06/30/2025
(Not edited, but I have to get back to the TV!)
Here it is, Sunday afternoon and I am sitting here watching episode after episode of that kitzy '60's show: Green Acres. The socialite Lisa, dressed in a fabulous pink negligee is trying to figure out the old fuse box and how you can't plug in a “6” with a “2” otherwise the fuse will blow. She ends up putting the aluminum coffee pot on the wood stove melting it into a gooey, melted sculptre.
When I moved to Minnesota almost 40 years ago, I WAS Lisa, befuddled by the unfamiliar culture. Things like gravel roads (not “dirt”) and directions: “Go east on the tar, 'til you see an old cottonwood, go south on the gravel until you see an granary. Then, go past it, till you see a new, bigger granary and an old turkey barn. Take a left past a rusted digger and you will my place. It's the second farm place on the left with a chicken coop and a rusted combine. Me, being Lisa, just wanted to stay home.....
Everything was different for me. Invited to a party? They tell you to bring “bars.” I soon found out that bars (pronounced barZZZ) was anything like brownies, cakes, muffins. “Hot Dish” is a main dish like hamburger casserole or anything containing cream of mushroom soup and meat. I was soon known to bring cans of olives to every get together.
I got mixed up on how “lunch” was different than “supper'' and “dinner” could mean a midday meal or evening-depending on who you were talking to. On a farm, it was the following: breakfast, lunch, dinner, lunch, supper, lunch-when the “men” were bringing in the crop. The women ate when the men were finished-whenever that was. Sometimes, you brought out a “lunch” to the field. I didn't know how to cook, so I brought a milkshake and a hamburger from a seasonal diner. I was pretty filled with shame.
The first few years, I lived in a 1971 14 X 70 single-wide trailer. On a hill. I planted flowers in the spot where the hitch was hooked to the trailer. I thought it looked great. The wind blew night and day and bent my marigolds. Oh, the heat and the cold. Anything left on the kitchen counter would be melted in the heat or frozen in the winter. Our first winter, the avocado refridgerator quit and we stacked the food on top of the straw bales which lined the trailer. That is, until one of the sled dogs got loose and ate everything we had.
Language was also a challenge. Expressions like “oofda” (oh my!) and “ishda” (icky) were used prolifically. I went to a baby shower and heard “ofer cute” and “ofer special” more times than I could count. Other phrases like “that's different” (not necessarily good) or “that's special” (also not necessarily good) were sprinkled throughout conversations over coffee. Here's just a few of the rules I had to learn: You took your shoes off at the door, you offered food no matter the time of day, you offered to put the food in a container for them to take home, no matter how far they lived away, you offered them to “stay over.” You walked them to their car, and waved at them until they disappeared. Again, you offered food for the drive.
As I write this, Lisa is taking a shower in a home-made wooden stall outside. I have done this. And, much like the Green Acres television show. I tried hard. Unlike Lisa, I did not have the fabulous wardrobe and delicious Hungarian accent. She reminds me of my first few years on the prairie, being befuddled, but doing my best.
And, like, Lisa, I never did learn how to cook....
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