How to write a thank you letter

I don’t know what kids learn in school these days. I have a feeling they don’t learn many useful skills any more, except maybe typing and how to operate a computer. Those are certainly good things to know how to do.

But back when I was in school, they taught us some really useful things now and again. I especially remember a unit in junior high English where we learned how to write a proper “thank you” letter. I like to write thank you notes, and I still keep in mind all the necessary elements of a good letter. Just for fun, I will review these elements with you now, and will provide many helpful examples so that you also can learn to write your own thank you letters.

1. Start with a simple opening. The word “Dear” works well in any circumstance, though you may skip that and write only the reader’s name if you so desire.

Dear Mom and Dad,

2. In the first sentence of your letter you should simply thank the reader(s) for their gift or hospitality.

Thank you for taking me and my brothers on that trip to California when I was nine.

3. In the rest of the first paragraph, you can summarize the favor or gift, discussing generally how much you enjoyed it.

It was such great fun driving all the way to California from Chicago! I’m glad we got to see so many different sights over the three weeks that we were together, and it was neat for me to get to sit in the middle of the back seat with Rich and Bill in our non-air-conditioned car in August! That kind of heat sure put everyone in a great mood, yourselves included!

4. Write several subsequent paragraphs to make up the “meat” of the letter. Discuss exactly what you liked about the gift. In cases where you were a guest of someone’s hospitality, write about some of the activities in which you participated with your host, and elaborate as to why each activity was meaningful for you.

It was such a great idea to take our old Chrysler on that trip. It was so fun when it started breaking down every ten miles as we attempted to cross the desert in New Mexico. It’s exciting to think back about how we could have died out there in the heat if that nice man with the tow truck hadn’t stopped by to give us a ride!

It was really neat that we spent the entire following week driving about ten miles and then breaking down again, delaying the trip for a day or two each breakdown. I’m sure glad there was a Motel 6 in just about every little town we came across!

I also especially enjoyed how Mom screamed at Dad, in the car, at full decibel just about every day of the trip. It was great to see you work out your marriage difficulties in front of us boys, one of whom had just gotten out of the mental hospital in time to take the trip with us! I mean, why wait until we’re adults to learn how to swear and cuss at your spouse?

Thanks also, Mom, for the night you had that huge fight with Dad and then made Rich sleep in your spot after Dad had fallen asleep. It was really smart, and not at all a boundary issue as some might say, for you to get into my bed because you were too mad at Dad to sleep next to him.

Then it was really cool when Dad woke up, saw Rich in his bed and threw a huge fit, waking all of us up. The scene you two created that night is one I will never forget! I have such fond memories of running out of the room and down the Motel 6 stairs because you were scaring me. Just think what could have happened to me if Rich hadn’t caught me and kicked me really hard, full in the stomach, to stop me from running away.

I’m really glad you didn’t apologize later and admit that anything was wrong with your behavior. Kids don’t need to hear that weak-minded kind of stuff from their parents. They need strong and decisive role models!

I was really glad when we finally made it to California so that we could stay with your brother. It was really cool, Mom, how you stayed up late every night getting drunk with him out by the pool. And those funny neighbors who used to complain every night about the noise! What a bunch of goofs! Can’t they tell when someone’s just having a good time?

5. Close with one more paragraph wherein you summarize the gift or favor, reassuring the reader of your gratitude. If you so desire, you may invite the reader to enjoy some hospitality in return, though this is certainly not mandatory.

Our family trip to California produced many memories for me, very special memories that I have enjoyed discussing with three different therapists over the years. And so today, all these years later, I just wanted to send a special note of thanks to remind you of how much I appreciated that trip, and especially about how you made me feel so safe and cared for the entire time. And please, if the two of you have any time in the near future, I wanted to invite you to go fuck yourselves.

Love,

CP

CPW Confessional: Crazy mean guy

One time when I was very young this crazy guy told me he hated black people and women. I thought it really mean of him. But still, I used to sit and think "I wonder who he hates more: a black man or a white woman?"

Then I used to make little charts (in my head) of people in the order of how much the crazy guy hated them. It would look something like this:


1. White man: CG thinks this is very, very good.

2. or 3. White woman: CG thinks this is bad.

2. or 3. Black man: CG thinks this is bad too. But is it better or worse than a white woman?

4. Black woman: CG thinks this is very, very bad.


It seemed like such a toss-up between numbers 2 and 3 that I just didn't know what to do with the question.

This is how I spent my childhood.

