A book

First I have to report on the state of my health. Yesterday I woke up and the cold was gone. As miraculously as it arrived. I went shopping and as an after math I had a two hour nap in the afternoon.

And before I get into the book that Jane gave me when she was here, I have to tell you about our son, Gilbert, who lives in Colorado. He called and said he is coming out on May 4 and will stay 4 days. He owns the house that Sam and I bought in 1983. About five years before Sam died Gilbert bought the house at a ridiculously reduced price, with the proviso that Sam and I would live there till we died. It worked well as long as Sam lived and when I found that I could no longer afford to live there I moved. Last year. Now he is coming out to check what needs to be done before he moves in. It will be great to see him. It's been years.

Now the book. Written by Muriel Barbery, it is named THE ELEGANCE OF THE HEDGEHOG. I was told it was difficult to get into and that is correct. I am now on page 90 and I think I am in the swing of it. I love the language. Very elegant. She never uses a five ;etter word if she can say the same with a seven or nineletter word.

An example on page-90. "I pour the tea and we sip in silence. We have never had our tea together in the morning, and this break with our usual protocol imbues the ritual with a strange flavor.

Yes this sudden transmutation in the order of things seems to enhance our pleasure, as if consecrating the unchanging nature of a ritual established over our afternoons together, a ritual that has ripened into a solid and meaningful reality. Today, because it has been transgressed, our ritual suddenly acquires all its power; we are tasting the splendid gift of this unexpected morning as if it were some precious nectar; ordinary gestures have an extraordinary resonance, as we breathe in the fragrance of the tea, savor it, lower our cups, serve more, and sip again: every gesture has the bright aura of rebirth. At moments like this the web of life is revealed by the power of ritual, and each time we renew our ceremonies, the pleasure will be all the greater for having violated one of its principles. Moments like this act as magical interludes, placing our hearts at the edge of our souls: fleetingly, yet intensly, a fragment of eternity has come to enrich time. Elsewhere the world may be blustering or sleeping, wars are fought, people live and die, some nations disintegrate, while others are born, soon to be swallowed up in turn - and in all this sound and fury, amidst eruptions and undertows, while the world goes its merry way, bursts into flames, tears itself apart and is reborn: human life continues to throb.

Read this several times and see the words throb. I will let everyone know what happens later I think I am going to love this book.

Sam's mother

Yesterday when I wrote about the trip to the hospital, it had tired me more than I realized. I did not read the blog before I sent it. If I had I would have had to rewrite it for I had made my mother in law into an ogre and I never felt that way about her. She had one weak point. She could never put herself into another's shoes. But she was kindness and politeness personified. She had not had an easy life. She grew up in luxury with servants taking care of her every wish. She was a debutante and when she met Sam's father it was love at first sight. When Sam was born, her life seemed perfect. As soon as it was possible for her to travel with a baby, she had to go back to California to Introduce the baby to the relatives. While she was gone, the Flue epidemic struck in Maine. Her husband got sick one day and died the next. It took ages before she recovered from this loss.

I think she lived at home with her mother and two younger sisters with Sam, who was an adorable little blue eyed toddler. He probably became spoiled with all these women granting all his wishes. When he was four, his mother was invited to a dance at the Burlingame Country Club by a group of her old friends, who were supposed to entertain a group of English Military people who had come down from Washington State, Fort Lewis to be exact, as a thank you for their duties in the war just passed. She met and danced with a handsome officer, whose name was Captain Leslie Shaw. Apparently it was love at first sight for soon they were married. Sam's life did not improve from this union. If you have read any English fiction you know how sweet little boys were treated in order to make them men. Caning was the usual treatment used for this transition.

The little family moved to England. Sam was sent to boarding School. Mr Shaw became a financial person, and since it was still the late twenties money came rolling in. Until one day a message came from the State side Headquarters saying "You are fired. Close the doors. We are out of business." This meant that Mr Shaw was Jobless and all savings were gone. The family had grown by three children. Sam had to come join the clan. Sam's mother who had never had the opportunity to take care of the family, suddenly had to do every thing it takes to do just that. And she did a great job when I joined their family. A cousin of Mater's had sent them money to return to California and he and Mr. Shaw started a new investment company in San Francisco. It was slim pickings for years but better times came, but never the same as before. All this history to sow how strong Mater had become. She learned how to cook seven meals and she was a good cook. I really liked her and I never forgot how open and friendly they were while Sam was overseas.

alert

Before you read this blog, take precautions. Get a mask. I have a terrible cold. And I do not want to give any one of you this damnable afliction.

The week after Easter I had a wonderful surprise. My number three daughter called saying she was coming to see me. She came on Tuesday, spent the night with her sister and the two of them arrived on Wednesday. We actually met at the John Wayne Marina for lunch. What a perfect day. On our way home I said I wanted to stop at Costco to get a leg of lamb for it was impossible to get fresh Crab which we always have for dinner when visitors first arrive. The leg of lamb cost $16 something and after the week was over I figured out that we got 15 meals out of that delicious meat.

