Well, Nora, yesterday was your last cumplemes that we’re going to celebrate. From now on, it’s just once a year. We weren’t going to do much of a party this time, but in the morning your Aunt Belén called and informed me that she was bringing your grandmother and great-grandfather to see you for your 11 month birthday…and that they expected there to be hamburgers!
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The following is a document written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about a recent golfing excursion to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, USA.
On Monday Erik decided to fly to the States and join the fun known as the Myrtle Beach Classic. Betsy picked him up at the Charlotte airport Tuesday afternoon, and I fed them both tacos and Rioja when they arrived in Morganton. On Wednesday morning, Erik and Betsy went to Grace Ridge so Erik could visit with his Grandfather, and a little before noon on Wednesday, Erik and I climbed into the well-loaded van and headed for Myrtle Beach. On the way, we picked up Jeff in Hickory, along with his clubs, his suitcase, his guitar, his sleep machine, a case of beer, and his bongo drums. Jeff took his normal position in the van’s driver’s seat, I moved over to shotgun position, and with Erik in the back, we had a pleasant and uneventful trip to the ocean.
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According to Spanish tradition, on the night before January 6th, the same three wise men who visited Jesus when he was born fly around Spain on their three camels, land on the roofs of houses, rappel down to each balcony, break in, and leave gifts for the little girls and boys who have been good all year long. They especially make sure to fill the shoes that the little children have left out for that purpose. Does this sound at all familiar to my American audience?
I learned a lot of this last night as it was being explained to my daughter why her shoes needed to be polished. Apparently first impressions are important in this arena. So we each set out our shoes last night for the Wise Men to find and fill with goodies.
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On Christmas Eve night in the Basque Country, the homes of little children are visited by an enormous, soot-stained, Basque gentleman in a beret who drops off presents. His name is Olentzero. The history of this tradition and its variations is quite fascinating. In fact, when people give gifts on Christmas, there is much less emphasis (than in my culture) on who the gift is from. It’s just, “Here’s your Olentzero”, where the name also is slang for the gift itself. Surprising no one, Nora was the biggest recipient of gifts from the big burly Basque this year.
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For pretty much all of December my wife’s family has been pressuring us to leave Nora with them for Santo Tomás (December 22), a huge festival in their town of Mondragon involving special seasonal foods, getting dressed up in traditional Basque clothing, traditional Basque music and dancing, and a crafts and livestock market. The main reason they wanted her was to dress her up in some traditional Basque clothes. Some part of our human brain finds it incredibly adorable to dress up a small child (or chimpanzee) in clothes we associate more with adult humans.
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The following is a document written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his recent trip to visit us in December 2009.
Betsy and I had been looking forward to meeting our granddaughter in August. We would visit southern Spain, where Erik’s Spanish family vacations every summer, and meet our granddaughter then. As her birth approached, however, it seemed like too much would be missed if we didn’t see Nora before then, so in May we traveled to Colindres and stayed a week with Erik, Marga, and Nora. We had a great time, and another great time when we visited in August. In September, however, I felt uncomfortable not knowing when we would visit them again, so we made plans for a visit in May of 2010. In November, May seemed too far away, so we bought tickets for a trip to Colindres in December, returning to Morganton a week before Christmas. This time we flew from Charlotte to Atlanta to Paris, and from Paris to Bilbao. A week after arriving we would return through Paris, flying to Detroit and then Charlotte. Erik said that most if not all of his winter coats would fit me, and I might consider saving space by not bringing a coat, and that is what I did. We packed just two suit cases, one full of presents, and the other with clothes.
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At our house this year, we had Christmas morning on the evening of December 16th. This was mainly because it was the last night my parents were visiting and giving gifts is much better when you can see the look on the recipient’s face as they open their presents. Plus, the more the merrier. To begin the ceremony, my father announced the system our family has used for as long as I can remember to inform the three first-time participants, Marga, Belén, and Nora.
The youngest family member able to do so shall pull gifts from the tree one by one, announcing who each one is from and to, and deliver it to its recipient. The recipient shall thereby open the gift while everyone watches and thank the giver. Repeat until there are no more presents under the tree, whilst trying to alternate recipients as much as possible.
This year, the youngest able present distributor was Belén. It just so happened that we had a perfect hat for her to wear throughout the ceremony.
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When my parents came to visit last week, they brought two suitcases, one for clothes and one for Christmas presents. So for the first time our little plastic Christmas tree looked like it should, rising up from a sea of wrapped toys and books and other goodies. In Spain (in my family at least), there is no tradition of putting presents under the tree to incite anticipatory speculation torture like we have in the United States. Here you just give the gift on Christmas or Epiphany and the wrapping paper only serves to conceal the item for about seven seconds before it is ripped open. They don’t know what they are missing.
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During their visit, my parents very much enjoyed feeding their granddaughter her lunchtime vegetable puree and her afternoon fruit. Feeding Nora is one of the best times (both frustrating and adorable) I usually get to spend with her, and I delighted in the opportunity to share the experience with my folks. In my couple months of feeding her from a spoon, have found that it is pretty much impossible to feed her without opening your mouth big when you want her to do the same. It’s a natural human reflex. The fact that she has not yet reached the point where she can mimic the body movements of someone else does not stop us (me, my wife, my parents, and everyone I’ve seen feed her) from trying to will her mouth open with our own gaping jaw. It’s quite a funny phenomenon.
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Some years ago, Thelma, a friend of my mother’s, was traveling somewhere in the Midwestern United States and spotted this blanket. It was clearly made to celebrate or advertise a company specializing in bulldozers, backhoes, and other heavy machinery. A quick Google search would lead me to believe that it is probably for Rasmussen Equipment Company. Anyway, Thelma bought it for my mother because it had her last name on it. At some point the blanket was given to me, and I have had it in my possession for many years now. Since we moved into our house, it has been on our sofa, often pulled down on top of the sofa’s occupant(s) on chilly evenings.
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