Erik's Blog

Last Saturday night, two participants in the Myrtle Beach Classic 2010 went out on the town for a crazy night out. Have you ever woken up after a night of drinking and discovered photos on your camera that you didn’t remember taking? Or how about having a friend steal your camera from you and try to take the weirdest photos he can? Well, that’s what happened last Saturday. Ryan took Jacob’s camera and went a little crazy. I wasn’t present, but it’s fun to follow their evening from bar to bar through the photographs. Surprisingly, some of them are quite good photography, creative subjects and skilled framing.
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I wasn’t going to go on my annual golf outing this year for parenting reasons, mainly because I couldn’t leave Marga alone with the little primate beast for a full week. But then, at the last minute, my mother-in-law got sick; just the right amount of sick that she got time off work and was able to care for Nora. After double checking with my work and The Committee that hosts the event, I decided at the very last minute (16 hours before the flight) to go. Let me just say that it’s true what the psychologists say: Decision is the secret to unhappiness. There’s nothing like making a major decision (and this was only a week’s vacation, not moving to another country or anything) to make one miserable. However, once the decision was made, I immediately began to enjoy the trip. I was naively surprised to discover that me dumping Nora off on my in-laws was more of a favor than a burden. They were elated!
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Nora turned ten months old on Sunday. Her grandparents and aunt came to have lunch. After breaking the hamburger rhythm with her previous month birthday on Christmas Eve, I decided to make a hamburger pie (aka. Cottage Pie) instead. It was delicious, of course. Most importantly, we had cake!
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My little town has two photographer shops and two framing shops. In both, the shop windows are filled with examples of their work that has recently been finished and is waiting to be picked up. The main frame (computer joke) shop is right downtown and I walk by there every day. Usually they have certificates, caricatures, cross-stitched scenes, puzzles, and occasionally a painting or two. Yesterday, as I was glancing at what my fellow townspeople were having framed that day, my brain registered that there was something very wrong about one particular certificate. The text reads, “Second prize, shop window competition, 2009″. See if you can spot what’s wrong.
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The evening news lately, with footage from all over Europe, has resembled the March of the Penguins or Never Cry Wolf. In other words, I always end up feeling colder after I watch the news than before it starts. Down here at sea level, we almost never get any snow, but on Saturday night we finally did. When I woke up on Sunday morning, this is the view that I beheld upon opening the blinds.
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I’ve always been fond of photographs of the space shuttle. There’s something truly magnificent about a space-bound rocket sitting on the launch pad. It saddens me that the shuttle era will come to and end this year. I just hope its successor doesn’t take too long to get off the ground, so to speak. When I saw some photos of the roll-out of STS-130 yesterday, I selected a couple as good tilt-shifting candidates. Below I present to you the results.
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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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