After my grandfather died, around 1930, an elderly woman moved into his house. It was such a cute little house and the garden was well kept when Grandfather lived there. Soon after she moved in it became evident that the garden was the least of her interests. We, his grand children, had been employed to see to it that there no weeds in his garden. One year there was a severe influx of some kind of worm in the Reseda that edged the walk way from the gate in his fence to his front door. We got a swedish penny for each worm we pulled out of the flowers. You may think this was slave labor, but we got so many pennies my mother insisted we had to save ten percent and then we could go to the Candy store. So how does this come in under the heading of More Faces? Sorry, this new face didn't care about the Reseda or anything in the garden.
We soon discovered that she was an alcoholic. At night, sometimes after midnight she would walk down the lane to our house. She had lost her way to her out-house and my mother would have to turn her around and steer her back up the lane. And sometime it was too late. She would relieve herself on the way home.
If you met her during the day, in one of the shops, she was a good looking woman, with good clothes and a happy outlook on life. She was the first person I had met who drank too much. Except for the drunks you'd see on the ferry between Helsingborg, Sweden and Helsinor Denmark. Mostly Swedes took advantage of the drinks you could buy. Twenty minutes on the way over and twenty minutes on the way back. Looking back now, it seems the drinks must have been expensive, what with having to buy two ferry rides.
Farmor, meaning our paternal grandmother, had a lovely face. She was very wrinkled but she had the happiest face. Her eyes sparkled. She had a hunch back which was probably caused by lack of calcium when she carried her eight children. They were very poor at some times in their marriage. Grandmother was a perfect grandmother who would pick us up (one at a time ) and spend a forenoon reading to us. She would also let us play with the skin on her hands. We would lightly pinch her skin, and when we let go, the skin would stand up all by itself. We learned how to count that way. We would begin counting when we first pinched and when her hand was flat again we stopped. Such sport !!!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Swedish older people
When we had a festive dinner when I was growing up, festive because of company or someone's birthday, we always served a drink with the meal. It was called Dricka. That word also means 'to drink'. It was non alcoholic and it looked like beer. It was delicious. We had to walk from one end of our village to the other. The place had large wooden gates and it was almost impossible to open them if you were under ten years old. The buildings inside the gate were old and arranged the way farms were arranged in the olden days. To the right was the family building, opposite was the building for the animals, horses and cows and such and between these was the barn here hay and equipment was kept. Then the farmer owned ground outside of the village for grazing. There were several of these old farms inside the village and the reason for the heavy gates was protection from the Danes when the Swedes and the Danes decided to have WAR.
The woman who owned this farm and who lived on the income from the Dricka never changed in the years when I had to go to buy her wares. She was dressed in boots and men's work pants and a long apron which was more stained as the years went on.She had arranged to sell her dricka in the building across from he home. We had to bring a pail to carry it home. She had a counter and she would put her hands on the counter (they were as red as beets ),bend over slightly and say "What will it be today?" I don't know what else she sold but probably something that had become alcoholic. Her nose was always running and she had no tissue and she did not use her hand but her tongue was busy. I don't know what her name was but we called her Froken something.
The teacher in the last two years of standard education paid for by the government lived next door to this dricka person. There was no space between the teacher's house and the farm and the other side of the farm had a house up tight next door. I don't remember who lived there but it must have been difficult to live so close to the fly inspiring place so close by.
If you continued in the direction you were going, only a few more houses, and where the road bent, there was Niagara Cafe and a few feet from that you could bend over a wall and see Niagara Falls. I would always sneak over and try to see how much water was passing over the falls as high as about two bricks on top of each other. In summer time sometimes you could not see the trickle. And then I would return and do my errand.
The woman who owned this farm and who lived on the income from the Dricka never changed in the years when I had to go to buy her wares. She was dressed in boots and men's work pants and a long apron which was more stained as the years went on.She had arranged to sell her dricka in the building across from he home. We had to bring a pail to carry it home. She had a counter and she would put her hands on the counter (they were as red as beets ),bend over slightly and say "What will it be today?" I don't know what else she sold but probably something that had become alcoholic. Her nose was always running and she had no tissue and she did not use her hand but her tongue was busy. I don't know what her name was but we called her Froken something.
The teacher in the last two years of standard education paid for by the government lived next door to this dricka person. There was no space between the teacher's house and the farm and the other side of the farm had a house up tight next door. I don't remember who lived there but it must have been difficult to live so close to the fly inspiring place so close by.
If you continued in the direction you were going, only a few more houses, and where the road bent, there was Niagara Cafe and a few feet from that you could bend over a wall and see Niagara Falls. I would always sneak over and try to see how much water was passing over the falls as high as about two bricks on top of each other. In summer time sometimes you could not see the trickle. And then I would return and do my errand.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wonderful faces
Our bus left at 11.30 for our lunch tour to Blackberry Cafe in Joyce. There were fourteen of us going for this new adventure. And our driver whom you have heard about before, an absolute saint, with an invisible tiara. The average age, not counting our driver, was probably around 87. It was fun observing this group. Two of them were men.
There were two women who have been on every bus tour I've been involved in. They are not related, but this is probably a strong friendship which probably began after arriving here. At least five times I have heard one of them tell the other that she had a truck before she moved, but she sold it for she knew she would not need it here in the west. Her friend is about the same age came here from Florida where she also was involved in a farm.
The smallest woman there is a representative of God's. The first time I rode the bus, she tried to introduce me to her God. I must have been dismissive for she has never brought up the subject with me again. But I heard her tell that one of the people who died last week had refused to listen to her talking about God and now she feels so sorry for her for now it is too late. She actually grew up in Joyce, a tiny little community that doesn't have even one traffic light.
And one of the people weighs maybe less than the afore mentioned one, for she is soo thin. I knew her before moving here. Sam and I used to play bridge with her and her husband. She is so elegant and so proper, she looks as if she could go to tea with the queen any moment. Her husband was involved with logging and was a tall man and could have been a logger in a play.
One of the women, one who has a beautoful face and beautiful white hair is a walker. I think her group is called Klehanne. She seems very vital.
Then there was one woman that I have never been close to. The reason is that she is always sitting on a piano stool and she plays and plays. It is said that she doesn't know how to read music but she knows every tune that was ever popular. She can go on for hours. She is 94 or 97.
One of the men looked as if he had just stepped off the tractor, washed his hands, and ready for lunch. He wore a checkered flannel shirt and braces. The two men sat together and were totally different from each other. They sat across from Keith, the driver and could carry on a masculine discussion. Keith was meanwhile playing nanny to our piano player.
The two women sitting on either side of me are younger and seem very nice. I suggested to one of them that we share a bacon burger and luckily she was elated. It was the worst hamburger I have ever tasted. The bacon as underdone, the beef was either absent or so thin that you could not see it. And they must have cooked them an hour before we got there. They were cold.
Then we visited a couple of beautiful beaches on our way home. I heard one voice from the back of the bus saying: This is better than staring at four walls. That remark made me sad. There is much to do here and nobody should stare at four walls.
Next blog will be about some people this same age I remember from growing up in Sweden.
There were two women who have been on every bus tour I've been involved in. They are not related, but this is probably a strong friendship which probably began after arriving here. At least five times I have heard one of them tell the other that she had a truck before she moved, but she sold it for she knew she would not need it here in the west. Her friend is about the same age came here from Florida where she also was involved in a farm.
