Cameron and Serena were here one afternoon last week when Nick and Jenn unexpectedly showed up to return some stuff they'd borrowed. Afternoon turned into evening as we whiled away the hours as families do.
It warmed my heart to have the house full again, bumping into people, extra chairs at the table, doors and windows open because of the extra heat from additional bodies, listening to the five kids forging ties to make a new, larger, family......
Monday, February 8, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
End Of The Year Fun
Mike wanted to take the whole family went up into the mountains to play in the snow this winter. It's been seven or eight years since we've done that. He had the last two weeks of the year off so the boys put their heads and work schedules together and we went up on 30 December. There had been a good snowfall the evening and night before so the snow was fresh, dry, untraveled, and about eighteen inches deep. We stopped at about 3400ft elevation at, literally, a wide spot in the road where it forked. We had come to a stop trying to read the snow-dusted sign and couldn't get going again without putting the chains on.
Well, we did go, just not the direction we wanted. Every time Mike gave it a little gas, we slid sideways a little closer to the edge of the road. Cameron was on that side of the pickup and kept saying, "Dad, should we put the chains on?" with a little more agitation each time as he saw the edge coming closer and closer. Mike is very competent driving in the snow and knew exactly what he was doing but I think he was trying to get a bit of a rise out of us, too.
He put the chains on, got himself out of the hole and decided this was as good a place as any to stop. Out came the snowshoes, skis, sleds, snowboard, table, chairs, pop-up shade, propane stove, lunch, and drinks. Mike drove up and down a good stretch of road to make a decent ski/sled run.
Richelle crouched behind Nick's truck, putting on the snowshoes the boys made when they were in Boy Scouts.
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Modeling the snowshoes. I didn't get a picture of her hurrying to catch up with Nick and doing a face-plant.
Serena, Cameron, Jenn, and Richelle molding the first two layers of the snow-....um....something.
Mike getting involved in shaping the head. Nick is on the right.
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The final product. I think they decided it was a dinosaur of some sort. Later, they added sticks for arms and short pieces of cedar branches for antlers. The decorations are broccoli and carrots from lunch.
Mike took a few turns on the sled and even went one more time so I could get a picture of him. Here, he's waiting for Richelle and Cameron to finish their run.
The "wide spot" in the road. The main road comes up from the left, I'm standing on the road to Hemlock Lake, and the road over the ridge to Highway 138 is to the right.
Cameron and Serena. For some unknown reason, I didn't get one of Nick and Jenn.
Short, steep, and oh! so scary. Richelle screamed every time she slid down. As everyone knows, the more you slide on a spot the faster it gets. By the time we left, Richelle was flying down the cut bank and the dip from the snow-filled ditch launched her into the middle of the road.
This is what a Pacific Northwest logging road looks like in winter at 4,000 ft elevation. This really is a road! The snow was about two and a half feet deep with spots where it was maybe three feet deep. (I just asked Mike and that's what he told me.) Deep enough that we were plowing it with our bumper and grill and throwing snow up over the hood, windshield, and pick-up. Jenn said they watched it blow over the entire truck.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Richelle and I got back last night from my niece and her family's home. Those kids are vastly entertaining!
I read in "Bells on Their Toes" (sequel to "Cheaper by the Dozen") how a person cannot stay with a large family for very long without having something snap unless they themselves are from a large family or they have grown with one. I wouldn't say that five children is a large family, really, but I can see the truth in that statement.
I'm glad I have eleven siblings and four children. If I hadn't, the several conversations at mealtimes (each usually conducted at a higher decibel level than the conversation next-door, so to speak) might have gotten to me. Or dealing with one child crying because he thumped his head following older brother under the bed when another child suddenly becomes lost and frightened under the same bed - having followed older brother...
It was an enjoyable time. Precious snapshots:
~ The three-year-old emphatically declaring she "didn't like spinach!"
"You don't?" her father asked mildly.
"No. I don't like spinach."
"How about trying just a little?" her dad suggested, "Okay?"
"Okay." she agreed happily.
She asked for seconds, then thirds, and became heartbroken when her mom took the last of it.
~ I didn't know it at the time, but the seven-year-old son has some trouble reading. He read the word 'Luke' as 'luck' and I gave a quick lesson on how the 'e' can reach over one letter and thump the vowel on the head to make it say its long name but it can't reach over two letters. A couple of days later, he thanked me for the lesson, saying it helped his reading a lot.
