An Ode to the Norwegian in my Messy Monkey Blood:

I was just laying in bed thinking about how cool my grandparents are.

At 77 they went white-water rafting (not so to my grandma’s liking), but “she’s norwegian! She can handle it!”. If that didn’t give it away already, yes, my grandparents are luthern norwegians from rural Minnesota.

The rafting trip happened right before my brother’s wedding, which was on top of Whister Mountain in British Columbia, Canada. It was incredible, & incredibly freezing! My uncle, the pastor, sped through the service, as we all shivered together on a September 1^st cold, crisp, early fall day; formal attire covered by newly bought WHISTLER MOUNTAIN fleeces everyone purchased at the summit sourvenir shop. We had all taken the gondolas up, where we then hiked over to the wedding site. The bride & groom had, however, arranged a horse & buggy for grandparents & others who might prefer a lift.

Apres ceremony, all of us from the bridal party, grandparents, & mothers all hopped aboard. The horses were struggling to make it up the hill (either that, or the driver didn’t a clue what he was doing). Regardless, a few volunteered to get off the buggy to make it a little easier. The second time around, it was still a no-go. All of us but the grandparents, mothers & aunts got off to walk instead, & give them a lighter load. The third time around, with only the most precious people in cargo, the buggy tipped over on it’s side, & began to slide down the hill. The driver was pinned down to the ground with a broken leg, pulling on the horses’ reigns & screaming with all his might.

I ran like the speed of light in my heels, boquet, & long, formal-wear to find everyone ok, just piled on top of each other. My mother spent the dinner & dancing portion of the wedding with an ice-pack on her knee. My grandmother looked shell-shocked, but of course couldn’t say anything, because Why? “She’s norwegian!”…

My grandfather was the only man left in the buggy. So he said in addition to being of course fine due to his heritage, to his delight he had a pile of woman on top of him!

I’m not sure what was worse for my grandma – tipping over in the wagon, or going down the gondola. At 77, terrified of heights, I give her a big star! The gondola, for whatever reason, kept stopping. I heard she was during these times scheming to jump out onto a tree & clamber down. Uff da!

The point of the story is – what troopers they are! What risk-takers! If the “norwegian”-spirit gets them (at least my grandpa, trying very hard to convince my grandma) through, then more power to them! They are 85 now, & are still active, golfing, driving x-country…They are living life. Skol to you, Grandma/pa!