Julenisse 2023

Meps Schulte's original 2023 Julenisse
Meps Schulte’s original 2023 Julenisse

WHO, ME?

Meps’ 2023 Julenisse is up to no good!

He’s baaaack, our small Danish friend with the pointy ears!

This year’s Julenisse has decided that some books are contributing to the downfall of civil society, so he’s taking matters into his own hands. He’s especially offended by anything authored by a Schulte, as well as…the Danish dictionary?

I strongly urge you to appease the unseen and mischievous Nisser (who inhabit every house, even yours) with a bowl of sweet porridge or a plate of cookies on Christmas Eve. Otherwise, who knows if there will be anything left in the library next year!

As always, you can print him out from the PDF. Then grab some scissors, cut out this Julenisse, fold back the tabs, and place him at the edge of a shelf. His feet will hang over the edge, and a book or knicknack will hold him without tape.

Julenisse 2022

Meps’ 2022 Julenisse

Jeg præsenterermin tredje åreligJulenisse! (presenting my third annual Christmas-elf)

Having completed 18 months of Danish lessons, I continue to learn about the havoc these small barn creatures have wrought on Nordic families for hundreds of years.

His digital mischief this time may not impact you directly, but it illustrates the far-reaching effects of tiny, unseen elves that inhabit your house, computer, and cell phone. Whether it’s mismatched socks, a trip to the emergency room, or the failure of your favorite social media platform, we know who is to blame.

If you can, print this page and then take a pair of scissors and cut him out. Fold the tab back and tuck it under a book on your bookshelf or a candlestick on the mantel. He’ll sit with his legs dangling over the edge and no need for tape.

Don’t forget to leave out a bowl of porridge or plate of cookies for the Nisser on Christmas Eve! These tiny evildoers must be appeased every year.

Julenisse 2021

Julenisse 2021, ©2021 Margaret Meps Schulte, all rights reserved.
Meps’ 2021 Julenisse

The onset of the pandemic last year inspired my unorthodox illustration of a Nisse, the mischievous elf of Danish folklore. Families of yore were expected to set out a bowl of porridge to appease these little barn creatures on Christmas Eve. Otherwise, the elves would wreak havoc on the household the following year.

This year, I’m continuing the tradition with a new commentary on current events, featuring our mischievous friend.

Please print out this page, then take a pair of scissors and spend a few minutes cutting out your Julenisse (Christmas elf). Fold the tab back and tuck it under a book on your bookshelf or a candlestick on the mantel. He’ll dangle happily there there, with no need for tape.

A warning to you: Be assured that unseen Nisser inhabit your house, no matter where you live! You can appease these supply chain-disrupting mischief-makers with a bowl of porridge on Christmas Eve.

As always, I suspect a small plate of cookies will suffice, and Santa will be happy to share.

Julenisse 2020

Julenisse 2020, ©2020 Margaret Meps Schulte, all rights reserved.
Meps’ original 2020 Julenisse

Julenisse: The original “Elf on the Shelf”

In olden times, farmers in Denmark blamed all kinds of misfortune on a mischievous elf who lived in the barn: The Nisse. On Christmas Eve, members of the household were expected to set out a bowl of porridge to appease them. Otherwise, the elves would “up their game,” bringing even more suffering to the household.

Old-fashioned Danish Christmas decorations included paper versions of the Nisse, which are cut out with a tab that can be tucked under a book or other item on a shelf, making them look like they’re dangling or climbing the shelves.

As you can see by the artwork on the front of this card, I’ve made a huge assumption about the dumpster fire of 2020. Last year, since I literally spent Christmas in a van down by the river (it was fun!), I did not set out a bowl of porridge for them. So this year, I plan to appease them with a lovely bowl of risalamande, our beloved Danish rice pudding with cream and almonds.

I hope you’ll grab some scissors, cut out this Julenisse (the word Jule means “Christmas”), fold back the tab, and place him on a shelf. Whether you do or not, be assured that unseen Nisser do inhabit your house! Be sure to appease these pandemic-causing mischief-makers with a bowl of porridge on Christmas Eve.

I suspect a small plate of cookies would also suffice, and Santa will be happy to share.

Showering at 70 mph

I was riding the California Zephyr, an Amtrak train that goes from Chicago to Emeryville, California, when I got a song stuck in my head:

“I bet there’s rich folks eatin’ in a fancy dining car,
They’re probably drinking coffee, and smoking big cigars.”

That’s from Folsom Prison, Johnny Cash’s song about a man in prison watching a train go by. When it got stuck in my head, I hadn’t noticed that I was only a few miles from Folsom Prison, in central California.

Anyway, after three days on the train, I’d like to set the record straight about those two lines.

Donner Lake

Frankie looks out at Donner Lake

Trains are full of hundreds of people (and teddy bears) with nothing to do but look out the window. You might keep that in mind the next time you think about peeing beside the railroad tracks. I’ve seen seven deer, three hawks, one sandhill crane, and two men peeing.

