{"id":41,"date":"2020-12-09T18:00:00","date_gmt":"2020-12-10T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/?page_id=41"},"modified":"2025-11-22T10:00:40","modified_gmt":"2025-11-22T16:00:40","slug":"news","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/news\/","title":{"rendered":"Short Stories"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The Thistle Dance<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Some in the family blame Aunt Hilda for what happened during the festivities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After all, neither of her first two husbands lasted long. She married the first when she was past forty. The breathless couple was honeymooning in a cottage on Lake Koshkonong when a thunderstorm swept through. They were in bed, admiring the curtains of rain and counting the seconds between the flashes and the rumbles, when Aunt Hilda realized that her saucy red Mustang convertible was turning into a swimming pool. At her urging, the groom threw on a raincoat and went out to put the top up, only to be struck dead by lightning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The insurance settlement enabled Aunt Hilda to start a bakery in Stoughton.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Outside that very same cottage, her second groom, an avid golfer angry at the clouds for ruining his game, shook a defiant nine iron at the heavens and, in a flash, passed on to some fairway in the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think that\u2019s when she began her collection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My earliest memories of her were the bearhugs. When I was little, they engulfed me so completely that daylight and air became things of joy. So did those hugs, though, because there was so much love in them. Whiffs of cinnamon and nutmeg, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I grew up with the realization that love, for all its piquant sweetness, could be smothering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I was steady on my feet when Alex and I fell for each other. I had never given carpenters much thought. But when he came over to trim a six-panel door, he smelled of sawdust and leather and his eyes smiled when he talked about wood grain. I cringed as I watched his fingers dance around the whirring blade of the miter saw, but he worked with easy precision.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was overdressed for the occasion. Jeans without holes in the knees, the pink Eiffel Tower t-shirt, a matching hair tie. I hadn\u2019t gone to that trouble for the plumber or the cable guy, but for some reason, the arrival of the carpenter was different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since I was standing there, Alex provided a running commentary on what he was doing. As he was measuring the reveal between the hinges and the trim, we veered onto the topic of flowers. It turned out that he knew a lot about invasive species.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During my blathering, one of his pencil marks went awry and he had to go back to the garage to re-cut the 45-dregree angle on the trim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m distracting you.\u201d I started to leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re good,\u201d he said with a reassuring smile. \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll make a how-to video. I kind of enjoy doing the play-by-play.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, he enjoyed taking walks, too. As we ambled though the nearby conservancy, he\u2019d tell me about bench sanders and truing and I\u2019d tell him about trigonometry and calculus. We talked about river birches and cattails and drainage, and suddenly everything seemed so fascinating.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because she was my closest living relative, a visit to Aunt Hilda was a given for my first real romance. So, about a hundred kisses into our relationship, I asked Alex if he was ready to take things to the next level.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d love to know what that is,\u201d he wheezed, \u201cas soon as you stop crushing me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d I said, easing up on the embrace. \u201cIt\u2019s kind of a thing we do in my family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda was living on the east side of Madison by then, in a squat craftsman style house with a garden full of thistles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that really necessary?\u201d Alex asked when he saw the lightning rod.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you knew Aunt Hilda, you wouldn\u2019t have to ask,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he\u2019s talking plants or carpentry, Alex radiates confidence, but when he\u2019s meeting people, he can be shy and self-conscious. So, I didn\u2019t tell him much about Aunt Hilda. I thought it best to let him discover her for himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The porch was so packed with rickety ladder-back and rush chairs that we had to squeeze our way to the front door. We got no answer when I knocked, so I took Alex by the hand and led him inside to get the full effect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was all we could do to get the door open. Sofas and chairs stood cushion to veneer with tables, dressers, headboards and vanities–the accumulation of a lifetime, several lifetimes actually. Over the years, Aunt Hilda\u2019s houses had become repositories for the generations. No one else in the family had room for an eight-foot Italianate dining room table and eight tall chairs, so Aunt Hilda took them in. No one wanted the 1917 Montgomery Ward sideboard, so Aunt Hilda adopted it. She dusted the relics and restored them when she got around to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to read Alex\u2019s face as he took it all in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNice rosemaling,\u201d he said, studying the colorful swirls of birds and flowers that graced the  living room wall. \u201cAre those thistle blossoms?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda hailed us from the kitchen. She wriggled past a parlor organ and a mahogany potty chair to get to us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I braced myself for the big hug, but she settled for wrapping an arm around my shoulder and squeezing. \u201cGlad you caught me,\u201d she boomed. \u201cI was about to take the day-old to the food pantry. Where you been, Shelley? I was ready to file a missing person report.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cOh, you know. Grad school,\u201d I said, steadying myself on an antique floor model radio. It let out a howl and I jumped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDamn thing\u2019s got a tube off kilter,\u201d Aunt Hilda said, bending over to unplug it from a power strip. \u201cRolfe was going to come over and poke at it, but his pacemaker\u2019s on the fritz, so he\u2019s got his feet propped up. He\u2019ll have more time after the festivities.\u201d She straightened and put her hands on her hips. \u201cIs this Alex or one of the other suitors you\u2019ve been raving about?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s kidding,\u201d I told him with a nervous smile. \u201cYes, this is Alex.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After an awkward hesitation, he reached out and took her hand as if he was about to kiss it. \u201cNice collection you have here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was he serious or was he messing with us?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis is my family,\u201d Aunt Hilda announced. \u201cFour generations in the form of furniture. We get along real well.