I wonder....

I wonder how my grandmother Estrid met my grandfather Alvin. My aunt Gunvor Linnea or Gunnie as we call her, might know. She is the only one left out of the four children my grandmother had. My dad Bror William or Billy was the youngest, then Gunnie, Bertil Oscar or Bert and then Robert Alvin or Bobby. Uncle Bobby was named after his dad. I think I could write a book about all of them, my aunt, uncles and grandfather. But this story is about grandma Estrid. If I had to use one word to describe her it would be, Swedish. I would like to think she would pick this word as well. Growing up I learned that if you were Swedish, you were tough, you worked hard, you were honest, not given to excessive talk, you kept your business to yourself, you were honest and if you paid good money for something it sure needed to stand the test of time! I have memories of grandma returning something that wasn't working and getting her money back. Money held value, the money spent on an item had better have been worth the effort put into making that money! These Swedes were not a frivolous folk. However as I say that I remember her generosity. She always gave us (the grandkids) a little money before we left after visiting her (I know we were in her mind, worth the effort it took to make that money!) She always sent money in our birthday cards. When she passed there was a generous amount given to all her grandchildren, there were eight of us! Oh and the shopping trips we went on. I am not sure who started that tradution? Perhaps it was uncle Bert as he didn't have kids until later, or uncle Bobby who didn't have kids at all just wanting to spoil us a bit. Maybe it was grandma but if we went to the store with any or all of them they always let us pick out something. Maybe because when we visited they wanted to mark it as special, which time with grandma and our uncles was very special. I remember my dad making desks and bookcases for my cousins so perhaps this generosity was a Swedish thing or maybe it was an Olson thing. Whatever it was there certainly was some pride there. Pride in an ability to provide. Definitely not in a sort of, 'we are better' than you but more in a sense of competence, intelligence, stick with it until you get whatever done that needs doing and getting it done right. This pride in an ability to provide may have come more from grandma as there are stories how she scrubbed the dance hall floors of a barn across the street from her house. She was purchasing her home from the lady who owned this dance hall so she must have been working paying off the loan by cleaning the floors of this dance hall after the weekend dances. The water when you clean such a place is pretty cold and very hard on the hands. I can only imagine how hard she must have worked. That house was the one we visited her at so she must have paid it off. The land her house sits on is a pretty large lot. I think she did pretty well! As kids we used to go out in this very large yard facing Morrison Road in Lakewood, Colorado. Our uncles would swing us about or attempt to throw us in the air. We loved it but my grandmother wasn't very fond of it. She would get rather excited, her Swedish accent would become a bit thicker and the uncles got the idea that was enough. In that large lovely yard she had lilac bushes which were over ten feet high, protecting the house from the passerby's view. Petunias were planted routinely in the spring and Easter Lilly's could always be found in the house around Easter. I only have to look at an Easter Lilly to be brought back to her kitchen table. That or a sugar cube. Grandma would always have sugar cubes with her coffee. Plenty of cream, a few sugar cubes to suck on as she drank her coffee. Oh and her coffee was Folger's because I almost think that the lady on the Folger's commercial was Mrs. Olson. I started my coffee habit at around age twelve and it is my go to for self soothing. Granted the caffeine tends to perk one up. I do so enjoy it! Probably one of my saddest days was after my dad was going through radiation treatments and he stated that coffee just didn't taste very good to him. 'What?' I felt so bad for him but perhaps it didn't have the same medicinal benefits for him? I suppose if I didn't have the ability to enjoy coffee as much I would have to convince myself it would be okay but until then, skal! Grandma used to use the word skal, meaning 'cheers'. There are two little dots above the A and it is pronounced skoll, as best as I can tell never having spoken the Swedish language. My grandparents seemed to be of the belief that since they were in America they needed to speak English. Consequently I only know a few random words that my grandmother spoke in Swedish. My father never spoke Swedish and may have known a few more words than I but I do not know about this and he is not here to ask. More on these words she used to say another day.

Grandma...

