Rummaging About

Yesterday my parents and I once again drove to the cottage, but spent most of the day at our rented storage room (previously mentioned), trying to clear out as much unnecessary, unused stuff as possible. And when I say stuff, I mean stuff--things that haven't seen the light of day in twenty years.

I dug through a box filled with mine and my brothers drawings and various other creative manifestations. Mine were depictions of houses or parents or princesses or baby birds in nests. My brother's were usually hockey goalies or battle scenes with tanks and dying soldiers with guns larger than their bodies. My parents sorted through boxes and boxes of books--and my father found his complete, hard-back series of classical literature--and sorted out the books we no longer needed, enough to "furnish our own library," according to my father. They would soon find their home at the big, metal container at the recycling center.

For lunch, we went to my grandmother's, who had placed a basin of water and soap out in the garden for us to wash up.

She had made us oven sausage, though she forgot to peel off its orange wrapper before cooking, which my mother ate, thinking it was strips of bell pepper. In her defense, she said it tasted a bit plastic.

A bumblebee joined us for lunch.

We barely had a moment to breathe out after our meal--such is life--and we drove the short distance back to our many bags and packages of yet-to-be-sorted things. I found some stamps, a book of traffic signs, and a plastic bag of letters sent between my parents when they were young and far apart.

A beautiful day.

Found the John Carter sci-fi series in an old box. Both parents mystified as to how it got there. Suspect it may have been a part of my grandfather's collection. My mother reminded me the other day that women have only been allowed to vote in the past hundred years, and with this new found freedom, they have chosen to cower in bikini-clad terror whilst their man-candy in red underwear fights off the evil alien for them. Good to know.

Did you know that Sweden was one of the first independent nations to grant women the right to vote? Between 1718 and 1771, Swedish women, if they were taxpaying members of a city guild, could vote in local and national elections, though the first right was rescinded in 1758 and the latter in 1771, with the signing of the new constitution. Women were given back their right to vote in 1921.

My grandfather didn't have a coin jar. But he did have a coin purse.    An American dollar minted in 1922.

Trainspotting, Again

Natalie said, "Put stuff on your blog," so here I am, doing exactly that and wondering how on earth I am supposed to distill the last two weeks into a sensible, coherent post. I do not think it's possible, and it may result in several posts instead, as is usually the case.

I have been down in the southern part of Sweden for two weeks, and the days have passed in a rapid succession of friends, friends of friends, and let us not forget the almighty fika.

A day at the castle is always inspiring. It always fascinates me that there are those privileged few who still grow up surrounded by all this satin elegance--balls and velvet curtains and grand chambers have been part of their life from childhood. But then again, I myself am part of an old tradition, and there are those that find the concept of the missionary to be one of centuries past; they can only think of bespectacled men and women clad in top hats and hoop skirts, hacking their way through the deepest and darkest jungles of Africa with machetes.

My grandparents, my parents, and I all went to visit the palace. Alas, the king was not at home.

She is beautiful. Look at the dress! The hair! The poise!

 Note to self: Must get throne for living room.

My grandparents were a bit knackered after a few hours of walking the halls of the palace, and we stopped for fika, which consisted of American-sized cinnamon buns and coffee for the grown ups. And hot chocolate for me. 

The changing of the guard at the palace 

We drove to Uppsala the next day and visited Erik och Karin in the countryside, who had been kind enough to lend us their apartment while we stayed in town. Erik loves classic cars.  He writes for several car magazines and photographs cars for calendars, despite his own waning eyesight. He has quite a few cars in his own collection. In the garage alone, he had two Cadillacs, one blue, one pink; a yellow Ford Mustang; a hot rod that looked to be built from bits of a T-Model Ford, an old Buick, all bright lights and chrome, and a few more I can't recall. 

Erik 

One summer, he lent us his copper-coloured Ford Cougar from the seventies. We drove around our holidays with the top down and suddenly we were part of the classic car family of Sweden. We would nod knowingly at each other from afar, mutually admire each others cars, and go our separate ways.

Karin

 A Vespa for every woman.

We celebrated my father's birthday at Ullvakvarn. We picknicked, fed the ducks, browsed the wares of an expensive loppis, and ate ice cream.

This one just makes me laugh.  

GB Glass Gubben hälsar oss välkommna. 

The brightly coloured GB Ice Cream Man in the window is iconic in Sweden. Here he is gesturing us inside from the window.

We visited the Sundbergs and enjoyed the pleasure of their company on their sun-mottled veranda.  

Again, we visited my parents' old friends Anders and Lena, who owned a beautiful house on the top of a hill.

 The sign above the guest towel reads 'Friends.'

  The blue and white room

The gate Beautiful 

Upsala-Lenna Jernväg, also called Lennakatten, is a museum rail line. The trains on it are steam-powered and trundle along on narrow and meandering rails through lush green forest and picturesque stations from Uppsala to Faringe. It just so happened to run past Anders and Lena's house, and I was lucky enough to admire it up close and to speak with the soot-smeared engine driver.

 Mid-afternoon coffee

And I ended the day among the lavender and bumble bees.

Swedish

 The cottage in the woods

 I need more practice.

 A bumblebee in every country.

 A midday meal enjoyed with friends

 My mother bought these napkins for me.

Joel