Happy Holloween

I got two messages about Halloween this morning and so I feel compelled to write about our Halloween when our four children were growing up. One family asked if they could call at dinner time so I could laugh like a witch for their two grown boys. I assured them that I need more developed abdominal muscles in order to be effective. When we moved from Diablo to Laguna Beach our good friends called on Halloween morning and told us they were coming South that afternoon, for they didn't want their four children going through a Halloween without hearing my witches laugh. (I had abdominal muscles in those days) I remember that as one of the happiest weekends in Laguna Beach.

When the children were older than toddlers I used to dress all in black, and go out and wait for their friends to arrive. I stood under our bridge and when they were directly above me, I would give forth with a thunderous laugh. Think of now being an almost ninety year old woman and hearing that that laugh made me memorable. It is wonderful. But I would rather be remembered for ending hunger in the world or something meaningful.

One year when Anna was in high school I heard two boys whose voices I recognized, coming down the street after having been at the Greer's house, saying, Let's go to Anna's house. It's right here over the bridge. When they were directly above me, I let forth with one of my best ones. They turned around and ran as fast as their little feet would carry them. Anna was told next day in school how scared they had been.

When I grew up in Sweden we had no similar holiday. We did have a spring festival called Valborg's masso afton. It was almost the opposite kind of festival. It happened on the evening before the First of May. People got dressed up but not with anything scary. We had picked little twigs of our birch trees and even though the trees had not yet turned green, our twigs had because of the warmth in the house.

There is a description of Valborg's Masso Afton in a previous blog. If you don't feel like looking it up, I will go into further details about it next time I write.

Happy Holloween

Our new wonderful world

Yesterday afternoon I received a comment on a blog I wrote sometime in 2008. The sender's name was Susan and she was doing research on her grandfather who was the last president of Robinson Reminder Co. How magical that a short mention of my having met him on a train to California could have turned up in her research. And how I wish I had more information to send her.

He was a good looking man. He was very proud of his two sons who were both pilots in the Navy. I think he mentioned that he himself had been a pilot in the navy. He didn't seem old enough to have been involved in WW1, but he could have been there during the peace time between the two wars. He spoke lovingly abut his wife who was forever interested in historical architecture. And he said that when Sam and I visited them in New England she would be happy to show us around. We did communicate by mail. And we were invited to visit. We had to decline and I am fairly sure that it was our financial situation that kept us from accepting. From then it was just Christmas cards and congratulations on new arrivals in the baby world.

Mr Robinson gave me a Robinson Reminder and he gave one to Mr.Shaw, my father-in-law, during lunch. And Susan I would like to know if both of his sons lived through the war. I may have been told about their happy re-unions in one of the letters but I do not remember.

I have been surprised several times by the life of my blogs. What surprised me the most was when a reader checked on the names of my fellow travelers on the trip from Sweden through the Panama Canal to San Francisco. Maybe that's the reason my memories paled. What if I told about something that was all wrong. Age does strange things to memories. When the Argentina pulled in to her berth in San Francisco, guess who met me. Mr, Shaw again. This time he came on board and had lunch with the Captain. I never called him anything but Mr. Shaw. For some reason he liked me, and we got along swimmingly.

Mollegarden continued

I think I have already told about Mollegarden long ago. I spoke about my paternal grandmother's unfortunate break with her family. Sorry if I repeat myself. Some of what I will tell you might be debatable. But this is what I heard while listening to my mother and her coffee friends.

Elina was the name of my grandmother. She had several sisters. All of them were beautiful and a good catch for any swain in the neighborhood. According to her father, Magnus Lindberg, the swains had to be wealthy and well educated. He was a Danish immigrant who had settled in Viken when he was a young man. He had a boat-building business which made him wealthy, and from then on every business he touched succeeded. He built the windmill (molla) and the farmers who had seeds to be milled into flour came with their horses and wagons and seeds, paid a fee and took their flour home to be used for baking bread or for sale. Mollegarden was his homestead. It was built in the usual shape. People were afraid of raiders who came usually from the north. Four long buildings were built into a quadrangle. The northernmost building was the living quarters for family and servants. One building was the barn with one end quartering their horses and the other storage of the feed, hay and such. The other two I don't know about. One time when I was young, one of the buildings had become our post office.

