Turlock '99

My fifth year at the ScandiFest, always wonderful, always
different. This year... Wow. What to say?

I missed Friday and the first party because I was teaching
and couldn't finish my heads in time. (I needed more blood.)
So I left the bay area early Saturday morning, driving
east. With a glorious, full moon behind me and firery red
sun rising before me, I drove on, down 5, across 132, into
Modesto ("Water, Wealth, Contentment, Health!"), then down
99 to Turlock.

After only one wrong turn, I found the correct gate, pulled
out my arm tag and... no one there! What's the use of
security if they take coffee breaks?  I pulled into the
campsite as people were waking and looking for food. Hugs
and kisses to old friends, some people I haven't seen for a
year, some people I haven't seen since Wednesday. Damaris
drags me off to the $2.50 breakfast special and starts
pumping me for information. "Pictures!!" I pull out pictures
and start to talk about Russia and Russians. They give me
advice.

More friends from different dance groups pop up, Scandia
Dancers from Anaheim, Katarilli from LA, the Modesto
Dancers, the Great Danes, then scattered fiddlers, accordian
players, etc. Everyone wants to talk about everything, all
at the same time, but especially they want PICTURES! And
they give more advice.

I'm in the Nordahl Grieg Leikarring (the premier Norwegian
dance group in California!) (the ONLY Norwegian dance group 
in California) and Mikkel has us doing a Viking Suite this 
time. Which is good because the costumes are cooler. But is 
bad because we are a bit weak on rehearsal. He puts us
through our paces with copious amounts encouragement, advice, 
and swearing. 

We do one thing that is unique for such amateur groups. We
have transitions. We don't just finish a dance and then line
up for the next. No-sireee. We *transition* from dance to
dance in a smooth, cleverly designed fashion, melding from
Song Dance to Reinlander to Polse as if they were part of a
coherent whole. We probably spend 40 minutes a week working
on the dances, and twice that on transitions. They look
*great* (when they work).

Because this is a Viking suite, we do several Song
Dances. We join a line holding hands and step in rhythm,
singing the verses of ancient sagas.  It's grand fun for us,
although I suspect it gets old for the audience quickly.
Typically there's one or two leaders who know the verses and
everyone else just joins in on the chorus. Mikkel normally
sings the verses because he's the boss. I often join in
because I speak Swedish well and I'm loud.  Unfortunately,
he doesn't always *remember* the verses...

Now it's parade time. As usual, the transportation to the
starting point isn't quite sufficient to the number of
transportees and we arrive at a parade in progress. We find
our group and join in. We dance a bit, we walk a bit. A few
minutes later we see ten Finns rushing past on their way to
find their group. We finish, hang out for a bit. I tell
stories of Russia and one particular Russian. More
pictures. More advice.

Whatever. My Turlockians, Linda and Amanda (FOURTEEN now and
cute as a button) show up and we hang out. We chat about
this, that, and the other thing. AND PICTURES. I tell them
all about Russia and the Russian. Linda gives me good
advice. By now they've become part of the group for the
weekend and were even there Friday night without me.

The campsite is filled with folks. There are probably 20
kids from 6 - 12 in the "Barne Leikarring", most of whom are
in great need of a piggie-back ride, airplane spin, or just
being chased in circles.

4pm rolls around and we're on stage. The audience is packed
in under the tent (it's 95 in the shade!) and we strut our
stuff. For the song dance, Mikkel sings verses 1, 2, 3, 4,
12, 10, 19, 15... I don't even *start* the verse until I
figure out which one he's on. Finally we're heading towards
the finale and Mikkel leads us into a line for "Rul Nomer
Fyre". We look superb! Then Valery starts singing the tune
for Jolstra Springar, which is supposed to come *before* Rul
Nomer Fyre. Whoops.

My dear friend Jackie from So. Cal finally appears! We chat,
we dance, and I tell tales of St. Petersburg's most
beautiful dancer, Svetlana. "And the ring was so small that
I could wear it on my little finger. 'Too big," Sveta told
me, 'make it TWO sizes smaller.' Then I couldn't even get it
over my first knuckle!" Jackie gives me good advice.

(About now you're probably figured out the rest of the
story... Yes, I fell in love, and yes, it was a diamond
ring, it's probably going to be in March, and yes, you're
invited.)

The rest of the day fades from memory as I'm preoccupied
with my heads and tacking the subtitles to a board. Amanda
corrects my spelling and informs me that pigs are PINK not
brown. Too late. I run around roping people into roles. Zena
is delighted to have the honor of cutting Russ' head off
(after he decapitates Nick). Swords, Knives, Pigs, Heads,
Subtitles, Crown and Pig Sh** are all in place. Waiting for
the witching hour...