The leg was butterflied and when we got home I worked on the flatness of the meat, rubbed it with lots of rosemary, salt and pepper and poured red wine over it. When the time came to cook it I turned on my barbecue and cooked it on very high heat for not very long. It was perfect. We ate it with baked potatoes and a salad and mint jelly. And it was even better the next day when we ate it on sandwiches for lunch.

I have to tell you about Jane, our fourth and final child. Sam felt he had to go to the Denver area for one more serious trip before this baby was born so he could stay homme for a while and help with her and to bond with her. (we did not know if it was a her or a him) So we asked Flourine, our wonderful cleaning woman from our Burlingame days, to come to stay with me while he was gone. The first Saturday I had to drive across the bay for one of my regular prenatal visits with my obstretitian (he was also the one who had helped us get pregnant with our first the secnd one) He spent a lot of time listening to the heart beat said he needed to take a test before i left. Since the three children at home were in good hands I visited with a couple of friends on the Peninsula.

Saturday and Sunday were uneventful. Monday was normal too. I went to bed at my usual time and fell asleep reading a book. At 11.30 the phone rang waking me up. Oh, it must be Sam. It was Dr Tompkins. I am so sorry to call so late. I was home in bed when I realized that no one had called me about the test we took on Saturday. I got dressed, drove down to the office and there was bad news. Do you remember I had trouble finding the heartbeat of the baby. That's why I took that extra test. That showed me that the baby is affected by the Rh factor and you have to have the baby tomorrow. Call Sam and dtell him he has to get a reservation and fly home as soon as possible. He has to be here when you are delivered. What a shock. I had several more weeks before I was due.

It took ages before I got hold of Sam. He insisted on driving back. He said I will start in a few minutes. I had invited Sam's mother an brother for lunch on Tuesday and I told myself that I would ask her to sleep over with them on tuesday night and then his brother could drive me to the hospital in San Francisco next day. I got ready and packed early. And I asked Flourine if she would stay with the children till Sam came home. She said Mrs Stockton, I cant stay in a house where there are no locks on the doors. I said I will fix that. before I leave.I looked through drawers and found some keys that worked some doors. And at last there was one door left. I found a big two by four in the garage and some huge nails and I nailed the door shut. Now, will you? She laughed and said yes.

We were in August and the temperature was nearly 100* I was dressed in a maternity, sleeveless top and shorts When the lunch guests arrived. I did not want to tell Sam's mother about the change in the baby's birthday, so we had a leisurely lunch and when it was time for them to leave I told her that I had to have the baby tomorrow. Can I go home with you, spend the night and then ask Mike to drive me to he hospital in the morning? She looked at her watch and said, I'm sorry but I really have to hurry home to get a roast in the oven for dinner tonight. And they left. I caalled Betty on the Peninsula and said can I sleep over at your house and will you drive me to the hospital in the morning. She said Of course. Do you want to take it easy when you come or do you want to play bridge. I needed to take my mind off the adventures of the coming morning so I opted for bridge.

I got into my 1939 Green Hornet, a Chevrolet we had bought from Sam's partner. I guess I was only a few dozen cars behind Sam's mother on the way across the San Mateo Bridge.

Next morning Betty drove me to the hospilal. Tommy said :you didn't have to come so early for we cannot take the baby until Sam arrives. I said Why? If you are going to have your tubes tied he has to be here to sign a paper. Later it turned out (he didn't want me to worry) that because of the trouble with the heartbeats on Saturday we might have to agree to limiting our children to three only. Betty waited with me and around 3.30 Sam arrived dead tired from having driven all the way with a 15 min. nap somewhere. And with that everything moved.

Jane was born soon after Sam came and according to Betty, she was the most beautiful baby ever born. And she was healthy, thank goodness. She was pink like a "rose bud" and her middle name became Rosebud. She had to be tested for a long time to see that she was not building up something from the Rh confusion. Having had four children and always worried about that, You'd think I would have studied the whole problem. It is still all greek to me.

That's the way Jane was born but next time I will tell you what a wonderful child she developed into and as an adult how lovable she is.

Continued

We were told after a few days that our father had died at sea. These were horrible days. If you don't know the facts, what you dream up in your imagination gets more and more horrible. Birgit was told that first day, but she was told not to tell her siblings. We were too young to understand.

There was an inquest to investigate his death. For some reason the inquest was held somewhere in Denmark. Mother was told that she did not have to attend. The owners of the ship would tell her what developed. But she did go, and she did attend. Father had turned up missing on a warm, calm day in the Bay of Biscay, between Portugal and France. Father had written in the log at eight am. Later in the day it was discovered that there was no other entry in the log. The crew searched the ship for their Captain and it was decided that he had somehow left the ship. Mother asked the next in command, "Did you go back to search for him?" The answer was, "No, we were too far from that." Mother asked,"Too far from what?" And the answer was a shrug of the shoulders.

All this came to my ears from listening to Mother discussing it with her friends. She wanted the shipping company to have the police investigate what had happened.

