Swedish Goodbye

In Minnesota, saying goodbye is a complicated thing. You do not simply rise from your chair, say that it is time to leave, put on your coat and go. There are steps to follow, multiple steps. They are not written down in an etiquette manual somewhere, they are imprinted in our DNA. First you must make stirring gestures, indicating that it is getting late; that you have farm chores to finish, a dog to let out, kids to pick up, something to that effect. You talk a bit more about some inconsequential topic, the weather, the Twins or the Vikings. That may lead to crop assessment for the coming year, then gardening plans. The woman of the house may remember she planned to give you some of her preserves or pickles.

She goes into the kitchen to retrieve those items. In the meanwhile it's been established that, indeed, you are planning on leaving. The men continue to talk of men-things, and as a woman, if you are lucky, and interested, you stay and contribute. The conversation invariably turns to hunting. Someone has seen an enormous buck on someone's back pasture. They hope Johnson doesn't post his land again, because his dad always let folks hunt his property. It's just been since he moved to the Cities that he feels like he can have it all to himself.

The wife is now rummaging through drawers of dozens of saved margarine tubs and disposable deli containers for a matching lid, so that she can give you some hot dish to take home. She and hubby will never eat all that, she explains, now that the kids are gone. Once the hot dish is packed into the container, no, you don't need to return the dish, I have plenty, and tucked into a grocery bag and folded up tight, you are ushered back in to the living room where you sit down again. Again, you talk about the reasons you need to go. Again, you thank them for supper. Not dinner. Supper. You make plans to have them over. Not firm plans, on a calendar, of course, just 'sometime'. Everyone is satisfied.

Palms are placed on knees, bodies hoisted to the accompaniment of the groans and creaks of full tummies and used joints, and all shuffle toward the front closet where coats, mittens, scarves and hats are retrieved and wrapped. Hot dish, and if you are lucky and remember, pickles and jam and handed over. Everyone, including the host and hostess, head out to the car. Once there, you start the car, to 'let it warm up', roll down the window, and further conversation ensues. You discuss where you'll see each other again. Church perhaps? Sale at Fleet Farm? Got to get over to Petersons and help take down that old white pine that blew down in the last storm and took out half his old silo. Told him he should have dealt with that right away, but he wouldn't hear of it. It got that blister rust back when it was going through here back in the 70s, and rotted in the middle. Now he knows better. You can tell a Swede, but you can't tell him much! All laugh. Okay, we'd better get back in the house, it's getting cold out here. You take care, you kids. Thanks for coming over. You too. Thanks for supper. Bye. Bye now!