~ Scott went into a conveniently located liquor
store on the way home from Saskatoon;
we're off to a post-Christmas party tonight
and wanted to take some Drambuie with us ~

From a letter to my cousin (once removed?) Judy, with whom we stayed in Saskatoon Wednesday night before Emil’s appointment with the ear/nose/throat specialist yesterday:

When we arrived there for 1:15 the doc's receptionist said the appointment had actually been for 11:15! Fortunately the doctor was still there and they got us in almost immediately. I'd have been plenty pissed off at myself otherwise, after waiting months to see this guy.

They did a pressure test on Emil's ears, and an electronic hearing test. The doctor pronounced there to be absolutely nothing wrong with them, but said he knew exactly what was causing the "weird" feeling in Emil's ears since September which, he said, is common among people who have a tendency to clench their jaws.

Emil, having spastic diplegic cerebral palsy, tenses his muscles when he gets excited, and he does actually grit his teeth when he gets worked up. That's what's causing it, the doc said, and it's very common, and all we can do is apply massage to the jaw and neck, and heat to the ears. I said it seemed a strange coincidence that the plugged-ears feeling came at the same time as a bad sinus cold. He replied that any kind of stress or tension, even physical, can bring it on.

***

Afterward we did some shopping to use gift cards Dad had given us for Christmas, then got onto the highway about 4 o'clock, stopped for groceries when we got into town, and were home for a slightly late supper with Everett.

Dad phoned last night to wish me a happy birthday (it's tomorrow; I'll be 48 and relieved to have lived longer than Grandma Johnson, who I believe died at 47 of a sudden heart attack and who I am supposedly so much like that I always wondered if I might follow in her footsteps) before he forgets, he said. Joan had reminded him. He says it was Mom who always knew everyone's birthdates and he has been trying to keep on top of them too.

~ outside the liquor store ~

I stayed up till 2 a.m. reading The Meadows Find Their Roots, the Engene (which means "meadows" in Norwegian) family history book generously sent to me by Connie Criswell and her husband. There are so many men named Ole that it’s hard to keep track of who’s who, but I’ve been perusing the book so much lately that things are finally becoming a little clearer.

I am completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of ancestors whose genes have contributed to my own makeup. And that’s only through Grandpa Benson’s line! It amazes me to think how many couplings had to occur before I came into this world just as I am. I have an army of ancestors, as do we all. It’s a mindbogglingly large inverted pyramid of connections.

The book follows the descendants of Ole Amundson Engene and Guri Flaget of Norway, who are my great-great grandparents. They emigrated to Minnesota in the late 19th century. Their daughter Caroline is Grandpa Emil Benson’s mother, the one whom my sister Karen is the spitting image of. Caroline married Ole Benson and they came up to Saskatchewan to farm.

One story tells of Ole Engene’s own parents’ courtship. Ole Engene’s father, yet another Ole, was courting his cousin Barbo, whose father didn’t want her to marry him. The young man had a friend, Oddmund, who was courting Barbo’s sister Anne. Oddmund was welcome, so Oddmund would go there after dark on Saturday nights, carrying his friend Ole on his back so that Barbo’s father would only hear one set of footsteps coming into the house. This went on for many Saturday nights until finally Barbo’s father agreed to let her marry Ole, my great-great-great grandfather.