The smallest woman there is a representative of God's. The first time I rode the bus, she tried to introduce me to her God. I must have been dismissive for she has never brought up the subject with me again. But I heard her tell that one of the people who died last week had refused to listen to her talking about God and now she feels so sorry for her for now it is too late. She actually grew up in Joyce, a tiny little community that doesn't have even one traffic light.
And one of the people weighs maybe less than the afore mentioned one, for she is soo thin. I knew her before moving here. Sam and I used to play bridge with her and her husband. She is so elegant and so proper, she looks as if she could go to tea with the queen any moment. Her husband was involved with logging and was a tall man and could have been a logger in a play.
One of the women, one who has a beautoful face and beautiful white hair is a walker. I think her group is called Klehanne. She seems very vital.
Then there was one woman that I have never been close to. The reason is that she is always sitting on a piano stool and she plays and plays. It is said that she doesn't know how to read music but she knows every tune that was ever popular. She can go on for hours. She is 94 or 97.
One of the men looked as if he had just stepped off the tractor, washed his hands, and ready for lunch. He wore a checkered flannel shirt and braces. The two men sat together and were totally different from each other. They sat across from Keith, the driver and could carry on a masculine discussion. Keith was meanwhile playing nanny to our piano player.
The two women sitting on either side of me are younger and seem very nice. I suggested to one of them that we share a bacon burger and luckily she was elated. It was the worst hamburger I have ever tasted. The bacon as underdone, the beef was either absent or so thin that you could not see it. And they must have cooked them an hour before we got there. They were cold.
Then we visited a couple of beautiful beaches on our way home. I heard one voice from the back of the bus saying: This is better than staring at four walls. That remark made me sad. There is much to do here and nobody should stare at four walls.
Next blog will be about some people this same age I remember from growing up in Sweden.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Another Midsummer
Such problems. I won't bore you with what happened but I am getting tired of Mid summer and of my computer. Martha, my plot daugher helped me ovecome some of my computer problems and now it is full seed ahead. Or full speed back again.
Just the word Midsummer promised so much. Special food, the first new potatoes dug up out of the garden that morning. For the first time that year. Then the promise that maybe we could go swimming if the temperature was above 50*. Wearing new clothes. Probably the dress that was made for our last day of school. Probably out of town visitors for dinner. The potatoes were the best part of that meal but the fish or the meat would be special too. And a fabulous cake for desert. And then the dance around the Maj Stong ( May Pole ) Why was it called the May Pole when midsummer was in June?
There was a lot of work to be done that day. We had to help get the house ready for celebrating. Some important member had to dig up the potatoes. Maybe that's why I had a great collection of pitchforks that were sold when we moved from our Diablo house. And that's why I have said I am going to be a potato farmer in my next life. I was never important enough to dig up the spuds. ( I never put this together before ) Then around ten we had to gather in the park to get the May Pole dressed and put together.
Teenagers and adults would gather the greenery. There were tools too big for the smaller children. We had to go out on the heath to gather white Daisies, blue Bachelor Buttons and Red Clover. And then there was a group of grown ups who would raid the gardens of big red Peonies. Some years the May Pole would be a truly magnificent work of art. Depending on who was in charge. I wish I had pictures of the good ones.
The pole consisted of what looked like a telephone pole with a shorter thinner cross bar, two rings that looked like the wheels
without spokes from a bicycle. The main pole was the first to be dressed. Then grownups would raise it in the middle of a big circle in the middle of the park.The cross piece was dressed and in stalled about 31/4 of the way up the pole. The Swedish flag flew from the top. The rings attached to the crosspiece were the most colorful parts of our labor.It was a beautiful sight standing in the center of a green lawn.
And when that was done there would be dinner and an hour later swimming in the Sound between Sweden and Denmark, Oresund. And then the dance. There was an adult who played the accordion. Only ring dances were offered and we all knew all the words to all the songs and there were some that were more fun than others. The words to one for example said.. I step so close to you, I take you in my arms, And so we circle away... well what a thrill.
There was a morning after. We would go to see the pole again and there it stood in a circle of dirt. Not a blade of grass was left. All danced away. One thing that was true then. There were no candy wrappers and nothing but a dead lawn.
Just the word Midsummer promised so much. Special food, the first new potatoes dug up out of the garden that morning. For the first time that year. Then the promise that maybe we could go swimming if the temperature was above 50*. Wearing new clothes. Probably the dress that was made for our last day of school. Probably out of town visitors for dinner. The potatoes were the best part of that meal but the fish or the meat would be special too. And a fabulous cake for desert. And then the dance around the Maj Stong ( May Pole ) Why was it called the May Pole when midsummer was in June?
There was a lot of work to be done that day. We had to help get the house ready for celebrating. Some important member had to dig up the potatoes. Maybe that's why I had a great collection of pitchforks that were sold when we moved from our Diablo house. And that's why I have said I am going to be a potato farmer in my next life. I was never important enough to dig up the spuds. ( I never put this together before ) Then around ten we had to gather in the park to get the May Pole dressed and put together.
Teenagers and adults would gather the greenery. There were tools too big for the smaller children. We had to go out on the heath to gather white Daisies, blue Bachelor Buttons and Red Clover. And then there was a group of grown ups who would raid the gardens of big red Peonies. Some years the May Pole would be a truly magnificent work of art. Depending on who was in charge. I wish I had pictures of the good ones.
The pole consisted of what looked like a telephone pole with a shorter thinner cross bar, two rings that looked like the wheels
without spokes from a bicycle. The main pole was the first to be dressed. Then grownups would raise it in the middle of a big circle in the middle of the park.The cross piece was dressed and in stalled about 31/4 of the way up the pole. The Swedish flag flew from the top. The rings attached to the crosspiece were the most colorful parts of our labor.It was a beautiful sight standing in the center of a green lawn.
And when that was done there would be dinner and an hour later swimming in the Sound between Sweden and Denmark, Oresund. And then the dance. There was an adult who played the accordion. Only ring dances were offered and we all knew all the words to all the songs and there were some that were more fun than others. The words to one for example said.. I step so close to you, I take you in my arms, And so we circle away... well what a thrill.
There was a morning after. We would go to see the pole again and there it stood in a circle of dirt. Not a blade of grass was left. All danced away. One thing that was true then. There were no candy wrappers and nothing but a dead lawn.
correction
Please hang on for a while Something's wrong with the computer In the middle of a sentence it flicks to this message 'your post was successfully published. As soon as I can trust this machine I will tell you about Midsummer in Sweden when I was growingg up.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
A house
Our Washington house by the beach has been sitting empty for more than a year. It has been difficult to go there and feel the house crying for attention. We had many happy years of retirement, and made many good friends while living there. And then ten sad years, with Sam gone. Before Sam died we sold the house to our son with the proviso that we would live there till we died. Last year I moved away because it was too much work to maintain and too much money to maintain, and I felt the neighborhood was suffering because of the obvious neglect.
Now the house is being re-vitalized and it will be great to see it lived in again and maintained. The one thing that never could be spoiled is the view. And the spectacle of all the cruise ships passing by on the week-ends continues as before. The ships enter the Strait of Juan de Fuca early in the morning for the trip to Seattle and return in the evening, ablaze with lights. They stop directly in front of the house to let the pilot leave the ship, as it continues on its way to the Pacific Ocean. It is great theater and we would try each week-end evening to plan our entertaining with dinner around the the time the cruise ships passed by. Last night I brought spare-rib dinner to my son and Chris, his wife, and Sam, their son, who were exhausted from moving in. I quickly grabbed the seat with the view., instead of my usual, 'nearest to the kitchen' seat. Sadly it was thursday and no 'theater' night.