As young woman or maybe as still a child, Elina fell in love with a young man who was not in great-grandfather's idea of a suitable swain for his most beautiful daughter. I do not know if they decided to marry without his blessings or if they were forced to do so. Mr. Lindberg told Elina never to darken his door again. Elina's mother was as sad as Elina. She did help Elina when the bad times came and there was need for food for a growing family. My grandfather was successful in some of his endeavors but mostly he was a fisherman. He and Elina had many children and my father was one of the younger ones. He went to sea when was 16 and worked his way from lowly seaman to Captain.

Snow

I heard today that two granddaughters had to shovel snow this morning. Karin in Montana and her sister in Wyoming. That brings forth so many memories. Growing up in Sweden, we young people loved the snow. We had so much fun and there were so many activities we could partake in by just going out the door. When our children grew up in California I felt sorry for them, for what could they do for exercise in the winter.

One or two winters it was cold enough that the straight between us and Denmark froze over completely. I was too young to venture very far out, but I remember how good the cod tasted that my older brother caught after he had made a hole in the ice. The snow ball fights between girls and boys were memorable. The girls were inside a thick stone wall encircling the garden of Mollegarden. We could go there early in the afternoon and build up a huge supply of ammo, snowballs that is. We could duck down behind the wall when the fight began, so I admit it was an unfair fight. But so much fun. And Mr and Mrs Anderson who owned the place would always make plenty of hot chocolate and cookies for the girls. ( They had no sons) And then we were lucky in that some years some adult would pour water on the tennis court and we could pretend we were playing hockey.

In the summer you could walk through the village and no boy would speak to you but in winter he still would not speak but after we passed each other he would throw a snow ball at you. No matter how much it hurt and no matter how much snow would run down the back of your neck, it did not matter. It felt good knowing that you had been noticed. If the boy was the one you had your eye on, it felt even better.

I will tell you more about Mollegarden next tim i write.

Saturday spent with relatives

Good news about Cap. He is still an old dog but he seems happy and content. Thank you for all the pleasant thoughts you sent us. I treasure all the warm comments.

Yesterday, Saturday, was a fun day. Gilbert, my son, is painting his house, and since it was in dire need of paint, there was a lot of prepping to do before the actual painting. So he invited his son and girlfriend from Montana, and a college roommate of Sam's to come to spend a week helping with the work involved. They worked hard, but there was also fishing and crabbing and golf in their lives during the visit. Saturday was finally my turn to do something to aid in the venture and I chose to take the gang to my favorite place for breakfast. Unfortunately, Gilbert took the group to his favorite place for breakfast and so almost an hour was wasted while we were waiting for each other. Finally I called Gilbert's place, and sure enough, there they were, waiting and hungry.

When eating was finished, the group split up. Heather, the girlfriend informed me that she was going to spend the rest of the day with me. We had a fun day. First I took her out on the long Hook protecting our harbor. She enjoyed the spectacular view of Port Angeles as seen from the North. It was a beautiful day. Then when we approached the Pilot Station I hung a U turn. I stopped the car and let her discover the structures that were built on the rocks protecting the Hook and in turn protecting our Harbor. She was absolutely passionate when she saw them and realized that they were fleeting and would all be gone after a heavy north wind hit them. I told her that when I last saw them they were completely different and that these had been made this summer by completely different people. The ones I saw last year seemed very delicate and very Asian. The ones we were looking at were more solid looking. Made probably by Americans who came from maybe Des Moines or from Indianapolis. They were equally beautiful. Heather was engrossed in deep thought and when we got to my place I asked her if she would like to use my water color supplies and she sat down and worked for probably three or four hours. When I saw her paintings I smiled for they were exactly like what we had seen but the paintings looked as though an Asian had painted them.

Sam came to pick her up when it was time to go back to Gilbert's place. They were all through painting and had had a great Golf game. I said Good bye for they were leaving early this morning to go back to Montana. I feel I have a new friend. Heather is a great person and I feel she will go far.

Granddaughter

I just finished reading Shreve's twitter and found all the responses she evokes. Daily Coyote is my first touch of reality in the morning and it is so real, so filled with love and grit and beauty that it feels like 'who needs all that night time of dreaming' and I am so happy to be awake.

The reason for the lapse in my blogging is my sick dog, Cap. The vet told me his age is a problem. There are many reasons why the only treatment for him is love and care at home. And my son has promised that he will help when the time comes to love him enough to let him go.