I read once, it takes one person to make a difference in a child's life. For me that one person was my Grandma Estrid. She was my dad's mom. Grandma Estrid was born in Sweden and I know she came to the United States as a young girl. I do not know much about how that all came to be but I do know she was fiercely proud of her Swedish heritage. She didn't become a grandmother until she was 61. To me that makes her a but older as a grandmother but she was a good one. It seemed as if she was always in charge. I know my grandfather was around because he used to be able to sit in my small white rocking chair when they would come to visit but it is she who I remember most. When my sister and I knew they were coming we'd wait and watch at the window, they could never get here soon enough. When we'd take the two hour trip to see her it also seemed we couldn't get there fast enough! I remember the Christmas presents she would send and how they were wrapped, the paper held in place by the ribbon. No sharp edges, always something soft inside. My cursive written name, the loopy K and the rest of the letters after, I could recognize that handwriting anywhere. I always knew I wanted to be a mom just as I am so sure I want to love my grandkids as much as my grandmother loved me! I only hope to give them what she gave me! That feeling of importance and that knowledge that you matter, you are loved no matter how ridiculous (me at age 12, it's on tape) you might be acting like at that particular moment. That unconditional, all encompassing love! What I remember about grandma. She liked to grow tomatoes and had great pride when showing you how many tomatoes she grew or how big they had gotten. She kept a cleaner than clean house. Every day had a different chore i.e., Mondays were washing, this was neat because she would hang the clothes on the line, I would most likely talk to her I can only guess. This is one of my fondest memories so she must have made me feel like my being there was important. Tuesdays might have been ironing. She had a big kitchen table that it seemed everyone was always able to fit around. Anyway, she would put something like a towel on the table to protect it and proceeded to iron on it. You get the idea that she went about her housework in an orderly fashion and her home while homey was clean! When we would stay the night we would get to sleep on the hide-a-bed in the couch in the living room. Her house was not very big but to us it felt huge! It was a two bedroom home and the kitchen opened into the living room. So when we were getting ready for bed we were still very much apart of all that was going on in the house. Prior to getting ready for bed we were allowed it seemed a half a can of soda. You would think that would cause either my sister or I to wet the bed but I do not recall that ever happening. I cringe now at the thought of letting a child have soda before bed but we were fine, it seemed to just be what she did. She also had candy that we were allowed to have, my mom didn't allow us to have candy very often so that too was a treat and probably why we liked going to her house! She always got up so early, I imagine around 4:30-5:00 a.m. to make coffee and read the paper, probably the only quiet time. When we would wake up she'd tell us to go back to sleep and we would! On week days she would be busy making lunches for my grandpa, uncles, whoever needed lunches, coffee and breakfast, getting them on their way. Weekends would be spent around that big table conversing, everyone having a say. I do remember she would get it all ready and you just didn't get up, she got it all. I think there wasn't room for more than one up as the area to actually move around was probably made rather small by the size of that table. I bet it sat 10 comfortably. I remember going to stay the week with her several times when I was probably at least 8. I would get to sleep in her bed with her. She snored and scared me when she'd talk in her sleep which she did alot. When I went to a technical school after graduating highschool I would go to her house about once a week for dinners. I would have to take the bus over and then my uncle would take me back across town to where I was staying with my aunt. The bus ride took a bit and I would have to walk about 6 blocks but how liberating that was to be able to go and visit her and my uncle and eat her cooking. She cooked very simply, a meat and potatoes type cook. She always made sure you got your fill. I took my friends to meet her and my husband and brother got to meet her. I think she approved. The older you get I think you begin to understand why things are certain ways. I sure do wish I could have a few more conversations. I think I'd ask, how did you meet grandpa and I would love to just talk...

Dogs that chew....

I can read his mind, I know it, he is thinking "If I chew on her sweater, the bedspread, the blanket, her arm, she will understand it is time for our morning walk!" The puppy, who is now almost 10 months and is a bit bigger for his breed doesn't seem to be affected by the temperature. It is in the 20's out there and feels like 10 degrees, according to the phone. This has been a different sort of winter. So many warm days that when the cold finally came it is bitter. I made the mistake of running the dogs in 7 degrees and didn't prohibit the air from getting to my lungs giving me some sort of nasty bronchitis type cough. The run was a blast! We travelled some 5 plus miles heading up and down the mountain on the west side of town, the three of us smiling all the way, yes these dogs smile! However this cough has made me a little reluctant to repeat the journey. It feels a little silly to suffer from a self induced cough. Plus I think my pride was a bit injured, somewhere along the line I must have felt a bit invincible. Stupid cough was humbling. Cough almost gone, the reality of you can only push yourself so far, still fresh. My knees are also trying to contribute to that discussion, I keep pressing the mute button. But that run, wow, there is nothing like going outside, dogs on leashes, exploring the roads, feeling your body heat up to make you think it was 70 degrees not 7. The human body is amazing! All parts working collectively. Eyes seeking out the trail, ears in tune with the environment, arms and legs pumping. Then what about the unseen? The heart, lungs, blood, muscles, all working together to complete the motion of movement. No wonder there us such a thing as as runners high. It should warm up here shortly, if I bundle up just right perhaps...