Dear Norwegian ancestors,
Give me a freakin' break already.
I appreciate that you had so much ambition. Why, everyone back then did enough burning and pillaging for three people in a single lifetime. You drank enough mead individually to leave a modern man drunk for the entirety of his natural life. You spun enough tales for today's cinema to create at least one really terrible movie.
You've kindly passed down your drive to go places and do things, to the point where I feel guilty when I don't accomplish something monumental on a day off, like cleaning the whole house or curing cancer. It would be nice if you'd let me relax sometime.
I know that at this point, you're a bit beyond my reach, Norwegian ancestors. It's been quite a while since you traversed the ocean, settled new land, and raised your children to be hardworking, lutefisk-surviving, silent-suffering members of society. But I'm still hoping you'll hear me, far away in the heart of Wisconsin, begging you to let my ambition take a day or two of vacation.
I do not seek to boast; that would be contrary to all that has been handed down through the ages. Norwegians do not boast; they are silently proud, and if someone should notice their good works, they gracefully admit that it was not that big a deal. My energies are diminutive in comparison to many great Norsks, historical and modern.
Still, my dear ancestors, they're sort of making me batty. When will I be allowed to watch a movie without working on knitting, too? When will I just give in and buy a frozen pizza again, now that I know how to make it at home? When will I not feel like anything pressing needs to be done and just admire the world's beauty for a while?
Actually, that last one is all I'm interested in. The rest? I'd get bored of it after five minutes.
Keep doin' what you're doin', Norsk ancestors. I hope Valhalla's all you hoped it would be.
Your hardworking offspring,