A Tradition Resumes

Sausage pressing in 1992. The kids take turns at the crank.  An older cousin is handling the sausage as it is extruded from the press.

It has been discouraging to see the social disruption around us, the breakdown of norms, maybe a result of covid, but probably other forces as well.  These ebbs and flows of how humans manage themselves are part of a longer-term story.  Our individual experiences are part of a much smaller one, usually within a family with children, parents, and grandparents.

Some years ago, my dad sent me an article titled “The Stories That Bind Us.”  It was interesting, but I took away only part of the message, which was that those children who had an awareness of their family history, by way of family stories, did better when they were released into the wild, er, I mean, into the world.  The ups and downs, the achievements and setbacks, the triumphs and failures of older family members, became part of a narrative that demonstrated the arbitrariness of life events, and the pluck, resolve, and dedication of those family members to overcome such setbacks.

It’s a fascinating article, but I had forgotten some of the recommendations it made.  I am always wary of correlations between some behavior and some outcome, say “people who do X, live longer than those who don’t”, where X can be anything, like “read a novel every week” or “be an amateur radio operator”.  Somehow, I just don’t buy that if I read more fiction, or took up ham radio as a hobby, I would live longer as a result.

But in this case, there was an assessment tool, twenty questions, and there was a suggestion that family traditions contribute to the resilience we seek for our children.  Traditions, even hokey ones, seem to instill a sense of stability and foundation in our kids.

So I was extremely pleased to host a “sausage-making party” shortly after Thanksgiving with Poldi’s and my combined families, this year including grandchildren!  The last time we made sausage was seven years ago.  Then Covid and other factors interfered.

This is a tradition that goes back many years in my family.  My Swedish grandmother would anticipate the upcoming Christmas dinner she prepared every year, and make sure that she had a supply of Swedish sausage at hand.  After all, her father would expect it to be on the plate right next to the lutefisk!

So she organized a sausage-making event every year, inviting her children and their families to participate, luring them with a delicious meal when the work was done.  The sausage-making work itself required a coordination of tasks:  the sausage casings (pig or cow intestines) needed to be rinsed and cleaned of their salt packing; the spices that provided the flavor, however minuscule, had to be measured and blended; the filler ingredients, potatoes, celery, and onions, had to be peeled, sliced, and chopped.  And it all had to be blended into a mix of ground meat, usually pork and beef.  There was a lot of labor involved in this project.

The climax of the event was when the ground meat, spices, and vegetables, mixed by the hands of grandchildren willing to get them messy, was placed in the sausage press, a large cast-iron cylinder with a giant crank and mechanical gears that drove a piston plate.

At this point, some finesse was involved.  The casings were carefully applied and mounted onto the nozzle of the machine.  And then the piston was cranked down into the press cylinder to force the meat through the nozzle into the casing.  Two people were required for this task.  A delicate balance of piston pressure and casing management was needed to make a proper sausage!

Most children don’t particularly care about the intestine casings (which involves touching them), but they all seem to enjoy turning the crank.  So it is a frequent scene where the kids are taking turns at the crank, while a few adults are preparing the casings and pulling the sausages as the press squeezes the meat into them.

And this year, as we resumed this tradition, was no different.  Kids being squeamish about guts, but curious about meat, is just exactly the thing that might make a mark in their memories.  

I look forward to future sausage-making parties and the involvement of my grandchildren.  Maybe it will contribute to their sense of family, that we are all part of their team, and give them confidence as they navigate their world.  If so, I am happy to provide the hokey tradition that does it.

Dads and uncles supervise the sausage pressing as the next generation is introduced to this long-standing family tradition.
 
My grandmother’s notes after making sausage in 1981. This is about as close as I expect to get to an authentic recipe for traditional Swedish sausage. It includes the quantities we used, how much we made, and the price per pound of our output. It does not include the full attendee list– a departure from her usual style– but does indicate how much sausage went to my uncle Bob, and to me. The remainder went to “we”, the hosts of the party, Ted and Grace Olson, my Scandinavian grandparents.