\u201d She put her fist to her mouth and coughed. There were tears in her eyes. \u201cThe prairie-style dresser and the dropleaf table belonged to my husbands.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Husbands?<\/em> A questioning look from Alex.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s a widow,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She continued. \u201cThe goddam drawer glides in the dresser are shot. But the table\u2019s as sturdy as ever.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGotta love those claw feet,\u201d Alex said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sounded serious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat table\u2019s like you,\u201d I said. \u201cSolid. Built to last forever.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou never know,\u201d Aunt Hilda said with a tilt of her head. \u201cThat\u2019s what we thought about your Uncle Magnus.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think I  remember Uncle Magnus.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s his dry sink over there. He looked steady as a rock. But during Bjorn Pederson\u2019s overlong funeral, he died.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s terrible.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Yeah, but kind of convenient, too. On a brighter note, why don\u2019t you invite your suitor to the festivities?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe <\/em>festivities?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, darlin\u2019. What else?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Alex backed into a lamp and grabbed it to keep it from going over. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t want to  barge in on your party.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meeting people was hard enough for him. Crowds made him downright skittish.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda gave my shoulder a squeeze. My joint popped. \u201cWhat party<\/em>? Didn\u2019t Shelley tell you? I\u2019m getting married again.\u201d She went on, as if in confidence. \u201cNow, listen, I hope you haven\u2019t looked into this young man\u2019s police record.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I blinked. \u201cWhat? Why would I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSome of the young folks do, you know. I think it takes all the fizz and pop out of getting acquainted.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alex took a breath. \u201cI do have one thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t want to hear this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen I was in Lake Geneva, I thought I had the parking app down, but I got a ticket. It turned out I was paying for a spot in Rapid City, South Dakota.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda roared. \u201cBring him to the festivities!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the way to the car, I told Alex he had to be there or risk hurting her feelings. In addition to family, she had invited lots of friends, including two Somali volunteers at the food pantry, who now greeted her in Norwegian when she came to drop off the day-old fattigman <\/em>and kringle.<\/em> This was different though. My first real boyfriend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wedding and reception were to take place at Arnoy\u2019s Brewpub near Waunakee. When we got there, I warned Alex that things might come a little unglued. \u201cMy family can be boisterous and overbearing,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that a brewpub,\u201d he asked. \u201cIt looks like a church.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt was<\/em> a church,\u201d I told him. \u201cThe Lutherans outgrew it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA brewpub,\u201d he repeated. \u201cWell, think of the possibilities for baptisms.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda looked beautiful. She was wearing a black lace shawl over a silk burgundy blouse and a long floral print skirt. Her black hair had maroon highlights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI expected a corsage of thistle blossoms,\u201d Alex whispered as the bride and groom stood face to face where the altar had been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThistles are pretty once you get past the prickles,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda and Rolfe tied the knot with about eighteen biblical words and a peck on the cheek. The reception followed at once, with music by an eight-piece fiddle band and lubrication from kegs of Arnoy Skull-Knocker Stout. Watching over the proceedings were several stained glass saints whose raised hands seemed to be encouraging a lively time. I clung to Alex and introduced him around. My relatives stood too close and talked too loud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda and Rolfe started the dancing with a polka, and suddenly, the fragile groom was as nimble as a flea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Somalis were so quick to learn the steps that I wondered if Aunt Hilda had given them lessons during her visits to the food pantry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The night became a whirl of color and sound. Of faces, hands and feet, and raised voices. It was a  feast of love until Rolfe collapsed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fiddling trailed off.  People crowded around the fallen groom and the bride kneeling beside him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou should\u2019ve went easy on him,\u201d I heard somebody say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe looks like he\u2019s dead!\u201d cried one of my girl cousins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Amid a confusion of consternation and suggestions, Alex stepped back and got out his cellphone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aunt Hilda stood up and commanded, \u201cThis won\u2019t happen again! Get up, Rolfe!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For too long, the only sound was the whooshing of one of the kegs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The groom raised his head and looked around with a bleary smile. A cheer went up and somebody yelled, \u201cWelcome back, Rolfe!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alex and I drifted outside and into the parking lot. The light from the church spilled across the lawn and into the surrounding woods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alex let out a breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d I asked.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNever better,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The dandelions were out in full force. I picked one and held it out to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf I were a flower, this would be me. Easily overlooked in the crowd.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took it and held it up to the light. \u201cBut when a guy takes a good look, something rare and wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I smiled. \u201cAnd what would you be?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked around. \u201cDame\u2019s Rocket.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAn invasive species.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, so am I. Tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, no. After that immersion in there, you\u2019re practically one of the family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll bet I can fix the glides on that dresser.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took the dandelion from him and tucked it into the lapel of his coat. \u201cAlex, dear Alex, let\u2019s go back in. We should make the most of the night. The dance is just getting started.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n

