READIN' & WRITIN" & 'RITHMETIC

Pat Spilseth

Is your mind spinning with that old song about school days?  It’s that time of year again; Labor Day means the end of summer.  It brings back those dreaded thoughts of hot days and sweating palms.

“School days, school days

 Dear old golden rule days

 Readin’ and ritin’ and ‘rithmetic

Taught to the tune of the hickory stick

You were my queen in calico

I was your bashful barefoot beau

And you wrote on my slate

“I love you, so”

When we were a couple of kids...”

A reality check: at that time of your life, who knew anything about a hickory stick?  That was before we were school age kids, wasn’t it?  And how about those slates?  That sounds like something out of Charles Dickens’ novels.

But the tune keeps playin’...

So many School Days songs have been created through the years.  I’m particularly partial to those surfin’ Beach Boys’ tunes.  Sure, today they’re all in their sixties and seventies, but they were so cool in my school days.   And when they sang “Graduation Day”, who could help but shed a few tears for memories long gone?

And when Jeannie C. Riley came out with “Harper Valley PTA”, we grabbed a partner and ran out onto the dance floor.  Best of all, I did love slow dancing to the Four Lads when they sang “Moments to Remember”.  

Throw in Doris Day’s “Teacher’s Pet” and the Jackson 5’s “ABC”.  Nobody can sit still.  We have to be dancin’!

It’s about that time again.  Labor Day means school starts the next day, which many times happened to be my birthday.  The State Fair is over; reunions are done, and moms have started to can those juicy Colorado peaches.  No more swimming at the beach; no more picnics; no more sunning with Coppertone.  

It’s time for new jeans, tennies, cords and new wool sweaters.  Sure, you’re bound to sweat profusely that first day of school, when the temperature in the hot classrooms hits 90.  But you’ll look so good!  

I sure hope your school will be air conditioned.  Who can manage to sit still and learn multiplication tables, historic dates or all the “be” verbs when the dew point is over 65 in the classroom?  Why is school starting before the weather cools down in MInnesota?

It’s a nerve-wracking time of year for kids.  Identities and reputations are made those first days of school.  Self-esteem can be so easily shattered if a guy doesn’t make the football team or a girl the cheerleading squad or get that drama role she had her heart set on. If you’re a teenager, you worry about dating.  School days can be ego-crushing days.  Then what does a parent do to fill the social void of their kid?  And there are other dilemmas.  Why can’t I have a car?  How do I cover my pimples? I’m 13; why won’t you let me date?  I’m a teenager now, almost grown up!

When that big yellow school bus comes roaring around the corner, kindergarteners may have those tummy-tumbling pangs as strong as their older siblings.  Not having moms and dads nearby can be traumatic; doubts creep into their minds.  Tears may surface.  I was a basket case my first day of first grade in Miss Gwen Turnquist’s classroom until I spied my neighborhood pal in another wooden desk with a flip-top.  Then Mom could leave.  Martha saved the day.  

Then comes high school and trying to remember where the next classroom is and what my locker combination is and did I remember the right book for class...teen life is such turmoil.  But college is the true independence test:  no parents, no bedroom of my own, and will I have any friends?  When I left for college, Lynn Krook, Dad’s deputy sheriff at the jail, gave me a “crying towel” to soothe my tears so far from home.  Years later that towel is still in use, but not by me.  Son Andy uses it to clean boats at his Tidyboat business on the lake.  We are a recycling family.

That’s all in the past now.  Thankfully, it was way back, when we were a couple of kids.  719

REUNION LONGEVITY

FROM WHERE I SIT  Reunion Longevity   AUG. 26, 2013  PAT SPILSETH

There used to be a section of weekly local newspapers which recounted the social events of families in the community during the past week.  Usually a woman was employed by the paper who would call various residents in the area and inquire about who had visited whom during the week; who poured coffee at the wedding reception and who came from out of town to visit.  I think Florence Avery was the social columnist at the Pope County Tribune back in the 1950 and 60’s.

