Today we went to our smallest church, maximum 149 people. It's an old building, 14th century, and very beautiful. Old can be very beautiful. I never really cared for the latest. I love old cars and old buildings, I have kept quite a lot of grandmothers china and I read all the old books in mothers bookshelf.
Todays post will be about old folks in my life. Serving in church as I do, old folks are a part of my daily life. Where we live, family is important and most people I know have their old folks living close by, often in the same village. In the old houses you often find people that are actually born in the house or at least have spent their entire life at the same spot. Through the years I've met several that never left home and got married but stayed on to help out on the farm. They tend to grow very old out here, and it's ever so interesting to sit by the kitchentable and listen to their stories,providing you can understand their accent!!
In my own family I've had older folks only on my mothers side, since my father was nonexisting.
My grandparents were born 1911 and 1912. Grandfathers parents were alive when I was a child and they were the first really old people I knew. Their weddingpicture is hanging on our wall, next to the old clock from my husbands grandparents. Greatgrandfather had been a very harsh man, my mother was actually a bit afraid of him when she was a child, but when I got to know him he was very old and mostly chuckled underneath his mustache and gave us lollipops. He died when I was seven, and I wasn't allowed to go the funeral. Greatgrandmother on the other hand, was a wise and kind woman. They had moved in to the old folks home, the real sort that doesn't exist anymore. Mother and I took the train and payed her a visit once in a while. The ritual was always the same, chicken for dinner, then she went for a nap. Sometimes whe stayed on in the quiet room, where only the ticking of the clock was heard, or perhaps we walked down to the park by the church to feed the ducks.
When she woke up it was always lemonpudding for desert.
My own grandfather was something of a mystery to me. My mother and aunt told me of his bad temper, his fierce mastering of his two girls . I never discovered that part although it was obvious who was in charge.
My grandmother was a sweet, funny and quiet lady and grandfather loved her dearly and had spoiled her enormously.That's why the house was packed with things she had found beautiful. She loved china and he was fond of paintings and artefacts of all kinds.
Grandfather was a big man, with waves in his hair and a great beard, several years before he died he acted Santa Claus at the fanciest store in town. Beside that he owned a hotdogstand close to the Cityhalltheatre and all visiting stars came to him for a late night bite.
He was a great pranker to, Thatcher Joe would have loved him, he scared the neighbours and did all sorts of jokes on us all.
When he died I was 17, and he was only 66, but cancer had reduced him to almost nothing. I do miss him and so did we all. It was from there on my mission to care for grandmother and so I did. More of that in my next post!
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