That Special Tree<\/em><\/h2>\n

Sooner or later, you\u2019re likely to find yourself trekking through the cold for the chance to pay good money for a dead tree.<\/p>\n

All animals have their irrational moments. Lemmings fling themselves into the sea, black widows eat up perfectly good husbands, and we go looking for Christmas trees.<\/p>\n

We could speculate that a tree wedged into the living room fills some deeps-seated need to have a holiday guest who doesn\u2019t drink too much, talk shop or make a fool of himself under the mistletoe, but that\u2019s beside the point.<\/p>\n

You\u2019re going to want that dead tree. You\u2019re going to want the best dead tree you can get\u2014That Special Tree. There are secrets to getting it. Here\u2019s how we got ours.<\/p>\n

We live in the city, where there are literally lots of Christmas trees for sale. All kinds of trees for all kinds of prices, already cut for your convenience. Of course, that\u2019s not for you. It wasn\u2019t for us either. We drove twenty-five miles into the country for our tree.<\/p>\n

We passed several tree farms on the way. But Augusta knew that those were not for us because those trees were right there in plain sight. That Special Tree is never in a place you can find without a few wrong turns on narrow, unmarked dirt roads.<\/p>\n

If you happen to be the man in the family, you won\u2019t want to spoil the Christmas mystique by stopping to ask for directions. You could use your GPS, but what\u2019s the sport in that? Anyway, you\u2019re pretty sure you\u2019re almost there because the road has turned to mud.<\/p>\n

