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The Vikings of Hastings

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Big weekend. I saw new (old) things, did my Viking shtick, sold books, and exerted myself more than I’m used to these days. Probably good for me, but it made me thoughtful too.

I’m embarrassed, as a native of southeastern Minnesota, to have had to learn this, but there’s a pretty neat museum in the town of Hastings that I’d never heard of before. It’s called the Little Log House Pioneer Village, and one assumes it started modestly and just grew. It features a large collection of historical buildings, from pioneer cabins to hotels and post offices and gas stations. Some of the stuff goes back only to my childhood, but that’s a long time, after all.

The picture above shows you where we were camped (and by our camp, I mean my tent and awning). Looking up the street you can see just a little of the collection of buildings at the museum. The white building dominating the left-hand side is the town hall from Nininger, Minnesota, a storied place in Minnesota history. It was a utopian community, which Ignatius Donnelly (a radical Republican who eventually become a Populist) promoted as a model community of the future. The crash of 1857 doomed it, leaving Donnelly bankrupt.

Donnelly, a Philadelphia native, was Lieutenant Governor of Minnesota from 1860-1863, and also a congressman and a state representative. He ran for Vice President on the People’s Party ticket in 1900. His greatest fame, though, was as a writer, a forerunner to today’s pseudoscience cranks. This was a man born for the cable channels. His book on Atlantis: The Antidiluvian World is still being reprinted, and continues to be studied by ancient mystery geeks. He also wrote a book about the Great Flood, and championed Francis Bacon as the author of Shakespeare’s plays. In addition, he was a pioneer of Science Fiction, writing a future dystopia novel called Caesar’s Column that was a big success in its time.

The Little Log House Museum hosts an Antique Power Show (steam engines, tractors and classic vehicles) every year. I’m told the place is generally packed for the event. They skipped it last year, of course. And the public seems to still be cautious – our crowds this year were only fair. Still, I sold a moderate quantity of books, and had some pleasant interactions with my species in fairly pleasant weather. It was hot, but I enjoyed fair shade under my awning (better the second day, when we moved my tent onto the east-west tree line). This was not my usual group of Vikings, but a couple of the younger members plus a group of very young new recruits. This made me, perforce, the village elder, and occasional dispenser of dad jokes. I let them have the combat shows all to themselves, but lent some of them arms and armor.

These days I feel my age more every time I do one of these events, but in fact I felt less tired the second day than I expected, and I feel less wiped out today than I also expected. My main concern right now is carrying stuff up and down my basement steps, because there’s no room to store my Viking things on the main floor of my house – and let me tell you, Viking things are heavy (as are books). I need to think about cutting back – not on the events I attend, but on the impedimenta I bring along. I expect I’m going to have to downsize my operation to a plain book table in time.

I was happy, through the good efforts of my printer, Elroy Vesta of EJ Enterprises, Fergus Falls, MN, to have the new paper edition of The Year of the Warrior available to hand sell. I meant to get my picture taken with it in costume this weekend, but it slipped my mind. Here’s a more modest picture.

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Notes noted during a break in translation

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Today is one of my industrious days. A little translation work came in. Proofreading, actually, which is fairly easy and I believe I do it well. It doesn’t pay much because it goes fast and this employer pays by the hour. But it’s income. And not devoid of fun.

The project – which I won’t give you a hint about, not even the format – is one we’ve been working on, off and on, for years now. I recall remembering it recently, and thinking, “Well, that one must have died in production.” But here it is again.

The wheels of cinema grind slowly.

Not long ago I saw a news item that announced they were starting production on the very first project I ever worked on. I’d long written it off as a sad casualty – I’d really liked it and wanted to see it made. And behold, it’s getting done, at last.

Makes me feel better about the rate my novels are coming out.

I expect I’ll be able to post something tomorrow, but if I don’t show up, remember I’ll be at the Little Log House Antique Power event in Hastings, Minnesota on Saturday and Sunday. God willing.

Music, Uncategorized

‘Aura Lea’

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Another week has been transferred to history’s OUT box. On balance, it won’t be remembered by future biographers as one of my better ones. But it could have been worse.

