Observing Sweden- Heavy Metal

A Night On The Town

Big night out in Borlange, Sweden. Went to see my son law, Patrick, and his Heavy metal band – Civil War. I had expected this to be a labor of love. As you might guess, Heavy Metal is not my cup tea and there was a four hour wait before his band Civil War came on the final attraction. We passed part of the time with a leisurely dinner. I had a New York steak, which was passable. They don’t really understand steak in Sweden and keep destroying the flavor with all kinds of spices, but maybe it’s just a matter of taste. The highlight of the dinner was the potatoes which were disguised as mushrooms. I was sure they were mushrooms and cut one in half to prove this to my wife. The insides looked exactly like mushrooms, but the taste test proved my wife was right. She’s been right several times this year. They were potatoes. No idea how they make them look like that.

 There was still a lot of time left after dinner. There was a dance floor next to our table and they started playing music (Heavy Metal of course) at ten o’clock. After watching the dancers I had a need to join them and after some friendly persuasion got the wife to join me. I only lasted for one dance, but it was great fun. “I’m not as good as I once was, but I’m good once as I ever was.”

Then we went upstairs to where the bands play. I have no idea how many people were there but you had to squeeze between bodies to move from one place to another. People kept hugging me and giving me a ‘thumbs up’ I guess impressed that someone with grey hair was there, or maybe that I was still alive. I think the wife and I were the only ones over forty and probably the only ones without a tattoo. The Swedes are number one in the world for the most people having tattoos and cell phones. Civil War came one at 11:00 P.M. and played until 2:00 A.M. So many hours standing was not easy and this morning my legs still remember last night. But I had a wonderful time. We drove some of the band members home. People in Sweden do not drive after they’ve had a drink, even one. Fines are astronomical if the cops catch you. My wife does not drink.  I am one of those lucky men with a permanent designated driver.

It was 4:00 A.M. when I got home, slightly drunk and totally wasted. It was a very good time!

Observing Sweden - Dala Horses

Horses everywhere . . . a graphic stampede. They’re on curtains, rugs and key chains, lamps and pillows, paintings, flags . . . statues at filling stations, mail delivery trucks. The Dala Horse is everywhere in Central Sweden – the Dalarna province. Horse carving here began with bored woodsmen during the long, dark Swedish winter evenings long before the advent of TV and cell phones. They used wood scraps and red paint produced by the enormous copper mine in Falun.

The horses remain one of the few living folk traditions of Sweden and are sold to both tourists and locals. Yesterday we paid a visit to Grannäs, a tourist stop in Nusnäs, Sweden – about an hour’s drive from where we live. They carve Dala horses there.  

 

 

When Big Brother Was Little Brother

It’s interesting remembering ease dropping in the age before satellites and internet. Back then governments only spied on other governments, all governments – both friend and foe. I was in the Army Security Agency, stationed in Asmara, Eritrea - East Africa, some 2000 meters above sea level, a good place to listen to radio traffic. 

 Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Spy

There was a forest of antennas, hundreds of them which directed their interceptions to a compound surrounded by a double row of concentric anchor fences with barbed wire on top and dogs patrolling the corridor between . . . gate guards of course.

Inside the compound enlisted personnel sat at typewriters called mills. They had a spiked platens that took six layers of drill paper with five carbons in between. Do you remember carbon paper? The mills were in use 24/7, eight hour shifts. The typists listened to earphones and copied code as it came in, five letter code groups that looked like this.

xuskj ebjvx  mneod covd bncvd h2nd

voizd krudt  wjcbe   cifog wodht fotue

tpgom domxs djerg bmfm foldy eudgr

Thousands of pages of it . . . endless.  Sometimes the typists, called operators, went nuts. At the end of the shift their work was sorted by traffic analysts like me. We had no idea what the messages were about, only who was interested in looking at it. Carbons were removed and papers labeled, US  UK  Canadian Eyes Only and shipped by air to interested parties.

Pre Internet Security:

At the end of  each 24 hour period the carbons and papers no one was interested in were put into large paper bags, stapled shut and taken to a square anchor fence cage with a large incinerator inside. Burn detail was rotated; my turn came once every two weeks. It took about three hours to burn all the bags in the cage. Then the ashes were removed and put into a barrel. There was a hose to fill the barrel with water and a large paddle to stir the contents with. The mess was stirred until one had what was defined as a slurry. Then the sergeant was called out to inspect the slurry. He would probe the contents with a stick and if no particle larger than a quarter could be found the contents were officially declared a slurry. The barrel was then picked up by a truck which took it someplace and buried it.