CPW Confessional Vol (I've lost track): I almost insulted Jane Siberry

Jane Siberry is also a ginger

Our blogging friend Dale keeps mentioning things that make me want to write a long, fascinating comment. But once my comments go over two paragraphs, I figure it's time to do my own post rather than troll up someone's comment section. This time Dale mentioned Jane Siberry, although he referred to her as "Jane Siberry Coolcat." I think we are talking about the same person, but I'm not sure.

Jane Siberry is Canadian, so I bet Dale knows her personally.

Anyway, there used to be a really cool holiday concert called the Downtown Messiah at the Bottom Line in the Village. The Bottom Line is now defunct, thanks to those money grubbing greedy NYU bastards who basically kicked them out. Big loss for art in the city.

The Downtown Messiah was a compilation of modern renderings of most of Handel's "Messiah." Very, very cool. The people who used to organize it don't do it anymore now that the Bottom Line is no more. I keep hoping someone will bring it back.

The first time I saw the DM, Jane Siberry performed "If God Be For Us." Her rendition moved me to tears, and I thought I should approach her after the performance to chat with her and tell her so.

The thing is, I didn't know that Jane was pretty famous. Probably about as famous as KD Lang.

So I'm sitting there thinking "what should I say when I go talk to Jane Siberry?" I was thinking up dumb small talk stuff to say like "so, do you sing as a profession, or do you have a day job?"

My friend Jim, who sang in the chorus of this production, offered to introduce me when I saw him after the performance, but for whatever reason we decided to leave instead. Only later did he tell me she was famous.

I'm really glad I didn't try to talk to her. Although it's possible that if I had, she never would have forgotten me. And that would be a good thing. I guess.

Do you think it's possible that Jane might Google herself and read this? If so, I'm sorry, Jane.

Minimal posting the rest of the week

Gentle Readers,
There will likely be minimal posting the rest of this week.

As you may have noted from my previous entry, I had a busy weekend partying and playing with our out of town guests. Yesterday we recuperated at the beach. Today I returned to work. Tomorrow I go away on business for three days.

Friday night I will attend my first-ever bachelor party with dinner, heavy drinking and strippers. No joking here. I have nothing against strippers, but I don't want to be paying for lap dances. But I guess I'll have to chip in & help buy the groom one.

Perhaps one or more of my Gentle Readers could educate me as to strip club etiquette? I don't want to make any social faux-pas. I already embarassed myself once when Justin, the groom, said "be sure to wear loose pants." I thought he was referring to a need for, um, extra room in case one becomes excited during a lap dance. "No," he said, "I was referring to dinner. There's going to be a lot of food. Fucking pervert."

Well, back where I come from we calls them FEEDING pants!

Hangover morning one

I like to get up early and make friends with my hangover. I indulge him. I say things to him like "ok, I will pace back & forth and hold my head in this cockeyed position for about 30 minutes if you want me to. In return, I request that you don't make me puke." Usually works out fine.

So our little party weekend got derailed just slightly. Jane and Lulu didn't make it in because the bad weather had them grounded on a plane in Pennsylvania, where the airline made them sit in the plane on the tarmac for 5 (five!) hours. I don't have the full report yet, but I think Jane finally made a phone call to the airline and unleashed a wrath so frightening that they let them off the plane. Our ladies then rented a car and made it into NYC at about 2:00 am. I haven't seen them yet.

Melinda June & I spent the day doing some general frolicking and eating dim sum with George. MJ & I then rode the subway into the city and got rained on, as in absolutely soaking wet drenched, on the way to her hotel. I then stripped down to my tightie whities and donned her $300 hotel bathrobe so that I could dry my clothes with a hair dryer. Nice.

MJ & I met up with our friends Tim & Shawn who were staying across the street. Had a drink in Mindy's hotel, the Royalton. We then moved across the street and continued drinking at the Algonquin, where we laid eyes on Dorothy Parker's famous roundtable. I also petted the kitty.

Mindy was starting to feel some serious jet-lag, so we considered just getting dinner and bagging the rest of the evening. She wanted Mexican, so I suggested going somewhere closer to midtown rather than hauling ass to the East Village where we had intended to spend the rest of the night. She decided to go to the EV, though, in case she had a resurgence of energy.

Rode down to Scary Ann's (aka Mary Ann's) on 2nd Ave & 5th. Had a margie, some cheapo Mexican and Shawn nearly had a breakdown because this loud group of bitch girls next to us were screaming their heads off, while one of their skinny drug addicted boyfriends literally put his ass right in Shawn's face. And not in a good way either.