On the other side of the equation, people notice passenger trains, and sometimes, they wave. I saw kids waving from the front porch of their house, as well as fishermen and rafters waving from the Colorado river. “What, nobody mooned you?” asked a woman I met in the dining car. Evidently, mooning is not unheard of.

For the first leg of my trip, from Cincinnati to Chicago, I sat in the section called “Coach.” Every seat was full, and people lurched up and down the aisle all night long, back and forth the bathrooms. I dozed, but I didn’t sleep well.

In Chicago, I discovered the Metropolitan Lounge, a sparkling, brand-new facility just for first-class passengers. I was eligible, because I had booked a sleeper car for the middle portion of my trip. Suddenly, I had access to free sandwiches, wine, coffee, and deep, comfortable seats.

I had arrived in “First Class.”

When it was time to board the train, the first class passengers were whisked onto the last three cars, the ones behind the dining and observation cars. Sleeper cars are always very quiet, compared to coach. People speak in hushed voices, and the loudest sound is the flushing of the vaccuum toilets. The sound of the whistle is very faint, and even the tracks are super-quiet, unless we are going across a switch, which makes the wheels clatter, or around a bend, which makes them squeal.

Meps in the bathroom

I didn’t take photos in the shower. But here’s one from the bathroom.

One of the first things I did when the California Zephyr departed from Chicago was take a shower. There is absolutely nothing special about a shower on Amtrak; it’s a standard little stall with a stack of bath towels and soaps. But I was traveling at 70 mph while I did it.

Then I got cozy in my private “roomette,” which I only had to share with two teddy bears. I hung up a couple of jackets, set my books and notebooks on the shelves (which are also the steps to the upper bunk), and plugged in my laptop. At 7:00, I went to dinner in the dining car, sharing a booth with three strangers. We all ordered the exact same steak.

Fortunately for my dining companions, there were no tunnels during any of my meals. Whenever we went through a tunnel, I was in my private room, and I kissed my teddy bear. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go read Strangers Have the Best Candy.

To return to the Johnny Cash song, the folks in the dining car were not rich folks. We were just average people from all over the world — librarians, retired postal workers, families on summer vacation. Some of us drank coffee, like the song, and some drank tea, wine, juice, or soda. We had our choice of steak, chicken, seafood, or vegetarian entrees. For desert, chocolate mousse was the favorite, but there was strawberry cheesecake, ice cream, and sugar-free vanilla pudding.

Charleen

Best service ever!

Unlike the dining cars of old, we did not have custom china, only plastic dishes. But some of the flatware had an Amtrak logo stamped into the handle. Most importantly, my meals featured a fantastic server named Charleen, an efficient woman with a twinkle in her eye and an encyclopedic memory of everyone’s beverage preferences.

Absolutely no one on the entire train was smoking a big cigar, because we’d been warned that if anyone was caught smoking, they would be thrown off the train. Furthermore, we were told over the loudspeaker, if anyone tried to smoke in the bathroom, all the bathrooms would be locked for the duration of the trip.

For two nights, I had my choice between the top and bottom bunks, and I divided my time between them. Last night, the Big Dipper was hanging over my window, as big as I’ve ever seen it, so I moved to the lower bunk to enjoy the view. There was nothing else to see outside my window until first light, when we left the Bonneville salt flats, crossed the Nevada state line, and passed Winnemucca. The riotous lights of the casinos left after-images on my retinas.

If you see an Amtrak train going by, be sure to wave. Even though it seems like another world aboard the train, we do see you. Some of us are waving back, or else we are mooning you. With the tinted windows, you’ll never know which.

 

Happy Chickie-Bunny Day!

Do you know that today is a holiday? It’s Chickie-Bunny Day!

Flowers and basket

Important components for celebrating Chickie-Bunny Day. (flower arrangement by Linda Caruso)

This important holiday falls on the first Saturday after the first Sunday after the first ecclesiastical full moon that occurs on or after the day of the vernal equinox. In other words, it’s the Saturday after Easter.

I invented it several decades ago, when I saw how drastically stores marked down  candy in the days after Easter had passed. I would buy chocolate and jelly beans (my favorite!) at 50%, 75%, and even 90% off, and by the end of the week, I would have enough for a giant basket.

Saving it for Chickie-Bunny Day, when I could share it, kept me from simply gobbling up the sugar every time I found a good deal.

Now that I eat less sugar, I still celebrate, but differently. Chickie-Bunny Day is my excuse to revel in the sheer silliness of commercial Easter. What do plastic eggs and stuffed bunnies have to do with death and resurrection? There were no jelly beans at the Last Supper, and Jesus’s shroud was not pink and fluffy.