It was nice to see the family again. And we had 'theater' of a different sort. Cap's father, Rusty, was there and a new little nine week old puppy whose name I forget, entertained us all evening with their shenanigans. It was a happy evening.
Now the house is being re-vitalized and it will be great to see it lived in again and maintained. The one thing that never could be spoiled is the view. And the spectacle of all the cruise ships passing by on the week-ends continues as before. The ships enter the Strait of Juan de Fuca early in the morning for the trip to Seattle and return in the evening, ablaze with lights. They stop directly in front of the house to let the pilot leave the ship, as it continues on its way to the Pacific Ocean. It is great theater and we would try each week-end evening to plan our entertaining with dinner around the the time the cruise ships passed by. Last night I brought spare-rib dinner to my son and Chris, his wife, and Sam, their son, who were exhausted from moving in. I quickly grabbed the seat with the view., instead of my usual, 'nearest to the kitchen' seat. Sadly it was thursday and no 'theater' night.
It was nice to see the family again. And we had 'theater' of a different sort. Cap's father, Rusty, was there and a new little nine week old puppy whose name I forget, entertained us all evening with their shenanigans. It was a happy evening.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A great day
Yesterday a good friend who moved away from here a couple of years ago, called and said she had to sell a book she co-wrote with Helen Radke at the local Historical Museum and could they come by to say hello. She and her husband came and stayed for half an hour. It was great seeing them. I decided to go to the museum and if there were any moments when she was not busy with her public we could continue our reminiscing. As we were saying good bye again, she said have you read THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PEEL PIE SOCIETY book be sure you get it . it is wonderful reading. I stopped at the local book store, bought it and also the first of the twilight books. The first one I mentioned is a Dial Press Paperback. I came home, sat down to read and except for taking care of my animals and making my bed , I have done nothing but read.
The book is amusing, and historically educational. Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. If you have read it or if you do in the near future let me know how you feel about this book.
The book is amusing, and historically educational. Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. If you have read it or if you do in the near future let me know how you feel about this book.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Book
I just finished reading a book by Mary Higgins Clark. In Acknowledgments she said "Perhaps the question I am most frequently asked is," Where do you get your ideas?" she answered that "She may read a short article in the news paper or magazine, and for some reason it sticks in my mind." And when I read that while looking for something to read while waiting in the Dr.'s waiting room, I bought the book WHERE ARE YOU NOW? It sounded as if there might be a serious lesson in that book. If there was, it eluded me. But I was transported into another world that held me tightly for several hours.
My daughter number three has asked me repeatedly to get my act together and to make a PLOT CHART and to seriously plan to write a book about my past. This Blog is probably the most serious attempt so far. What I found while reading Mary Higgins Book is that I do not like to read a book that has too many jumps from one season to another. I like books that have a beginning and a middle and an end. I like people to appear as they happen to fit into the time schedule. If they need to be introduced, do it there. I you need to tell why they are important to the story, let it develop. (Blockbuster Plots)
Now, why have I jumped from 1938 to 1970 and back to 1945 ? And why have I gone back historically to my relatives lives. Because I run out of memories of my own? Or because there are times I can not talk about because they are too difficult to get into.
I will ask my Plot Daughter what my problem is. And I will tell you exactly what she answers. And maybe we will all learn together how to do it. See what happens next.
My daughter number three has asked me repeatedly to get my act together and to make a PLOT CHART and to seriously plan to write a book about my past. This Blog is probably the most serious attempt so far. What I found while reading Mary Higgins Book is that I do not like to read a book that has too many jumps from one season to another. I like books that have a beginning and a middle and an end. I like people to appear as they happen to fit into the time schedule. If they need to be introduced, do it there. I you need to tell why they are important to the story, let it develop. (Blockbuster Plots)
Now, why have I jumped from 1938 to 1970 and back to 1945 ? And why have I gone back historically to my relatives lives. Because I run out of memories of my own? Or because there are times I can not talk about because they are too difficult to get into.
I will ask my Plot Daughter what my problem is. And I will tell you exactly what she answers. And maybe we will all learn together how to do it. See what happens next.
Friday, June 5, 2009
And then the kitchen
What a horrible surprise. Ugly floor with holes through to the under-flooring. The walls were lath and plaster and many places you could see this material. The ceiling was lath and plaster also and there were spots where it was also evident. Immediately to the left of entering there stood an old Wedgwood range. It had a section on the left where you could burn your trash. It was connected to a flue into what must be a way into a chimney. That made me happy for this had been used, obviously for years,, I could take the stove out and replace it with a small fire place land we could have breakfast in the cold mornings with a comforting small fire. We would have school-age children before long. ( You can tell I jump into impossible situations without too much thought )
Back to reality, the sink was under the windows sitting in a horrible counter to the right. At the end of the counter was a door and when you opened it you found a small room with one item, the refrigerator. Open the door and you found yourself in the laundry room and that was the outer limit in that direction. I went out the door onto a rickety wooden porch, to the left was a slanting cellar door.
So back to the kitchen. In the opposite corner from the door I already mentioned was a little breakfast nook with built in benches. What made this so tight and cluttered was the fact that there was the door leading out to a large beautiful back-porch About three stairs down and if you walked this route to the left you would find yourself in the garage.
But we have not seen any bed rooms yet. Back to the dining-room. Walking away from the windows you left the dining-room and entered a LARGE hall. Again beautiful hardwood floors and big arched windows. One bedroom on the left with no window except the little one that we talked about in the first room. The next was a much smaller hall leading to one small bedroom to the right, and one large bathroom to the left. It was very old-fashioned but regal sort of. Small porcelain tiles in the shower and with a huge built in wooden chest of drawers between two windows facing out unto the driveway. We return to the large hall and continue to the end. One door on each side. To the left the master bed-room. Long wooden counter to the right and a sink at the end. Windows in the opposite corner. Back to the large hall and then into the last bedroom Big enough to hold the three girls provided we could have a bunk-bed at one end. In the closet that was ample there was a small built in sink. Big enough to brush teeth. It might keep the mornings less phrenetic.
The house with all its faults oozed of summer happiness and with lots of guests. And we had noticed all the out-buildings which probably were there as guesthouses. All of them had water in them, we discovered later, and in the olden days there was a lake connected to the settlement. More news about the history of Diablo later.
The place cost $24.000 and we made an offer of $22.000 and it really was more than we could afford. And we were too stupid to ask about termites and about the condition of the roof. And we and the termites lived together in peace and happiness until the time came to sell the place and the buyers were smart enough to ask about silly thinks that we tried to ignore.
Back to reality, the sink was under the windows sitting in a horrible counter to the right. At the end of the counter was a door and when you opened it you found a small room with one item, the refrigerator. Open the door and you found yourself in the laundry room and that was the outer limit in that direction. I went out the door onto a rickety wooden porch, to the left was a slanting cellar door.
So back to the kitchen. In the opposite corner from the door I already mentioned was a little breakfast nook with built in benches. What made this so tight and cluttered was the fact that there was the door leading out to a large beautiful back-porch About three stairs down and if you walked this route to the left you would find yourself in the garage.