No word about the car, of course. I keep hoping the July 30 date they gave me for part delivery was only a worst-case scenario, but we live in a fallen world. (In the Garden of Eden, I’m sure, car parts always arrived on time.)

Then there was my struggle to find a new lawn guy, which I chronicled yesterday. I’ve determined to leave the final decision until Monday, because I still want to talk to the guy who put a flyer up at my church. But if he doesn’t show this weekend, I’ll go with one of the Home Advisor sharks.

Had a couple plumbers over today, to look at my water heater, which has been making disquieting banging noises. The diagnosis? Sludge build-up – no doubt due to the high mineral content of our local water. Recommendation: new water heater. Which my home warranty program should pay for, but there will be the deductible. I expect that will be in addition to the deductible I already paid for the plumber’s visit today.

What else? I just put a package in the mail to Sweden. There’s a company (I won’t say its name) that advertises Viking accouterments on Jackson Crawford’s YouTube channel. I sent away to them for a linen tunic, because I wanted a new under-tunic (the ones I’ve been wearing are getting threadbare). I ordered XXL, and got it, and it was too small. So I ordered a XXXL, and that was too small too.

I mean no offense to Swedes when I say that their definition of “large” is somewhat different from mine. And I’m well aware that Americans in general, and I in particular, are way too fat. Which is too bad, because it seems to be well-made product.

But the fact remains that these shirts aren’t suited to a large segment of the American market. To add injury to ignorance, the return postage cost almost what one of the shirts cost me.

Little shocks to the bank account; they add up. But those are the terms of my life these days – the Lord provides. And sometimes I need to make small economies.

On the plus side, I’ve made substantial progress on King of Rogaland. I feel at this point that I’m beginning to get a handle on the project. In fact, I think this could be the best book I’ve ever written. I think I’m a better artist than I was 45 years ago, which ought to be expected, or I’m doing something wrong.

The song in the video above is “Aura Lee,” an American piece sometimes attributed (wrongly) to Stephen Foster. The lyrics were in fact written by the American poet W. W. Fosdick, who died in 1862, aged 37. The melody was by an English immigrant, George R. Poulton, who died in 1867, aged 38 (according to Wikipedia, he was tarred and feathered in 1864 for having an affair with a young student).

The song was published in 1861, and became tremendously popular with soldiers on both sides of the Civil War. One can understand why. I’ve always loved it. Elvis Presley used the melody for his song “Love Me Tender,” but I prefer the original. This rendition is done in period style by the 97th Regimental String Band.

May sunshine come along with your weekend, and swallows in the air.

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Wanting mower

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Photo credit: Daniel Watson @danielwatsondesign. Unsplash License.

What did I worry about before I owned a house? I’m sure there were issues, but that was in another time and another place…

Anyway, right now my concern is lawn mowing. I gave up doing it myself when my hips went bad; I’ve officially declared lawn mowing A Thing I’m Too Old to Do, like climbing ladders and enlisting in the Navy Seals.

I used to have a guy. A cheerful fellow who may not have been the best, but didn’t charge a lot. Last year, I noticed, he came around less and less often. And sometimes I had to call him and ask whether he was still in business. Then this year, he showed up and told me that from now on he wanted to be paid in cash.

I didn’t like the sound of that. The next time he came, I paid him with a check and told him I needed to do it that way, for my tax records. Which is true.

He has not shown up since. So I started looking for a new guy. I called one guy who put up a flyer at my church, but so far he hasn’t had time to come and look around. Which doesn’t bode well.

Then I did an inquiry through Home Advisor. And now I do not lack for applicants. I’ve had several calls today. Oddly enough, they all make pretty much the same pitch, and ask pretty much the same price. (I suspect they collude, like a cartel.) So I guess I could just pick one.

My problem now is, I don’t want to hire any of them.

I said their proposals were similar. Another similarity is their salesmanship. They try to keep me on the line until they can wear me down. They try to hold me hostage till they can close that deal.

