I spent some time at History Week this Saturday, small town called Sätre, twenty klicks from where we live. A village fair where time goes back 100 years, people dress up, folk dances, music, horses. First stop was a folk music group. There was an instrument I’ve never seen before. A rough translation of the name would be a key harp, like a violin except with keys, no frets to finger.
They were good and I was eye-wet moved, for reasons not apparent. Maybe seeing them so old (my age) and having a good time together . . . sweet recall, these years gone by, un-witnessed by the many and remembered by this lucky few. So very Swedish, and it came to me I’d been around a good three quarters of the century they’re celebrating. How did I get old? I didn’t see it coming. Age sneaks up on one . . . thief in the night, daylight as well. I watched a folk dance, also very Swedish. Called the Ox dance. Not sure where it comes from . . . what the story is. But fun to watch – two old guys (my age) having a great time with gusto.
It was a fun day, simple, nice. A simple Swedish happiness I notice more and more, an almost naive joyousness uncommon in the States. Cell phones were not in use this day, this far more simple time and place, a great relief.
It was a nice day.