Pray for us.

Healthcare

When I was little I had many sessions of ear-aches. Doctors removed the things that grow in the back of the throat and the adenoids. Didn't stop the ear-aches. They removed some of the bone structure in back of the ear. Some of this happened after father had died and we were very poor. But we already had Universal Healthcare in Sweden and the costs were paid by our taxes. I don't remember that we had to wait for service, and since I was the one with a painful ear, it seems I would remember.

A couple of years passed and it was discovered that I had a hernia. When I exerted myself a little part of my insides pushed on my abdominal muscles and seemed to want to pop out. I don't know how long that had been going on, but a doctor said he thought it might have been caused by the constant early crying in the baby buggy. My mother gave me a choice. I could have a truss, or I could have surgery. Since I had observed an elderly man in the autumns wearing a truss out side of his pants while he was raking the leaves in his garden I knew I did not want to be wearing a truss. I chose surgery. I had a local anesthetic, for a strange heart condition had been discovered earlier. ( I was excused from Physical Exercise because of that, so I felt it was an added asset for me. I will tell you later what else I was saved from. ) But because I was awake during the surgery I heard what one MD said to the other one there. He said, 'Shall we tell the mother?' The other said 'No she would worry.' Those words would worry me most of my life. What was in there that could worry my mother. Or were they not even speaking of me. Every time some Md was working on my insides I would ask him to check for any unusual condition. I had four c-sections and one other opening for the removal of my uterus. Nobody found anything of interest.

The other thing I was saved from was participating in Choir. Some one told me that if you ate a whole raw potato nobody would ever want to hear me sing.

Kennedy. cont.

You may have noticed that in my previous blog I said, 'in my minds eye' this was the way events occurred. Now that Senator Kennedy's memoirs are being printed, we will know more. From the few words we have heard about the contents of the book, it promises clarification and insight. I can't wait to read it. The trouble with living as long as I have, is that so many heros become heros of the past.

My paternal grandmother was the first one who died, and whose leaving really affected me. I was too young to understand what dying really meant. She had one huge fault. She owned a cat named Topsy who bore kittens several times a year. We got to see the little blind babies for only a few days and then, suddenly and tragically, they were gone. She told stories about what had happened. The trolls had come out of the forrest and they had stolen them. Or, some witch had come to town and had worked some miracle with them and had turned them into horses for her fancy conveyance. We were always sad that they were gone. Many years later rumors spread that she had drowned them all in a gunny sack. Life as a grownup is not always romantic. I wish I had never heard those rumors, for I remembered her as a sweet little tiny lady, who herself looked as though she could have been magic.

Until I moved I still owned her church hat. Seeing it used to bring her spirit closer. I have forgiven her for drowning the kittens.

Ted Kennedy

Yesterday, Saturday, I woke up early. Around five. I did my morning chores. I cleaned the cat box and I cleaned up outside where the dog does his business. I swept my porch of all the leaves that had floated in during the night. I fed the animals. I made my bed. I sat down to rest for a while, I turned on the TV and I never left my chair until what seemed very late. I had happened to turn on CNN and it happened to show the Kennedy funeral. The cortege was leaving the church in Boston and the long, slow journey to Arlington had just begun.

The outpouring of love at every stop was astounding. Tears came to my eyes often, and to the eyes of many of the people standing waiting on street corners along the route. And they were so quiet and so respectful. Thousands of people lined the streets when the trip reached Washington DC. I was so proud to be an American. And I was so ashamed when I heard people referring to Chapaquidik.

In my mind's eye, I can see what happened the night of that tragic event. The office party was in full swing and the unfortunate girl who was lost that night, felt ill and made her way to the nearest car, where she laid herself down on the back seat, and fell asleep. She didn't know who owned the car. Moments later Ted Kennedy decided it was time to leave. He knew he had had too much to drink but decided to test his luck. He never knew that he was not alone in the car. The accident happened and he quickly recovered his senses and opened the door of the car and swam to the nearest friendly house.

Meanwhile the girl in the car became aware of her situation. She tried the back doors of the car and could not force them open. It was dark but she discovered that there was a pocket of air left close to the ceiling above the dash board and again she crawled over the front seat and drew several big breaths of air. Consequently she was found in the front seat of the car next morning.

