"The Woman at Yoga: and other things that have been going on the past week"

So, there was a new woman at yoga today. She reeked of left-over alcohol and beer smells. You know, how a chronic alcoholic smells after a night of drinking? Yeah, that smell. And, by the way, she wasn't exactly the smallest woman, and she had on tiny, tiny shorts (with only a very small string of fabric for the crotch).
For those of you in yoga, just image down-dog for a moment. Just imagine the sights and smells, shall we?
Unfortunately, I was stuck right behind Small Shorts Woman. For the entire hour.
Not at all conducive to ujaji breathing. Not at all.
So much for getting in the zone.
Lots to report. Lots of familial interactions these days. Last week my mother and dad were visiting for a few days. Actually, if we back up, this is how the past few weeks have gone. First, my brother and his wife stayed with us. Then, a few days later, my mom and dad stayed with us. Then they went to Minnesota. Then my mom came back to stay with us and my dad went home; meanwhile, my grandparents from Montana ALSO came to visit (though they were not houseguests) for an extended weekend. Interspersed in all of this was my sister (poor Hollie) driving back and forth from her town to ours to greet every group of people.
Good thing I like my family.
Anyway, it was really nice having everyone around since I have lots of freetime in the evenings now. I actually gave my mother chores to do while she was home during the day (at her request), and I got all my scrapbooking done out of the deal. I HATE scrapbooking. HATE it. So, to come home to a scrapbook filled with all of my random goings on for the past 10 years--without having to lift a finger--now THAT is a gift!
PS--She also made banana bread. Can't beat that either--coming home to fresh bb.
My grandparents, who are Swedish, and fantatical about this fact, came to attend the Hjemkomst Festival. This strange "h" word is a Norwegian word for "homecoming." The festival IS actually very cool. This year the focus is on Sweden. So, perfect--the Swedish grandparents arrive.
I have to say I did a lot of things with them that were unplanned and that I'd never done before. Such is life with Momo and Fafa (that's what we call them--don't make fun of it--you're just jealous you couldn't think of anything more interesting to call YOUR grandparents than Grandma and Grandpa). For example, I had my first Sons of Norway experience. Now, I love those Norwegians (I have to, my husband is one). But they do love their carbs. Here is what is on the smorgasbord at the Sons of Norway dinner (that you have to pay $10 for by the way): iceberg lettuce with a choice of six dressings (no other vegetables), stuffing, mashed potatoes, Norwegian bread, some kind of concoction with corn, pumpkin bread cake stuff, and by the way, we are represented by one meat: turkey (your choice of white or dark--they actually had them separated).
So, I am standing in line. And I am wondering what in the world is going to happen to my body when I eat all these carbs. I haven't eaten this many carbs in years--not without cancelling them out with vegetables. And iceberg lettuce isn't a vegetable. In fact, it has no nutritional value whatsoever. It is merely an excuse to eat dressing.
We thought we had to be at this shindig at 5pm. So, I leave work early in a torrential rainstorm in order to arrive on time so as to not worry my grandfather (he is a worrier). And we were supposed to get some kind of a program out of this deal.
Well, they usher us into this huge room filled with decorated tables (all, of course, in Norwegian motif complete with Rosemalling, flags, colors, etc, etc. There were lots of gnomes). And we are the only ones in the room. 25 minutes goes by. By this time, we are still the only other people in the room. Another 25 minutes. Still no people. And this entire time, we have about 10 ladies and 4 men who are constantly waiting on us hand and foot (I guess b/c no one else was there). The men were all wearing red vests. There were huge, mysterious, tall doors in the wall that looked Satanic. It was an odd atmosphere. And no one else was there.
Turns out the "program" wasn't until 7:30. So, we snuck out early. If you can call it sneaking out when you are the only people in the room.
I, of course, felt guilty. Momo, on the other hand, found this hilarious. I think she didn't have it in her to feel badly for the Norwegians.
We also went to this opening ceremonies-type banquet at one of the colleges here. It was actually really good. Afterwards, they had this pianist from Sweden named Anders Gustafsson play for everyone. And, there was also a Russian violinist. And, did I mention that both Anders and the Russian were totally and completely HOT. Of course, I am not single, but my sister is. So, I took the liberty after the concert of giving the Anders fellow her phone number. Which, I think he probably couldn't even read after she spent 20 minutes trying to steal it out of my hand and thereby demolishing it.
For instance, it at first read "Hollie 741.5431 Love you!"
By the time she had ripped it up, sweated on it, smeared it around, it probably said something like, "Hlsd 7015308341 Lick me."
Who knows, maybe that would entice him more.
Anyway, he was really hot. And he played the piano upside down. Meaning, he lay upside down on the piano bench and played the keys over the top of his head. It was cool. And it takes a lot to impress a music snob like me.
I did not have the pleasure of going to the day-time festival activities around town, but my sister did. She accompanied my mom, Momo, and Fafa. And, I guess that Momo was so out-to-lunch, so to speak, that she almost was run over five or six times. No awareness of traffic.
Mind you, this is not because she is old. It is because she is The Momo. And that is part of what being the momo is all about.
As is giggling. Which she does in excess. And which is where I probably get it. And on the way home from the Hot Anders Banquet, the entire car-load of people dissolved into a fit of laughing into crying into wheezing, and I, who was driving the car, was completely paralyzed to the point of not being able to drive. So, I just kind of rolled to a stop in the middle of the street. I have no idea what we were laughing about (probably nothing), and no idea if there were other cars around. I had one focus: do not pee on Momo's car seat. Do NOT pee on Momo's car seat. Do not PEE on Momo's car seat.
The final day of the festival they did the Maypole ceremonies and other such Swedish things. I guess there was a comedy act also, and Momo and Fafa managed to become part of the act (they have a way of drawing attention to themselves without even trying).
One really neat thing we did was go through a bunch of old pictures and geneology that Momo and Fafa had brought along. There were some cool people in our family. For instance, back in the early 1900's, I had a great, great uncle named Thornhild (yes) who was an Olympic runner in the Stockholm 1912 Olympics where he broke all kinds of records. I will try to remember to post pictures next time.
Anyway, it was really cool that my Swedish grandparents had the opportunity to come visit me and go to the festival.
Billy and I also had some hang time with just my mother. And, I can't believe this, but we all went out for martini's.
Yes, Hollie, mom drank her first martini ever. I could hardly believe it myself. She got one called Summer Solstice (appropriate as always), I had one called The Dirty Girlscout, and Billy had his Classic. We went to Monte's and had a glorious time.
And yes, mom LIKED her martini.
And now, hell has frozen over.