After they dispersed things got a little easier, but Mindy's energy was already sapped by that point. She felt bad and I believe referred to herself several times as "lame ass" and "loser." Not to worry, we assured her, it's all just part of turning forty. When you're forty you become part of the ruling class, and you get to say things like "no kids, I'm sorry, I've got an important board meeting tomorrow and I need my rest."

Min and the boys hopped into a cab back uptown, whereas I, being the inimitable Coaster Punchman, continued to celebrate Mindy's birthday for her by going to the Pyramid Club. I go there like once every five years. Interesting place. It started out in the 80s, and has never moved on. So it's not like one of those stupid 80s retro places. It's an actual 80s place that just kept doing the same thing. Bizarro.

I paid my $8 cover and went up to the bar right inside the door. I proceeded over to the room in the back where they play the music & people dance etc. - and it was empty. As in, not a soul was there. In fact the room itself was roped off. It was about 11:15.

I went back to the bar and said "so am I the only one here?" and they were like "yeah!" All perky & everything. Ok then! So I ordered a draft beer and was pleased to see that they were only $2! Woo hoo! Party on!!!

So now I'm rockin & rollin! Celebrating Mindy's birthday - without Mindy! And apparently without anyone else either!

But not even this would stop the CP!

I called George, who was loosely planning his late evening around coming to pick me up whenever I was ready. "Hey Georgie, I'm at this great club and the drinks are only $2! Come join me!!" So of course he did.

Everyone should get a George, by the way. Georges rock.

By the time George got there at midnight, the place had filled up. Not jammed to capacity, but more than enough to make it a fun party. I was already dancing, by myself, when he got there.

We stayed another hour and a half or so. Enough time so that I had lost count of all the $2 beers I threw back. All in all, a great time despite the earlier difficulties of the evening.

At 2:00 am I got the following message from Lu: "Um, yeah, we just got to the hotel. We are SO not joining you at the bar. Good night." At least she didn't swear at me.

So we have a new policy over here at CPW. If you are too tired to celebrate your own birthday, CP will do it for you. Just send the word.

On to party, day two.....

An Open Letter to my Gentle Readers

Gentle readers,
Some of your comments are getting a little tawdry. For example, I post an innocent entry about Mormon underwear, and you all start talking about not wearing underwear, and use dirty words like "boobs."

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: CPW is a FAMILY* oriented blog, you fuckers! Take your God damned perverted smelly ass face comments over to Echo where they belong!

Sincerely,
CP

*Manson family

Girlfriend swapping

I'm mad at the Company Bitch. She talks too much about her boyfriend, and not enough about her dysfunctional office anymore. I don't really care about all that Sex in the City kind of crap. Plus, she refuses to link to anyone else, and doesn't interact with her commenters, except occasionally to make snide remarks to them in subsequent postings. Not that I'm against snide remarks. But you have to share the love sometimes, too.

No more permalink for her!

But we have a lot of love to go around here at CPW! We have a new love affair with Bella Rossa. I'm setting my cyberstalking sights on her for a while now.

One of Bella's projects is to interview other bloggers. Click here to read her recent interview with our blogging friend Dale. She and Dale are awesome. They both have our full support over here at CPW. If Dale and Bella had a baby, I would volunteer to change its diapers.

Daiquiri

Echo is over at his site whining like a fraidy cat that he may be an alcoholic because he once ordered daiquiri flavored sorbet. Boo hoo. I should have him spend an evening with my mother. Then he'll know what real drinking is all about.

Anyway, his sad little story reminded me of how my sister-in-law once came over to visit. I said to her, "Ruby, would you like something to drink?" Her response was "yeah . . . you got any daiquiris?"

As if I had daiquiris just sitting around in case some boozy dame came in to order one.

Funny thing is, I opened the fridge and did indeed have a carton of strawberries. Seeing as how I usually have a fully stocked bar otherwise, I was actually able to make Ruby a pitcher of daiquiris.

Ruby, not being much of a drinker, now thinks it's perfectly normal behavior to order some fancy drink when she goes a-calling. She's going to be sadly mistaken if she pulls that shit anywhere else though, because I don't think most people can just haul out & make a fresh strawberry daiquiri on a moment's notice.

But CP ain't most people. Best not forget that.

* Photo stolen, shamelessly, from Echo.

Mormon Wednesdays * Vol. 2: Mormon-watchers

Celestial underwear. Devout Mormons have to wear these.

