Writing these blogs have a very severe affect on my psyche. I feel, while writing about my mother that I am loosing all my enthusiasm and joy. I am with S, the man I love, but I don't think he realizes what is happening to me. Even getting over to the computer gives me a huge knot in my stomach. I think, as self protection I will make this part of my story as short as possible.
While we were in Goteborg we had to go to the American embassy to see what I had to do to get my re-enntry permit. It worried me. I had a reservation to return to USA on a Moor & Mc Chormac freighter but I had to cancel. We visited the Consulate the day after the cocktail party. And since I am famous for name dropping, I have to tell you the name of the consul. A young, very likable man. His name was SWINDLE. He not only got my re-entry permit delivered to me, he also got a reservation on a Johnson Liner for me, when there was no possible way I could have accomplished this on my own. The Swedish American Line had nothing available for a year. I was told that the Swedes had been caged in too long during the war and everyone was ready to sail away.
We made the best of S.s 30 days. When we returnd to my home area we were invited to stay with my sister and by this time most of my class mates wanted to have us for dinner. A special friend whose parents owned a hotel, Hogvakten, invited us to spend the night. She had visited me in 1939 and together we saw Niagara Falls and the NY Worlds Fair. And much too soon it was time to go back to Kopenhamn where S would be picked up by the same jeep and drivers. It was hard saying Goodby again but we knew that the next time we saw each other would be the beginning of the rest of our lives. Luckily we had not yet heard that all of Sweden was planning to travel or we would have worried about that.
Then came Martin Luther's birthday and the goose and the blood sausage. And then came the day of Santa Lucia, the 13th of december. And Christmas of course was filled with surprises and a lot of fun work. I had finished all my lessons before Christmas and that was fortunate for the day after Annan Dag Jul, The 27th, there was a call from Mr Swindle saying he had a reservation for me on a Johnson Line ship, sailing on the 2nd of January. the only berth available was the owners cabin, which was not the cheapest way to get to the US. And then he told me it was going through the Panama Canal. I said Yes, Yes. I will take it. And again, How do I get back to Goteborg, How do I get clothes fitting for the tropics. I had one day to it all the stores in Helsingborg, but since it was mid-winter there was nothing.
I remember the name of the ship, Argentina. And I remember the Captain's name, Renke. But I do not remember the names of my fellow passengers, and that is a pity, for there were a couple who would be erfect to drop here. There were about 30 of us. The journey to San Francisco took 45 days. And it as filled with adventures.
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I am a fan of your blog and am also an armchair genealogist. To aid your wonderful trip along memory lane, here are the names from the passenger manifest of your voyage. Images of the manifest are available online at ancestry.com in the California Passenger and Crew Lists, 1893-1957.
Matthew and Alice Robinson, ages 52 and 47;
Lydia Seery, age 81 (mother of Alice Robinson);
Carl Forcht, a film editor, age 38, nationalilty "stateless" (born in Germany);
Annette Filipine Persson, age 71, a widow, Swedish;
Juan Alberto Calvo, age 41, Consul of Paraguay, Columbian;
Gladys Boyd de Calvo, age 29, housekeeper, Paraguayan;
Erasmo De la Guardia Boyd, age 9, student, Paraguayan;
Adelina Leiva, age 52, Salvadoran;
Maria Clara, age 25, Salvadoran;
Luis Pablo Rodriguez Ospina, age 31, Columbian;
Lucia Jaramillo de Rodriguez, age 26, Columbian;
Miguel Alvarez Correa, age 61, Columbian;
Mary Alice Roach, age 63;
Graciela Quintana Llamosas, age 38, and her sons: Lionel Abreu Quintana, age 8, and Jorge Abreu Quintana, age 11, of Venezuela;
Lars Bertram Liden, age 30, Sweden;
and yourself. :-)
It makes me so sad that even the thought of writing about your mother makes you feel so bad. Even after all these years, and even after making up when you both were so much older and still the pain...
Makes we wonder how any of us can move beyond bad times.
Is it because you're writing about it? Or, is it always there?
They say forgiveness is so you can release yourself from the negative that eats away at us. But, now I wonder.... can anyone ever truly rid themselves of the past or are we always haunted and forever in the clutches of that which happened so long ago?
I wonder what the effect the inferiority complex had on you overall in life and those who came next and then the next generation after that??
This is mostly for anonymous: There used to be an old saying :If your mother doesn't love you, who can?
Both Svensto and I have learned along the way, that lots and lots of people can. Forgiveness certainly helps, and as I grow older, I think of a damaged childhood less and less. But I haven't written about it either.
Svensto is obviously a strong and healthy woman with a loving family, but to stop and remember can bring back old hurts. I think she will be fine as soon as she gets on that boat!
Jo
Thank you for sharing. I'm sorry that remembering your time back home brought so many bad memories of your mother. I have several friends age 45-60 who have some stories of their mothers who were not loving in any way. I can only say that I enjoy your writing and hope you will keep up with it. My own mother will never get to write her story as she died at age 56 when I was 22.
1. Anonymous - WOW. That's FANTASTIC!
2. Svensto - your stories are GREAT and I really look forward to reading them every time you update. Thank you for sharing even though it hurts sometimes. We all appreciate it, I guarantee it.
45 days on a ship! I cannot imagine :)
I'm sorry parts of writing your blog bring you remembered pain. It is theraputic (at times) to write ones feelings and memories down but I can understand the dread you must feel at times.
Please remember--the ability to give birth to a child does NOT a parent make.
Some people are just not capable of being parents.
I am most sure you know this already--but sometimes it helps a tiny bit to hear another speak the same truth :)
I love your blog and hope (selfishly) that you continue. I (try) to follow you every day.
Kat
Vancouver, WA
I am so so sorry that your mother's creulty haunts you the way that it does. Thank you for sharing your wonderful, exciting life with us, which you lived eventhough you were so abused. Thank you for your courage and resillance--and your stories!
Please do not let the residual feelings that you have regarding your mother effect your writing. It is not only therapeutic for you but also for your readers, such as myself. I do not feel as alone as I once did. Thank you for being so candid with your life. I am sure that not only your family but also your readers are relishing in reading your stories. I for one think that it is glorious to read about your travels and life experiences.
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