case, my mom's brother Lawrence's youngest son Layne's son Tyler just recently moved back to Dickinson (where he spent much of his childhood when he, his sister, and their parents used to live here), and yesterday was his 21st birthday. Tyler phoned and invited me to join him and his parents at the bar that Tyler had chosen, and I was happy to do so for the opportunity to see everybody. Not only did I see Tyler and his parents, Layne and Jo (who live now in Devils Lake), but I also saw Shar (Layne's sister) and her husband Ben (both of Watford City) and their younger son Shawn (also of Devils Lake). Tyler had a good time celebrating his legality, and I had a good time catching up on Layne and Jo's lives.

This afternoon they stopped by our house to see Susan and the girls, and we were able to visit some more and snap the requisite photographs (that's the Moberg in me). Layne grew up on a farm just a couple miles west of the farm that I grew up on, and his parents are not only my aunt and uncle but also my godparents. We spent a lot of time at each other's homes growing up, sometimes to celebrate birthdays but just as often simply to "go visiting" and play cards and, of course, eat. Layne's a guy of constrasting talents: automotive and home repair as well as culinary and parenting skills. Growing up, he was known for making terrific chocolate chip cookies ("He still does," says Jo) and for putting his vanilla ice cream in the microwave for a few seconds to soften it up, adding chocolate syrup, and then stirring the concoction into a silky, whipped dairy treat. When I do that even now, I tell the girls that I acquired the "recipe" from my cousin Layne, so that's what they had in their minds when they met/re-met him today!

Having Tyler in town will likely bring Layne and Jo to Dickinson more often. They have numerous friends here from when they used to live here, so I'm sure they'll take the opportunity to visit those friends when they come, but we'll try to get them back to our house for a full-scale meal on one of those visits (today there was time only for beverages and baked goodies). In the meantime we'll have Tyler over for some home-cooked food, too.

Layne, Jo, and Tyler (does he look 21 to you?)

Posing with Hillary and Abigail. Suzanna's friend Evan had phoned earlier this afternoon and invited her over to play, so she rode her bike over to his house shortly before Layne's family arrived and, thus, missed out on the visit. One more reason for us to do this again soon!

Veterans in the Family

Although our family uses each Memorial Day as an opportunity to honor the memory of deceased loved ones and decorate their graves, it was originally intended as a day of remembrance of those who have died in military service to our country. Yesterday I asked my dad to help me think of family members who fit the bill, but we couldn't think of any who have fallen in battle. We did come up with a list of those who have served in the military:

• my great-uncle Raymond (my dad's mom's brother)
• my dad (Specialist 4th Class in the Army)
• my uncle Jerol (my dad's sister's husband)
• my cousin Jerry (Jerol's son)
• my cousin Jeff (my dad's brother's son)
• my uncle William (my mom's brother)
• my uncle Curtiss (my mom's brother)
• my uncle Herman (my mom's brother)
• my uncle Leroy (my mom's sister's husband)
• my cousin Herbert (Leroy's son)
• my first-cousin once removed Christopher (Herbert's son . . . and my godson!)

Family members, is this accurate? Any additions? Please click "comments" and let me know.

In Memoriam

Some light reading to get you in the mood for this post:

"Nothing but Death" by Pablo Neruda

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death" by Alan Seeger

"Go Down, Death" by James Weldon Johnson

"Death, Be Not Proud" by John Donne

"After a Death" by Tomas Tranströmer

"Age and Death" by Emma Lazarus

Today we rose and shone early to hit the road for Dad and Beverly's. Our plan was to visit Mom's grave and place flowers there on behalf of us and my sisters, Cathy and Sandy. Then I wanted to take Susan and the girls to some area cemeteries and show them the headstones of some of their relatives, both distant and not-so-distant.

We got distracted in New Town by our curiosity about the Four Bears Bridge attraction, past which we drive every time we use the new (well, as of 2005) bridge to get to and fro Dad's. A large chunk of the old bridge stands at the new version's west end and is surrounded by a park featuring benches, decorative concrete sidewalks, and several monuments with plaques explaining historical details related to the bridge, the Native American nations from the region, and their interconnection. A walkway winds from the park underneath the bridge to a pedestrian path across the river and into New Town on the north side of the highway (about four miles). It was cold and windy, and we had been later leaving Dickinson than I had hoped, but why not stop to explore and take photos?!

A section of the previous bridge looms over the monuments to the Native American cultures represented on the new bridge.

The new bridge with four native (small "n") Americans in the foreground.

Hillary standing on the decorative concrete walkway near the monuments.

When we finally arrived at Dad's, he was outside in the yard doing some work, so we visited there, and I got a good look at some fairly recent improvements to the house's exterior: refurbished front and back steps (from crumbling to solid faux-marble), blue metal roof, and repainted foundation.

This step used to be a deteriorating pile of concrete chunks and powder. Now look at it!

After dinner around noon, Susan, the girls, and I were off to the cemeteries. Our first stop was Bethel outside Battleview to place flowers on Mom's grave and visit Grandpa and Grandma Moberg's grave. There are several other Moberg and Aune relatives in that cemetery, so we took photos of their headstones, too. (In fact, the very interested among you readers may like to stop by our house when you have a free afternoon to view all the photos that I snapped in the cemeteries today! There are a lot . . .)

The wreath in the center is from Susan, me, and my sisters; the three bouquets surrounding it are from Suzanna, Abigail, and Hillary.

My dad's parents, Grandma and Grandpa Moberg

We went next to Lindahl between Tioga and McGregor to visit my uncle, then to Zion north of McGregor to visit a couple aunts and uncles, and finally to Scandia northeast of McGregor to pay respects to Grandma Roloff and several other Roloff and Hanson relatives there. There used to be a church at Lindahl Lutheran Cemetery, but it has been torn down and replaced with a doghouse-sized model, which had the girls curious (how could anyone ever have attended such a tiny church?!). They seemed to enjoy the stories I told about various relatives and neighbors as we encountered their headstones in each cemetery, and we have plenty of photos of the girls posing at this or that relative's tombstone.

Apparently the world's tiniest church!

At Scandia, Suzanna Marit Moberg poses near the headstone for my grandma Marit "Mary" Roloff.

At Dad and Beverly's, the girls had a good time playing with Bandy and "playing school" at the desks stocked with office supplies out in the heated garage. We visited and had a good roast supper and then headed for home at night. But wait: one more monument! The engraved marker commemorating the discovery of oil in ND just south of Tioga. We drive by it every time we make a trip to McGregor, so I made the ladies pose for one more photo in the cold. It was a less emotional visit than the other monuments throughout the day, though. We miss Mom very much, and stopping by her and my other relatives' graves brought back many fond memories mixed with sadness.

Daddy! (Dear Readers, those of you who are relatives, whom does Dad resemble?)

Beverly

Stone marking the Iverson well that made Tioga "The Oil Capital of North Dakota"