It was back to memory-filled Lake Wobegon days this past weekend for Dave and me.  We drove out to Luther Crest Bible Camp in Alexandria, MN, to join Lovstad family relatives.  Cousins came from Missouri,  Washington, Iowa and Illinois to share stories and, of course, to eat together as all good Scandinavians must do when they gather.  Though there weren’t any Swedish meatballs, the camp staff served browned meatballs, mashed potatoes and thick brown gravy along with the expected dessert at each meal.  Something sweet is always a requisite with endless cups of weak Lutheran coffee.  However, due to the current passion for strong cups of Caribou coffee, our tastes have changed: this reunion, we doubled the strength of the coffee.

“Come Lord Jesus” was the prayer we recited before each meal, the same prayer we learned as little children whenever we gathered around the kitchen table to eat.  I wonder how many of us still say that childhood prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep”, before crawling into bed?

The older generation was not able to attend.  This past year we lost three family members: Marvin Lovstad, his wife Betty, and Agnes Spilseth.  Longevity is definitely in the Lovstad family.  Aunt Florence is mentally sharp and lovely at 100, still living in her home with help from her three children who live nearby.  In their late nineties, Aunt Pearl and Aunt Jane live in assisted living homes, with family members living close by.  

The next generation is in charge of current reunions, children of their parents from the “Greatest Generation” who went through the Depression and survived, stronger than ever.  No longer is coffee the main beverage at our gatherings.  Wine has been added...amazing, since our parents were usually teetolers.  However, one of the grandchildren is now employed as a wine vendor in Fargo.  Jamie had a wine tasting for us where she explained what food to serve with which wine and informed us that rose’ is the new favorite. No longer sweet, it’s drier to fit the palates of this generation.  

Though temperatures were in the nineties, the sumac was already turning red and burgandy and gold leaves were falling.  It was time to return to our annual tradition of lefse making.  Cousin LaVonne had followed her mother Pearl’s recipe.  She boiled and beat white Idaho potatoes with plenty of butter and refrigerated the dough.  Adding flour, we mixed and rolled the golf ball sized dough on the lefse cloth into doily shaped circles and fried them on lefse grills. Pearl’s recipe didn’t stick to the cloth or the grill.  The lefse was so thin and light; it wasn’t the least bit dry.  Could the difference have been in the amount of butter or was it those Idaho potatoes, which weren’t so wet?  We had a routine: some rolled; some fried, and others lifted the slightly browned lefse with the rosemaled lefse stick.  Melted butter was spread on the lefse with a paint brush utensil and plenty of white sugar was sprinkled on the fried dough.  We devoured the lefse, the perfect Scandinavian treat, usually eaten at holiday times.

Who would have thought that campfires would still be a hit for us post middle-agers.  The fire kept away the mosquitos as we gathered by the lake under the glowing moon.   Reunion leaders Barb, Bud, Doug and Milana organized the games: trivia questions had us guessing about family members’ lives and events, and we mixed it up with trying to identify the person whose name was taped to our backs.  Aunt Pearl had saved so many keepsakes: graduation announcements, wedding invitations, and photographs. Vern found a 1930 newspaper from Burt, Iowa, home of many Lovstads, which mentioned the deteriorating population of the KKK from 250,000 down to less than 100,000.  White elephant gifts were handed out, and throughout the weekend, our chronicler Milana captured each moment with her camera.  

As the weekend ended, we celebrated Cousin Vern’s birthday with slices of chocolate-mint cake and a chorus of Happy Birthday.  It took us hours to say goodbye, but isn’t that the typical Norwegian goodbye routine?   Happy memories of our reunion will stay with us. In two years we’ll gather again at Jim and Linda Lovestad’s home near Duluth.  811

FROM WHERE I SIT "KEEPERS"

FROM WHERE I SIT   KEEPERS AUG. 13, 2013  PAT SPILSETH


Today I received an email that is definitely at KEEPER.  In our toss-away society, it's a blessing to hear that there still remain KEEPERS , things and people worth saving.