~ The nine-year-old rolling her eyes when I tried to sweet-talk her into setting the table early by calling her "my favorite oldest niece there". She set the table with a smile - seeing through my ploy.
~ The 22-month-old flomping himself to the floor from ill-use and mis-treatment because I dared to offer him a piece of my (large) cookie instead giving him one of his own....but chirking right up when offered half a cookie from the bag.
~ The newborn being her sweet and adorable baby girl self.
Ahh...memories.
I read in "Bells on Their Toes" (sequel to "Cheaper by the Dozen") how a person cannot stay with a large family for very long without having something snap unless they themselves are from a large family or they have grown with one. I wouldn't say that five children is a large family, really, but I can see the truth in that statement.
I'm glad I have eleven siblings and four children. If I hadn't, the several conversations at mealtimes (each usually conducted at a higher decibel level than the conversation next-door, so to speak) might have gotten to me. Or dealing with one child crying because he thumped his head following older brother under the bed when another child suddenly becomes lost and frightened under the same bed - having followed older brother...
It was an enjoyable time. Precious snapshots:
~ The three-year-old emphatically declaring she "didn't like spinach!"
"You don't?" her father asked mildly.
"No. I don't like spinach."
"How about trying just a little?" her dad suggested, "Okay?"
"Okay." she agreed happily.
She asked for seconds, then thirds, and became heartbroken when her mom took the last of it.
~ I didn't know it at the time, but the seven-year-old son has some trouble reading. He read the word 'Luke' as 'luck' and I gave a quick lesson on how the 'e' can reach over one letter and thump the vowel on the head to make it say its long name but it can't reach over two letters. A couple of days later, he thanked me for the lesson, saying it helped his reading a lot.
~ The nine-year-old rolling her eyes when I tried to sweet-talk her into setting the table early by calling her "my favorite oldest niece there". She set the table with a smile - seeing through my ploy.
~ The 22-month-old flomping himself to the floor from ill-use and mis-treatment because I dared to offer him a piece of my (large) cookie instead giving him one of his own....but chirking right up when offered half a cookie from the bag.
~ The newborn being her sweet and adorable baby girl self.
Ahh...memories.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Children Are Adorable
I have the privilege this week of spending a few days at the home of my niece and her family to help out after the birth of their fifth child. It's been ten years since I had a toddler and I'd forgotten how entertaining they are.
This morning, the almost-two-year-old toddled over to where I was standing and took my hand in his. As I looked down to see what he wanted, he circled around until he had his mouth against my palm. Then he coughed. After which he nonchalantly walked away.
Later this afternoon, I was playing a 22-month-old version of "pillow fight" with him; he'd bring me the soft couch pillow and back away about six feet, I'd toss the pillow into his tummy, he'd pick it up, and it'd start all over. Well, I got distracted once and caught him off-balance, knocking him over and sending his head against the wall with a solid "thud". I leaped off the couch with comfort in mind but when I picked him up...he giggled.
Another time, the three-and-a-half-year-old came running to her mom in tears and highly indignant because her seven-year-old brother had pushed her. My niece asked several reasons why he might have pushed her but all were hotly denied. She finally asked, "Why would he do that?"
"Because I shut the door on his head," was the honest answer.
This same inquisitive girl "helped" me make supper.
"You are making supper today?" she asked.
"Yep," I answered.
"Why are you making supper?"
"Because your mom and dad are busy."
Her head jerked up, eyes wide, "They are?"
This morning, the almost-two-year-old toddled over to where I was standing and took my hand in his. As I looked down to see what he wanted, he circled around until he had his mouth against my palm. Then he coughed. After which he nonchalantly walked away.
Later this afternoon, I was playing a 22-month-old version of "pillow fight" with him; he'd bring me the soft couch pillow and back away about six feet, I'd toss the pillow into his tummy, he'd pick it up, and it'd start all over. Well, I got distracted once and caught him off-balance, knocking him over and sending his head against the wall with a solid "thud". I leaped off the couch with comfort in mind but when I picked him up...he giggled.
Another time, the three-and-a-half-year-old came running to her mom in tears and highly indignant because her seven-year-old brother had pushed her. My niece asked several reasons why he might have pushed her but all were hotly denied. She finally asked, "Why would he do that?"
"Because I shut the door on his head," was the honest answer.
This same inquisitive girl "helped" me make supper.
"You are making supper today?" she asked.
"Yep," I answered.
"Why are you making supper?"
"Because your mom and dad are busy."