Mindy June & I are the only Mormon-watchers on Blogspot. It's an important role we play, and I will explain why later. For now, I thought you might like to know about the history of our Mormon-watching collaboration.

My friend Gretchen became a Mormon just after we finished high school. During her period of conversion, I used to go over to her house when the "sisters" were visiting. My first encounter with the Mormons (except for the time I called the police on the ones loitering in a car outside my house when I was nine, but that's another story) was with these "sisters" who brought a Super-8 film projector over to Gretchen's house to tell her about Joseph Smith and the gold plates. Since I had never heard the story, they told me about how Joseph found the plates, magically translated them into the Book of Mormon, and then the plates were never seen again, yada yada yada.

The sisters told me "you have to take the Joseph Smith story on faith. To believe anything else we tell you, you have to believe this part."

That pretty much resolved it for me right there.

Gretchen, however, having a penchant for Dungeons & Dragons, reenactors and all that other kind of horse shit, was hooked. It was kind of scary to watch it happen, to tell you the truth. And now, all these years later, Gretchen is a card-carrying, income-tithing, Celestial Underwear-wearing Mormon. She even lives in Utah.

I learned a lot - way too much actually - about this "religion" so I could keep tabs on what Gretchen was up to. Unfortunately, it's kind of turned into gawker slowdown for me. I can't look away. I go to every LDS Temple Visitor's Center I can get to. I like to talk to the missionaries that work in them. I kind of like that culty, glazed over look in their eyes.

Every Mormon-watcher needs a companion, so I recruited the lovely & talented Melinda June to join me in my perversion, some years ago. Her first Mormon experience with me was non-consensual. We were both in Hawaii on business, so we stayed the weekend and rented a car to drive around the island of Oahu. When I caught sight of the Hawaii LDS Temple, I pulled in the driveway, despite Mindy's vigorous protests.

She handled herself pretty well though, and even resisted laughing when the cute little missionary girl started talking about the warm tinglies she gets when thinking about the Great Prophet.

Now Mindy is hooked, and we go Mormon-watching every time we're together.

It's actually quite a nice hobby. You should try it.

This is the first temple that Mindy & I visited together. A Mormon-watching team was born here.

*At CPW, "Wednesdays" sometimes occur on Thursdays.

Public Service Announcment: Do not cross the CP

I was checking out Some Guy's Blog and saw that he posted about some of his childhood bullies. This reminded me that I owe you all this Public Service Announcement.

When I was in seventh grade, a kid named Robbie was my bully. He did just about everything he could do to me. He even would have stolen my lunch money if I had been the kind of kid to bring lunch money to school.

One day he made me so mad that I went home, took a book of matches and an ashtry, sat cross-legged on the floor of the family room and burned each of the matches, one after the other, all the while chanting "I light this match to the Death of Robbie."

Robbie is now dead. I found out on our high school class reunion website.


Yessssssssssssss!

CPW Confessional Vol. 6: Our Doctor

George and I go to the same doctor. George merely likes our doctor, whereas I like like our doctor.

Our doctor looks kind of like John Mayer. He's also just as nice as John Mayer, and not nearly as slutty. Like John Mayer, our doctor grew his hair out recently and put on a little weight. My friends know how I like the paunch.

I saw our doctor today. I like the days when I get to see our doctor. In fact, I usually pretend all sorts of extra shit is wrong with me just so I can spend more time with our doctor. Today I got an extra drug and a follow up appointment in just three weeks!

This is not our doctor. This is John Mayer, who looks like our doctor.

Note that I cyberstalked our doctor and actually found a picture of him when he was in junior high. There's no need to post that picture, though.

CPW Confessional Vol. 5: Fruitarian

I'm thinking of becoming a fruitarian. Fruitarians eat only what would fall from a tree or plant. I'm pretty sure there's a subset of fruitarians who eat only what actually has fallen from a tree or plant - like it would be against nature, or maybe mean to the tree, to pick the fruit before it's ready to fall.

That might be a little hard to manage in Brooklyn.

I think I'd be a really good fruitarian. I love nuts and fruits. So delicious, and healthy too! But mostly I'd be really good at the self righteous part. That's the key here. I would totally scorn my vegetarian and vegan friends.

"Oh, I see you're having a salad. Well, that must be nice for you. I hope you realize an entire plant had to die for you to have that salad. Do you ever wonder what it must feel like to be yanked from the ground by your ROOTS? But don't let that stop you. You just go on and enjoy yourself."