It was in interesting job. We didn’t know much about what was going on, but enough to know that the general public had no idea what was going on. We copied Russian ships carrying missile parts to Cuba months before Time magazine announced: Missiles In Cuba! I remember we were called into a briefing and told it didn’t matter what was said in Time magazine, or in the papers. If we said anything to anyone about the subject we could get twelve years in the Fort Leavenworth stockade – which was a very bad place to be. Asmara was considered a hardship post, but it was easy duty and I fell in love with Africa. It was one of the happiest times of my life.

Buckminster & Amber 55 Amber Croft Tale 1 Part 4

            Hmmm . . . what to do? I take a leisurely karate swat at a pine cone and watch it fall. Direct hit on the Angel’s snoot, and wow! He’s gone berserk, jumping around like a gerbil on crack. I look down and hiss at him, then glance toward the house and see Bucks scoot under the deck in the back yard. He’s safe there. As for me . . . the coyote’s making surprising progress up the tree trunk, coming close enough for me to smell his stinking breath. Your average feline would be somewhere between scared stiff, frozen with fear, and terrified. Needless to say I am none of the above.  

            I make an elegant pounce to the rotten branch, knocking it loose, then jump to the limb above as it drops. Direct hit, right between the eyes this time, and the branch had some weight behind it. Dog-face yelps with surprise and decides he’s had enough. I make a leisurely descent as he trots away and go back to the house where I find the servants have closed the laundry room window. Humans, go figure. 

            Might as well join Bucky underneath the deck. “That was the dumbest thing you ever did,” I tell him.

            “It was not,” he argues.

            “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” He nods agreement and I spend the rest of a long, boring night remembering stupid things he’s done in the past. By morning I decide my first assessment was correct. His previous faux pas were embarrassing, but not life threatening.

            At seven our male servant opens the back door on his way to the garage. “Their back!” he yells to his mate.

            “Thank God!” She calls back as we saunter in.

            “Yeah, right. The terminator has returned. So what’s for breakfast?” I meow.

            After a low carb meal and a few welcome home treats I decide to take a snooze on my surprisingly expensive carpet from Kathmandu.

 It’s been a long day’s night.

Observing Sweden - Midsummer 2013

Photo above taken at 12 p.m.

Summer solstice here tomorrow. It never gets dark and the Swedes go nuts.

A good time is had by all.

There will be celebrations. Giant Maypoles are slowly erected in what may well be

the world’s most phallic celebration.

Daylight grows shorter now. The growing cycle ends September. Then the long and cold, dark days.                                                                   (They all go nuts again at Christmas)

Looking forward to the snow

No lawn to mow

Great time to write

Up late at night

Watching it all come down.

Buckminster & Amber - 54 Amber Croft: Tale 1 Part 3

Amber Croft  A Cat of Nine tales

The Pine Cone Ploy

Well, you know how Bucks is - big snake, no rattle. It was up to me save his tail. There wasn’t time to think twice about it. I found a laundry room window the servants had forgotten to close and catapulted out onto the lawn being careful not to get my coat dirty.

             Bucks was frozen like a deer in headlights. “Run dummy!” I tried to communicate telepathically, but it was like trying to read in the dark. Nobody home, and probably just as well. The Angel is fast and Bucks is more fat than fiber.  The Angel was totally focused on what he thought was a free lunch. “Not today, dog breath.” He didn’t see me coming. I went into warp drive and was airborne by the time he did. I landed squarely in his stinking back and dug my claws in, holding on for the ride of my life. Where are those humans with video cameras when you want them? 

            It was like one of that cowboy bull riding contests humans watch on TV. The cowboys are usually thrown off after a few seconds, but not this cat. The Angel bucked barked and snarled, then went into a corkscrew maneuver. It seemed like the neighborhood was spinning around me, but I was locked on tighter than a gymnast’s spandex. With an evil snarl he headed for a pine tree hoping to scrape me off me off, but I retracted my claws and leaped from his back onto the lowest limb. The Angel went pounding past, fumbling to a stop a few yards beyond, then turned and made a surprising leap up the tree trunk, frantic with rage. I wanted to go higher but the next limb up was rotten. There was no way it would hold my weight.