Her head jerked up, eyes wide, "They are?"
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
New Refrigerator
One thing led to another and the result is that we have a brand-new side-by-side refrigerator. This is the second new fridge of our marriage, the previous one having been purchased in early 1984. It was rated pretty high on the efficiency scale but with the passing of twenty-five years, that efficiency dropped from "wonderful" to "mediocre" all the way down to "deplorable".
Mike, bless his sweet heart, plumbed it for the water dispenser and ice-maker features even though he hates plumbing. I've learned to remove the children from the room so their hearing isn't damaged from the muttering that rumbles from him while he's working. It took four bath towels, two hand towels and a washcloth, but he successfully plumbed the fridge. He's now like a child on Christmas morning in regards to the ice dispenser.
It was plumbed and in place and we were adjusting the shelves when we hit a snag. The factory puts in little clips to keep the shelves from coming loose during shipping and I couldn't figure out how to remove them. Mike asked to give it a try so I moved out of the way. He fiddled with them for a minute, mentioned that he needed a pair of pliers, and stepped out to get them. As he stepped out, Richelle stepped in. She's accustomed to me asking for her little fingers or skinny arms to reach something or wiggle something loose.
"Richelle," Mike said irritably, reaching for the pliers, "if I can't get it," turning back to the fridge, "You can't get it!"
Pause
"How did you get it?"
Mike, bless his sweet heart, plumbed it for the water dispenser and ice-maker features even though he hates plumbing. I've learned to remove the children from the room so their hearing isn't damaged from the muttering that rumbles from him while he's working. It took four bath towels, two hand towels and a washcloth, but he successfully plumbed the fridge. He's now like a child on Christmas morning in regards to the ice dispenser.
It was plumbed and in place and we were adjusting the shelves when we hit a snag. The factory puts in little clips to keep the shelves from coming loose during shipping and I couldn't figure out how to remove them. Mike asked to give it a try so I moved out of the way. He fiddled with them for a minute, mentioned that he needed a pair of pliers, and stepped out to get them. As he stepped out, Richelle stepped in. She's accustomed to me asking for her little fingers or skinny arms to reach something or wiggle something loose.
"Richelle," Mike said irritably, reaching for the pliers, "if I can't get it," turning back to the fridge, "You can't get it!"
Pause
"How did you get it?"
Been a while...
November and December are the busiest months of the year for Scouting and Lego Robotics. For example, last week the Lego team met on Monday and Tuesday evenings and then competed most of Saturday; Thursday and Friday evening along with Sunday afternoon were spent doing Girl Scout things. When you toss in Sunday morning worship and Wednesday evening Bible study, you have one very full week!
My Girl Scout co-leader offered to go to the monthly leader's meeting last night that I usually attend. She's now my husband's second favorite person.
Richelle's Lego Robotics team didn't do as well this year as last year. They got high marks in the teamwork and project areas and moderate scores on the competition table but their robot design scored quite low. They used a basic robot design and modified it only slightly. The judges like to see personally designed robots because is shows ingenuity and a good grasp of mechanics.
All in all, they did about what I expected in the robot design area and competition table, a bit better than I expected in the project area, and a lot better in the teamwork area. I'm pleased with their performance and disappointed they aren't advancing to State Competition.
Okay, I'll be a little more truthful...I'm disappointed they aren't going to State Competition but I (and the team parents) are thrilled that the season is over! Had they gone to state, we'd have had six more weeks of meetings.
So I get my Tuesday evenings back; Thursday is the final event for GS for the year; 4-H meetings are two per month again until next September....
Dear Husband is on day shift for six months or so and is happy to be together in the evenings again.
My Girl Scout co-leader offered to go to the monthly leader's meeting last night that I usually attend. She's now my husband's second favorite person.
Richelle's Lego Robotics team didn't do as well this year as last year. They got high marks in the teamwork and project areas and moderate scores on the competition table but their robot design scored quite low. They used a basic robot design and modified it only slightly. The judges like to see personally designed robots because is shows ingenuity and a good grasp of mechanics.
All in all, they did about what I expected in the robot design area and competition table, a bit better than I expected in the project area, and a lot better in the teamwork area. I'm pleased with their performance and disappointed they aren't advancing to State Competition.
Okay, I'll be a little more truthful...I'm disappointed they aren't going to State Competition but I (and the team parents) are thrilled that the season is over! Had they gone to state, we'd have had six more weeks of meetings.