REmember when we didn't toss something just  because it wasn't working correctly.  We fixed it.  We resoled shoes; we saved wrappings and ribbons from presents, ironed them so they were no longer creased and resifted with that same wrapping paper.  We didn't throw old clothes if a younger brother or sister could wear it when we outgrew the item.  Hand-me-downs from older kids were treasured by many kids.  Inez Husom gifted her wool skirts and sweaters to me when she either outgrew them or tired of them.  I felt so grown up when I got to wear her outfits.  We also borrowed clothes to make it seem like we had more outfits.  Sandy Fjoslien had a glamorous black and white outfit I borrowed once for a fancy dance.  It was so nice to have friends who wore the same size clothing as I did!

If the fabric of a shirt, dress, robe or coat was still good, without holes from so much wear, Mom would cut it up into small pieces and stitches circle pieces to be made into a doily or a quilt topping.  Sometimes she used various fabrics pieced together and sewed them together with a flannel backing and some old quilt inside to make a new quilt.  If the shirt or dress could be reused and made into something else, we carefully cut off the buttons to fill a button box or a button jar, usually a glass canning jar with a screw off lid.  Mom even saved the hooks and eyes from worn brasseries for future sewing projects.  Torn blue jeans weren't tossed, and we certainly didn't wear the jeans with holes or tears like folks do today.  We mended them with iron-on patches.  Though that patched area was a bit stiff for awhile, after numerous washings it softened and didn't rub on our knees.

Mom had a darning egg made out of smooth wood which she inserted into our socks that had holes.  She stretched the sock's hole around the egg and darned the hole with a needle and thread.  When our wool socks got holes, she used yarn to darn the holes and fatter needles.

I remember helping Mom rewind window shades that would snap, come loose and fall open to the floor.  The shades came in brown and white.  It was a matter of resetting that little metal part on the wooden roller and rewinding the shade, clamping it into the sockets and presto!  It worked once more.

We couldn't afford new screens, and they were important to keep out the flies and mosquitos.  Nobody had air conditioning so we opened all the windows to get a breeze and cool off in the summertimes.   Dad bought new screen at the hardware store and stapled the screen to the frame.  It worked the same with broken windows.  Glass was purchased and reset into the window frame.  Things were fixed at home most often.  Handy men were valued!

But in those days, I wanted just once or twice to be wasteful.  Why couldn't we throw things away when they didn't work any more or were worn out?  Waste meant that we could afford to buy new, not fix things over and over again.  Throwing things away meant I knew there'd always be more.

TO this day, I still wash out used plastic bags and dry them, ready to be used once more.  Why throw it when it still can be used?

Today, pennies are throw-aways.  They're basically worthless.  Why does the government keep printing more pennies?  They're an nuisance.  They're too heavy in my purse.  Who can find penny candy any more?  But I did love to survey the aisle of penny candy at Potters' Dime STore in downtown Glenwood on the corner.  My favorites were the coconut chews.  Layers of pink, white and brown sweetened, chewable coconut  were such a treat.  And the tootsie rolls were a penny; those tootsie pops were 2 cents.  Bubble gum could be chewed for only a penny.  Sometimes a collectible card was included in that flat square of gum.  Some wax bottles filled with sugar-juice were a penny, but the red wax lips and black wax mustache were a bit more.

If I didn't get to Potters Dime Store with my tiny leather coin purse of pennies, I'd plunk them into my green PIG ceramic piggy bank that an aunt had molded and fired in a kiln as a gift to me; sister Barbie got the red dressed pig with the black hat.  Once the pennies went through the wide slot in the pig's back, they were gone for good.  THere was no way to retrieve them.  It was a forced savings for a kid who spent most pennies on the sweet penny candy I loved so well.