A New Host for Thor’s Life Notes

I started this blog when I retired in 2019, just before COVID.  It was an activity that occupied me during those months of quarantine and allowed me to share my interests and projects.  I was, and still am, ignorant of blogging technology.  Yes, I have, in my career, written code for the world of web pages and browser-based applications, but every time I did so, I wondered, “How could this ever work?”  It struck me as a house of cards, with fragile links and unreliable and inconsistent page renderings.  

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Eyewitness to Climate Change

A hiking group finds its way across Grinnell Glacier in 1970.

Most people now acknowledge that the climate has changed, even if they don’t agree on the reasons for it.  Some of us are old enough to have seen the change firsthand.

As a teenager in 1970, I went on a hike with my family in Glacier National Park, a six-mile and 2000 foot climb to Grinnell Glacier.  It was a thrilling experience to be hiking in the mountains, and then to actually walk out onto a real glacier!  Both mountains and glaciers were things I had read about, but never personally experienced. 

It was a ranger-led hike, and I learned a lot from the ranger’s descriptions of the geology, the plant and animal life, and the nature of glaciers, for which this park was named.  I remember him telling us that the glaciers were shrinking.  Nobody knew why, but it was possible that in a century they would all be gone.  The park would still be called “Glacier”, but for the characteristic and beautiful glacier-cut valleys, not for the presence of glaciers themselves.

I have since had the opportunity to visit a few other glaciers including Sperry Glacier, also in Glacier Park, and the Athabasca Glacier, part of the Columbia Ice Fields of Banff National Park in Alberta Canada.  Of course, whenever I have made these excursions, I have taken pictures, which have remained sequestered away in old photo albums or shoeboxes.

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Field Trip: Harvard Biology Labs

A panorama of Harvard’s Biology Laboratories building, distorted by the wide angle view (click to enlarge, then click again to see animal frieze details).

I wrote earlier about the unique entrance to Harvard’s Biological Laboratories building, which today is home to the Department of Molecular and Cellular Biology.  My grandfather, who studied in the then state-of-the-art laboratories shortly after being built in 1931, had taken a photograph in the entry of the building.  I found it to be a beautiful image that captured the novel decorations on the doors and their shadows cast onto the marble floor.  I wanted to see and experience this space.

The opportunity presented itself when Poldi’s “Italian sister” Rossella decided to visit while Poldi was in New York– she also expressed interest in seeing Boston, a few hours away.  I invited myself to join their mini-fall tour of New England and they humored me by helping locate the Biology Labs building on the Harvard campus.  It was as distinctive as I had imagined.

The exterior of the building is adorned with animal friezes designed by Katherine Lane Weems, pneumatically carved into the crest of the brick façade.  It is a large building and the animals overhead command your attention until you notice the life-sized rhinoceroses at ground level, also created by the young artist, and which have become mascots (“Victoria” and “Bessie”) for the Harvard biology community. 

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One Cup of Coffee

I recall visiting my grandmother and noticing a large coffee cup that stood apart from the rest. I learned that this was a cup that was reserved for use by her father (my great-grandfather) when he came by to visit each week. She would make coffee and they would update each other on family news.

My great-grandfather was an immigrant from Sweden with a strong work ethic and a clear set of moral principles. Among them was that one shouldn’t live to excess, so he allowed himself only a single cup of coffee. With this restriction, a normal cup of coffee wouldn’t last long enough to be done visiting his daughter. She solved this by obtaining a very large cup for him to use whenever he stopped by.

Evidently, this story was so good that Poldi remembered me telling it to her years ago when I inherited that heirloom. When she encountered a similarly sized cup with my sunflower “totem”, she acquired it and presented it to me as a birthday gift. Well, I don’t have the same restriction for coffee consumption, but I will now be able to say that I had only one cup of coffee in the morning.