So I get my Tuesday evenings back; Thursday is the final event for GS for the year; 4-H meetings are two per month again until next September....
Dear Husband is on day shift for six months or so and is happy to be together in the evenings again.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Sweden
1-3 October 2009
~Thursday - Saturday~
First, I need to correct Patti's husband's name. His full name is Oddbjorn (Ode-byorn), a common Norwegian name but his nickname is Obbe (Oh-buh). He's a really neat guy and happily took us through the greenhouses of his family's business. He's half Norwegian, half Swedish, and all fun.
Second, I need to correct a description I made back when we were in Switzerland and I described Heidi as native American. I meant that Heidi was a native-born American, not that she was Native American.
Now, on to our adventures....
Rhonda and I stayed up fairly late Wednesday, working on emails and such, so we got up late on Thursday. Mom and Adri had called twice before we were even dressed to see what our plans were for the day.
Our plans were to go to the original part of Stockholm, and to check out the shopping. They have really nice dress boots in Scandinavia and we wanted to look in the stores.
Old town was amazing; narrow, winding street like all the other old towns -I saw a few here where only two people could walk side-by-side comfortably; cobblestoned streets; tall, towering buildings; lots of shops....much the same as any of the other cities yet somehow different.
It could have been the weather and the latitude; Stockholm is on the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska. The morning was overcast and it sprinkled on us a little. We were smart -it started to sprinkle so we ducked into a handy shop and browsed around. When we came out, the rain had pretty much stopped. The chill wind was blowing, but at least the rain had let up. Mom and Rhonda huddled inside their coats and I even felt a little cool. We'd walk a little ways, step into a shop and browse around until we'd warmed up a little, then go on further. Eventually, the sun came out. As long as we were right in it, it felt warm-ish but the shade was cold and the wind was always blowing. The wind was the worst.
We were about to cross the street going out of the old town area when a motorcycle cop went by, lights flashing, no siren, and stopped at the intersection to our right. We crossed the street, saw/heard more motorcycles coming, and stopped to watch. The first cop waved to half a dozen others and they raced up to and past him. Behind them came a black, smallish but very nice car with a small, pale blue flag fluttering from the right front fender. it wasn't the Swedish flag and I didn't recognize it. There was a cop car next, another black car or two with tinted windows, and then a black stretch limo, also black with darkly tinted windows. A few more cop cars and a motorcycle or two and the entourage was past.
Did we see the royal family? Only the king and queen? The kids? Some visiting dignitary? We don't know. That was not the Swedish flag off the front of that car but they were headed to the castle just a few blocks further on. And the castle had the Swedish flag flying, indicating the king was in residence. This castle in Old Stockholm isn't where the king lives -that's in Drottninghom- but is where they hold receptions and receive visiting dignitaries.
When I asked Pattie about it later, she said to go ahead and tell everyone that we saw the royal family. "It could have been them," she said, "and no one would know the difference." So I saw the royal family entourage. Maybe.
After all that excitement, we walked to the shopping district. Yes there was a wide selection of boots....for a lot of money. Many of them are Italian and commanded a stiff price. The most expensive ones I saw were 1,999 SEK (Swedish Kroner) or about $285. The least expensive ones were 385 SEK or about $55 but they didn't feel like they were real leather.
We rested our weary feet at a coffee house with a cup of tea and a pastry and then caught the train back to Spånga (Spone-ga) and supper.
Obbe made supper. I don't know the name for what he made because they said they call them "hot sandwiches". Obbe made two kinds: mushroom and ham-n-pear. He started out with buttered slices of bread, added a slice of ham and a canned pear half, sprinkled a bit of cayenne pepper over it and topped it all with several slices of a mild cheese. Then he either baked it or broiled it (I didn't see and forgot to ask) until the cheese was melted and turned a golden brown.
The mushroom sandwiches took a little more preparation. He sautéed sliced fresh mushrooms in plenty of butter, salt and peppered them, and added flour and milk to make a white sauce. He spooned a good helping of that onto slices of buttered and mustard-ed bread and topped it all with thin-sliced bacon. Those also went into the oven until the bacon was done.
They were delicious! I especially like the mushroom variety. He said they were what his Swedish mother made when he was growing up and he came up with the recipe for the pear ones himself. You can't get any more authentically Swedish than that! We ended the meal with a Swedish tort.
It's a good thing we do all that walking and that I usually stand in the trams, buses, and metros.....
Mom and Adri were there for supper as well as a young couple with a small child and the conversation was lively and varied.