And then came the problems of the insurance companies. She immediately received money from what would compare with Workman's Compensation. And when it was time for the life insurance company to pay, it was denied. They claimed that Father had jumped overboard and committed suicide. Mother had letters that gave a different picture of his attitude at the time. It was to be the final journey for Father on this ship because the company had promised him a brand new vessel. He was elated. There were many new inventions built into the newer ships. On board was the man who was to take charge of the old ship. I think the name of the ship was SEVERIN, but that might have been an earlier ship of his. The company recommended an attorney for mother to use as she tried to get the insurance people to pay. Mother won in the first instance, and the insurance company sought a new trial. In the next trial, Mother won again and so the insurance people went to a higher court and Mother lost. She was devastated and beaten. The lawyer Mother had used was upset. But that was the end of the line for Mother.

I told you all earlier that Dr. Hansson, my mentor, was Swedish and had come from a place very close to my home village. He had gone to school with a boy who became a lawyer while he became a doctor. As I was walking west on 42nd street Dr. Hansson caught up with me. He said he was upset. A very good friend of his from school days was just sentenced to prison for many years. He had been on the take and had lost cases on purpose and then been paid under the table by whichever company he had been suing. I asked what was the name of the lawyer. It was the one who had represented my Mother.

I was eager to tell Mother. She said, "I can't fight that fight again."

Pirates

After reading the sea stories in the news papers, I am so happy to finally reach the end of the trapped captain in the life-boat. I hope he is having a wonderful life with his wife and child. It made me think about my own father who went to sea as an able-bodied seaman at the age of 16. He of course sailed because the wind was blowing. He went to school and also worked his way up until he reached Captain-hood.

I wish I could say I remember him sitting with his pipe telling stories and adventures from his sailing-days. But I can't do that for I hardly remember him at all. He died when I was 10 or 11. And In all those years I had probably seen him no more than a few dozen days. I have a clear memory of him organizing a quartet of his four children. He played the violin and we four had to act as if we were playing drums or trumpets or the base. And we had to march around the room in a line. I remember the words to the song we were marching to.

My other memory was disturbing. My mother and father were in bed and they were talking in low voices. The door between our rooms was slightly ajar, and suddenly I heard my mother crying. I had never heard a grown-up crying. What had she done? I felt it had to do with guilt of some kind. But what had she done? ( I don't know if I knew that father was leaving that day for another 18 or 24 month trip) I might I have cried too, if I had known that. But I did not really know him at all. Around 10 am he left and he never came back.

A couple of years later, the four of us were outside, not playing but hanging around. It was New Years Eve. we had been invited to play outside. Next day was my sister's birthday and we surmised that mother was preparing something for her. We were cold. I had lost my mittens. And suddenly two men arrived. They were somber and bergmanesque. Dressed all in black. They spoke to us. Asked our ages and where wee were in school. And then they left to go ring the door-bell on our house. From where we were, we could see mother opening the door and letting them in the house. And so we worried. What was going on? It seems, looking back, that there was something drastic going on. We were all cold.

Suddenly our cousin Ingeborg was there. She said" Come with me. You are having supper at our house. The mystery grew and grew. We were all scared. Birgit finally was allowed to go home, but the rest of us were not told what mystery was developing. It turned out that the men walking down our alley were men from the company that owned father's ship. The were there to tell mother that father was lost at sea. It was kept a secret for the three of us children for several days. Mother was crying daily and I told earlier that grown-ups did not cry. unless they had done something bad. What could be Mother's crime. There are consequences that developed for years. One interesting development happened on 42nd street in NYC years and years later when Dr. Hansson caught up with me and told me about a disturbing thing he had heard about an old class mate and friend of his. I will tell all about it later.

A day in this place

Our monthly calendar of events said: 11.15 AM bus leaves for lunch at THE BLUE FLAME. The blue flame is an extraordinary restaurant. When it first opened it had either saw dust on the floor, or was it hay. I don't remember. All home made furniture. Long planed hunks of wood for tables, and benches to squeeze into. A big tub of bottled soda or water or maybe ice tea. One goes up to the counter, places the order, pays, and then gets eating implements from the counter. In no time the baby back ribs or the bbqed chicken with home made cornbread, delicious salad that you can eat with your fingers, and beans appear on the counter and your name is called. There is unlimited paper towels on the table.

Ten of us, counting our bus-driver who eats with us all of raved over the food. The driver whose name is Keith is a tender man. He treats all of us as a friend and offers help where ever it is needed. We have one or two who need help with steps. And there are a few who need help reading the menu. And always e pointsout where we can go to floss our teeth. It was an amazing meal. At our table three had the medium size meal (meaning four ribs) and one, a male, had the large meal (meaning eight ribs) For desert one could have a small candy bar. Then the driver took us on a drive around. We went far up into the Olympic Mountains and we encounter quite a bit of snow, we saw several groups of deer, and then we returned to sea level. There the bus stopped at 37 flavors and we all bought a small ice cream cone for $1.11. The driver gets it for us, collects the money and we are out of there within ten minutes. We are a quiet bunch eating our cones and I think most of us are eager to get home to our safe abode, ready for a nap.