But we have not seen any bed rooms yet. Back to the dining-room. Walking away from the windows you left the dining-room and entered a LARGE hall. Again beautiful hardwood floors and big arched windows. One bedroom on the left with no window except the little one that we talked about in the first room. The next was a much smaller hall leading to one small bedroom to the right, and one large bathroom to the left. It was very old-fashioned but regal sort of. Small porcelain tiles in the shower and with a huge built in wooden chest of drawers between two windows facing out unto the driveway. We return to the large hall and continue to the end. One door on each side. To the left the master bed-room. Long wooden counter to the right and a sink at the end. Windows in the opposite corner. Back to the large hall and then into the last bedroom Big enough to hold the three girls provided we could have a bunk-bed at one end. In the closet that was ample there was a small built in sink. Big enough to brush teeth. It might keep the mornings less phrenetic.
The house with all its faults oozed of summer happiness and with lots of guests. And we had noticed all the out-buildings which probably were there as guesthouses. All of them had water in them, we discovered later, and in the olden days there was a lake connected to the settlement. More news about the history of Diablo later.
The place cost $24.000 and we made an offer of $22.000 and it really was more than we could afford. And we were too stupid to ask about termites and about the condition of the roof. And we and the termites lived together in peace and happiness until the time came to sell the place and the buyers were smart enough to ask about silly thinks that we tried to ignore.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
More about the house
Most of you remember how we happened to buy the house in Diablo. I had gone with Sam across the Bay, to Danville, where he had to deliver a sample of some kind to a furniture store. There were so many interruptions at home, four to be exact, that it was a treat to be alone with Sam even if it was only a business trip. We had taken this route before on our way to a Big Game at Berkley. The San Mateo Bridge, through Hayward and then through San Ramon Canyon to Danville. I remembered the well kept, orderly Walnut groves before we came into Danville.
The Diablo road was the way to Mount Diablo. It went through farm land and passed Twin Pine Nursery half way to Diablo. From down town Danville I think it was about twelve miles to Diablo. There was a US Post Office and a Country Club and a long history of people using this beautiful spot for summer homes. The trees, mostly elms, lining the road into Diablo were huge and stately, with branches meeting overhead, making you think you were driving through a tunnel. The houses along the way were modest and intriguing. When we came to the first fork in the road, we stopped. Mr Imrey, our realtor, drove across the bridge to the Hockenbeamer's house, which quickly became the Stockton house but was never called that until we left twenty years later. I remember how the boards on the bridge made a loud click-y-clack sound when a car drove over the creek. That was a wonderful sound later in our lives because it meant that Sam was home.
Renee asked me if I had pictures to show the house. When I moved here a year ago I gave all the photo albums to one of my children. So I will try to describe it. When you crossed the bridge the driveway was long and curvy and ended up in the two car tandem garage. So now we will imagine we stopped in front of the house and go in the front door. There were two large Holly trees on either side of the stairs going up up to the front deck. And if you were observant, you would see to totem poles in the greenery. The house was gray with white trim. Three windows, the middle one larger than the two flanking it. If you peered in you could see the fire place in the living room.
When the front door was opened you walked into a strange room We realized later that it had at one time been an outdoor porch. It had beautiful arched windows and its non square corners made it unique. One other oddity in that room. There was a little window into the adjacent bedroom. The hardwood floor was perfectly beautiful. We turned to our right and there was the living-room with the big fireplace. the three window design was repeated on the far wall and you could easily see the neighbor's house. Again beautiful floor, but you could see children had been playing there for there were cigarette buts and slide marks in the dust.
When you walked past the fire place and turned left you were in the dining room. Same three window plan. On the opposite wall was a built in china cabinet. Glassed doors above and drawers and cupboards below. All woodwork was painted white. I think there was ugly wallpaper above the dado. It had such a classical peaceful architecture. I did not have to see any more. I had fallen in love with the house. But there was so much more to see. And this is getting too long. This house and its setting will have to follow. Next room will be the kitchen.
The Diablo road was the way to Mount Diablo. It went through farm land and passed Twin Pine Nursery half way to Diablo. From down town Danville I think it was about twelve miles to Diablo. There was a US Post Office and a Country Club and a long history of people using this beautiful spot for summer homes. The trees, mostly elms, lining the road into Diablo were huge and stately, with branches meeting overhead, making you think you were driving through a tunnel. The houses along the way were modest and intriguing. When we came to the first fork in the road, we stopped. Mr Imrey, our realtor, drove across the bridge to the Hockenbeamer's house, which quickly became the Stockton house but was never called that until we left twenty years later. I remember how the boards on the bridge made a loud click-y-clack sound when a car drove over the creek. That was a wonderful sound later in our lives because it meant that Sam was home.
Renee asked me if I had pictures to show the house. When I moved here a year ago I gave all the photo albums to one of my children. So I will try to describe it. When you crossed the bridge the driveway was long and curvy and ended up in the two car tandem garage. So now we will imagine we stopped in front of the house and go in the front door. There were two large Holly trees on either side of the stairs going up up to the front deck. And if you were observant, you would see to totem poles in the greenery. The house was gray with white trim. Three windows, the middle one larger than the two flanking it. If you peered in you could see the fire place in the living room.
When the front door was opened you walked into a strange room We realized later that it had at one time been an outdoor porch. It had beautiful arched windows and its non square corners made it unique. One other oddity in that room. There was a little window into the adjacent bedroom. The hardwood floor was perfectly beautiful. We turned to our right and there was the living-room with the big fireplace. the three window design was repeated on the far wall and you could easily see the neighbor's house. Again beautiful floor, but you could see children had been playing there for there were cigarette buts and slide marks in the dust.
When you walked past the fire place and turned left you were in the dining room. Same three window plan. On the opposite wall was a built in china cabinet. Glassed doors above and drawers and cupboards below. All woodwork was painted white. I think there was ugly wallpaper above the dado. It had such a classical peaceful architecture. I did not have to see any more. I had fallen in love with the house. But there was so much more to see. And this is getting too long. This house and its setting will have to follow. Next room will be the kitchen.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
an old house
Today is Sunday and I wrote an email to an old old friend who lived in our neighborhood in Diablo California. She was considerably younger than i was. I met her when they brought home the baby girl they had adopted. We had a daughter about the same age as their adopted one and we and the two girls became good friends.
A year later we had a new daughter and they had adopted another girl and so as our families grew, our friendship grew. And then they became remarkably rich and they moved into San Francisco and our friendship was kept on hold for a while.
While they were still living in Diablo, our paths crossed in many ways. But the most fun tradition we had was that when the electricity went down, they would bundle up their two little ones and we would have supper in front of our fireplace and we would sit there talking until one baby would fall asleep and then another and suddenly we would have six children sleeping in the bedrooms. And we would continue talking and laughing until it was time to go home and go to bed. Our electricity failed one night after we moved to Laguna Beach and the first thing I could think of doing was to call our friends in Northern California and tell them to come.
This afternoon I wrote a long email to my friend and lo and behold, while I was still on the computer, it dinged and it was my friend. She had had her computer repaired by her grandson and saw my mail sent minutes earlier and she responded. She had been feted by old friends in Diablo on her 85th birthday and as they were sitting reminiscing, her older daughter came in, crying profusely, saying the Stocktons house is gone. It is torn down. When I read that, it struck me. How could that house be gone. Now it will live only in our memories and in our old photo albums. It will happen to all of us and to all our houses eventually and
bless our memories.