We sang a few hymns after supper and then Adri and Mom went back to Adri's place. We stayed up a while longer showing off pictures of our families and talking about them. Robert, 16, was fascinated with Cameron's Eagle project and asked a million questions about it and about Scouting in general. I happily answered them all.
I witnessed again the ease of children -or in this case young adults- slipping between two languages with no hesitation. In the Scandinavian countries, English is started in third or fourth grade and continues through high school. We had no problem button-holing someone on the streets and asking directions; they always spoke nearly perfect English.
I have cleared up two things that have bugged me for a few years:
1) "uff da" is not a swear word as someone tried to convince me. Our Swedish friends said it translates to something like 'oh, no', 'oh, wow', 'oops' or something like that. One of our ministers uttered it when we told him where we'd been in two and a half weeks.
2) "æbleskiver" is from Denmark, not Sweden, and is pronounced 'eh-bleh-skiv-egh' with a bit of a gargle for the "r" (remember the language lesson Vibeka gave us).
Friday, Patti took us to Drottningholm; the official residence and major royal palace of the Swedish royal family. There was no fee to wander the estate but there were guards posted to keep the riff-raff out of the living area and we weren't able to go through the palace itself. I don't know if it's off limits period or that we just didn't try but Patti said that of her family, only Robert's been past the sentries and that was only because he was delivering plants.
The king is only a figure-head in Sweden. He has no say in the running of the country; his value is in public relations. He has vast holdings across the country and I got the impression that the bulk of his income comes from there. Patti also mentioned trust funds.
The palace wasn't elaborate with pinnacles, spires, and ginger-breading. Instead, it was built for northern climates and was more blocky and solid. There weren't a lot of flowers, either. Most of what we saw were in planters and along one long wall of the formal garden.
Just so I can feel famous...all of the flowering plants are purchased from Skalleberg Handelsträgågard, Obbe's family's company. How many people can say they know the people who supply the flowering plants to the Swedish royal family estates?
Obbe and Patti took us to a food court in a mall for supper. That sounds sort of odd but they were trying to give us as full a flavor of Sweden as they could and this food court is hugely popular with the Swedes in Stockholm. There was a vast selection of ethnic foods including Persian, Turkish, Thai, Swedish, American (I got tired of seeing Burger King and McDonalds all over Europe), Indian, and Mexican.
Our ministers in Sweden came to the house after we got back from supper. Eldon and Stephan had just gotten in from Finland and came by to visit with us for a small while. They'd been up since about 1:30am that morning to make the drive to catch the boat to Stockholm, and since we had to get up at 4am the next morning to catch our plane to Amsterdam, they didn't stay long and we went to bed shortly afterwards.
I wanted to get this finished and posted Friday night but decided to sleep instead. 4am comes mighty early!
It was -2°C at 4am Saturday morning in Stockholm. That's even cold for me! Patti apologized for not having the car warm for us. Rhonda had purchased a really nice pair of lined knit gloves at the mall the night before and was delighted to have warm fingers on the drive to the airport.
Patti hugged us goodbye at the front entrance and we walked for probably five minutes to get to the security gate. I had been randomly chosen for a quick pat-down in Portland when we left, and, after I set the alarm off in Stockholm that morning, was treated to another episode there. Note to self: Take off your watch, stupid!
I think they saw the watch and knew what set off the alarm, sot he pat-down was done pretty quickly. It didn't take too long to get to our gate and because we got to the airport only an hour before the scheduled take-off time, our wait at the gate wasn't very long. We didn't have to get there any earlier because we'd checked in online the night before and had our boarding passes in hand.
We were seated directly in front of a three-year-old girl and her mother and grandmother on the plane. This girl is evidently seldom made to do what she felt was uncomfortable. She objected to sitting in the seat with the seatbelt on and, when the stewardesses insisted she do so, screamed. The mom explained that the girl didn't like it and the stewardess told her, "You're the mom - tell her you don't care." She allowed the mom to buckle her in in such a way that the girl only fussed loudly.
That was bearable for take-off but the stewardess insisted the girl be properly buckled in for landing in Amsterdam. That child screamed bloody murder from the time they buckled her in to the time they unbuckled her when we landed. And when I say 'landed' I mean as soon as we had finished the landing roll and were taxiing to the terminal....long before they were supposed to.
I glanced over to Rhonda during the screaming session...she had her fingers stuck in her ears. She leaned over and asked, "Do you have a few choice words you could say?"