Life can be beautiful as they said in some soap-opera. But it is hard not to think of the ones who are hungry. Poverty is not the best of stages in your life. but I treasure having been poor and hungry. It made me feel that there was nothing to worry about. Much later I had to amend this thought. You can be poor, but if you are not healthy, poverty SUCKS. When Sam and I married I owned $37.00. Sam was disappointed for he was under the impression he had married a Swedish somebody. I found out I had married a Republican, on top of a fifth Ave bus in NY on our honeymoon. We were always surprised when an anniversary rolled around and we were still mostly happy. Our 55th was our last. We had been lucky for a long time. And Sam gave me a wonderful compliment around that time. He said he had never been bored.

age

Yesterday I watched OPRAH talking about aging. And I made a couple of changes for my future. One of the foods they discussed for a healthy long life was legumes. I love beans and peas of all kinds. The trouble was I was already marinating four boneless chicken thighs, I had a sweet-potato baking in the oven and my big hunk of broccoli was ready to go into the microwave. So I could not begin with all this immediately. And sweets were frowned upon so I would have to eat what was left of my ice-cream in my freezer for dessert . There was quite a bit left but I tried my best and actually only threw out a little bit.

And then I will lift some wheights and I will have a chair ready so that I can sit down slowly with a strait back and get up the way I sat down, as many times as i can during the day. I managed two and a half yesterday.

Last night I was listening to KGO at midnight and the woman host was speaking with the author of a book about how many beneits we are lucky to have from FDR's CCC and WPA works that came about because of the depression. It was fascinating. One man called in to say he was 108 years old and he had worked in both cathegories. He had the strongest voice and he had the most fantastic memory of the time. I hope Obama reads that book. Wish I remembered the name of the book, but I will tell our local book seller to be on the lookout for it.

All this scares me. Do I have enough DO RE MI to last me if I live to 108. Lucky I have decided to eat beans.

A HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARD

This is going to be the story of our number three child who was born April 4. When we found out I was pregnant again, we were overjoyed. There had been no help from science, no medical measurements were taken. We had accomplished this wonder all by ourselves. And from the moment we found out, I kept saying to myself, THERE WILL BE NO MIDDLE CHILD SYNDROME FOR THIS ONE. We were both happy and followed her development with bated breath. It was an uneventful pregnancy, and when we finally got to meet Martha, and found out she was healthy and beautiful we were relieved and happy. Sam wanted to name her Martha after an Aunt he had grown fond of during his college years, and a Martha Eklund who worked for my mother after I was born, and who became my best friend, which friendship lasted until she died when I was about sixty.

Martha had only a few whisps of reddish blond hair in the back of her head. The rest of her head was totally bald. She had huge blue eyes. And her smile was unbelievable. And she smiled all the time. She did more for us than we did for her, for she entertained us and made us laugh out loud every time we paid attention to her.

As a toddler she was even more an entertainer. She could make the whole family happy, just watching her. She walked early and she began playing with child Jigg-saw puzzles before she walked. A good friend, who lived down the street from us used to stop in at a toystore on her way home from school ( she was a first grade teacher ) to buy simple puzzles with just five or six pieces to test Martha. How long would it take her to finish it. Martha finished it the first time she tried in just a few minutes.

One thing Martha could not do. She could not talk. When she did try, which she did constantly, she would sound as though she might be deaf. She had no consonant sounds. If she tried to say 'OK, Gilbert', she would say Oh hey Oh hey. We of course all understood her and she did not seem to get frustated. When she went to kindergarten her teacher got excited and tried to force certain sounds out of her mouth. So I decided I had to take some action. Without Martha hearing any of my preparations I consulted an MD downtown. I asked if he would put a cast on one of her arms. I had read that if the motion center in the brain was uncertain about being right handed or left handed, then the speech center was slow in developing also. He said WHAT REDICULOUS ROT. I said I will show you the article I read. And I also said we had to pretend that Martha had hurt her arm during the night. He said, Bring her in and I will talk to her.

This good friend listened to Martha talk for about twenty minutes, She sat in front of him and answered every question he asked, and he who had never heard her before, understood not a word. I had told her, when she woke up that morning that she had hurt her arm during the night. She did not remember that, but she was happy the doctor was going to fix it. The doctor had told me earlier that if he agreed to do it, he would only agree to do the left arm. The cast had to be on at least one month.

When that month was up we returned to get the cast off. And then he sat down and almost repeated the discussion he had had a month earlier. And Martha answered with consonants and clarity. He was amazed. He could not believe what had happened. And if it had not been for the teacher who got busy with speach lessons Martha would never have known about her early problem. And then she might never have become a speech therapist.

There is so much more to tell about Martha, but it will have to be a later episode.

Martha, have a wonderful Birthday. And remember I love you. And remember that you have always done more for us, than we have done for you. You are still a surprise and such a fine person. love Mom

Leather Mosaic

Another Art-form

Long ago my son-in-law got a new line. ( He like his father-in-law was a furniture representative ) This was an Italian Leather, very modern, line of upholstered living room furniture. While visiting in their home-town, I discovered a slew of discontinued leather samples in their basement, and asked if I could have a couple. I wanted to see if I could use them in my business. One of my most favorite works of art happened in my trying to use this leather.