SIlver dollars were keepers for Mom.  The silver dollars made special birthday presents to favorite folks, tucked into a birthday card along with a cotton hanky.  She saved those large silver coins in her bureau drawer next to her Lady Esther face cream, Camphor Ice and Cloverine Salve, known to cure more cuts and dry skin.  That same drawer held her collection of costume jewelry, much of it gifts from her brother Arthur, the jewelry salesman who traveled the state in his white linen suit during summers.  That jewelry is now in my dresser drawer.  Though I usually wear the same two pair of earrings and a bracelet, I can't part with the jewelry.  It has too many good memories

Marble agates and steelies were keepers.  Their pretty swirling colors and heavy steel roundness were pocketed in a string bag to be carried on our belts or in bicycle baskets to the playground where kids would lie on the asphalt grounds of Glenwood's Elementary school, draw a chalk circle and shoot marbles.  Kids would trade marbles or win them from each other in a game.  Martha Achter was especially good at marbles.

That same school on the hill has become a KEEPER too.  Today, the school has been converted into apartment living units, beauty and barber shops and a theatre for the community.  It's become a community gathering place, just like it was in past years when the entire town would attend band and choir concerts, school plays and basketball games.  The brick school on the hill carries many memories for anybody who attended school there.

Best friends and family are KEEPERS, whether they move away or remain close by.  Emails, cards, letters and phone calls keep us in touch as well as visits occasionally.  Some things make life important, like people we know who are special.

FROM WHERE I SIT THE CARNIES ARE COMING TO TOWN

FROM WHERE I SIT  The Carnies Are Coming to Town Aug. 9, 2013      Pat DeKok Spilseth

Fortune-telling gypsies and their crystal balls intrigued me every fall when the Pope County fair came to Glenwood.   Tattooed carnies with missing teeth and greasy hair manned the roller coaster and ferris wheel.   With deep grunts, burly hunks would grunt as they hoisted a sledgehammer and rang the bell.  Oh, my, they were so muscular and strong!  

Guys with clinging dates hurled balls at targets, hoping to win a giant panda bear or some kewpie doll for their sweetie.  One particular arcade lured me to its riches every year.  Glass boxes with a strange machine and scoop, coaxed me to fish out a sparkling diamond ring nestled among thousands of golden corn kernels.  It was a sure bet that I’d win the ring, if I put enough coins into the machine and maneuvered the scoop correctly.  High hopes dominated my life.  

At the fair, we locals felt the need to tease our conservative lives before the regularity of school days arrived after Labor Day.  Intrigued by the fair’s colorful characters and imagined adventures, we rode the thrilling ferris wheel that spun us into the air, the octopus and the tilt a whirl which tossed us around until we were dizzy and couldn’t stand.

4-Hers brought their produce and livestock to the fair hoping to win a blue ribbon.  I could smell my way to the livestock barns where snoozing cattle rested with their owners in cowboy hats, pearl-buttoned shirts, jeans and pointy-toed boots.  Audiences watched sheep being sheared as roosters crowed and horses impatiently stamped their prancing feet, ready to race around the grandstand track. 

Women brought Devils’ Food cakes, coffee cakes, mile-high angel food cakes and crusty breads to be judged in the Produce Building.  Preserves were lined up on shelves; intricately patterned quilts were hung on display, and bird houses, doll houses, machine-sewn clothing, hand knit sweaters and afghans showed off the area’s homemaking skills.

One memorable year, the carnival people gave a clock with a golden chariot and high-stepping horses to Dad when he was the Pope County sheriff.  They probably hoped that he’d overlook any infractions their carnival might incur.  Today, for the first time in many, many years, I looked closely and saw that the figures driving the chariot clock had wings.  And they were naked!   I doubt that Mom had ever looked closely at the clock.  She couldn’t have checked out those naked chariot drivers!  If she’d have known, surely she wouldn’t have placed the golden clock on top of our living room’s TV set for everyone to see and blush beet red.  After all, we were modest Scandinavians. 