I wonder if there's a branch of fruitarianism that allows Lulu's Pizza?

I Had a Dream! Vol. 1

Last night I dreamt that George and I placed a personal ad to bring in a third party for some, um, extracurricular fun.

Kate Bush answered our ad. I told her she could join us only if she agreed to do the Wuthering Heights dance.

George, on the other hand, went to visit Kate at the craft mall where she was working, and, instead of getting busy with her, purchased two pieces of embroidery to hang in our bathroom. I was upset with him because the pieces he chose did not match.



I'm starting to think there might be something wrong with me.

ABBA + Mommie Dearest = fag heaven

A Mommie Dearest / ABBA video remix. What more could a guy ask for on a lazy Saturday morning?

CPW Confessional Vol. 4: Duh?

One of the worst things ever to happen to Grant Miller was when he had to sing some Christmas carols in front of a church congregation, and he didn't know the words.

His story reminded me of my first encounter with the stage. It did not go well.

I was four. One day my dad mentioned something about a big concert at our church to celebrate Easter, and that I would be singing. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Next thing I know, he and I are in the car, headed over to church. He brought me into a classroom where there were all these kids. I had no idea what was going on. None. I don't even know if I'd ever seen any of these kids before.

Pretty soon I'm lined up with these strangers, headed out onto a stage where some lady was sitting behind a piano. She started playing and everyone around me started singing. I had NO idea what they were doing. Plus, I always hated it when people did that - there was just something embarrassing about people singing songs. I didn't like it.

So with the combination of my being forced onto a stage against my will, the confusion, and people singing, I did the only logical thing: I started to cry. Right onstage.

I was escorted off, and pretty soon was sitting happily in the audience with my parents, who seemed quite annoyed with me.

To this day I wonder if I had been to rehearsals for this concert but just didn't understand what the deal was, or if the surprise concert was just another one of my dad's little tricks that he likes to play. I highly suspect it was the latter. He is always pulling shit like that on us.

Nonetheless, there are days when I feel I am back on that stage. In fact, I spend approximately half of my waking hours thinking "I have NO idea what I'm doing here. WTF?" Sometimes, I even start to cry.

Mormon Wednesdays

Echo has Stalker Fridays. Tenacious S has Songs from the Confessional on Sundays. I decided that CPW needs an equally important weekly feature.

Introducing Mormon Wednesdays! For all my fellow Mormon watchers.

Coaster Punchman's World must do its part to educate the world as to the dangers of Celestial Underwear and creepy Masonic-like temple rites.

Tune in each week* for another good old fashioned Mormon installment!


*At CPW "week" sometimes means "six months"

CPW Confessional Vol 3: Tard

Today’s crossword clue: “Hopeless, as situations go”

Correct answer: “NOWIN”

Thought to myself: “Why does ‘now in’ mean ‘hopeless’?”

Yep. Borderline retarded.

I want this to be Mindy's boyfriend

Our pal Tenacious S has taken to promoting videos on her blog, and I wanted to give it a try as well. I have fallen in love with this whole YouTube business.

Meet John Vanderslice. I want everyone to love him as much as I do. Mindy gets all the other fake boyfriends, so she can handle one more.

To spank or not to spank?

Old Lady, one of our new blogging friends, posted an article about spanking. Several things about this article struck me, so rather than just posting a lengthy comment on her blog, I decided to move the discussion over here to CPW, where it really belongs. One of our most important pastimes at CPW is to pontificate on how children should be raised. I really think it's best that we barren folk should make these decisions. After all, we're more objective.

I've always felt that parents hitting their kids in any way except for in a quick, swift fit of anger seems kind of sick. I think it's good for kids to learn that certain behavior pisses people off, and that it's not the worst thing in the world for Mommy to haul off and whack Junior across the butt after he spills her martini while trying to grab the lit cigarette from her hand. A kid like that needs to learn to behave.

But Old Lady talks about her parents having debates regarding spanking techniques. To use a brush or not use a brush? When to spank and when not to spank? And then she talks about how her mother actually persuaded her father to use his hand when spanking his daughter.

Persuaded? What the hell kind of discussion was this?

"Oh my, I've bruised the bottom of our little Princess! Honey, I think we should reconsider using a brush or other blunt instrument when spanking her from now on. Just look what I did."

"Wow sweetie, that's some welt! How did you do that using only a brush? What were you thinking?"

