Of all the things I miss...

Now, being in Sweden there are a bunch of things I miss. Oh, don't get me wrong, I miss people (my family, boyfriend, friends and bestfriends) and I miss places (my bed, the library, Davidson, Davidson College, my "study spots")

But there are things I miss. And one of those things is my books.

I read a post on a blog I follow here, and the author of the post noted how her mother says she doesn't need to meditate because she has her books. And I have to agree. Whatever Anita seems to get from meditating (the calm, the stopping and just relaxing, the moment to herself) I can get from reading.

I love reading. At home I often average two or three books per week. These exclude the reading I do for classes or on the internet. I read about 450 pages of text a week. Just for pleasure. Now, granted, I often read books more than once, and I am reading brain candy- mostly romances, paranormals, and murder mysteries, but despite that, I read A LOT. It's my way of decompressing.

Here in Sweden? Don't read so much. Not many books in English, and the ones that are in English tend to be classics or more intellectual novels, because the smart people are the people who are Swedish and reading books in English, and if their reading in English it probably isn't for escapist purposes.

So, yes. I miss my giant hot chocolate mug, my collection of crocheting needles and yarn (Yeah, I miss that a lot) my drop spindle and carders. I miss my plants and my comforter and my pillow (even though the ones here are just as good). I miss my familiar smelling deodorant and shampoo (although I've been finding some nice-smelling alternatives).

But books?(In English?) I miss them a heck of a lot. I'm going to have to do a lot of making up reading when I get home.

Family History

Today was a day that focused on family and legacy. We met up with Håkan and Marion, our Swedish relatives that were showing us the side of the family that they had researched and known about. We got to see the foundation of the house my great-great-grandfather Zacharias was born in Färgelanda, which is north of Vänersborg, where Marion lives, and we are staying. It was situated between the two ends of a snaking lake, called Vrångsjön. I could easily imagine how at one point there were no trees, and the house looked over the whole of the lake (the entirety we could not see because of all the relatively new trees that were blocking the view). We found a wall, the original foundation, and some stairs that lead up to the house. The area that would have been inside the house was covered with a soft, cushy moss, and Marion said that most likely the thatched roof had fallen in, and the moss was covering it, since it needed relatively loose soil to grow.

But I get ahead of myself. We woke up early to get breakfast and head off to pick up Marion, who led us to where Håkan lived. Håkan raised horses for most of his life, and while he only had two now, at the biggest time he had 18… one of which was a horse which was the oldest in Sweden, at 37 years old (most horses only live until 25, apparently). Then, Marion, the grandmas and my mother got in one car, and Håkan and I went into the other. I was kind of nervous, because I hadn’t spoken to Håkan much the day before, but he was really enthusiastic about helping me with my Swedish, and later I found out that his mother (Mildred, who showed Mom and Grandma around before, and is since dead) had charged him with being the guide to show Americans relatives who came over their history.

The first place we went to was a graveyard in Färgelanda, where we took pictures of the different graves, including Joel Jacobson (brother to Zacharias, and Marion’s Grandfather) and his wife, Betty Svensdotter. We also took pictures of Marion’s father and mother, Carl Einar Johnson and Fanny Hansen. The final one, which I took the video of, was Edvard Jakobson and his wife Hulda Jonasdotter, which was the grandfather of Edith Avery (a woman who lives in Albany’s who’s daughter is Diane Kallner, and who’s grandson is TJ Kallner, my cousin who dated a friend of mine {Before we knew we were related}). The last important one is Zacharias’s mother’s grave, Anna Lisa Olson (which was really Olsdotter, married name Larson… as if it doesn’t get confusing enough).