Last Saturday afternoon, I was at the private party for Paul Andrew Hutton's book premiere at Marv Kaiser's beautiful home in Williamson Valley, north of Prescott, Arizona. Among the several dozen guests was a Scandinavian gentleman who had a pronounced Norsky brogue, which I immediately recognized because my grandmother, Minnie Hauan Bell, was from Norway and she had that peculiar way of talking, perhaps best encapsulated in the cliche phrase that Garrison Keillor sometimes pokes fun at: "I'spose," (I suppose). It may sound goofy and sing-songy to some, but it lands on my ears as pure poetry.
But I digress.
When I mentioned to the Scandinavian and his American wife that I was kind of amazed that not one, but two different Norskys had traveled deep into Mexico in search of lost tribes in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century respectively, she scoffed, and rolling her eyes, said, "It doesn't surprise me at all. Scandinavians are EVERYWHERE."
Must be the Viking blood.
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