A year later we had a new daughter and they had adopted another girl and so as our families grew, our friendship grew. And then they became remarkably rich and they moved into San Francisco and our friendship was kept on hold for a while.
While they were still living in Diablo, our paths crossed in many ways. But the most fun tradition we had was that when the electricity went down, they would bundle up their two little ones and we would have supper in front of our fireplace and we would sit there talking until one baby would fall asleep and then another and suddenly we would have six children sleeping in the bedrooms. And we would continue talking and laughing until it was time to go home and go to bed. Our electricity failed one night after we moved to Laguna Beach and the first thing I could think of doing was to call our friends in Northern California and tell them to come.
This afternoon I wrote a long email to my friend and lo and behold, while I was still on the computer, it dinged and it was my friend. She had had her computer repaired by her grandson and saw my mail sent minutes earlier and she responded. She had been feted by old friends in Diablo on her 85th birthday and as they were sitting reminiscing, her older daughter came in, crying profusely, saying the Stocktons house is gone. It is torn down. When I read that, it struck me. How could that house be gone. Now it will live only in our memories and in our old photo albums. It will happen to all of us and to all our houses eventually and
bless our memories.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Peanut butter, sweet potatoes and water melon
In 1939 or 1940 a friend from School in Sweden came to America for a visit, and she wanted to see the Niagara Falls. I must have been between jobs for I went with her to see these fabulous works of Nature. I remember a remark she made as we said our Good Byes. She said 'I think you should return to Sweden before it is too late. The War has already begun in Europe and everyone thinks America is going to be in the war before long, and then it will be impossible for you to return.'
It gave me something to think about. I had no health insurance and what would happen if I got really sick? What if I never got to see my family again? There were many signs that we would enter the war on Englands side. FDR kept sending planes and money to Britain and if you read between the lines there were other signs of war in our future.
I stopped worrying about war once the thought occured to me, that if I returned to Sweden I would have to live without peanutbutter and sweet potatoes and watermelons. That was a fate worse than anything. They may have these delectable items now, but as far as I knew, in 1938 when I left, I had never tasted or even heard of them.
What brings this up at this time is the fact that I had French Fried Sweet Potatoes yesterday with lunch. The bus, with Keith driving, left at 11 am. We were on our way for lunch at Granny's Cafe. There I ordered a Hamburger with a side order of the above mentioned treats. I have only heard about this treat once before and it quickly became my most favorite food. I let my most nearby people have a taste and then I had to plan my action. I would eat my hamburger and in case I was too full, I would take all the sweet potatoes, wrapped in my napkin, for the post-lunch-trip around Lake Crecent.
We had a wonderful trip. There were a few moments when we were along side the lake, when the world gave us a perfect moment. The sun was shining brightly on the water that looked like glass. Not the tiniest ripple. The reflections from the other side were awesome. It did not last long, for when we stopped at the end of the lake, it looked as though the glass had broken, and there were ripples everywhere. I don't think I will forget that trip.
It gave me something to think about. I had no health insurance and what would happen if I got really sick? What if I never got to see my family again? There were many signs that we would enter the war on Englands side. FDR kept sending planes and money to Britain and if you read between the lines there were other signs of war in our future.
I stopped worrying about war once the thought occured to me, that if I returned to Sweden I would have to live without peanutbutter and sweet potatoes and watermelons. That was a fate worse than anything. They may have these delectable items now, but as far as I knew, in 1938 when I left, I had never tasted or even heard of them.
What brings this up at this time is the fact that I had French Fried Sweet Potatoes yesterday with lunch. The bus, with Keith driving, left at 11 am. We were on our way for lunch at Granny's Cafe. There I ordered a Hamburger with a side order of the above mentioned treats. I have only heard about this treat once before and it quickly became my most favorite food. I let my most nearby people have a taste and then I had to plan my action. I would eat my hamburger and in case I was too full, I would take all the sweet potatoes, wrapped in my napkin, for the post-lunch-trip around Lake Crecent.
We had a wonderful trip. There were a few moments when we were along side the lake, when the world gave us a perfect moment. The sun was shining brightly on the water that looked like glass. Not the tiniest ripple. The reflections from the other side were awesome. It did not last long, for when we stopped at the end of the lake, it looked as though the glass had broken, and there were ripples everywhere. I don't think I will forget that trip.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Sam
There as a request that I tell more about Sam. His family returned from England at the time when he had two more years of High School to finish. He went to San Mateo High School. He was on the Track and Field team and covered himself with glory. When we went West the first year we were married he was happy when he found his record in a short Dash had not yet been broken. I really did not know what he was talking about, since there were so many phrases that could not easily be translated. We had followed the 1936 Olympics on the radio in Sweden, and I certainly knew about Track and Field from that. Sam's family had many silver cups on their side table in the dining room, that Sam's mother proudly pointed out to me, that Sam had won in England.
Sam's English accent had been a plus for him also, and he became the President of the Student-body. His coach made an appointment with the Track and Field Coach at Stanford and he expected to get a scholarship. And then he got mumps and he never ran again. And so he worked for a year in San Francisco for Shell Oil Company. He worked in the mailroom. When he heard about some promotional work that had to be done for the company, he volunteered. It meant roller skating into little towns in Oregon, dressed in a Penguin suit. He must have had to sing the glory of the Shell Company. I only remember him saying he had a lot of trouble with his glasses fogging over.
When I met Sam, his English accent was mostly gone, but what remained made him very interesting. He was handsome in his uniform, and he stood out among his fellow Candidates when I met him. Robb, the Polo player from Chicago may have been more handsome than Sam, but Sam had better looking hands than the whole group. I carried a photo of Sam's hands in my wallet the whole time he was gone. They were very expressive. They went with his sensitivity when he read HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY on our honeymoon. He actually had tears in his eyes as he was reading. He smoked Chesterfields which drew a lot of attention to his hands, his accent and his voice were seductive, and the book was spellbinding.
When Sam became a civilian and put on his gabardine suit ( which his younger brother had worn out ) he was even better looking than in his uniform. We had a long time waiting to become parents, but you could tell from his reaction to his cousin's children that he was going to be a fabulous father. And when he would come home from a long hot trip, and he would see his one or his two or his three and four children, he would say, OK who can be the first one in the bath tub. And I would have to wait for my treat till later.
Sam's English accent had been a plus for him also, and he became the President of the Student-body. His coach made an appointment with the Track and Field Coach at Stanford and he expected to get a scholarship. And then he got mumps and he never ran again. And so he worked for a year in San Francisco for Shell Oil Company. He worked in the mailroom. When he heard about some promotional work that had to be done for the company, he volunteered. It meant roller skating into little towns in Oregon, dressed in a Penguin suit. He must have had to sing the glory of the Shell Company. I only remember him saying he had a lot of trouble with his glasses fogging over.
When I met Sam, his English accent was mostly gone, but what remained made him very interesting. He was handsome in his uniform, and he stood out among his fellow Candidates when I met him. Robb, the Polo player from Chicago may have been more handsome than Sam, but Sam had better looking hands than the whole group. I carried a photo of Sam's hands in my wallet the whole time he was gone. They were very expressive. They went with his sensitivity when he read HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY on our honeymoon. He actually had tears in his eyes as he was reading. He smoked Chesterfields which drew a lot of attention to his hands, his accent and his voice were seductive, and the book was spellbinding.
