Final day of Høstfest. Yesterday the place was packed, meaning that the most efficient way to get from one location to another was to put on a jacket (or a cloak) and go around the outside (the weather’s chilly in Minot. This morning I had to scrape frost off my car windows). Especially if you’re wearing edged weapons, making you likely to poke people as you thread your way through the crowded walkways.

Today looks to be even more of a madhouse. The rumor is that Sissel’s two concerts today (apparently she is coming) failed to sell out, so the festival donated free tickets to personnel at the Air Force base. That means that today, when it’s a weekend too, ought to resemble the Black Hole of Calcutta around here. Assuming the occupants of the Black Hole had been wearing Norwegian sweaters and ten gallon hats, and burping rømmegrøt.

My batting average against Ragnar has sagged. As I had suspected, my winning season had been largely due to his suffering a flare-up of his arthritis. Now, he tells me, he’s feeling better, and I’m spending more time on my back in the sand.

During our final bout of the day, we are always serenaded by the Oak Ridge Boys, who are doing two shows a day just around the corner. For the rest of my life I expect I’ll associate “Elvira” with the weight of a mail shirt on my back and lecturing a crowd on the fine points of the holmgang duel.

I went to check out my seat for the concert, and it’s a much better one than the one I had the last time. High in the upper deck and to the side, but quite close to the stage. Very good. 1:00 this afternoon is the big hour.

Now if I just don’t die or sustain an injury requiring emergency medical attention in my morning duel.