It makes sense to move those traditions to Chickie-Bunny Day, and let Easter be Easter. The traditionalists can keep the ham.

~~~

I told the world about Chickie-Bunny Day ten years ago, on the Adventures of Meps’n’Barry. I’m still not sure what to say about semi-nude jelly wrestling.

 

I’m gonna fax a Polaroid

It only took me 30 minutes at the St. Vincent dePaul Thrift Store to find all the components of a pirate wench costume: The multi-layer skirts and blouses, the gold belt, the red headscarf. By 10:30 am, I stood in line to pay for my armful of colorful finds.

There were a few people behind me and a few ahead of me, and there was only one cashier. He was an older gentleman, and judging by his careful, methodical handling of each sale, probably a volunteer.

While we waited, I noticed that the young couple in front of me was buying a Battleship game.

“That looks like fun!” I said to them. “I bet I know what you’ll be doing today.”

The young woman’s face lit up. “It’s in great condition! We checked, and all the pieces are there.”

“You’ll have to post a picture of yourselves playing, like that.” I pointed at the box, which featured two excited children sitting across from each other, separated by the plastic stand-up Battleship board.

It was a scene from the 1970’s that I remembered well. But the young couple didn’t look old enough to remember the 70’s.

“I’m going to take a Polaroid and fax it to all my friends,” quipped the man. “And then I’m going to call them on my land line to make sure they got it.” The way the two of them laughed, I knew neither of them had a land line.

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I called my Dad the other day, and he had left his phone off the hook. I’d forgotten what a busy signal sounds like!”

When it was their turn, they set the box on the counter. As the cashier searched for the price sticker, I suddenly flashed back to 1993, and I said to him, “However much it is, could you just add it to my stuff?”

“Huh? It’s two dollars,” he said, entering it into the cash register. “Two fifty-one, with tax.”

The young woman protested briefly, but I said, “I’d just like to enjoy the thought of you playing Battleship.” I gave her a little hug and shooed the two of them out the door with their prize.

The cashier finished totaling up my pirate outfit, and as I paid for everything, he said, “That was a nice thing you did.”

I explained my 1993 flashback. “When I was their age, I had the exact same thing happen to me. My husband and I found a Scrabble game in a thrift store, with every single one of the pieces. And when we went to pay for it, guess what? A complete stranger insisted on buying it for us.”

I’d forgotten about it, but 23 years later, it’s making me smile. So is the thought of two young people, somewhere in Vero Beach, saying, “Heyyyy! You sank my battleship!”

Battleship box

The girl with the bang

Meps with a pink and purple stuffed snake

The giant snake called out, “Meps!”

For the past six weeks, I’ve been living in Vero Beach, Florida, focused on art, writing, and family. But I still want to have a social life. How do you launch a social life in a small town that rolls up the sidewalks at 9 pm?

My answer is, with a bang.

According to Wikipedia (not the best source, but it will do for now), the exclamation point has been called, in the printing world, a “screamer,” a “gasper,” a “slammer,” or a “startler.” The term that is most familiar to me, from hacker culture, is a “bang.” What I have discovered in Vero Beach is that my name is not “Meps.” It’s Meps-bang.

My forays out on the town started with Meetup.com, where I joined a group called the “Vero Beach Babyboomers Singles.” I’m only marginally a Baby Boomer, since I was born the same year the Beatles made their debut on the Ed Sullivan Show. But I figured that worst case, the members of the group would treat me like a pesky little sister.

The Boomers were “meeting up” to go dancing on Halloween. A little nervous, I dressed up and drove to The Patio, a restaurant I had noticed but never patronized. When I walked in the door, a voice sang out “It’s Meps!” I had expected to be anonymous, but it was not to be. I was noticed and made very welcome by Chris, the organizer.

Two days later, on a Sunday morning, I walked into a tiny church I had discovered earlier this year, the “Love Wins” church that welcomes absolutely everybody. I opened the door, and Todd, who has become a friend of mine on Facebook, greeted me enthusiastically. “Glad to have you back, Meps!”

It was time to rejoin Linda Graham’s yoga class at the Vero Beach Athletic Club. They’d moved, and I had some trouble finding the new location. So I was about five minutes late, but when I walked in the door, Linda announced to the entire class, “Hey, everybody, it’s Meps!”

I was starting to see advantages to being the only Meps in town.

This past weekend, I went to my first Toastmasters Club meeting in Palm Bay, a group called The Florida International Talkers. I loved the friendly group full of excellent communicators, but I wanted to see what was available closer to home. On Tuesday, I drove to another Toastmasters Club, just up the street from the house.

I was about five minutes late, and I took a slightly nervous breath before walking into the room full of strangers. From across the room came a loud and clear, “Hi, Meps!” It was Becky, whom I’d met at the Sunday meeting, 50 miles up the road.

So far, there was only one exception to “Meps!” That was at the Zumba studio, where they already have plenty of exclamation points. “Your name is “Meps,” right?” I just smiled and nodded.

One of these days, I’ll set them straight. Bang.