Boxing Day

 

The yarn lady was up early on Boxing Day, already thinking of what she’d need to do before the Jólasveinarnir arrived that evening. She started out with shopping for the ingredients for tonight’s “feast” of pylsur and crispy onions. As she checked out she regretted the idea of offering to host thirteen hungry trolls for dinner. She was sure not all would show up, but just in case she needed to have enough for all of them, so she had a LOT of meat in her cart. The good thing was that she could repurpose it to be meatloaf if there was meat left over.

She spent the afternoon crafting the remoulade and sweet mustard and then mixing the pork, beef and lamb for the pylsur. She unearthed a bag of skewers to use to grill the not-quite-sausages, checked to make sure she had enough plates and sat down to read until they arrived.

The Jólasveinarnir arrived a little after 6:30pm. The yarn lady knew they’d need to wait until there was no sun left in the sky, lest a stray sunbeam reflected onto one and turned him to stone. When she went to answer the door she saw  Kertasníkir (the candle stealer), Ketkrókur (meat hook), Gáttaþefur (the doorway sniffer), Gluggagægir (the window peeper), Bjúgnakrækir (the sausage stealer), Hurðaskellir (who carved doorstops to keep doors from slamming) and Giljagaur (the milk drinker). Seven out of thirteen was pretty good. Kertasníkir explained that most of the earlier trolls were having a party with some of the folks at Destiny’s Bridge, but it would involve lots of alcohol and ones here weren’t interested in spending an evening getting drunk and sharing stories. Askasleikir had decided last night to head back to Ísland early. He said his job was done here and that he was resigning, effective immediately. He said he was going to look into getting a job as a brú troll. The other trolls then made snide jokes at how he was much more suited to be the mean troll who hid under bridges and asked people trick questions like “What is the weight of a sparrow?” The yarn lady laughed at that. She wished that MR had been able to come over to meet the trolls, as she might have found that joke as funny as she did.

She explained to the trolls that she would be setting up a camp grill in order to cook their dinner and invited them to all take seats. The trolls and cats started a conversation about what the life of a house cat was like here in New Jersey. The yarn lady headed to the kitchen and Kertasníkir followed. She told them she had all the makings for pylsur and his face fell. It turned out the trolls had been looking forward to some real American cooking. The yarn lady buried her face in her hands. Yes, she could make meatloaf with all the meat, but not in time for dinner any time soon. Would the trolls like Oscar Meyer wieners she asked? Kertasníkir answered that it would be perfect. Their pylsur were nowhere near as good as and American hot dogs.

The yarn lady grabbed a package out of the fridge and began to cook them up. In about 20 minutes she had the hot dogs, rolls and a full selection of condiments (including the sweet mustard and remoulade) on the table along with the crunchy fried onions.

Everyone grabbed a hot dog and some crunchy onions and for a few minutes the only sound was chewing and a discreet belch or two. The yarn lady was surprised at the number of hot dogs these trolls could eat. Yeah, they like their Oscar Meyer wieners, she thought. 

As they were finishing, she asked them what they’d thought about their time here in New Jersey. The smiles faded from their faces and they looked at each other, wondering who dared to speak. Finally Ketkrókur (the meat hook guy without a meat hook) sighed and said, “This has been a disaster. People don’t know about the Jólasveinarnir, and when they think of trolls they think of bridge trolls, Shrek or those cute little dolls with the colorful hair. We’re none of them for sure, and to be honest we’re a lot closer to the bridge trolls than anything from a kids movie. We’ve agreed that we’ll go back and bring our case to the summer gathering to stop being Jólasveinarnir, or at least to let those who don’t want to be allowed to do something else. To be honest, the folks at Destiny’s Bridge have invited us to stay, and they’re a great bunch of folks most of the time. The trouble is they’ve said that sooner or later the town will come in and break up the camp and everyone will have to move on. That’s no way to live, and those folks agree. Most of them would prefer to live in a house, but they can’t deal with rubbing up against too many people. They’ve tried shelters and the lack of privacy there or in some congregate housing doesn’t work for them.

“As I told BC and Sparky, I intend to enroll at Háskólinn á Akureyri and study Social Sciences to learn to help us develop a new purpose for our lives. If Gryla doesn’t agree, well our section of caves is far enough away from where she lives that I can be convincingly somewhere else if she drops by occasionally. I plan to come home on weekends and she can find me then or I’ll go visit. If need be we’ll lie and sneak around behind her back until we’re ready to make a complete break with the clan at Dimmuborgir.”

The yarn lady listened to this with an open mouth. She thought she’d need to convince the group to rethink their purpose, but they’d already decided they needed to on their own. One after the other, each of them discussed their possible plans for their return. The candle stealer wanted to find an environmental group to work with, the door sniffer would apprentice himself to a master baker, the window peeper would be looking for a homeless outreach to work with, as he’d listened to many of the seniors’ stories at Destiny’s Bridge and figured it would be even worse in Ísland. The carver of door stoppers already had a trade, so he was already set, and the milk stealer would look for a dairy that needed someone who was good with cows, as he was very good at milking cows.

When they finished telling the yarn lady their plans Gluggagægir looked hopefully at Clementine and Ursula, who were perched on a long pillow in front of the dresser. “The only thing left to make our life perfect would be if perhaps one of you kitties would choose to return to Ísland with us. We’ve all been charmed by your personalities and your care for your humans. Might one of you consider moving to Dimmuborgir to live with us in our lava caves?

The yarn lady answered before the cats could even come up with a polite refusal.  “Oh, Gluggagægir, and all of you, the cats have become quite fond of you, but they can’t possibly go with you. The rules for bringing animals into your country would leave them in quarantine for weeks all by their lonesome. I’m sure there are kittens for adoption there, especially if you wait until late spring. That’s when there are generally more kittens than anyone can deal with!” As she spoke, the cats had stood up and were making their way around the room, greeting each of the trolls with a rub or a paw touch.

On this note, Ketkrókur rose and thanked the yarn lady for her hospitality and the cats for their welcome and friendship. He said they’d be returning to Ísland within the next few days, as there was no tradition here to uphold of Jólasveinarnir pulling their pranks for a two week period after their first visit. 

The yarn lady shook hands with each of the trolls, and hugged Ketkrókur. She wished them all well for their return trip and their endeavors in the future. She handed Ketkrókur a slip of paper with some email addresses and names on it – hers, Clementine’s and BC’s. “Keep in touch if you can, and Góð jól!”