When Sam became a civilian and put on his gabardine suit ( which his younger brother had worn out ) he was even better looking than in his uniform. We had a long time waiting to become parents, but you could tell from his reaction to his cousin's children that he was going to be a fabulous father. And when he would come home from a long hot trip, and he would see his one or his two or his three and four children, he would say, OK who can be the first one in the bath tub. And I would have to wait for my treat till later.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Memorial Day
This Day is a big day, much more than a day making our first summer, three day week-end off. I would like to tell you about Sam. He was an veteran. He was drafted in 1942 and went through the training that draftees got. He claimed that he was sent to Officer's Candidate School in Georgia because he had a commanding voice. I met him on his first day in Georgia. His train arrived from his former deployment early on a Saturday morning. He went to his new address where he met five or six of his future OCS class mates and his future room-mates. They were to sleep alphabetically. One of them had a car, and since they had been told they were free until Monday, and since one of them had tried to move his bed away from the wall, and since they saw a huge group of bed bugs, Milton Susser said: Let's get out of here. I have a cousin at Warm Springs and I think it's only a couple of hours from here. We will all chip in a gasoline stamp Stevens, if you will drive.
You have all heard about my being asked to show the group Warm Springs. And since they were called the sixty days wonders when they graduated, I guess our wedding on that same day was a wonder too. A wonder that was bound to fail for we did not know each other. And I did not know that Sam was a republican.
We had a year in Mineral Wells, Texas. And after having a short training time in Little Rock, Arkansas in how to behave while being bombarded with Poison Gas, he left for the European part of the War. He was lucky getting to stay some where in Enland for several months, but finally the ORDER came and he had to go toward Germany and he was a company commander. He said he was extremely lucky for the company had been in the war since the African part of it. And they had invaded Cicily and fought their way to a bridge from the Low Lands into Germany when Sam joined them. The soldiers, and especially Sam's Seargant were smarter than he was and Sam claimed he never would have survived if it had not been for Sgt Feckner (Iam not sure of his name but while I am writing this I am sending him many thankful thoughts) They were fighting in The Battle of the Bulge. There the Sgt saw Sam reeling and weaving and asked him:Sir are you OK. It turned out later that he thought Sam was drunk. The Co had earlier found the supply of the Vehrmacht's supply of liquor. But Sam collapsed a few minutes later and the Hospital in Liege Holland told him he had Scarlet Fever and since it affected his heart, he was in the hospital for over a month. He had slept in dugouts left by the German soldier who had slept there before Sam did. So I send him a thought of thanks too, for if he had not been in the hospital that month, he probably would not have made it home again.
And so I send thankful thoughts to all the people who are in danger. Sam was 100% against all wars and even though he never changed his political party (how I tried) he disliked Bush 1 for his involvement in the Panama fiasco and he was very happy when the army told our son that he was 4F. (allergy to bee stings)
Sam never joined any veterans groups and he hardly ever spoke of his days fighting. After the war was over his company had to guard the German big shots who were kept in the prison in Nuremberg. He would occasionally reflect on those experiences.
You have all heard about my being asked to show the group Warm Springs. And since they were called the sixty days wonders when they graduated, I guess our wedding on that same day was a wonder too. A wonder that was bound to fail for we did not know each other. And I did not know that Sam was a republican.
We had a year in Mineral Wells, Texas. And after having a short training time in Little Rock, Arkansas in how to behave while being bombarded with Poison Gas, he left for the European part of the War. He was lucky getting to stay some where in Enland for several months, but finally the ORDER came and he had to go toward Germany and he was a company commander. He said he was extremely lucky for the company had been in the war since the African part of it. And they had invaded Cicily and fought their way to a bridge from the Low Lands into Germany when Sam joined them. The soldiers, and especially Sam's Seargant were smarter than he was and Sam claimed he never would have survived if it had not been for Sgt Feckner (Iam not sure of his name but while I am writing this I am sending him many thankful thoughts) They were fighting in The Battle of the Bulge. There the Sgt saw Sam reeling and weaving and asked him:Sir are you OK. It turned out later that he thought Sam was drunk. The Co had earlier found the supply of the Vehrmacht's supply of liquor. But Sam collapsed a few minutes later and the Hospital in Liege Holland told him he had Scarlet Fever and since it affected his heart, he was in the hospital for over a month. He had slept in dugouts left by the German soldier who had slept there before Sam did. So I send him a thought of thanks too, for if he had not been in the hospital that month, he probably would not have made it home again.
And so I send thankful thoughts to all the people who are in danger. Sam was 100% against all wars and even though he never changed his political party (how I tried) he disliked Bush 1 for his involvement in the Panama fiasco and he was very happy when the army told our son that he was 4F. (allergy to bee stings)
Sam never joined any veterans groups and he hardly ever spoke of his days fighting. After the war was over his company had to guard the German big shots who were kept in the prison in Nuremberg. He would occasionally reflect on those experiences.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Torn
Last night I was working on a project ( you will hear much more about this later ) while watching the Seattle Mariners playing the Los Angeles Angels. It was a fabulous game, low scoring, but promising something could happen any time. The score was Angels 2, Mariners 0. Both pitchers were on their game. Not the kind of game one should be be watching with divided concentration. But mine was divided. During the later part of the game the tension rose.
During an advertisement I was so tense, I switch channels to see what was on the educational channel. It was Live from Lincoln Center "New York City Ballet's Romeo and Juliet" Peter Martins' interpretation of Prokofiev's ballet. It was the first act, and so gripping and so beautiful, I could not return to the base ball. When the first act finished, Leslie Stahl interviewed Peter Martin and though I was anxious to hear what he had to say, I returned to the game. It had just finished, and thank heavens the score had not changed, so I assumed I had lost nothing by watching the ballet. But I had gained much. I had been so stirred by the beauty of the dancers that sleep eluded me for hours. During which I could concentrate on my project.
Gilbert, if you are reading this, I hope you won't mind my using your washing machine and dryer to wash my kitchen rug. My washing machine does not hold much more than two twin bed sheets, and the machine I left you, in your house, could hold two rugs the size of mine. I had a date with Ann for breakfast at nine and while we were eating, my rug was getting clean. I went back after eating and put it in the dryer while I did the Cross Word Puzzle.
With the help of Tammy, I finally mastered the camera I bought before I went on the cruise. The problems were caused by faulty batteries. The wrong kind of batteries. And now I can send photos by my computer. I should have learned ages ago, but mechanical things scare me, I tried to learn about computers and cameras onboard the ship, but the classes were so above what I knew, it was wasted on me.
During an advertisement I was so tense, I switch channels to see what was on the educational channel. It was Live from Lincoln Center "New York City Ballet's Romeo and Juliet" Peter Martins' interpretation of Prokofiev's ballet. It was the first act, and so gripping and so beautiful, I could not return to the base ball. When the first act finished, Leslie Stahl interviewed Peter Martin and though I was anxious to hear what he had to say, I returned to the game. It had just finished, and thank heavens the score had not changed, so I assumed I had lost nothing by watching the ballet. But I had gained much. I had been so stirred by the beauty of the dancers that sleep eluded me for hours. During which I could concentrate on my project.