Roadies at the fair probably knew that we locals would be enchanted with all their glitzy treasures, adventurous rides and swarthy characters.  Certainly the colorful gypsies and tattooed carnies with missing teeth and greasy hair added excitement and color to my girlhood.  I loved to go with Dad when he patrolled the arcades and walked past all the rides, the haunted house and the freak show.  He was my hero and my protection from those unknown, but terribly exciting people and adventures.  My imagination went into overdrive when I was around those characters so different from anyone I’d ever seen.

Most likely some of those same roadies are still working the fair with their slicked-back ducktails, tight dirty jeans, and embarrassing-to-me tattoos.  Even today, I still love to ogle the colorful gypsy women with their dangling, clanging earrings, swishing skirts, and off the shoulder blouses.   They aren’t blonde or gray-headed; most, if any, don’t have blue eyes.  Certainly, they’re not Lutherans or political conservatives!   

Back in the fifties, carnival folks held a mystique for me.  They probably provide the same fascination to young people coming to the fair today.  I had dreams about the carnies, always with a slight touch of trepidation.  After all, I knew they were “outsiders”, certainly not folks I could trust.   In my mind, they were the  perfect picture of fascinating, questionable characters...different,  daring and exciting.  They didn’t have Scandinavian brogues, and they didn’t tell Ole and Lena jokes.  

Rumors were rampant around town when the carnies came to town.  People were told to lock their doors: gypsies, we believed, had “sticky fingers”. Women kept watch from their kitchen windows that clothing didn’t disappear from their clotheslines in the back yard.  Kids were warned to keep away from those alluring characters; don’t talk to them.  Talking would encourage carnival folks to feel welcome in our community.  After all, they were only here for the “show” every fall.  They weren’t staying.

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FROM WHERE I SIT  Nostalgia...The Cherry On Top  JULY 14, 2013  Pat Spilseth

Oh, what a morning!  This is the idyllic summer I dream about when I’m freezing in January: the lake is calm; the breeze is balmy and our resident loon is floating in the Bay.  There’s no noisy boat traffic churning the water or racing wave runners.  Only the gentle lapping of waves and birds singing breaks the silence of early morning.  It’s pure joy to be alive.

It’s terrific to have my family together again here on the lake this July.  Kate has vacation from teaching in Mexico City, and we love to float on the lake in Andy’s boat, the Roamer.  Kate’s friends, visiting from Mexico, China and Baltimore can’t get enough of the lake, and I know they also enjoy our ample supply of big, blonde Scandinavian men!  Visiting friends from Italy add spice to our evening with talk of Italy and the delicious dishes they share.  Summer breezes cool us as the sunset spreads lovely colors in the sky while we float on the lake.

For me, summer is the best season on the lake. When our grown kids return home, I can’t help but recall those good times in the summer when they were small.  We’d spend lazy, sultry days sitting on the dock.  I’d stuff their chubby arms into plastic, blow-up water wings, and they’d run and jump into the lake and into my arms from the dock.  From the start, they were water babies.

Good times we experience often brings on bouts of nostalgia.  Smells, scenes, songs, even photos touch each of us.  

Though fall is usually the time of year when people tend to feel nostalgic, I’m nostalgic today, enjoying this summer with returning kids and friends.  Nostalgia can be even stronger in the fall when brown and orange leaves fall through the air; the weather is crisp; the school year is about to begin all over again; and I start remembering my school days and people from the past.  It’s a melancholic time of year, cozy and comforting when I light a fire in the fireplace, curl up in an afghan with a good book and read.   It brings back memories of people no longer young, except in my mind.  There they remain, the same age as when I spent time with them in earlier years.