There is no way ANYONE could have left someone in a sinking car. I do not believe that Ted Kennedy could have done it. And if his name had been Joe Jones he would not have had to suffer from so many reminders of the tragedy. Thank God for the Catholic Church which has the power of redemption. He knew that he was forgiven by God and became so ferocious in his work for people who needed him. Maybe now we can have a better medical situation with fairness for children and people of lesser means.

Happenings

When I picked up my medicine at Wal-Mart yesterday I was shocked to find that my bill was $420 something. I needed re-fills of four out of five I take daily. I am very healthy and no one thinks I am as old as nearly ninety. All this must be a huge fake, and I am actually held together by the Pharmacy world. I tested this a couple of weeks ago. I took a vacation from the pills and I survived. Maybe I weakened my bones a trifle or maybe I filled my blood vessels with gunk. My heart continued its irregular beat without my noticing anything. My fourth pill is for having less than a whole gland below my neck, I can't remember the name of it. I think I will ask my MD if I can do this one week a month from now on.

Since I was at the eastern edge of town, I went to see what Gilbert was doing. I am so glad I did. What was happening in the water outside the house was worth seeing. There was one Canadian Coast Guard ship, working with an American Coast Guard ship and a Helicopter flying between them. We had a Russian Coast Guard ship in town and he had been attending earlier. It was exciting to watch what they were doing and I forgot my own little drama.

Every time I see what improvements are done in the garden my heart sings and I am so glad I moved out of there, so the place can flourish again.

County Faire

Gilbert called and asked if I wanted to go with him to the County Fair and I immediately said ' Yes I would'. Our bus took some of us inmates the day before and I could not go for I was getting a new refrigerator and was up to my knees in moving all the gory details out of one, defrosting the old one, throwing out what had been there unused since I moved in, and restoring this new wonderful defrosting machine. (now my hair drier will be used for its original purpose only)

Gilbert and I began our adventure about noon. Parked next to the gate with my handicapped sign in his dashboard. I was dying to have a scone. It was our first stop. The warm high scone with aroma that reached all the fences of the grounds was gone. We got a plastic bag with a scone with strawberry jam that was flat and in need of the any aroma at all. It was very forgettable. But the rest was old Fair. We watched the children showing their dogs. We watched young people getting bronze tattoos, we watched politicians shaking hands with anyone who got close. We saw my good friend who is running for city council, Edna Petersen, and I wanted to get close enough for a hug, but she was busy with something at the moment. We wandered through most of the area and it was fun. Gilbert bought some special corn concoction and I said I am tired. We left and within half an hour I had a two hour nap.

Our residence is close enough that I can vaguely hear noises from the Fair if my window is open. It brought many memories from Sweden and the fairs we attended. My very first love affair, when I was four or five was with a very dark hued man who was lying on a bed of nails. He did not speak nor look at us and I think we were in his presence probably less than two minutes and I have never forgotten him. I think his name was Abdulla. At another fair, when I was a teenager, I saw the gorgeous man that drew crowds of young women, brushing his teeth behind the tents. He used Colynose toothpaste and I used that for years after. I forget what his job was. Maybe his good looks was enough of a draw. I am sure he had a name but I never knew it. (But what was I doing going behind the tents?)

I loved the fact that Gilbert asked me to go with him. He also fixed the gas pressure on my BBQ. How great to have a man nearby.

Poem?

When Martha, Nr 3, arrived, she carried two folders of papers that I had written long ago at her request, thinking it might help me remember situations from my past, which would then help me with my blog. I have not had time to read all of it but this attempt at poetry amused me. Hope it will do the same for you. I think I have mentioned the event before. It is written in the form of a letter. It was called Dear Jeffrey, but if I were truthful it would have been called Dear Marcus.

FRANKLY MY DEAR, I DO GIVE A DAMN

Dear Jeffrey

Watching GONE WITH THE WIND last night made me remember.
Remember the night of August 1, 1943, the night before Sam and I were married.
It was Georgia hot. Sticky and hot.
I sat on the floor by the fireplace, a carton filled with papers by my side.

One by one the papers burned. Letters from Sweden.
Letters from young men in the Armed forces. Some with proposals of marriage.
Newspaper clippings and photographs
And then - all my Clark Gable pictures.