As night falls and the public heads home, the dancers and
musicians start their thing. The tent is filled with us,
all the vendors, and many friends-of-friends. We're dancing,
singing, drinking, all is wonderful! And then the magic hour
approaches. Pirkko tells me the Finns are ready (read: drunk
enough), are we? Of course! I run around in circles, scream
orders, drag props, it's TIME FOR THE SKITS!!!

The Finnish men present... the miss Scandia contest! Some of
these guys look *awesome* in dresses! Kari reminds me of a
dream I once had. (Where my tenth grade math teacher is
chasing me with a knife and screaming the quadratic formula
at me). God they are funny. Ruth volunteers as head judge
and is super in her own right. "The third runner up..." Miss
Norway wins somehow.

Next... US! As skit-tsar-by-default, it's my responsibility
to come up with a funny skit that involves everyone and
requires no rehearsal, no memorization, and no talent. So I
choose to do one of our lovely song dances -- with subtitles
and live action. Hence the heads, blood, pigs, etc. You see,
ALL Norwegian song dances are about murder and mayhem. So,
while I'm trying to coordinate the subtitles, timing of
decapitations, pig sh**ing, etc., the others are doing
whatever they feel like.

Zena has decided on the spur-of-the-moment that King Olav
should be drunk.  She's sliding off the stage. Mikkel is
leading the song dance, singing verses in the wrong
order. Ellen is jumping in and out of line, pulling Olav
back into his throne. A headless Nick is rolling around the
stage, screaming so loud he hurts his throat, while Russ is
dancing around with Nick's (er, Lord Håkon's) head in
hand... I'm running back and forth across the stage yelling
instructions, "NEXT PAGE!" "CUT OFF HIS HEAD NOW!!" "NO, THE
OTHER HEAD!"

A massive success. (As you can see, I really get into this.)

The Great Danes did a musical quartet-cum-brawl, involving
pushing, shoving, broken fiddle bows and cream pies. And the
Scandia Men finished the evening with a manly display of
modern jazz dancing, wearing plastic trash bags and
ties. Unlike last year, no G-strings. Every skit is so
different, yet so much fun.

Most of the crowd disperses quickly, leaving only dancers
and musicians. I pull out my bottle of Aquavit and pass up
and down the tent pouring for any and all comers. I dance a
bit, then do my tours again. Folks fade early this night. By
2 the last of us leave and stagger bed-ward. Tired, but
happy.

Sunday is a funny counterpoint. Damaris drags me out of bed
at God-knows-what-hour to do breakfast. The Southern Cal
crowd packs up quickly and is gone by noon. The Barne
Leikarring dances at 10 and then the kids + families drift
away. The Modesto Dancers dance at noon & drag me in (in
T-shirt and shorts) for one number, trying to convince me to
dance with them the next weekend. (They like me!) We're on
at 2, doing a DIFFERENT suite of dances, which goes quite
well.

I hang with Ira-the-stonecarver (and formerly Damaris'
in-law) for a bit.  We drive around in the go-kart, chat. He
gives me marital advice and we quaff a beer. Maybe a stone
carved in Russian? Sure. He's done that, and shows me a
picture of a glass trophy he did for Raisa Gorbachev(!)

By 4 things are shutting down. Soon it's just Mikkel,
Damaris, Sonja, and me. (And the local cleanup crews with
all the 16-year olds playing demo derby in the golf carts.)
I'm in no hurry and want to eat a bit, so we moesy on down
to Lyons and munch. (After we push-start Mikkel's truck.)

Sonja was quite taken with a rendition of "Amazing Grace",
so then we decide to drop by her place and listen to Larry's
recording of the same. We push-start Mikkel's truck and
spend a few hours there. Finally it's time for home.  We
push-start Mikkel's truck and drive off into the
night. Turlock '99 is history.




Postscript: I was in St. Petersburg for a vacation. I work
in Sweden and Finland, so it was right next door... Why not?
And as long as I'm there, why not check out the local girls?
One never knows... And so I did, but got nowhere, except for
this one little blonde who just charmed my socks off.
Unfortunately she was way too young, TWENTY YEARS younger
than me. So we got together a few times, but I didn't pay
too much attention because, of course, there was no future
in it.

Until the day I left, when she said the magic words. "Let's
have FOUR children." And all of a sudden I realized that
this is what I wanted more than anything else in the world
and, well, uhm... So I returned and we spent August
together. And I'm going back in November to spend the rest
of the year with her, and presumably come back to the states
together.

Will this all work out? One never knows. But I adore the
woman, I'm very much in love, and I cannot think of anyone I
would rather spend the rest of my life with. I worry about
age, children, cultures, etc. sometimes. Then I hear her
voice on the phone and I forget all about everything. Wish
us luck.  Give us advice. Check out my web site for firmer
dates in 2000 and one smashing picture. 

-Bil