The girl kept crying something like "I gotta baby!" They spoke Spanish and, since she was using baby-talk Spanish and crying to boot, I couldn't understand what she meant. After a few minutes of this -a long few minutes- Rhonda leaned over again and said, "She's got a baby!" and we both cracked up.
We had a two-hour layover in Amsterdam. It took us about ten minutes to get from our arrival gate to the general area where we looked up the gate number for our flight to Portland; another fifteen minutes to get to passport control; maybe another ten minutes waiting in line to get exit stamps on our passports, and another five minutes or so to get to our gate. And the whole time, the little girl with her mom and grandma were walking the same direction as us and went through passport control not far from us. We were in dread that we'd have her on our plane to Portland. Thankfully, they were nowhere to be found at the gate.
There were lots of babies and a few young children from Amsterdam to Portland but the most we heard was a bit of fussing on take-off and landing. Rhonda wonders what kind of luck we have when half of our flights contained screaming children one row away from us.
We were 45 minutes late taking off. I don't know why. Ten hours and thirty minutes after wheels up, we were landing in Portland. Somehow, the pilot made up fifteen minutes and we were only half an hour late. Long flight.
I wasn't particularly excited to get home until we were on approach to the Portland airport and I could see the ground. Until then, I was still in 'Europe Adventure' mode. Oh, I was eager to see Mike and the kids, don't get me wrong! It just didn't seem quite real that I was home until I saw the Columbia River out the right side of the plane and we were quickly getting closer.
We went through customs rather quickly since we didn't have any checked baggage. Rhonda had a connecting flight so we had to say goodbye there. A bus took us to the waiting area of the airport and we saw Richelle and Dianne waiting. Richelle was dancing around eagerly as we came close and as soon as I'd crossed the 'do not enter' line, I was enveloped in a very tight, very long hug. You can believe I hugged her back as tightly and as long.
Mike met us at the front entrance and we went to Mom's to get the things I'd needed to bring but didn't need in Europe (phone, purse, etc.)
We stopped at Denny's for supper on the way home. Three men were seated at a table behind us, speaking in Spanish. "Now THAT sounds familiar," I said. "A language other than English."
It was all I could do to stay awake until a reasonable hour to go to bed but I did it. It meant staying up for twenty-four hours but I did it.
Ahhhh.......home........
~Thursday - Saturday~
First, I need to correct Patti's husband's name. His full name is Oddbjorn (Ode-byorn), a common Norwegian name but his nickname is Obbe (Oh-buh). He's a really neat guy and happily took us through the greenhouses of his family's business. He's half Norwegian, half Swedish, and all fun.
Second, I need to correct a description I made back when we were in Switzerland and I described Heidi as native American. I meant that Heidi was a native-born American, not that she was Native American.
Now, on to our adventures....
Rhonda and I stayed up fairly late Wednesday, working on emails and such, so we got up late on Thursday. Mom and Adri had called twice before we were even dressed to see what our plans were for the day.
Our plans were to go to the original part of Stockholm, and to check out the shopping. They have really nice dress boots in Scandinavia and we wanted to look in the stores.
Old town was amazing; narrow, winding street like all the other old towns -I saw a few here where only two people could walk side-by-side comfortably; cobblestoned streets; tall, towering buildings; lots of shops....much the same as any of the other cities yet somehow different.
It could have been the weather and the latitude; Stockholm is on the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska. The morning was overcast and it sprinkled on us a little. We were smart -it started to sprinkle so we ducked into a handy shop and browsed around. When we came out, the rain had pretty much stopped. The chill wind was blowing, but at least the rain had let up. Mom and Rhonda huddled inside their coats and I even felt a little cool. We'd walk a little ways, step into a shop and browse around until we'd warmed up a little, then go on further. Eventually, the sun came out. As long as we were right in it, it felt warm-ish but the shade was cold and the wind was always blowing. The wind was the worst.
We were about to cross the street going out of the old town area when a motorcycle cop went by, lights flashing, no siren, and stopped at the intersection to our right. We crossed the street, saw/heard more motorcycles coming, and stopped to watch. The first cop waved to half a dozen others and they raced up to and past him. Behind them came a black, smallish but very nice car with a small, pale blue flag fluttering from the right front fender. it wasn't the Swedish flag and I didn't recognize it. There was a cop car next, another black car or two with tinted windows, and then a black stretch limo, also black with darkly tinted windows. A few more cop cars and a motorcycle or two and the entourage was past.