As more papers burned, the hotter the room became. I read and agonized.
Should I, or should I not. Burn this or save that.
Should I marry Sam, or should I not.
I cried silently, feeling so alone.

Did I really want to marry Sam?
I hardly knew him. He was infantry bound for unknown destinations.
If I let him go, I might never see him again.
That was the worst of all possible scenarios.

I never regretted marrying Sam

But why did I think I had to burn my past? Who knows?
After watching Clark Gable, I suddenly regretted that nights absurdity.
Had I not burned those papers,
I could now better share my past with our four children and our grandchildren.

And I would still have all your letters.

daughters, daughters

For the last week I have been surrounded by three of the most wonderful people in the world. You have heard about each one before, usually by a numbers. Today they will have names and vague homeports.



In this picture you will see all of them. Anna is at the west end of the photo. She lives on Bainbridge Island and I see her more often than the other two, who live in the San Francisco area. Jane in Mill Valley and Martha in Santa Cruz. We spent a lot of time with Gilbert, their brother and a fabulous fisherman. We had many meals with him at our old house. Cracked Crab and Salmon. It has been five wonderful days and I am utterly thankful for us, having been all together.

We celebrated two birthdays. Gilbert's belatedly and Jane's a few days early. Each celebration meant overeating and over laughing. The latter a fine sort of exercise which made overeating less noticeable. Gilbert took his three sisters fishing a couple of times and the picture shown here shows all of them starting out. One day they pulled up seven Crab and another day Gilbert caught two salmon. I have three meals in my freezer, two of crab meat and one of crab soup. I am so lucky that he wants to share his catch.

Filled with gratitude.

When I wrote my last blog I had no idea it would bring such healing remarks from my blogging family. Your remarks were so loving and so constructive. Thank you one and all. I will read that book, the first chapter any way, and then give it up. I have to admit, I have been such a snob about grammar. When someone uses the wrong word in speaking, the wrong tense, I smugly feel superior. It serves me right that I should have discovered how ignorant I am.

I spent the day working on a project and suddenly realized that I was starving. I had to get some vitamins for my macular degeneration and since they are cheeper at Walmart I drove to the other end of town and then felt maybe Gilbert might be as hungry as I was and maybe he would come eat an early dinner in a Mexican restaurant. When I got to his house he was deciding where to plant some flowers he had just acquired. He said he was starving and so the two of us had a great dinner at 3.30 p.m. And I have enough food in a little box for my lunch tomorrow.

It is now time to get to my most pressing occupation, watching the Mariners p;ay baseball. The game began at seven and I will just be able to catch the end of the game. Wish them Good Luck with me, please.

Family re-union

My son has moved into his house on the beach and since many parts of his family were there for extended times, I was invited for dinner. These were lovely times and I enjoyed both the food and the company. Gilbert gave me whole crabs to take home with me, and I can say, never have I had so much crab in such a short period of time. Whenever there are crab left over I am urged to take them home and so I have had crab sandwiches and crab omelets and crab tacos. I feel so lucky to have a son who can fish for crab.

Anna and Steve and Kate, the navy pilot, and friend, Gilbert and Chris and I had Gilbert's birthday dinner there. Gilbert made Carnitas and they were delicious. Anna had made Tosca and shaped it into cake shape and served it with one candle. It was a wonderful evening with many "Do you remembers" I loved the banter between the siblings and next week the two sisters from the San Francisco Area will be here with Anna again and I look forward to more of the same fun dinner conversation. The three girls will be staying here at my place.

The reason for the long delay again is that I went to shop at Costco and I spied a book on the sale's table with the title SPEND 20 MINUTES A DAY AND LEARN HOW TO WRITE. I read the first chapter which was about punctuation and capitals. I discovered that I knew nothing about the subjects and it totally threw me for a loop. How can I have nerve enough to write this blog showing my ignorance. Then I thought it is too late to worry about that now. Everybody knows my lack of grammar skills. If I were writing in Swedish I would be showing the same lack. But I am spending twenty minutes a day reading that book and maybe you will gradually observe an improvement in my writing.

Dear Abby

Reading this morning's Dear Abby was quite a revelation for me. It was all about people who were told by one or two of their parents that they were never wanted. There were four answers to a previous letter which I do not remember having read. Wounded Heart, One Who Knows, Deeply Wounded and Wish I Never Knew were the names of the responders. I wish I had known that many people felt the way I did. When you are little you don't know that something is eating away at your feeling of security. I had problems with friendships in school, for if someone made overtures in my direction, I did not want to get along with a person who had such poor taste. Its like the joke about the man who did not want to join the club that was stupid enough to let him in.