The signage was reassuring. I pulled the car onto the side of the road. Augusta, Young Charles, Wally, and I waded ashore and began our search for That Special Tree.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think of this one?\u201d August asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt looks muddy,\u201d I said. \u201cThey all do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s your glasses,\u201d she told me. \u201cDidn\u2019t I tell you to roll up your window when we drove in here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Charles insisted that we buy it right then and there.<\/p>\n

The very first tree? Unheard of. Augusta eyed it more critically. \u201cI don\u2019t know. It\u2019s not quite Christmas tree-shaped.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t?\u201d I rubbed my glasses on the knee of my jeans and put them back on. \u201cIt looks okay to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t have enough room between the branches. Our ornaments wouldn\u2019t be able to hang.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey would too,\u201d Charles declared.<\/p>\n

Augusta reached into her coat and pulled out a red glass ball. She hung it on one of the top branches. Sure enough, it just lay there like a giant cranberry.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about our ornament?\u201d Wally asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave it there to stake our claim,\u201d she said over her shoulder. \u201cI just want to look over here at this one.\u201d<\/p>\n

We slogged after her, over few rows and down a few trees. She stopped and posed, smiling, beside a six-footer.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis one looks pretty good,\u201d she chirped. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt sucks,\u201d Charles said.<\/p>\n

I thought of Joyce Kilmer\u2019s line: \u201cA tree whose mouth is lightly pressed against the earth\u2019s sweet-flowing breast.\u201d Something like that. Maybe Charles was just being poetic.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt does not <\/em>suck,\u201d Augusta insisted. \u201cAnd you are not to use that kind of language. Especially at Christmastime.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey all suck except that fist one,\u201d Charles informed her.<\/p>\n

Suddenly she spotted an even better one. It beckoned from afar with stately outstretched branches.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope you\u2019re kidding,\u201d I said when I got there. \u201cIt\u2019s about nine feet tall. We\u2019d have to put it in the garage\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe could keep the car in the living room,\u201d Wally suggested.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t hear us. She was already off, lured by yet another tall, shapely form.<\/p>\n

Frowning, Charles joined us on the forced march. \u201cAll of these trees suck except that first one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Augusta led us on from tree to tree, through deeper and deeper slush, in her quest to discover That Special Tree.<\/p>\n

We did discover one thing: Our boots weren\u2019t waterproof.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s starting to get dark,\u201d Wally observed.<\/p>\n

Fog was starting to settle over the snow.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, okay,\u201d Augusta conceded. \u201cLet\u2019s just get that first one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf we can find it again,\u201d I said, making a beeline for it. I was relying on my keen sense of direction, which can usually tell which way the sun is. It was down.<\/p>\n

But Charles, who is an avid backyard camper, led us right to the place\u2014to the place but not to the tree, which was riding atop a minivan on its way to a happy home in parts unknown.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the frig is this?\u201d Augusta gasped as she arrived at the crime scene.<\/p>\n

Wally put his foot on the remains. \u201cIt\u2019s a stump, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

Charles stared into the gray twilight. \u201cSomebody got our tree while we were out there in the dark.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hands on her hips, Augusta glared at the minivan as it slid through the quagmire. \u201cThey got our tree\u2014and our ornament. This sucks!\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes went heavenward. \u201cNow what?\u201d<\/p>\n

As if in reply, Augusta tiptoed over to a fir tree in the next row. It was short and spindly and down toward the bottom it had a bald spot.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis one looks pretty good,\u201d she said cheerfully.<\/p>\n

Charles and Wally were quick to agree.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt does look good,\u201d I said. \u201cVery good.\u201d<\/p>\n

We had finally found That Special Tree.<\/p>\n

Merry Christmas 2020!<\/h2>\n<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/h2>\n

\u00a0<\/h3>\n

.<\/span><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Thistle Dance Some in the family blame Aunt Hilda for what happened during the festivities. After all, neither of her first two husbands lasted long. She married the first when she was past forty. The breathless couple was honeymooning … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"paget-posts.php","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-41","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P3Ouwt-F","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/41","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=41"}],"version-history":[{"count":72,"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/41\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7357,"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/41\/revisions\/7357"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/normangilliland.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=41"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}