Since I was limited in the color selection, I decided to use black and white photographs as spring-boards for my appliques. I had a photo of my sister (born in 1916) as a four year old holding hands with my father's oldest sibling and one of her daughters, my cousin I discovered when I thought about it. Another cousin who was considered 'slow' is also in the photo. I had painted this group in black and white. A huge painting. It was bought by a prominent family on Bainbridge Island. When I did this in leather it was immediately adopted by one of our children. The three grownups in the photo all wore ankle length overcoats which made a stark strong impression. They were surrounded by snow and deep shadows, done in grays and blues. I quickly tried another and that too was absorbed by one of our children.

And while looking through these old black and white photos, I found one of the four Svensson children from about 1925, lined up behind our well. We were between the well and the fence which enclosed our property. from left to right it is me, my sister, my little brother holding a truck and my older brother holding a wooden gun. We are standing on the cobblestones which surrounded the well. The fence was painted barn red in reality. But what is the thing hanging on the fence? Behind me?

It is the mattress from my bed. I was a bed-wetter until I was a grown teenager. My mother always told me I did it on purpose. Nothing can be more embarrassing for a child than being a bed-wetter. I, every morning had to get up early to rinse my sheets and on clear days I had to hang them outside. It was such an open secret, Not so much when we lived by the beach, for no-one walked by, but after father died and mother had to buy a dry-good store in the middle of the village and the whole family moved there, then it was for the world to see. People did not seem to have much knowledge of psychology in those days, but I was happy to hear when I came to America that it was really my mother's fault that I had that problem. Nothing like that has ever happened since I left home and even now at nearly 90 I am not incontinent. ( What a thing to talk about !!!!)

Matisse

A new page

After a long discussion with my number two daughter, I am making a new effort with my blog. It will be a little more structured and pre-planned. There will be writing of blogs on Tuesdays and Thursdays and the contents will be memories and present day life. I think my name dropping days are over, there are very few celebs living in this wonderful part of our Geography. Some may still pop up in my memory however.

I am involved with a project that is called FAKE IT IN FABRICS. I will explain how it came about. One day, when the mail arrived, I received a postcard from very good friends who were visiting in Washington DC. They had spent a couple of days going through the SMITHSONIAN MUSEUM and had bought the card there. It depicted a woman with flowers and it was painted by MATISSE. I was overjoyed to hear from my friends and I treasured the painting on the postcard. And then an ugly, avaricious feeling came over me. It was caused by the card. Reality told me, that no matter how old I would get, no matter how much money I could amass, I would never be able to buy a MATISSE. This feeling grew to horrid levels. I was groveling in it.

And then it was like waking up from a nightmare. I said to myself, I will make a MATISSE. I will copy this card in fabrics and I will own a MATISSE. I worked like a driven person and at the end I owned a MATISSE. I knew it was a fake, but it was beautiful. I framed it in an old Swedish frame and from a distance it was perfect. Up close it was perfect too, but one could see that a different kind of paint had been used. There was some machine stitching, but most of the stitching was by hand. All the yardage I found in my own drawers, left over from my quilting days.

I have made many FAKE IT IN FAbRICS since then. Most of them were used to sell in raffles for some worthy cause. I decided to try teaching this art on a HOLLAND AMERICAN CRUISE SHIP. So I began giving classes locally at the Senior Center here in Port Angeles. I made up several kits for people to chose from, did a little advertising and began with a very small class. People enjoyed what they were doing. I saw one of the results, framed perfectly, and told the student that it was better than mine.

I signed up for a cruise on AMSTERDAM who was going around the world. I tried before the cruise to see the officer who would be in charge of amusement and various classes and never made contact. So I took the cruise regardless, hoping to make arrangements while on board. The officer in charge of classes was totally into music and could care less about my offering. But the Cruise was fabulous and I will regale you with some of the high-lights at a later time,

Beth, and forgiveness

When Beth mentioned forgiveness, I flashed back on something I wrote years ago and how it made me feel that I could forgive my mother. I will try to synops what I wrote then, I was trying to write my mother's life and decided to begin with the day she brought me home from the hospital. It was around the first of February 1920. While she was gone being delivered of me, she had hired a neice, Greta, who was about 16 or 17 years old, to take care of the two children she loved. Often she would say her life was perfect and her two children were perfect. Birgit the eldest was 4 and Gunne was 2. She had no husband to help her, for he and his ship were in Calcutta, India at that moment.

When she arrived at the house with me squirming and crying, and having waited for hours for the doctor to come to release her from the hospital, she became irritated when she found the house in a messy state and found that Greta had not followed her directions. Mother told her to go home, which was a hasty order which she came to regret very quickly.

The two older children were down for naps and tis new baby was loud enough to wake them, so she put her into the baby carriage, covered her with all the blankets she could find and pushed her out into the farthest corner of the garden. She could think of only one thing, and it was about the coffee she would make herself as soon as she could get this heavy overcoat off. She draped her coat over the newel post in the hall.

She drew a deep breath and went out in the kitchen to start the cofffee. cofffee.SheShe reached the dipper into the one of the two pails with water and found them both empty. She sat down at the kitchen table, put her head down on her folded arms and cried. The doctor had told her to carry nothing that weighed more than the new baby for the first week home. Getting the water out of the well would cause her to lift more than she should. But there was no way the family could function without water.