I am well-known to be a pushover. I’m easily bullied.

But one thing I won’t do, is say “yes” when I’m not ready. If one of these guys had just said, “Here’s what I’m offering – think it over and get back to me,” I’d be his huckleberry.

I’ll probably end up hiring the one I hated least.

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Do Your Light Bulbs Last as Long They Should?

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I haven’t written down any dates, but for the last ten years or so with all the push to stop using incandescent bulbs, I’ve purchased several CFLs that did not last as long as I thought they should. Has that been your experience as well?

I remember touring an energy-saving model home at a museum in Georgia and the guide saying CFLs were super longlasting. The Internet is saying they could last five to ten times longer than incandescent blubs. My wife almost derailed the guide by asking if their long life relied on leaving them on most of the time. Our CFLs have burned out just as quickly, if not more quickly, than regular bulbs, and maybe that’s because we turn off the lights when we leave the room, like our fathers taught us to do. (We’re not lighting the whole neighborhood, are we?)

As I type, it occurs to me the lights in this room have been in place for a very long time, at least long enough for me to forget when I put them in. They’re probably LEDs.

We wrote last year about the number of filaments Edison actually tested, because folklore has run away with that number. Today, I offer you a video that shows a light bulb that has been burning since 1901 and the story of a group of businessmen who conspired to keep light bulbs from becoming nigh-perfect.

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The Frustrating Universe, and other complaints

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Romans 8:20 says that God has subjected the universe to futility. And sometimes I try to game that futility. I dare the universe to frustrate me in a small way, so to speak, in order to sidestep some greater frustration.

As best I can recall, this never works. But it doesn’t stop me trying.

Case in point, my car, which remains immobile in the transmission shop lot, awaiting shifter cables. These cables are Chrysler products, and come from China. Apparently the two big Cs, China and Chrysler, are not playing well just now. Which is why I haven’t had my car for a full month.

The last time I’d called the shop about it, they said the latest delivery date they’d gotten from the dealer was July 7.

So, when an opportunity to drive down to Faribault and have lunch with some high school friends on the 7th showed up, I thought, “Ah ha! I shall agree to this appointment, which will give the Frustrating Universe the opportunity to have the shop people call me that day to say the parts have come in. And I won’t be able to pick the car up right away. Perhaps that’s enough inconvenience to tempt the universe’s Frustration Protocols!” So I drove down to Faribault in the loaner (a Honda Civic) today, and waited for the call.

No call. I called the shop after I got home and they told me the dealer is now saying maybe July 30.

I think the Frustrating Universe saw through my ruse, and took its revenge.

In any case, I had a nice lunch. We ate at a place called the Depot in Faribault; it’s the old Rock Island Railroad depot, converted into a popular bar and grill. (I expect my grandfather knew the place, though he worked for the Milwaukee Road.) I’d never been there before. My hamburger was excellent.

I have to admit I wasn’t entirely sure who everybody was. We’ve all changed beyond recognition since the 1960s. But we had plenty of Old Geezer Stuff to discuss. Aches, pains, operations, diagnoses, enforced diets. I came away actually feeling pretty healthy, if you grade on the curve. At least I haven’t had a stroke or a heart attack yet. (Is saying that a challenge to the Frustrating Universe?)

I shared with them a scene I’d just written for the new Erling novel. Old Steinulf (you may recall him from the earlier books) fights a young guy and kills him, but ends up on his back in the grass. He says, “Can somebody give me a hand up? When you’re old, it’s a lot easier to kill a man then to get up from the ground.”

Everyone understood.

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Declaration of Codependence

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1976 US Commemorative stamp

Thoughts sparked by Independence Day, and the noises thereabout:

Imagine you knew a man who never quit picking on his wife. Whenever you’re with them, he’s criticizing her. Telling her to stand up straight; you could lose a little weight; why don’t you take a cooking class; what do you do all day – the house is a mess! Constantly compares her to other women – why can’t you be like Sally? Or Phyllis? Or Amy? “You know, the fact is, my wife isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

So you take him aside and say, “Buddy, you’ve got to lighten up on your wife. You’re killing her spirit. You need to show her some love.”

