Rubbish, but lined with gold

 

 The garden shed of my paternal home has a story of its own. It's older than I am, and has served multiple purposes before it ended up as a shabby storing place for lawn movers and old wooden skies.

I still have the hope that it may be saved for future generations.

 

Even though wood is the most common building material in Norway, and we have easy access to wood almost all over the country, there is also a long tradition for reusing building material. Our shed served originally as a double outdoor toilet (no water) for the church to which my parents belonged. It was torn down when indoor plumming was available in the early thirties. However, the material was not torn away, but reclaimed for a hen house by the family who built my  paternal home in 1945. Food was still sold with  rations cards even till the mid fifties, so keeping hen was an ordinary mean of food supply.

 

My parents moved in as the builders emigrated to America in 1951, and since then the house and the shed has belonged to the our family. My mother was not keen on keeping poultry, so the shed became a storage house, and later on, when I was able to play on my own, it became my playhouse. Since the house had two doors (one for men, theo other for women), my friends and I had two semidetached houses and years of fun playing with our dolls, using berries and veggies from the garden as "food" for our "families". 

I guess I played there until I was twelve. 

I was a lucky, happy child.

The flowers are still blooming this second day of September 2014, even though it's been some years now since my mother had her garden tools in the shed.

Standing outside thee door of the shed, I see my mother as in a dream, always busy, always caring.I hope the shed will get a new revival. It so deserves it. Thank you for wonderful memories.

Linking up with Roan in Rubbish Tuesday.
 http://rubbishbyroan.blogspot.no/

Songs my Mother taught me #2

My mother actually came to my birthplace, Sauda, to help out a friend. There she fell in love with my father, married and settled down. They loved each other dearly all of their days, but there was a but. My mother never really adjusted to the strange scenery of Sauda, situated at the end of a narrow fjord, surrounded by steep mountains. She would always long home to Jaeren, where sea and sky are meeting, where she could dream of The Land of Elves by sunset time.

 I want to go home and see a sundown at Jaeren
 
My mother loved the color blue, blue sky, blue sea, blue flowers, blue clothes.. and she had the most wonderful blue eyes.

Drink drinks of cold water

Once she decided that her gray brick walled washroom needed some color. She jumped on her cycle and bought a beautiful, expensive, blue mural painting. The work was finished before my father came home from work, and the result was rather dark and gloomy.
I guess we all laughed at her, but that didn't stop my mother.

Under the tap crane, Be prepared.
 With white paint and a old brush she painted songs, birds, flowers and funny verse and thus made her washroom both funny and so very personal. Gunnar saw the art in her work and shot lots of photos with his old camera.

 Innocent as doves
Gunnar made us stop laughing and see what a brave, creative soul my mother really was. we were used to her painting elaborate flowers and birds on fine china. I guess she took us by surprise, and she won.

 Up under the roof. "Seagull just tell what you see."

While decorating the room, she never spoke a word. We were busy outside in the bright summer garden.

 Jesus in the wash cellar  
Naivism at it's best. Honest and made in a hurry. I love it.

 Look at the birds, they do not harvest.

What did I learn? If you fail, don't give up, be brave and smile to the world and the world will be smiling back. 

Adding good times to the grace chain

"For every season there is a time,"the Preacher said.
I'd like to add, "There are good times seasoned, even in the darkest of moments."
Back in 1933 my Grandfather let build a small hut, more like a shed, for my Grandmother, to help her get away from the smog and relieve her asthma. He run his own bus and cab company, and money was indeed very tight during the depression, but his love for my Grandmom overcame the obstacles.
My Grandmom died shortly after, but the hut became a beloved gathering place for the five kids and later on for their children and their children's children.

Just before my uncle Leif died, he saw too that the hut was to legally belonging to the Ljung family as long as it still was standing.
We don't own the plot, so if it falls, it's gone forever.
During the years family members have taken their turn to see to that the hut did not fall apart.

A couple of years ago my cousin Edith and husband Lars made a thorough restoration to rescue the little hut. They did it so nicely, one can hardly see the changes they had to do. Inside it looks exactly like it always has done. Every plate, every  jug, book, crayon, chair, pillow has its own special history.

I had to stand outside to get an interior picture. The neighbor hut is reflected in the window.
Here my parents celebrated their honeymoon 63 years ago, and here my mother longed to come for her 87th birthday on July 2nd.
The hut is situated 440 yards over sea level, but a new, private road made it possible to drive almost to the door.

We brought birch logs from home and made up a cosy fire.
Grass and even moor wool frowing on the roof.
Heavy fog lay along the valley, but we didn't mind. Being together inside, sharing old memories and making new ones, was what counted.

Sandwiches, coffee and cream cake was on the menu. Even though they were bought at the local bakery, they tasted excellent. The home brewed coffee was steaming hot.

Throwing water at the photographer,- what fun sport!
As you can see; the hut is small as small can be. The giant paving stone is place there by my uncle Kaare. I never understood how he managed it. No horse, no crane.

Brother Kel bravely fighting his daily migraine. His nose has become just like our Grandfather's.
Year follow year and we don't even realize that days coming and going are life itself.
This very day will shine like a bright star on the sky of memories.
5 days after my mother broke her arm and hurt her eye.  One more exhausting trip to the hospital. even so; her birthday in the mountain is even more valuable. This was what we were talking about while waiting 6 hours for the doctor to come. We were looking at pictures, chuckling of joy.
Thanks for all your heart felt prayers. They were heard.

Magical Mystery Teacher is hosting Ruby Tuesday 2 together with Gemma Wiseman