I thought that you all might enjoy this Christmas poem. Norwegian Christmas or Lutefisk Lament 'Twas the day before Christmas with things all a bustle, As Mama got set for the Christmas Eve tussle. Aunts, Uncles and Cousins would soon be arriving With stomachs all ready for Christmas Eve dining While I sat alone with a feeling of dread, As visions of lutefisk danced in my head. The thought of the smell made my eyeballs start burning, The thought of the taste set my stomach to churning. For I'm one of those who good Norwegians rebuff, A Scandahoovian boy who can't stand the stuff. Each year, however, I played at the game To spare Mama and Papa the untidy shame. I must bear up bravely, I can't take the risk Of relatives knowing I hate lutefisk. I know they would spurn me, my presents withhold If the unthinkable, unspeakable truth they were told. Then out in the yard there arose such a clatter I jumped up to see what was the matter There in the snow, all in a jumble Three of my uncles had taken a tumble. My Aunts, as usual, gave them what for And soon they were up and through the door. Then with talk, and more cheer, an hour had passed As Mama finished the Christmas repast. >From out in the kitchen an odor came stealing That fairly set my senses to reeling. The smell of lutefisk crept down the hall And wilted a plant in a pot on the wall. The others reacted as though they were smitten While the aroma laid low my small helpless kitten. Uncles Oscar and Lars said, "Oh, that smells yummy," And Peder's eyes glittered while he patted his tummy. The scent skipped off the ceiling and bounced off the door And the bird in the cuckoo clock fell on the floor. Mama announced dinner by ringing a bell, They pushed to the table with a yump and a yell. I lifted my eyes to heaven and sighed, And a rose on the wallpaper withered and died. With wooden legs I found a chair And sat in silence with an unseeing stare. Most of the food was already in place There remained only to fill the lutefisk space. Then Mama came proudly with a bowl on a trivet, You would have thought the crown jewels were in it. She placed it carefully down and took her seat. And Papa said grace before we would eat, It seemed to me, with my whirling head, the shortest prayer he ever said. Then Mama lifted the cover on the steaming dish, And I was face to face with the quivering fish. "Me first," I heard Uncle Peder call, While I watched the paint peel off the wall. The plates were passed for Papa to fill, I waited in agony between fever and chill. He would dip in a spoon and hold it up high, As it oozed on the plate, I thought I would die. Then came my plate and to my feverish brain There seemed enough lutefisk to derail a train. It looked like a mountain of congealing glue; Oddly transparent, yet discolored the hue. With butter and cream sauce I tried to conceal it; I salted and peppered; but the smell still revealed it. I drummed up my courage, I tried to be bold, Mama reminds me to eat before it gets cold. I decided to face it, "Uff da," I sighed; "Uff da, indeed," my stomach replied. Then I summoned that resolve for which every breed is known, My hand took the fork as with a mind of its own. And with reckless abandon that lutefisk I ate, Within twenty seconds I'd cleaned up my plate. Uncle Peder flashed me a ear-to-ear grin, As butter and cream sauce dripped from his chin. Then, to my great shock, he whispered in my ear, "I'm sure glad this is over for another year." It was then I learned a great and wonderful truth, That Swedes and Norwegians, from old men to youth, Must each pay their dues to have the great joy Of being known as a good Scandahoovian boy. And so to you all, as you face the great test Happy Christmas to you, and to you all the best. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ David L. Johnson Http://members.aol.com/Borhaug