Gilbert, if you are reading this, I hope you won't mind my using your washing machine and dryer to wash my kitchen rug. My washing machine does not hold much more than two twin bed sheets, and the machine I left you, in your house, could hold two rugs the size of mine. I had a date with Ann for breakfast at nine and while we were eating, my rug was getting clean. I went back after eating and put it in the dryer while I did the Cross Word Puzzle.
With the help of Tammy, I finally mastered the camera I bought before I went on the cruise. The problems were caused by faulty batteries. The wrong kind of batteries. And now I can send photos by my computer. I should have learned ages ago, but mechanical things scare me, I tried to learn about computers and cameras onboard the ship, but the classes were so above what I knew, it was wasted on me.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Lying aboout your age
There was a sidebar when I checked on my blog this morning. It asked 'Why do women lie about their age.' I tried to find the answer, but came up with nothing.
I have lied about my age at two two periods of my life. One period was when I was between twenty one and twenty three. When I first began working as a Physical Therapist people looked at me and said to themselves 'What does that dumb blonde know about anything. My back is hurting so badly today, I would rather have that older therapist work on it'. Her disappointment was so obvious when I called her name, I had to assure her of my expertise. I told her I was twenty-nine. And once she was lucky enough to have me treat her back ache, she never asked for anyone older. My looks was a detraction but I had strong hands and I knew what I as doing.
The next time I felt like lying was much later. I was 86 when good friends asked me to come along to Port Townsend to hear a lecture. We were meeting in a theatre. A few seats in the front row were screened off. We sat in the row behind the verboten ones. In came a lady, dressed to the teeth and with heels that clicked loudly enough to turn many heads. She marched directly to the front seats and sat down in one of the special ones. A young man came along and said quietly: Are you supposed to sit there? Without rising but with a loud voice she said: 'Young man, I want you to know, I'm nearly ninety, and I sit where I want.' I felt we should all have applauded. Such power! And I decided that I would use that expression. I had only four years to go, so it was nearly the truth when I copied her. I went on a cruise around the world that year and it helped me a few times. Especially when we had to get in line and wait endlessly.
I am now 89 and in six months I'll have reached that magic number. But since I moved into my current address 90 does not seem so magic. Friday afternoons some of us meet in a sewing, knitting group and one of the ladies who makes the most beautiful blankets with her crochet hook is 104. And ninety is not such a big deal.
I have lied about my age at two two periods of my life. One period was when I was between twenty one and twenty three. When I first began working as a Physical Therapist people looked at me and said to themselves 'What does that dumb blonde know about anything. My back is hurting so badly today, I would rather have that older therapist work on it'. Her disappointment was so obvious when I called her name, I had to assure her of my expertise. I told her I was twenty-nine. And once she was lucky enough to have me treat her back ache, she never asked for anyone older. My looks was a detraction but I had strong hands and I knew what I as doing.
The next time I felt like lying was much later. I was 86 when good friends asked me to come along to Port Townsend to hear a lecture. We were meeting in a theatre. A few seats in the front row were screened off. We sat in the row behind the verboten ones. In came a lady, dressed to the teeth and with heels that clicked loudly enough to turn many heads. She marched directly to the front seats and sat down in one of the special ones. A young man came along and said quietly: Are you supposed to sit there? Without rising but with a loud voice she said: 'Young man, I want you to know, I'm nearly ninety, and I sit where I want.' I felt we should all have applauded. Such power! And I decided that I would use that expression. I had only four years to go, so it was nearly the truth when I copied her. I went on a cruise around the world that year and it helped me a few times. Especially when we had to get in line and wait endlessly.
I am now 89 and in six months I'll have reached that magic number. But since I moved into my current address 90 does not seem so magic. Friday afternoons some of us meet in a sewing, knitting group and one of the ladies who makes the most beautiful blankets with her crochet hook is 104. And ninety is not such a big deal.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
picnics
This noon anyone who wants to can go to the John Wayne Marina in Sequim. It is a Complimentasry Picnic which I guess means that our kitchen is supplying all the food for us. I am anxious to go for I love pinics and I love the John Wayne Marina. There is a wonderful restaurant there and I know I will probably wish we were eating there instead.
The above made me think of all the picnics I remember from the time before my father was 'Lost at sea'. A little North of us, on the beach lived people we were not even rrelated to, but felt about them like aunts and uncles and cousins. He owned a plumbing supply company in the city, and they did not move out permanently until he retired. But summers and vacations they were there and the place was jumping. Their children were much older than we were. As a matter of fact, they did their romancing and later some of their weddings were held at their house. They always had music at their parties and my sister and I learned how to dance, because the young swains would invite us to dance.
Tant Elin was the most fun grown up person I have ever met. She could have been a clown. She was the dress designer at the Theatre in Helsingborg. When they moved out to the beach permanently, she was always looking for something fun to do, and most often she would include us in her merrymaking. We had a yearly custom of having children going around the village singing songs and sticking a branch of a birch tree with tender new green leaves in the window. It was sort of like Halloween here. We would either get eggs or money. It was a fun time for we were professing that Spring was coming. My mother had never let us 'sing May'. She thought it was just begging. Tant Elin said Pooh. let them go. I will dress them all up in some of my finery.
Her finery was unbelievable. I was a princess in fabulous clothes and a tiara that to my eyes looked exactly like DIAMONDS. My brother was a sailor of some sort. We had a friend who played the accordion and all of us looked like a millon dollar. There were five or six of us. We began each holding a little basket but soon found we had to go home to get a bushel basket for we got so many eggs. And a lot of money too. It's an old old custom, to wish everyone happiness in the new season.
Each one of us would sell the eggs to our mothers or, as we did, our family had many too many eggs, we gave or sold them to neighbors and friends. We made a lot of money and felt we were rich.
One year when I was between one and two, at one of our Sunday picnics I toddled away from adult supervision and fell into something that must have worked as a sump-pump and one of the young boy friends found me, gasping. I was too young to remember it and for some reason I never asked anyone what happened. It sounded so awful, I would rather not hear about it.
The above made me think of all the picnics I remember from the time before my father was 'Lost at sea'. A little North of us, on the beach lived people we were not even rrelated to, but felt about them like aunts and uncles and cousins. He owned a plumbing supply company in the city, and they did not move out permanently until he retired. But summers and vacations they were there and the place was jumping. Their children were much older than we were. As a matter of fact, they did their romancing and later some of their weddings were held at their house. They always had music at their parties and my sister and I learned how to dance, because the young swains would invite us to dance.
Tant Elin was the most fun grown up person I have ever met. She could have been a clown. She was the dress designer at the Theatre in Helsingborg. When they moved out to the beach permanently, she was always looking for something fun to do, and most often she would include us in her merrymaking. We had a yearly custom of having children going around the village singing songs and sticking a branch of a birch tree with tender new green leaves in the window. It was sort of like Halloween here. We would either get eggs or money. It was a fun time for we were professing that Spring was coming. My mother had never let us 'sing May'. She thought it was just begging. Tant Elin said Pooh. let them go. I will dress them all up in some of my finery.
Her finery was unbelievable. I was a princess in fabulous clothes and a tiara that to my eyes looked exactly like DIAMONDS. My brother was a sailor of some sort. We had a friend who played the accordion and all of us looked like a millon dollar. There were five or six of us. We began each holding a little basket but soon found we had to go home to get a bushel basket for we got so many eggs. And a lot of money too. It's an old old custom, to wish everyone happiness in the new season.