Naturally, gathering friends brings to mind times when we were younger and carefree.  Nostalgia enters our minds.  Did you know there are clubs, websites and publications dedicated to nostalgia and collectibles?  In a recent New York Times article, “What Is Nostalgia Good For?” author John Tierney wrote, “Nostalgia has been shown to counteract loneliness, boredom and anxiety.  It makes people more generous to strangers and more tolerant of outsiders.  Couples feel closer and look happier when they’re sharing nostalgic memories.  On cold days, or in cold rooms, people use nostalgia to literally feel warmer.”

When I see my Kate and Andy, now grown-up, leading interesting, happy lives, I can’t help but smile.  It feels so good to see them together, with our family, and remember all the adventures we’ve shared through the many years.  That’s nostalgia...the good part.  I remember our family riding camels in Egypt when Kate turned 13, and she got the crazy idea to dye her hair red for Christmas.  She didn’t realize she’d used permanent hair color!   And nine year old Andy chose to ride a horse instead of the tall, spitting camel, out to the pyramids.  His was a run-away horse which took off into the desert with Andy holding on for dear life.  Passing us in the Arabian dessert were horsemen with flowing robes on galloping steeds heading out to colorful Ramadan tents erected in the vast desert.  

Since Dave was an airline pilot, we were able to fly to whatever destinationsTWA or American Airlines flew.   In Belgium, they loved the Brussels bird market, and Andy was fascinated by the statue of the little boy, “the Pisser”.  Kate devoured Brussels’  favorite waffle fries dripping with mayonnaise.  

Nostalgia comes from the Greek nostos meaning homecoming and aigo meaning ache or pain.  Current researchers studying nostalgia have discovered that it’s a global experience which can be used to enrich the present.   Topics are reminiscences about friends and family members, holidays, weddings, songs, sunsets, lakes.  There’s a Twitter chat every Sunday night at 10EST called #nostalgiachat, which talks about summer camp to favorite toys to old tech. Nostalgia is the mental equivalent of comfort food, soothing in times of stress, usually making us feel better.

It’s not just reliving the past, but thinking about how those events affect us today.  Music may bring on nostalgia, the scent of a certain perfume or the smell of chocolate chip cookies just like Mom baked.  You may recall romantic hayrides or sitting around a campfire.  Certain places may have you reeling in memories of good times.  Strolls down the memory lane of your mind may not always be entirely pleasant, but overall the benefits outweigh the negatives. 851 words

NEW WRITERS' CIRCLE FALL CLASS: "A CREATIVE WRITING THINK TANK"

• NEW WRITERS’ CIRCLE  FALL CLASS       
   “A CREATIVE WRITING THINK TANK“
  
  
  “You can’t know where this writing will go.  All you can do is follow this strange impetus to see the world from your character’s eyes...”Tine L. Lee
  
  
  Through exercises, readings and discussion, this class will teach you practical tools and techniques to get what you know and what you want to say into a story, essay or memoir that you can feel good about.  We’ll SPARK ideas, PUNCH & POLISH your imagination and PREPARE your work for publication.  Future classes will expand this knowledge.
  
  
  You’ll create characters and scenes so real, you’ll be compelled to write so readers can’t wait to turn the page to see what happens next.  EMBELLISHMENT can add spice to your words.
  Zoe Whitten, writer of dark and weird fiction: “Creative writing excels in relieving stress.  After all...you can kill everyone who has ever p***ed you off, and you’ll feel zero guilt...”
  
  
  This THINK TANK class will also help you know WHEN TO QUIT REVISING, a major dilemma for many of us writers.
  “You can revise the life out of something so much that the spark of your original inspiration disappears.”  Esther Porter
  
  
  PAT SPILSETH will host a 4 week “THINK TANK” class 
  *Wednesdays, Sept. 18, 25, Oct.2 & 9
  *2 hour classes with discussion, 1-3PM Wednesdays
  • location: 3233 Casco Circle, Wayzata, MN 55391
  • fee: $95 to Pat Spilseth at above address
  • RSVP by Sept. 7 PLEASE