And he’s offended. “What do you mean, I need to show her love! I love her to death! Everything I do and say is for her! I’m just trying to improve her!”

Would you consider that guy a good husband? Would you admire his love for his wife?

Of course not. He’s an abuser. An emotional abuser certainly, and very possibly a physical abuser too.

As I’ve mentioned (probably too often), I have some personal experience with an abuser. I’ve learned some sure marks of domestic abuse:

Abusers proclaim their love in principle – they’re offended if you question their love. “I love this person more than anybody else in the world. That’s why I have to be so hard on them. To help them be better.”

The Abuser will go on to explain that he would love to be nicer to the Victim. He dreams of being nicer to the Victim. But the Victim is so perverse, so uniquely stupid and evil, that he’s not able to go that way. The peculiar difficulty of the situation requires unusual, severe discipline. Purely for the Victim’s own good, you understand.

It seems to me this kind of behavior is apparent in the world of citizenship too.

There are people out there – lots of them, and some of them enjoy a lot of power – who say, “Well, yes, I never speak of the United States without criticism. I emphasize America’s faults, failures, and sins, and gloss over its virtues and achievements. I never compare it to other countries except unfavorably. But that’s because this wicked, vile, racist, oppressive country (which I love) has always covered up its sins in the past. If we don’t bring those sins out into the open now – put them in the spotlight, rub everyone’s face in them – we can’t do justice to history.

“I love America so much that I will show my love for it by condemning it, beating it up, throwing excrement on it. If I were to compromise and give America a moment’s affirmation, the whole project of Fundamental Transformation would fail. Because up until I showed up, nobody ever knew or taught anything about slavery.

“After all, that’s how you demonstrate love, by helping the loved one improve. By constantly denigrating them. My abuse proves my love for this vile, wicked country. Which I love so much.”

Does this analogy mean that all liberals are abusers? Not at all. There’s another category – Enablers.

Enablers disagree (quietly) with the Abusers, but haven’t the nerve to stand up to them. Because then the Abuse might fall on them. Better to let the abuse continue, and keep the peace. If you just appease the Abuser, maybe he’ll be satisfied and settle down. It’s not that big a deal.

Appeasement has always worked in the past, after all.

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Whose Fourth of July?

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Professor Glenn Loury of Brown University writes about the ‘American Project’ and black Americans in this essay from earlier this year.

When we talk about race and American citizenship, we must ask whether the currently fashionable standoffishness characteristic of much elite thinking about blacks’ relationship to the “American project” — as exemplified, for example, by the New York Times’ 1619 Project — truly serves the interests, rightly understood, of black Americans. I think not. Indeed, I think a case can be made for unabashed black patriotism, for a forthright embrace of American nationalism by black people. The “America ain’t all it’s cracked-up to be” posture that one hears so much of these days is, in my view, a sophomoric indulgence for blacks at this late date. In fact, our birthright citizenship in what is arguably history’s greatest republic is an inheritance of immense value.

He makes these four points, which you can read on 1176unites.com.

  1. The founding of the United States (1776) was vastly more significant for world history than the first arrival in America of African slaves (1619).
  2. The Civil War has a significant freedom legacy.
  3. Black Americans have been transformed and marvelously transformed themselves in the 20th century.
  4. Consider what achieving “true equality” for black Americans actually entails, an immeasurable amount of work.
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Amazon Prime video review: ‘Bosch, season 7’

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All good things must end, and Season 7, we are told, is the final series of Bosch, a superior adaptation of the bestselling novels by Michael Connelly. I just finished the last episode.

Los Angeles police detective Harry Bosch has a motto: “Everybody counts or nobody counts.” This leads him to go the extra mile for the forgotten victims – the poor, the marginalized, the powerless.

In this adventure, Harry pursues a gang lord who ordered an apartment house firebombed, to send a message. In the ensuing fire, innocent people died, including a ten-year-old girl. Bosch is ordered to back off. His superiors tell him it’s for the greater good, but Bosch isn’t buying it.