She went out into the foyer, put her coat on and walked out into the furiously windy, cold afternoon. She told herself to take a trip to check on the baby. As she approached the carriage she heard she was still crying. She put her hand under the blankets and assured herself that the shrieking baby was warm enough. And then the problem of the water. She walked over to the well and there was no protection from the ice old wind. She tightened the coat and let the first pail down and half filled it, and then got it up over the rim and repeated the same moves with the second one. Replaced the cover on the well and picked up the pales of water, and with that she could tell she had over guessed her strength for she felt that she had hemmoraged. She got up the stairs to the veranda with the two pails but reflecting on the strengthening of the wind and rain she decided to use this time to bring the baby in, and for herself to use the out-house. She walked out into the garden to retrieve the baby, pulled the carriage up the five stairs to the veranda, went out again and headed toward the outhouse. This was in a Northern direction with nothing to protect her from the wind and that wind chilled her to the bones. She returned as quickly as possible and when she got back to the veranda she was met with more crying.

She had to change her protection and she had to check available diapers. With the water shortage she had to handle these things with care. she used some of the water to start washing some of the diapers that were dirtied while she was gone. She rinsed out half a dozen and put them to boil.

And then the coffee was put on to perk. As soon as the aroma became strong enough to seep under the kitchen door, there was a timid knock. Elina, Blenda's mother-in-law, who lived in the addition came to get her share of coffee. Her first question was Where is the baby. "I have her out on the veranda. I dont want her to wake up the two who are napping." It is much too cold out there. And so the story continued about getting the boiling diapers rinsed and up in the attic where they could be hunng up to dry. Getting the two children who were napping dressed and with their afternoon treat.
Blendas
Elina was in her late 80ies and very weak. She had a severe case of scholiosis, probably caused by having too many children and not enough money for milk when she was young. She was a sweet lady and when I was six years old she died and we all missed her. When I was eight years old my maternal grandfather died and he was stern and looked like Santa Clause with a huge white beard.

LMK asked a question

LMK asked about my reasons for wanting to go to America. i have talked about it before but I will dig into it more deeply and see what emerges. It had a lot to do with my mother. She had told her friends and told me, so many times about her third pregnancy. There was nothing a woman could do to prevent or terminate a pregnancy. There were knitting needles and such but l guess there were many stories about the tragedy that often happened after attempting that course. She claimed she had a perfect family and then discovered that she was pregnant again.

My father was a captain in the Merchant Marine and usually he was gone for a year or a year and a half. When he returned home, I guess he insisted on having sex with his gorgeous wife, and as far as I know there were no birth control pills in those days. So she tried everything she could do to terminate the pregnancy. She said she rode her bicycle over rocks and through potholes in the roads. She took some kind of baths that were rumored to cause a miscarriage and tried everything to lose me. All this was understandable but why did she talk about it all the time? She would be having a cup of coffee with a friend and she would tell her for the fourteenth time. With me and my siblings in the room.

And then I was born and I turned out to be the most difficult child ever invented. When she brought me home from the hospital she could not stand hearing me cry so she pushed me out in the baby carriage to the farthest corner of the garden. This of course I do not remember, but I remember the talk about it. Everything to make me feel wanted and loved. I think I probably early said to myself, Can't wait to blow this place.

My sister who was perfect, she really was a wonderful intelligent person, but very sickly. Early on my mother decided she should go to the best School and there she did very well. When it became my time to go to some school other than what was offered in our little village, mother decided one in a different town was good enough for me. There was no bus service in that direction. I had to go on my bicycle. In Sweden the weather can be quite horrid and I remember going North on the road along the coast when the wind was so strong it could keep you from moving. Suddenly it turned out that I had some kind of heart trouble and the doctor said I could no longer go on my bike to school. And so I was able to go to the same school my sister did. This changed my life for it was more than just a reading, writing thing. School became a finishing type of thing. It built my confidence in myself and it made me realize that if I wanted to become more than what I was, I had to go elsewhere.

And so after I had graduated from that school and spent the summer doing what I wrote about in my last blog, an aunt came home from America and she offered to pay for my sister to go with her back to the states. My sister was not able to go because of her lungs and so hesitantly my aunt offered to take me. She of course had heard much about how difficult I was and so she was hesitant. I was overjoyed and when my Visa arrived in time I was gone and the rest is history. I have never regretted becoming an American. I love it here.

A memory from Sweden

One year, the year I graduated from school, we were invited to work in a hospital in a town nearby. There must have been a sign that nursing staff was going to shrink, and ours was probably a test to see if we should go to nursing school. I did not last long, for the opportunity to go to America came up in the middle of my early 'nursing' career.

There are many gaps in my memory of this summer. I do not remember where we lived, only know that it was somewhere in the hospital. We were tested for a difficult life, we were glorified cleaning women, I remember washing down walls made of white little squares of tiles, in a hall that seemed to stretch into the next county. I remember being told I had to work at night, checking up on patients when they rang their bells. There was one nurse covering three buildings and slaves like me in each of those three buildings. People who knew nothing in other words. It was the scariest time I ever lived through. There were patients who died before the real nurse managed to make it to our building. When I experienced death the first time, and cried hysterically the nurse assured me that it was not my fault, this patient was supposed to die that night or the next. I must have tried to forget this episode of my life. It was too hurtful to remember.

