Lögberg-Heimskringla - 11.12.1992, Blaðsíða 25

Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 11. desember 1992 • 25
The Secret Diary? conra from p. 24
Thursday, November9,1950
DearDiary,
nother rotten day. Miss Miller told
Dad that I was interested in
Scottish history. So he pulled out that
Bobby Bums book of his again and he
made me sit there and listen. I will never
clean her blackboards again. Dad read
FIVE poems. Long ones. What kind of a
name is Tam O’Shanter anyway? At
least David and Einar had to listen too.
I have decided not to be a Jacobite after
all. I forgot they didn’t really speak
English.
Then Mrs. Bjornson rapped my
knuckles. She said my “Country
Garden” was more like a wilderness.
Very funny.
Uncle Jonas is here again. He and
Mom are making lists of all the people
we’re related to over here so that he can
take them over to Iceland and bring
back more lists from Iceland of all the
people we’re related to over there. Mom
won’t let Dad make the lists because if
he doesn’t like people he leaves them
off.
Uncle Jonas says he’s going to take
his camera with him to Iceland. When
he gets back I’ll get to look at about a
hundred pictures of rocks and small
hairy ponies. Maybe he’ll be really lucky
and see a volcano erupt. Miss Miller
says she doesn’t think the Interlake will
ever get a volcano. But she doesn’t
know everything.
We have a history test tomorrow. I
can’t study. I threw my notebook in the
fumace.
P.S. Hardfish tonight. A change but
not exactly a rest.
Friday, November 10,1950
oor Charlie. I feel so sorry for him
and everyone else just thinks it’s
funny. Especially Big-nose Alex. Charlie
followed Alex when he drove the hay
wagon out to the field today. Charlie
does that a lot — he’s very friendly.
Little did the hapless animal expect the
terrible nightmare that this seemingly
innocent afternoon held-in store for
him. (I thought that up during supper.)
On the way back from the field one
of the tires blew on the wagon.
Naturally Charlie thought he’d been
shot. Charlie is a very sensitive pig. That
poor, terrified creature squealed and
took off for home and when he shot
into the yard he was still squealing.
Expecting to drop dead any second of
course and only looking for a loving lap
to die in. And now eveiybody’s laughing
at him. It’s so cruel. Dad kept putting
down his fork to say “gasping and snort-
ing like the devil was after him” and
then old Big-nose would choke on his
mutton and say “squealing like a ban-
shee.” All through supper. Except he
never did actually choke, all the way, I
mean, more’s the pity. Anyway it was a
painful experience. I went out to see
Charlie after supper. He’s still extremely
agitated. Oh, Diary, how can people be
so insensitive?
I wish somebody would shoot Baldy
Jonasson.
Saturday, November 11,1950
Dear Diary,
he good news is we’re going to visit
Auntie Imba and Uncle Jorindur in
Ashem tomorrow. Auntie Imba has an
electric refrigerator and she buys recipe
books in Winnipeg. No canned mutton
in her kitchen, you bet! I told Big-nose
Alex that while we go.to Ashem he can
eat all the hay he wants. He told me to
stop clucking.
The bad news is that Mom found
another Icelandic book and she says
I have to read 20 pages of it a day.
It’s called Kristin Lavransdóttir. This
is supposed to be some kind of
Icelandic classic, whatever that means.
At least so far there haven’t been any
yellow chickens.
Sunday, November 12,1950
Dear Diary,
ell, we went to Ashern. Coffee
cakes, cookies, fudge and cin-
namon buns. David ate too much as
usual. Food is all that stupid boy
can think about. Einar says I read
stupid books. I told Einar that my
book may be Icelandic but it’s still
better than the Eaton’s Catalogue.
But I have just done a very terrible
thing. I read a little bit more than 20
pages, just by accident, in Kristin
Lavransdóttir. And now Mom refuses to
listen when I try to explain to her how
much I really don’t like it.
David and Einar are playing Dad’s
Bing Crosby records. They are also
singing along. It’s a good thing Charlie
can’t hear them or he’d really think he
was being murdered. I’m going down-
stairs to sit with Amma. Those poems of
hers sound better than my kid brothers
at least.
P.S. We each got a chocolate bar
from Uncle Jurindur’s hardware store
yesterday. I’m saving mine for the next
time we have mutton.
%
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