"To be honest, I don't even recall. I guess it's all water under the bridge at this point. But just be careful with her - she has very tender skin, and we wouldn't want the neighbors getting the wrong idea. Just use your hand on her from now on. Now her brothers on the other hand...."

"Dear, I understand what you mean - but my hand? My bare hand? I don't know if I could do that. It doesn't seem, well, very manly. Can't we discuss this?"

"Darling, you know that you are all the man I'll ever want or need. But I must be firm about this. No more brushes, paddles, belts or razor straps on this little girl. The firm hand of a father is really what she needs most. Have I made myself clear on this?"

"Well dear, I suppose so."

"Wonderful. I'm so glad you understand. Now, what was it that our son did just a short while ago that will require the paddle? Are we going bare butt or underwear on this one?"


Sorry Old Lady, but that story kind of gave me the heebies.

Why don't we just bring corporal punishment back to the schools, where it belongs?

I'm just one cat removed from Moby

The colleague that I am cat sitting for is now dating Moby. I told her I'm keeping the cat until Moby himself comes to pick her up.

I never get to date famous people. The closest I ever came to dating someone famous was when I went to dinner and a movie with a guy who made a film with Carol Burnett. He never called me again once he realized I wasn't famous.

Once again, I lose.

But maybe we can get Moby to come visit the cat on your birthday, Min.

CPW Confessional Vol. 2: MySpace

I hate MySpace. I think the layout of this "blogging" site illustrates everything that is wrong with the youth of today. I like Dale's snarky comment on his blog when we were discussing the history of the 45-rpm ninja thing. Essentially, he told everyone who didn't know what it was to get the hell out of his blog and go back over to MySpace where they belong. Or at least that's what I'm telling them.

Damn whippersnappers.

CPW Confessional Vol. 1

I like approximately four Bryan Adams songs, even though I still refer to him as "Pizza Face."

Introducing the CPW Confessional

The CPW Confessional is a new Coaster Punchman series that will allow me to spill my guts about some of my darkest secrets.

You are welcome, Gentle Readers, to share any related secrets in the Comments section. Just remember, the more perverse, the better.

CP

Melinda June's Secrets of the Site Meter

Mindy has been horning in on my status as Cyberstalker: Hidden Horror of the Internet. She has become obsessed with checking her Site Meter to see who visits her blog, and when, and how they got there.

Just so she doesn't get too big for her britches, I'm taking a piece of this action back. Here are some recent Web searches that have brought some of my Gentle Readers to CPW.

Lulu’s Donuts

Women in leather pants

Grant Miller

Limoncello margaritas

Rice queen

New Haven pizza clams

Wife beater

Taking Norwegians for Shanghai Soup Dumplings + Brooklyn Bridge = Good Times

CP's favorite treat

From The Sweet Life on Manhattan's Lower East Side: Dark chocolate covered jelly graham cracker.

If I had my druthers, I would eat these every day. I know much of the world is not with me on this. Which is what makes me special.

Take the CPW poll: Is CP's favorite treat delicious, or gross?

George took these pics. He thinks it incredibly important that an object be placed in all photos to show "scale." For this series, he thought a battery might look nice.

Nordmenn i Manhattan!

The Norwegians have invaded New York again. Oddrun's niece Sissel is visiting with her husband, Bjorn, and their kids Lene & Hallgair. Oddrun hosted a pizza & beer party last night on her balcony overlooking the West Village.

Pizza party in the Village. Rock on. 7th Avenue is below.

Sissel had asked Oddrun what treat from Norway she would like them most to bring, and Oddrun responded "homemade svele." Svele are basically pancakes that you season with butter & sugar, as with lefse. But they're thicker than lefse and aren't made with potatoes. They are a regional favorite from our part of Norway, Møre og Romsdal.

Sissel made them with her own two hands & carted them all the way from Sundalsøra. What a niece!

Svele og kaffe. Do NOT confuse svele with......

...lefse.

Sissel med Tante Oddrun.

George & Hallgeir have developed a special relationship. They both watch the same movies and can talk about little else. Kids always like George, because he basically is one.

Tante Oddrun has decided that Lene acts more shy than she really is, and has actually given her assignments to go explore the Village on her own. I gently reminded Oddrun that she was just about Lene's age when she left Norway for good to come live in New York. I don't think Lene's about to do that, but one never knows.

Lene, quite the looker at 17!

Bjorn, strong silent type. Perfect compliment for the millions of New York loudmouths in our midst.

Sissel med Denise, en venn til Oddrun.

Oddrun med Clarence.

Sissel, vakker som Tante Oddrun.