Did we see the royal family? Only the king and queen? The kids? Some visiting dignitary? We don't know. That was not the Swedish flag off the front of that car but they were headed to the castle just a few blocks further on. And the castle had the Swedish flag flying, indicating the king was in residence. This castle in Old Stockholm isn't where the king lives -that's in Drottninghom- but is where they hold receptions and receive visiting dignitaries.
When I asked Pattie about it later, she said to go ahead and tell everyone that we saw the royal family. "It could have been them," she said, "and no one would know the difference." So I saw the royal family entourage. Maybe.
After all that excitement, we walked to the shopping district. Yes there was a wide selection of boots....for a lot of money. Many of them are Italian and commanded a stiff price. The most expensive ones I saw were 1,999 SEK (Swedish Kroner) or about $285. The least expensive ones were 385 SEK or about $55 but they didn't feel like they were real leather.
We rested our weary feet at a coffee house with a cup of tea and a pastry and then caught the train back to Spånga (Spone-ga) and supper.
Obbe made supper. I don't know the name for what he made because they said they call them "hot sandwiches". Obbe made two kinds: mushroom and ham-n-pear. He started out with buttered slices of bread, added a slice of ham and a canned pear half, sprinkled a bit of cayenne pepper over it and topped it all with several slices of a mild cheese. Then he either baked it or broiled it (I didn't see and forgot to ask) until the cheese was melted and turned a golden brown.
The mushroom sandwiches took a little more preparation. He sautéed sliced fresh mushrooms in plenty of butter, salt and peppered them, and added flour and milk to make a white sauce. He spooned a good helping of that onto slices of buttered and mustard-ed bread and topped it all with thin-sliced bacon. Those also went into the oven until the bacon was done.
They were delicious! I especially like the mushroom variety. He said they were what his Swedish mother made when he was growing up and he came up with the recipe for the pear ones himself. You can't get any more authentically Swedish than that! We ended the meal with a Swedish tort.
It's a good thing we do all that walking and that I usually stand in the trams, buses, and metros.....
Mom and Adri were there for supper as well as a young couple with a small child and the conversation was lively and varied.
We sang a few hymns after supper and then Adri and Mom went back to Adri's place. We stayed up a while longer showing off pictures of our families and talking about them. Robert, 16, was fascinated with Cameron's Eagle project and asked a million questions about it and about Scouting in general. I happily answered them all.
I witnessed again the ease of children -or in this case young adults- slipping between two languages with no hesitation. In the Scandinavian countries, English is started in third or fourth grade and continues through high school. We had no problem button-holing someone on the streets and asking directions; they always spoke nearly perfect English.
I have cleared up two things that have bugged me for a few years:
1) "uff da" is not a swear word as someone tried to convince me. Our Swedish friends said it translates to something like 'oh, no', 'oh, wow', 'oops' or something like that. One of our ministers uttered it when we told him where we'd been in two and a half weeks.
2) "æbleskiver" is from Denmark, not Sweden, and is pronounced 'eh-bleh-skiv-egh' with a bit of a gargle for the "r" (remember the language lesson Vibeka gave us).
Friday, Patti took us to Drottningholm; the official residence and major royal palace of the Swedish royal family. There was no fee to wander the estate but there were guards posted to keep the riff-raff out of the living area and we weren't able to go through the palace itself. I don't know if it's off limits period or that we just didn't try but Patti said that of her family, only Robert's been past the sentries and that was only because he was delivering plants.
The king is only a figure-head in Sweden. He has no say in the running of the country; his value is in public relations. He has vast holdings across the country and I got the impression that the bulk of his income comes from there. Patti also mentioned trust funds.
The palace wasn't elaborate with pinnacles, spires, and ginger-breading. Instead, it was built for northern climates and was more blocky and solid. There weren't a lot of flowers, either. Most of what we saw were in planters and along one long wall of the formal garden.
Just so I can feel famous...all of the flowering plants are purchased from Skalleberg Handelsträgågard, Obbe's family's company. How many people can say they know the people who supply the flowering plants to the Swedish royal family estates?
Obbe and Patti took us to a food court in a mall for supper. That sounds sort of odd but they were trying to give us as full a flavor of Sweden as they could and this food court is hugely popular with the Swedes in Stockholm. There was a vast selection of ethnic foods including Persian, Turkish, Thai, Swedish, American (I got tired of seeing Burger King and McDonalds all over Europe), Indian, and Mexican.
