Bullgrit: “I posted your joke on my blog.”

Cowgrit: “Which joke?”

Bullgrit: “The only joke you know.”

Cowgrit: “I know more than one joke!”

Bullgrit: “No you don’t. It’s the only joke you’ve ever been able to remember and tell correctly.”

Cowgrit: “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Bullgrit: “Yep, that’s it.”

Cowgrit: “To show the ‘possum it could be done.”

Bullgrit: “Right.”

Cowgrit: “I know another joke.”

Bullgrit: “Oh yeah? What is it?”

Cowgrit: “Why did God give men a bigger brain than dogs?”

Bullgrit: “I taught you that joke back in college. That’s my joke.”

Cowgrit: “So they won’t hump your leg at a party.”

Bullgrit: “And you actually remembered it.”

Cowgrit: “Knock, knock.”

Bullgrit: “Oh, you’re gonna use jokes from the boys, now? Who’s there?”

Cowgrit: “Apple. . . . No! I mean Banana.”

Bullgrit: <laughing> “That’s Calfgrit3’s only joke. You’re stealing jokes from a 3-year-old?”

Cowgrit: “Shoot.”

Bullgrit: “See?”

Cowgrit: “But I do know more than one joke.”

Bullgrit: “Okay. I’ll correct my blog. You can tell more than one joke. You know TWO jokes.”

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I got a good sampling of Swedish food this week. I’m not normally very adventurous when it comes to food — I’m a meat and potatoes man — but I didn’t want to visit a new land without being willing to try the food. (I won’t guarantee this feeling if I visit some place very exotic.)

Turns out Swedish food is not bad. In fact, I loved some items; some items were decent, but a bit different from what I’m used to. Surprisingly I didn’t really dislike any Swedish food. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the names of most of the items (and probably couldn’t spell the names even if I remembered them).

The following pictures are not all the meals I had — I forgot a few times — and some pictures were taken after I had already started eating — I almost forgot a few times.

The above was the Sunday breakfast served on the SAS (Scandinavian Airlines) flight on the approach to Copenhagen. Nothing unusual to an American, here, other than the white pudding-looking thing in the top left corner — I didn’t try it, so I don’t know what it was.

The above was dinner Monday night. Bean chilli, rice, bread, pasta, sliced ham, cold corn, and a piece of some kind of meat with red sauce.

The above was lunch Tuesday. Swedish meatballs with sauce and sweet lingomberry sauce (think cranberry sauce), boiled potatoes, salad, and bread. I loved this meal.

The above was Tuesday dinner. Sliced ham, warm mashed potatoes, cold corn, a bologna-like sausage covered with cheese and ketchup (the ketchup is part of the item — it was not my doing), a quarter bagel, and a cinnamon bread.

The above was Thursday lunch. Some kind of rice with beans, something I don’t remember, cold green beans, something I couldn’t identify, something Italian, something else I couldn’t identify, wild pig, and bread in the middle. Not pictured was my follow up taste of pancakes with lingomberry sauce and whipped cream — yum!

The above was Friday lunch. This meal was at an American-style sports bar. Cheeseburger, french fries, and a spicy sauce. I liked the sauce a lot, so I put it on my burger and I dipped my fries in it.

“What’s this sauce?” I asked my friends. “I like it, and it’s a bit spicy.”

My friends looked at each other a moment and then said, “It’s supposed to be American dressing.”

“Um, OK,” I said. “I have no idea what it is. It doesn’t taste like any American dressing or sauce I’ve ever had.”

We all got a good chuckle out of that.

The above was my Friday dinner. A nice hot cup of hot chocolate, free from the hotel bar. After so many full meals this week, I enjoyed just sitting in bed for a while and sipping on some hot chocolate. I’m not usually a big hot chocolate fan at home, but something about the cold of Sweden, and the really tasty chocolate in Sweden has given me a new outlook on the beverage.

* * *

Today is my flight back to the US. My flight leaves Copenhagen at around noon, and I finally arrive home at near 9:00 p.m. (that’s 2:00 a.m. Sweden time). So I probably won’t have a timely post on Sunday morning.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

The city is beautiful, the people are friendly (although very quiet), the food is good, but the climate is just terribly cold. It snowed a couple of times Monday and yesterday, and judging from the new snow on cars outside the hotel, apparently last night as well. Blue sky here in the winter is what snow is back home: rare and worthy of note.

I was in the office all day yesterday, and I hung out with coworkers the whole time. On the street, the Swedes are quiet and poker-faced, but met in the office, they’re talkative and smiling. On a personal level, I could easily live with Swedes.

When some of us got in a car to go off, I explained the concept of “shotgun” — calling shotgun and riding shotgun. I’ve mentioned before how I got my Swedish counterpart to say “Y’all,” and yesterday I got my British colleague to say it. Yep, I’m a regular ambassador.

I was so damned tired last night. I finished dinner at 7:00, and returned to my room where if I dropped unconscious, I might could manage to fall on the bed. I hoped to stay awake till 9:00, but I’d settle for 8:00.

I did manage to stay awake till 9:00, but I never saw 9:01. The damnedest thing about this jet lag is once my body gets used to this time difference, I’ll be heading home to have to adjust back to my home time.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

We dressed Calfgrit3 in some warm, loose-fitting pajamas with a button-up top. He looks real cute in those PJs. The next morning, he came out of his bedroom missing his shirt and socks. We figured he got too warm or something.

The next night, we put him back into those pajamas. The next morning, he’s out of his shirt and socks again. Okay. Calfgrit7 often doesn’t wear a shirt or socks to bed, so we figure CG3 is just copying his big brother. (CG7 is hot natured, and his sheets and blanket are enough for him at night.)

The next night, we put CG3 in different but similar pajamas. The next morning he comes out of his room in completely different and not similar pajamas. He’s wearing tight PJs with robots on them. We already know these are his favorite, but we’re just learning how favorite.

He’s never put on his pajamas all by himself. Usually, I or his momma help him by at least holding them up and open so he can step into or stick his arms into the clothes. But he not only put them on by himself that night, he did it in the dim glow of a nightlight.

We talked to him about his pajamas, and he says he doesn’t like the loose fitting ones, and he doesn’t like the button-up shirts for sleeping in. Okay, we can work with that.

Then yesterday, his momma put him down for a nap in the middle of the day, in his clothes, like always. When he came out of his room an hour and a half later, he was in his robot pajamas. Nice. He apparently got out of bed, took off his clothes, put on his favorite pajamas, and got back in bed to sleep. You gotta give the little guy credit: he knows what he likes, and he handles it himself.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com