Meanwhile, his partner, Jerry Edgar, is off his game, overwhelmed with guilt because of an act he committed last season. And Lt. Billets, their boss, is fighting sexual harassment from some of her subordinates.

It’s hard to find fault with the production. The writing is top-notch, though heavily adapted from the original stories due to a major time shift to the present. Everyone who has read the books is aware of the character changes that were made – certain characters altering not only their races, but their whole personalities. One of those, however, Commissioner Irving, swerves back closer to his literary roots this season.

So it’s really good, and gets my coveted approval. My problems with it are purely in the realm of my opinions, and do not necessarily resemble the opinions of real people, living or dead. WARNING: The following paragraphs include minor spoilers.

Bosch’s daughter Maddie expresses interest in becoming a cop. This is a common thing in cop shows nowadays (I was especially disappointed at the end of Longmire, when Walt suggests that his daughter Cady run for sheriff. This was obvious pandering to the feminists, as Cady had up to that point showed no aptitude for, or interest in, law enforcement. Quite the opposite). I honestly can’t recall whether Maddie Bosch becomes a cop in the books or not. She might have (at least she’d get some training before hitting the mean streets). I’m a fossil, I know. I still think it’s wrong to hit a woman, and (by extension) wrong to put a woman in harm’s way. And I plan to hang on to that opinion until they send me to the reeducation camp.

Also, although I admire Bosch’s principles, I wonder about the real-world consequences of his lone wolf actions. It seems to me there are always tradeoffs when you’re dealing with life or death. I’m not sure Bosch’s principled actions in this series might not cost more lives in the long run than compromise would. And is this the first time Harry has seen this kind of deal made? Never made one himself? Why dig his heels in now and not before? Has he just had his fill of compromise at last?

However that may be, Bosch is a superior cop series, and I do recommend it highly. Cautions for pretty much everything.

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‘Sigurd Jorsalfar’

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It was a beautiful day today in Minneapolis. Not too hot, and we had some afternoon showers, which makes three days in a row with rain. We needed the rain.

I also need my car back, but that’s not happened yet. Tomorrow is the day they said they’d get the cables; but I’ve already known so much disappointment in that regard that I’ve kind of resigned myself to a life of perpetual longing and disappointment, not unlike my erstwhile dreams of marriage.

So I’m giving you the music above – a piece from Grieg that I’m quite fond of. Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson wrote a play called “Sigurd Jorsalfar” about King Sigurd the Crusader of Norway. Edvard Grieg wrote the incidental music. This is the most famous of those pieces, the “Tribute March.” I seem to recall Garrison Keillor was fond of using it for parody purposes.

Sigurd is one of the most renowned kings in Norwegian history. He was remembered not only for leading a crusade to the Holy Land (he was the first European king to lead a crusade), but for being part of the last relatively peaceful reign in Norway in the Middle Ages.

The ancient laws of Norway made all of a king’s sons – legitimate or not – eligible for the crown. In Sigurd’s case, he himself shared the monarchy with two brothers with no violence, outliving them both. But after him came a string of pretenders whose claims carried varying credibility. All they needed was a story that their mothers had slept with a king of Norway, and a willingness to undergo the Iron Ordeal (you read about it in The Year of the Warrior) in some form. The result was a long period of civil wars, picturesque in their bloodshed and cruelty.

At the end of his life, King Sigurd (according to the saga) began to lose his mental faculties. He shocked the country by asking the bishop of Bergen to give him a divorce from his queen, who was much beloved by the people, so he could marry a younger woman. The bishop of Bergen refused – painfully aware that the king was sometimes losing control these days, and could kill him. The king did not kill him, however, but did an end run on him by establishing a new diocese in Stavanger and installing a new bishop there, an Englishman named Reinald. Reinald was happy to do the king a favor in return for a large monetary contribution. The bishop paid for his simony in the end, however – King Harald Gille hanged him in 1135 on suspicion of withholding royal treasure.

They played hardball in old Norway.