Our ministers in Sweden came to the house after we got back from supper. Eldon and Stephan had just gotten in from Finland and came by to visit with us for a small while. They'd been up since about 1:30am that morning to make the drive to catch the boat to Stockholm, and since we had to get up at 4am the next morning to catch our plane to Amsterdam, they didn't stay long and we went to bed shortly afterwards.
I wanted to get this finished and posted Friday night but decided to sleep instead. 4am comes mighty early!
It was -2°C at 4am Saturday morning in Stockholm. That's even cold for me! Patti apologized for not having the car warm for us. Rhonda had purchased a really nice pair of lined knit gloves at the mall the night before and was delighted to have warm fingers on the drive to the airport.
Patti hugged us goodbye at the front entrance and we walked for probably five minutes to get to the security gate. I had been randomly chosen for a quick pat-down in Portland when we left, and, after I set the alarm off in Stockholm that morning, was treated to another episode there. Note to self: Take off your watch, stupid!
I think they saw the watch and knew what set off the alarm, sot he pat-down was done pretty quickly. It didn't take too long to get to our gate and because we got to the airport only an hour before the scheduled take-off time, our wait at the gate wasn't very long. We didn't have to get there any earlier because we'd checked in online the night before and had our boarding passes in hand.
We were seated directly in front of a three-year-old girl and her mother and grandmother on the plane. This girl is evidently seldom made to do what she felt was uncomfortable. She objected to sitting in the seat with the seatbelt on and, when the stewardesses insisted she do so, screamed. The mom explained that the girl didn't like it and the stewardess told her, "You're the mom - tell her you don't care." She allowed the mom to buckle her in in such a way that the girl only fussed loudly.
That was bearable for take-off but the stewardess insisted the girl be properly buckled in for landing in Amsterdam. That child screamed bloody murder from the time they buckled her in to the time they unbuckled her when we landed. And when I say 'landed' I mean as soon as we had finished the landing roll and were taxiing to the terminal....long before they were supposed to.
I glanced over to Rhonda during the screaming session...she had her fingers stuck in her ears. She leaned over and asked, "Do you have a few choice words you could say?"
The girl kept crying something like "I gotta baby!" They spoke Spanish and, since she was using baby-talk Spanish and crying to boot, I couldn't understand what she meant. After a few minutes of this -a long few minutes- Rhonda leaned over again and said, "She's got a baby!" and we both cracked up.
We had a two-hour layover in Amsterdam. It took us about ten minutes to get from our arrival gate to the general area where we looked up the gate number for our flight to Portland; another fifteen minutes to get to passport control; maybe another ten minutes waiting in line to get exit stamps on our passports, and another five minutes or so to get to our gate. And the whole time, the little girl with her mom and grandma were walking the same direction as us and went through passport control not far from us. We were in dread that we'd have her on our plane to Portland. Thankfully, they were nowhere to be found at the gate.
There were lots of babies and a few young children from Amsterdam to Portland but the most we heard was a bit of fussing on take-off and landing. Rhonda wonders what kind of luck we have when half of our flights contained screaming children one row away from us.
We were 45 minutes late taking off. I don't know why. Ten hours and thirty minutes after wheels up, we were landing in Portland. Somehow, the pilot made up fifteen minutes and we were only half an hour late. Long flight.
I wasn't particularly excited to get home until we were on approach to the Portland airport and I could see the ground. Until then, I was still in 'Europe Adventure' mode. Oh, I was eager to see Mike and the kids, don't get me wrong! It just didn't seem quite real that I was home until I saw the Columbia River out the right side of the plane and we were quickly getting closer.
We went through customs rather quickly since we didn't have any checked baggage. Rhonda had a connecting flight so we had to say goodbye there. A bus took us to the waiting area of the airport and we saw Richelle and Dianne waiting. Richelle was dancing around eagerly as we came close and as soon as I'd crossed the 'do not enter' line, I was enveloped in a very tight, very long hug. You can believe I hugged her back as tightly and as long.
Mike met us at the front entrance and we went to Mom's to get the things I'd needed to bring but didn't need in Europe (phone, purse, etc.)
We stopped at Denny's for supper on the way home. Three men were seated at a table behind us, speaking in Spanish. "Now THAT sounds familiar," I said. "A language other than English."
It was all I could do to stay awake until a reasonable hour to go to bed but I did it. It meant staying up for twenty-four hours but I did it.
Ahhhh.......home........
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