I remember one occurrence that scared me spit-less. I discovered a ( I can't remember the name of the object. the thing the doctor puts in his ears to listen to the heartbeat of the patient) Anyway, this thing was hanging on a hook next to the doctor's white coat. I stuck it in my ears and listened to my own heart. The sound was so loud and so deep and so disturbing. I have never forgotten it. I guess there was a measure of guilt attached to it, for I was not supposed to touch this man's equipment. I was overjoyed when I found out I could emigrate to America

Someone held my hand

I have spent the day reading my blogs from the beginning. It was a fun way of re-living my life, in more ways than one. I read every comment and I am so impressed with your generosity. Some of them I had forgotten but I have never forgotten the wall of well wishers that were there for me. I have to write to Shreve and tell her how my life changed when she made me a blogger. I do fell warm with all my new family.

Friday was a special day. There were chores to be done in the early part of the day. At noon I had promised a neighbor to drive us to lunch and bridge afternoon. I had fabulous cards and won the little potted flower that adorn our lunch table. Also a cute little teapot filled with chocolates. We drove home to our cottages and from four to five we rested (and fed the animals and sent them out to be safe for their later shut-ins) At five we went to investigate the monthly ART WALK. We attended only two of the affairs.

The first was a book signing venture. The woman author had written her first book. I have known her slightly since we moved here. The venue for her was the gift store called Necessities and Temptations, owned by an old friend who in the newspaper had promised to furnish wine and chocolates. I had a thimble full of wine (I was driving) and a couple of candies. The first one was filled with marzipan. (difficult to find) So I had to buy a half pound.

We went across the street to investigate another artist, painter and wood worker whose name is Ole Olson. He had to be a Swede with the on ending his name. And sure enough he was and his wife was a Norwegian. She was interesting beyond that, for she is the new minister in the Methodist Church. We have heard so much about her and her successes in rebuilding the attendance. The food at the gallery was unbelievable. Hot Swedish meatballs and Sushi with that wonderful green mustard. We stayed three meatballs and one sushi worth. But we were very impressed with the two .

So impressed in fact, that we decided to go to church today. And everything that had been said about the warmth and the Well-Coming in that church is not an exaggeration. We felt very Well-Come.

Brodway Shows

Fire Fox asked me if I had ever seen a Broadway Show. That's a fun comment to respond to. Some of this will be repeated stories.
When I arrived in NY in 1938 I was disappointed at the level of Democracy. It didn't take long to learn about the treatment of blacks in the South. And the treatment of Jewish people in NYC one didn't have to read about, it was evident on the sidewalks of the city. Everything was open for someone like me. A dumb Swede. How unfair. I was eager to immigrate, childishly because I had learned that people received Easter gifts. But later in school, when we learned about the fact that anything was possible in America. Of course, we felt that what that meant, was that everything was possible for all people. That was a rude awakening.

I read NATIVE SON and when it became a play on Broadway I was elated when a male aquanintance asked me to go to see the play. When the play was over, and everything emotional had been wrung out of us, we went backstage for my friend to interview Canada Lee, the star of the show. When we met Canada he kissed my hand and I thrilled to the gesture. It was noisy in his dressing room and so he asked us to come up to Harlem to his restaurant called THE CHICKEN COOP. When we arrived we joined the group around Canada. There were writers and dancers and an occasional Policeman who came in off the street to share the congratulations that were heaped on the Star. It was a fun evening.

Later I saw LILIUM with Ingrid Bergman and since I had been backstage before, I went back there and told her what a great job she was doing. I spoke to her in Swedish and she uttered a few canned words in exchange. The house where I worked sent the whole domestic staff into NYC for a play or some big offering at the Garden and once to the Opera. These were monthly affairs. I do not remember which opera we heard. It might have been MADAMA BUTTERFLY, for when many year later when Sam and I were invited to hear madam Butterfly in Stockholm I knew I had heard it before. Bt this time it was sung in Swedish.
Sam and I tried to get tickets to OKLAHOMA when we spent our honeymoon in NYC in 1943. We were unsuccessful. We did see LES MISERABLE one day much later, when our daughter number three and her husband gave us air tickets and theatre tickets for our fiftieth anniversary.

trouble

Something happened to my computer and I was separated from Safari and my ability to send a blog. I called one of my granddaughters, and in two seconds she was able to tell me what to do. I can't get over how smart young people are. i wish I had made an effort when I was younger to master this science. But I am grateful for what I have learned and am very grateful to the people who can help me out of my home-made problems.

A couple of days ago I received comments, two of them sent a few min. apart and one other message which is usually a joke of some sort. So I hit on that and then without reading it I hit to make it disappear. It did, but the two comments did too. I value the comments I get so much and I was devastated when I lost two without remembering the names and without having read them first. If there is a reader who can say: That's me ! Please repeat what you said. It was sent during this last week.