Why did I never go to a counselor who could have saved me from feeling inferior all these years. And why does a nearly ninety year old person worry about cruel things told to her eighty years earlier? Someone who knows, tell me that.

The heat wave is abating and I just had to put on a white cotton sweater. I had breakfast with a good friend this morning. Then I went to the garage to have freon put into my air conditioning. And three pounds of air into a tire that made my car seem to turn to the right even when I wanted to go straight. And I filled up the gas tank. All preparations for going for a ride in the afternoon if the heat wave continued. I made the heat wave go else where.

Heat

We live in the perfect part of the country. Weather-wise that is. It rains sometimes, but we need moisture. Occasionally we have a little snow flurry but it is usually enjoyable and brings back memories of times when snow was fun. And never do we get a heat wave. Until now. It is difficult knowing what to do to avoid the heat. Especially at my age. I can;t go down to the beach and sit with my feet in the water. The reason....... I can't get up again. And so we are in a record breaking heat wave here in Port Angeles. The temperature is record breaking and the length of the problem is also record breaking.

My getting along with this non 'air conditioning' is sitting in one place, working on a project that totally absorbs me. I am working on Christmas presents. And I am not knitting socks.

The reason for no blog is that I have run out of memories. Maybe when the weather gets normal, my brain will return to normal. I will try to be more reliable in the future.Thank you for the caring comments.

Another Bus Trip

A lunch trip to Lake Crescent was promised this Thursday. I think the bus has the capacity of eighteen passengers and I was number seventeen. One person had cancelled that morning. Which warned me to decide earlier and sign up if I really want to go. The weather could not have been more ideal. It was warm and sunny with no wind. The place was crowded with live in visitors. And as time passed more and more people arrived, some to eat their pic-nic lunches by the edge of the water, others to eat in the restaurant. One smart couple who were told there was a waiting period before they could be seated, ordered food to go and and the male part of the couple went out to secure a seat for two on a bench in the shade of a tree near the water. There were children galore playing in the water and It was a glorious day.

There were a few flies in the ointment. The waiting for us at the table for seventeen was endless. It is a great way to meet and get to know people you have never been in touch with before. The man sitting next to me had never been told by his mother that you have to keep your elbows close to your own ribs when you sit next to someone. His elbow was dangerously close to my plate. Then I found out that his mother died when he was four and that his father had brought up him and his four siblings. Then the poor college age student working for the summer had a difficult time with so many orders at one table. My bill was $16.44 and I handed him a twenty dollar bill and when I got my change, I got $16.44. I hope he came out OK at the end of the day. He seemed relieved when I gave him back $11.00. His tip was already figured in, in the ticket. I met a very nice woman named Virginia. She sat directly across from me, and at first I was hesitant to talk to her. She turned out to have a great sense of humor and a keen sense of what was going on.

Our bus driver, beloved by all, stopped by the soft ice cream place out near the Lake and ordered us all a dessert. It is a time consuming deal and I am sure delays him miserably, but he does it willingly and we all love it. He is great asset here, and if the powers were aware of how much we appreciate him, he would be written up in the sale's pitch for the place.

Some one asked me to enter my name to become a board member of the Friends of the Port Angeles Library. We need to get in touch.

Margaret's pitcher

Many years ago, before we had our new library, we had a member of the Friends of the Library who had become a 'bearing wall' of the group. Once or twice a year we had a book sale out in the garage of the place which now is the County site of the workings of the place. The garage was there because of the tall trucks that used to deliver books to shut ins in the out-lying areas of avid readers. The name of this elderly woman was Margaret Coffey.

She once told me her age and I think at the time she was in her middle seventies. I wondered how she could work so hard at her age. She could lift heavy boxes of books and she could stand on her feet for hours, sorting books for a future sale. The garage was a cold drafty place and her feet were usually in high heeled shoes. She was great to work with, for no one could say he or she was tired as long as Margaret persevered.