Each one of us would sell the eggs to our mothers or, as we did, our family had many too many eggs, we gave or sold them to neighbors and friends. We made a lot of money and felt we were rich.
One year when I was between one and two, at one of our Sunday picnics I toddled away from adult supervision and fell into something that must have worked as a sump-pump and one of the young boy friends found me, gasping. I was too young to remember it and for some reason I never asked anyone what happened. It sounded so awful, I would rather not hear about it.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The continuation
Did anyone notice that I never mentioned Ida in the previous story. Since her life and my Mother's were tangled in a way, I better go into a little detail about her. Ida was my grandfather's favorite and he was lucky he got to keep her home as long as he did. When she was young she met a handsome youth and fell in love with him. He said to her, let me go to America first and find a place where we would like to live and then I'll come back and marry you and we will live happily forever after.
His last name was Paulsson. He left, and came back when Ida was 50 years old. He followed the gold hysteria and when that died there were other metals that intrigued him, and that's why he was in Colorado when the urge to settle down hit him. I think there was a copper rush, but I think I may be wrong. Anyway, he found Meeker Co. the place that would please Ida, and he went back to get married. And so grandfather lost his housekeeper. He thought he still had one left, but by this time, Mother had three children, with another on the way. She was not as available as Ida had been, and he never let an opportunity pass without telling her that Ida would have seen to it that he never lacked for material or personal things to make him happy. I do not know if he had shown Ida more love when they were youngsters or if it only began when they were adults can witness to the fact that it hurts if you are growing up in that sort of climate.
Mother was the most beautiful of all the children. She was small, had a tiny waist, big black eyes and the most gorgeous chestnut colored hair. And she was very intelligent. But there was some kind of need in her. It was said that while my Father lived she felt so much more adequate. After he died, she found innocent remarks made by her friends hurtful. And then she remembered them forever. And she never forgot. She had a cat who loved her and she loved him. She had a son whom she loved, and he loved her. And she had me, and we never were on the same page, except for her last two years of her life. She tolerated me, but she never loved me.
What my mother did to me, made me what I am. I am lucky that I met Sam and that we has fifty-five years together. Most of them were wonderful, happy years and our children made us mostly proud and grateful.
If my Mother were alive I would be happy to say HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY.
His last name was Paulsson. He left, and came back when Ida was 50 years old. He followed the gold hysteria and when that died there were other metals that intrigued him, and that's why he was in Colorado when the urge to settle down hit him. I think there was a copper rush, but I think I may be wrong. Anyway, he found Meeker Co. the place that would please Ida, and he went back to get married. And so grandfather lost his housekeeper. He thought he still had one left, but by this time, Mother had three children, with another on the way. She was not as available as Ida had been, and he never let an opportunity pass without telling her that Ida would have seen to it that he never lacked for material or personal things to make him happy. I do not know if he had shown Ida more love when they were youngsters or if it only began when they were adults can witness to the fact that it hurts if you are growing up in that sort of climate.
Mother was the most beautiful of all the children. She was small, had a tiny waist, big black eyes and the most gorgeous chestnut colored hair. And she was very intelligent. But there was some kind of need in her. It was said that while my Father lived she felt so much more adequate. After he died, she found innocent remarks made by her friends hurtful. And then she remembered them forever. And she never forgot. She had a cat who loved her and she loved him. She had a son whom she loved, and he loved her. And she had me, and we never were on the same page, except for her last two years of her life. She tolerated me, but she never loved me.
What my mother did to me, made me what I am. I am lucky that I met Sam and that we has fifty-five years together. Most of them were wonderful, happy years and our children made us mostly proud and grateful.
If my Mother were alive I would be happy to say HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
An ode to my Mother
I know that an ode is a form of poetry and I do not know how to write poetry, I want it to be a few lines of praise for her. She had a hard life and I am sure I added to her difficulties.
She was born to parents who probably did not want her any more than she wanted me. Her parents were born in 1838 and 1840. They already had six children and in 1886 when my mother was born her mother was about fifty years old. Blenda's closest sibling, Olof. was probably still in diapers. My grandfather was the teacher for all children in a little farming community called Allrum. The job was paid for in a small salary and in totally unsatisfactory living quarters. The School and the living quarters were in one building. My grandmother had to knit socks for her whole family and I have never seen a photograph of her where she was not knitting. My grandfather retired on a pension and moved his family to a little fishing village about 20 or 30 miles away. Viken. The family had grown smaller by the time grandfather moved, for all his children moved to America as soon as they were old enough to get work.
Ivar worked in a grocery store in Walla Walla, Washington. He later worked for the Swedish American Line as a teamster. He had two horses, a team, and a cart that delivered luggage and probably some freight. Did you know that's where the word teamster came from? He later moved to upstate New York. Alma was a baby nurse or a mother's helper and I think she never developed beyond that and had to retire back to Sweden when she grew too old for that kind of work. We all felt she was a little weird and my mother always told me I was just like her. Helena we never heard of. She died young and the fact that we never knew what happened to her made her a fascinating person for us to wonder about. Olof was the only one of the children who got any education beyond the seventh grade. He became a banker. I forgot Karin who went to America like all the others. She worked as a cook till she got Social Security and moved back to Sweden.
My mother went to America when she was about eighteen. She began as a baby nurse and one day on her day off she met a Sea Captain from Viken. They had never met before and he fell in love and asked for her address. He and his ship left after just a few days, but the mail between them was hot and heavy. He and the ship returned a year later and Captain Nils Svensson asked Blenda Olsson to marry. She said: I will have to return to Sweden and begin working on my hope chest and on my wedding dress. And then I will be happy to marry you. (To be continued)
She was born to parents who probably did not want her any more than she wanted me. Her parents were born in 1838 and 1840. They already had six children and in 1886 when my mother was born her mother was about fifty years old. Blenda's closest sibling, Olof. was probably still in diapers. My grandfather was the teacher for all children in a little farming community called Allrum. The job was paid for in a small salary and in totally unsatisfactory living quarters. The School and the living quarters were in one building. My grandmother had to knit socks for her whole family and I have never seen a photograph of her where she was not knitting. My grandfather retired on a pension and moved his family to a little fishing village about 20 or 30 miles away. Viken. The family had grown smaller by the time grandfather moved, for all his children moved to America as soon as they were old enough to get work.
Ivar worked in a grocery store in Walla Walla, Washington. He later worked for the Swedish American Line as a teamster. He had two horses, a team, and a cart that delivered luggage and probably some freight. Did you know that's where the word teamster came from? He later moved to upstate New York. Alma was a baby nurse or a mother's helper and I think she never developed beyond that and had to retire back to Sweden when she grew too old for that kind of work. We all felt she was a little weird and my mother always told me I was just like her. Helena we never heard of. She died young and the fact that we never knew what happened to her made her a fascinating person for us to wonder about. Olof was the only one of the children who got any education beyond the seventh grade. He became a banker. I forgot Karin who went to America like all the others. She worked as a cook till she got Social Security and moved back to Sweden.
My mother went to America when she was about eighteen. She began as a baby nurse and one day on her day off she met a Sea Captain from Viken. They had never met before and he fell in love and asked for her address. He and his ship left after just a few days, but the mail between them was hot and heavy. He and the ship returned a year later and Captain Nils Svensson asked Blenda Olsson to marry. She said: I will have to return to Sweden and begin working on my hope chest and on my wedding dress. And then I will be happy to marry you. (To be continued)
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