Friday night I watched NOW on channel nine. It was an interview with an actor named John Lithgow. I have always admired him and there is something so riveting in his voice. He has written a book and the book includes some of his favorite poems. He can even read sonnets and long parts of Shakespeare's dramas and keep you totally absorbed. And when he read ' Don't go calmly into .......... it caused hysterical weeping from my usually calm nature. It was the poem that Sam had asked us to read at the party he had asked us to have after his death. He did not want a funeral but instead a huge party with "lots of whiskey" It was a wonderful way to say good-by. The party was held outside on the beach. All seven grandchildren were helping and all our friends were sad to say Farewell to Sam.

I am glad my computer is cooperating again. I miss my link to to all my new friends. I will try to be more regular in my blogging. This week has been strange. Next Sunday I may go to California with daughter number one and her husband. His business may keep him grounded in Washington for another week and then the promise of a house in Capitola will have elapsed. Time will tell.

I have to tell you about the ten minute blizzard I lived through on Saturday morning. I took two ladies from here to the Sale at Gottschalks, a store which appears to be going out of business. It was freezing cold and the sky over the mountains was black. We surmised that we would have to hurry or else be caught in the snow. We had an hour to find something sensational on sale. We were all lucky and found great things on sale. I bought three sleeveless T-shirts to wear if we get to go to California. The three shirts with a famous name cost totally $4.14. The three of us reunited and I asked if we should celebrate and go get a cup of coffee, and all agreed. On our way home the sky had darkened. I let my fares out near their cottages and drove around the alley to my garage. After I parked my car and closed the garage-door, the snow came. I had never been in a blizzard before but what hit me on the way to my cottage was one of the most frightening things. I remember reading stories about blizzards in the midwest where people tied ropes from the door of the house to the door of the out-house or else they could get lost. Our blizzard didn't last through the night, it didn't last more than an hour. The wind died down and the world was white. for an hour or two. then the sun was shining and the grass turned green again. But only till dusk, when we were treated to another storm. Today the temperature was warmer and all signs of snow are gone.

A flower

Since I moved, I had forgotten how important it is to treat yourself to the things that fill your life with beauty and color. Last week, on an especially dreadful, rainy, windy day, I had to get out to buy milk. When I entered the store, I almost fell over a display of potted blue, or should they be called light leafy purple, flowers. They are almost the same color as my twenty years old raincoat, that is so thin and so unable to keep the rain out, that I picked one up to decorate my cart. I could always put it back on its beautifully arranged table, if I bought more than just milk.

Impulse buying is a dangerous thing, especially if you are hungry or cold or wet. I was all three, but with the plant in my cart, I could withstand a lot of temptations. I walked by my favorite butcher, with no more than a friendly nod. I slowed down slightly by the bakery, after I had picked up the milk. And then I filled myself with the thought that I could walk by the Deli section without any risk, but the cheese table and the sushi called to me. I was after all COLD and WET, and these things would only deplete my money, they would do little to weigh me down. After I park the car in the garage, I have a fairly long walk back to my place and a flight of seven stairs to go down and I have to always think of maneuvering my groceries down. And since it was dark and cold and slippery I passed up the goodies and headed straight to the checker of my choice.

When I got into the house and had shed my wet raincoat I turned on a few more lights. And then I put the plant on the coffee table. Such Glory! There was a very offending tag on the purple paper covering the pot. I pulled it off and threw it in the garbage can. And got a saucer to put under it. I turned on a few more lights. To heck with the green ideas. I poured the required milk in my casserole and put my dinner in the oven. I poured myself a drink and sat down to watch the news. LIFE CAN BE BEAUTIFUL.

Academy Awards

One of my favorite programs on Television comes on Sundays at five o'clock in the afternoon on C-Span - Barbara Lee was the interviewee for an hour. Barbara Lee is the Congress woman who voted no on giving President Bush's asking for the right to take USA into War after 9'11. She was the only no vote in the US Congress. If you have any chance to see that interview make sure you do. She is a fantastic woman. She had a checkered past and her being able to get herself to where she is today is truly admirable.

When Anna read my blog about Jr. she said: What are you going to be working on while you watch baseball this summer. She knows I can not do nothing while watching TV. I said, jokingly, I'll have to make you another dining-room rug. I have a much better idea, she said. Why don't you work on Fake it in Fabrics, using a Hockney swimming pool painting to copy in fabrics and then you can donate them to SAVE OUR POOL for a fundraisers. Copying the paintings of an artist who is alive is not permissible so I immediately wrote to him to ask for permission. I think it said it might take three weeks to get a response. So I want everyone who reads this blog to cross your fingers for five seconds, wishing a correct response to come from him. I will let you know what his response is, and if it is a positive answer, I will take pictures of what I create from his paintings, and even let you know how much money is raised from my endeavor.

Since I titled my blog Academy Awards I will have to say something about what I saw. All the women who were nominated ( except the actress from the bridges of ??? county) sounded either British or Australian. I love their accents, they are all truly beautiful, and even though I have seen none of the movies, I felt it was a happy affair. I read The Reader yesterday and it was a magnetic book. The woman seemed wooden in the book. (except in bed) She must have done a really great job of acting.
I will try to read the other books of the nominated movies.