One day Margaret called and asked Sam and me for lunch the following week end. I said Sorry, but we have two grand daughters here from Denver. She said bring them along. She lived on the family farm which was out in the direction of Joyce. Many years earlier the family home had burned down and Margaret lived in a trailer where the house had stood. There were many buildings remaining and many of her belongings could be found in what was once the barn.

We had a delightful lunch and when we settled down with coffee and desert the children asked if they were allowed to go out to discover things. Margaret said they could, if they promised not to go into any of the buildings, for she did not know how safe they were. When the girls came back, they said, Grandma, come out and see what we saw. It was time for us to leave, so we said our Thank You. As we walked to our car, Kate said come and see what we found. It was some colorful old fashioned thing they had never seen before and they asked if they could ask Margaret if they might have it. I said, go and ask. Margaret came to investigate and at once said, Of course you may have it. It was some price given out at a county fair. My eyes spied a dirty pitcher lying on its side in the dirt on the floor. I asked if I might have that one. She said 'What on earth for?' I said It has such an unusual shape and I may use it in a painting. She said 'Take it.' And so we went home with our treasures.

The following Friends of the Library Board meeting was going to be held at Margaret's home. It was scheduled for one o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. We drove out there in two cars and when we got there, there was a note on the the door. It said 'please enter' We sat down and waited and after a few moments George Stratton, the head of the Library arrived. He sat down and said, Margaret died yesterday. Her daughter found her, sitting in her favorite chair. She was dead.

The discussion on the agenda had been, how can we help raise money for the bond issue. None of us wanted to remain. We were all too shocked and saddened by the news. So we scheduled another meeting and left. When we met later in the week I had a plan for raising money for the election. I would paint one painting each month named Margaret's Pitcher. It would be displayed in the North Light Gallery and people who saw it could bid on it and the highest bidder would get it. Many people who came across from Canada on the Ferry saw them and bid. I think only two remained in Port Angeles. Apparently enough money was raised that the names of my husband and me were put on the wall as donors. Unknown to us, until it was too late to remove them.

A columnist

We had a columnist in our local newspaper, Helsingborgs Dagblad, who was a woman. My mother and this columnist were good friends. I can imagine a conversation between these two women, probably in the afternoon, having coffee at Hogvakten Konditory. The conversation went like this. Mother: I am not looking forward to this summer. Gertrud will be out of school in June and she is so difficult to live with. Friend: Oh maybe I can help you out. George (not his name) doesn't like that I live here in the south. Can we send her up to Dalarna to help him out with cleaning and washing and fixing his meals? Mother: What a wonderful idea.

This happened in 1938 and before I knew it I was ensconced in a taxi, with mother's friend. She was going to show me what had to be done and how it was going to be done. Nobody had asked me if I wanted to do this. Mother just informed me that I was going to do it. I was 18 and it was time for me to live elsewhere. It was a lucky break for me, but I did not know it at the time. Our news papers were full of stories about Greta Garbo traveling around Europe with a Symphony director from Philadelphia. They had just crossed into Sweden from Denmark that morning, according to Dagbladet. I crept into the corner of the taxi hoping I could fool my fellow citizens that it was Garbo lurching in the cab.

We reached our destination in the afternoon. Mother's friend quickly showed me the guest room where I was to sleep. And also were I was to spend the evenings, For husband didn't want to socialize with hired help. He was a professor and needed his quiet time. She introduced me to the kitchen and told me what George wanted for breakfast and dinner. She also introduced me to the vacuum cleaner and when George arrived home, after a very cool greeting, she introduced me to him, who did not seem thrilled to have a person foisted on him. And then she said Good bye and escaped in the taxi she had asked to wait and returned to Skane.

They lived in an apartment near the college or university. I met some people who were like a substitute family for me. The work was easy. I had not yet heard what I was going to get paid for this adventure. It could have gone on and on but I made a mistake. One day I decided I should probably make an effort to do more of a cleaning than just dusting around the edges. I took down pictures and rolled up rugs and worked really hard. That was the day his highness decided to come home for lunch. He was met by a room totally messed up. He could not tolerate such a shock and phoned his better half in the south. She hired the same taxi and came the next day to take me back to Skane.

It was a quiet trip back and when I saw we had a visit by my favorite Aunt I was happy I had not missed her. She had asked my sister if she would like to go to America. She said no, she had health issues. So she asked me, and I said YES, and within a couple of weeks I had reservations and a permanent visa and off I went, and all of you know the rest of the story.