Late Life Love– continued

Inside the Wirth Picnic Pavilion with friends and family

Six months ago I posted an item that described my transformation from being a marriage skeptic to being a proponent, while my partner had experienced the reverse conversion.

Regardless of any marriage decision, we made plans to host an anniversary party. Ten years had passed since our “(happily ever) After Party” and our commitment ceremony, and we thought it would be fun to have everyone back to celebrate life, love, and a decade of wonderful experiences, with our family and friends.

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Trivia du Annuel

A sample question at a New Year’s party trivia station

In an earlier life I hosted an annual New Year’s Eve party.  It had the usual party elements: holiday decorations, elaborate food, and refreshing beverages.  It also featured a trivia game, something that started as a simple mixer to help our eclectic set of friends from the different avenues of our life to meet and engage, with the intent of adding to the good will and good cheer of the evening.

We created a series of “stations” throughout the house, each with a set of questions.  Our guests were organized in teams of two and they would do their best to answer them.  The questions were selected and designed to fall in the category of “common knowledge” and “things everyone should know”. It was surprising how many we don’t, and the newly formed duos would try their best to compete for the “fabulous prizes” (usually a trophy coffee mug) presented to the team that got the most right.

The annual trivia game was often described as a frustrating or humbling experience, but as embarrassing as it might have been to our guests when they could not answer our simple questions, they kept coming back each year.  Perhaps they thought that next year they would be partnered with someone who would actually know the figures featured on each bill of US currency, or the numbering convention behind the interstate highway system, or the counties that make up the metropolitan mosquito control district.  I eventually learned that everyone wanted to partner with my friend Rich, who may not be up on the latest trends, but seemed to know the other questions on topics we all learned in grade school but somehow forgot.

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16mm Home Movies from Mid-20th Century

As I mentioned in an earlier blog entry, I inherited a collection of 16mm movies made by my two grandfathers, each an enthusiastic amateur and early adopter of photo technology.  I have been struggling with their fate, as they consume a not-inconsiderable amount of space in my archives.  Space that could be used to store other useless artifacts.

They have now been (mostly) digitized. And one can find them summarized at this page.

I have great difficulty getting rid of things.  As someone who respects the historical path that brought us to our current time, place, and relations, it is hard to discard mementos, especially (for me) photographs that captured moments along that path.  As a scientist, I am loathe to delete “data”, that might someday be valuable.

I have to acknowledge the slim likelihood of such artifacts becoming valuable.  I hold no conceit that some biographer will ever be looking for scraps and clues identifying the influences on my own childhood.  I like to think that my contributions to society have been positive, but probably not worth much more than an oblique reference in an obituary (“he was a curious man”).  But maybe there were things in those movies that would be of interest to someone else. I didn’t know how to find that audience.

So the movies, spooled on metal reels of various sizes, lay dormant for years.  When I wondered about their ultimate fate, I realized that eventually, they would have NO meaning to anyone, even if it were possible to view them.  If there was any value to be extracted, it would have to be now, by me. 

I described that initial effort in the previous post on this topic.  Here is what has happened since.

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Late Life Love

Ten years ago, after a year of renovation kicked off by a housewarming “Before Party”, we hosted an “After Party”, which became the “(Happily Ever) After Party”.  We pledged our devotion to each other and were declared, by virtue of superpowers claimed by the MC, to be “well and truly united”.    

In the ten years since, we have recognized how well-matched we truly are: emotionally, intellectually, physically.  We have had marvelous adventures, and we have nurtured and watched our families grow while sharing in the losses of our elders.  We recognize in each other the love of our life.

I once encountered a story about a 90-year-old man who filed for divorce from his life-long spouse.  The clerk at the courthouse asked, “why after all these years would you file for divorce NOW?”  His answer:  “I don’t want to die married to that awful woman!” 

And I suddenly realized that I did not want to die NOT married to this wonderful woman!

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