Songs my mother taught me # 9

Air, snow and a carpet beater.

 Since my mother didn't have a washing machine or a vacuum cleaner when I was a very active and curious toddler, she had to think before throwing clothes to wash.
She had different ways of stain removing based upon the origin of the stain. Her thumb-finger rule was, always be quick to remove a stain. Don't let it fasten. Try cold water, no soap, first, except from fat, which can only be removed by hot water. Be sure to check out what the fabric can take from soap, heat e.t.c. If you don't know, make a try on a place where it can not be seen, if you should fail. A newspaper or even better a blotting-paper and a hot iron will suck up stains from candlelights. If you let the stain soak for awhile (over night) it will be easier to remove. Never, ever soak wool, it will shrink.(Thanks Mrs. Mac.)
My mother would always hang a used garment out for venting, even if it wasn't stained. Clothes and bed linens were "blowing in the wind" every day, summer and winter.  

Heavier items, like carpets and cushions were thrown into snow and beaten with a carpet beater, while they were dragged around in the white, snowy garden. They were turned and tossed and I remember my Dad had to carry them into the house, when he came home from the office. The arm chairs got a similar treatment on the veranda outside our living-room. No vacuumer could replace the snow and the beater. The chairs were eventually moved into my brother's room. We got to keep our rooms long after we left home. My parents would insure us, we were always welcome home, often bringing guests as well. The arm chairs were upholstered at least four times. Here sort of in between redressing.
Serina and I are busy wrapping Christmas gifts while bro Kel is in his favourite position, reading.

  

  Gunnar and I have help washing our home due to disabilities. They do not do carpet or cushion beating though. We still have to manage that piece on our own. It's actually frightening to see how much dust is left even after vacuuming.

Not much snow, but it does the job for the plaid and cushions.

Songs my Mother taught me # 7

 When my mother married and had children shortly after WW2, there were shortage of almost every thing in Norway. For five years house, clothes and food supplies had been forced shipped from Norway to Germany, leaving us with crumbs and ration cards. Housewives were busy lining up in stores when special offers were on the market. My father had priority, because he worked in an office where he had to wear a suit, a white collar shirt and a tie. I remember my mother bought him suits with two trousers, so they would last longer. When the trousers were too worn, she snip them back to pieces, wash and iron the fabric and turn the fabric inside out. Thus she had material for clothes to my brother and me. Recycling was a must and not only a virtue.
My ski suit had red checkered fabric on the collar and the pockets. I thought I was very well dressed. My brother got an overcoat from my mother's old old winter jacket and had home knitted, thick tights made from  and old jumper. The trick with wool yarn was to range up the knitting, then wash it gently and let it dry around the long side of some newspapers. This way it would stretch out again.
My grandmother had 18 grandchildren in Norway to whome she knitted caps, scarves and mittens for Christmas. The sons in law got long, gray socks. My brother is wearing a grandmother cap on this picture.
 

 

My mother never stopped her handicraft labor. She would always have two or three projects waiting beside her armchair. She embroidered national costumes, bunads,which would last almost forever. Serina has a Hardanger bunad with pearl embroidered breast cloths, belt and purse. She used the same items from when she was four till the age of 12, one short and one long skirt, shirt and apron included. Now Serina has inherited my mother's bunad and also have one my mother made for her confirmation. I have had my bunad with lots of silver from my youth. This way we have dresses for Christmas, weddings, confirmations and May 17th celebration. Indeed a worthwhile investment.

Normally we ship at least 8 garbage bags filled with clothes to charity every year. I guess we have done so this year already. Nevertheless Serina is attending a sewing class just now, in order to recycle some of her grandmother's old garments. She's doing it from love and not from need. I think it's a wonderful way to honor and continue my mother's heritage.

Photo  © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Songs my Mother taught me #3

Here we go around a juniper bush is a Christmas feast song where the children are singing about laundry. So do we do when we wash our cloths, rinse our cloths, hand up our cloths, roll our cloth, iron our cloth, wash our floor and go to church and home again.
Laundry was supposed to be done Monday morning, or late Sunday evening really. My mother was constant about keeping the Sunday holy, but before bedtime Sunday night she would put very dirty clothes to soaking the night over, likewise the whitewash to cook the night over. Next day she would scrub by hand every single item and put them over in rinse tanks, 3 at least, before hanging it out to dry in open air. 

 My mother had two children in 15 months and an endless row of diapers.
There was no folding, there were stretching, rolling and ironing. 
Except for wool of course.
My mother taught me how to handle wool. Later on when we too had washing machine and dry tumbler, she would never, ever put wool in a machine. Even the bought wool under wear was washed by hand. Why??

 Till her last year at home my mother preferred drying under open air to tumbler. She fell, of course, but that did not stop her.

Wool is both strong and delicate at the same time. If you wash it in say, warm water and rinse it in cold water, which will happen in a machine, it will inevitably shrink. Wool must be washed and rinsed in the same lukewarm temperature.
If you shrub, rub or centrifugate a wool jumper it will shrink, get knotty and out of shape.

Outside the home where I grew up in my red sweater.

After you have gently crushed and squeezed the wool garment, clean in mild, liquid soap or shampoo,rinse it at least three times in water of the same temperature. Never use fabric softener, but you may need a teaspoon of 7% vinegar if you are afraid the colors will bleed.
Then find a bath towel, lay e,t,c, the pullover on  the towel, fold and roll it hard till its about dry. Especially jumpers should be dried lying. If you hang them, they tend to go out of shape. When dry, you may steam iron gently with a cloth between the iron and the jumper.
Some yearn says the are mashinewashable, believe me, they are not. Some machines claim to have a wool program. Believe me, it doesn't work.
How can I be so persistent? Because I didn't listen to my mother and ruined beautiful, home knitted garments.
Even at the home where my mother spent her last months they managed to ruin a beautiful, bought 500 dollars jacket of wool and silk. In a machine.
I've chosen to illustrate my point by showing a red jumper my mother knitted to me when I was two years old.

Mr. Nisse likes reading. Like me he's fond of John Cowart's books. And the sweater is still red. 

I used it till I grew out of it, then I passed it to toddler Serina and some years thereafter the youlenisse (Santa Claus Norwegian style) was dressed up in the same sweater.
He's still going strong. the jumper had 60 years jubilee this winter.

Since the jumper is red I also sign this up for Ruby Tuesday 2. 

 Photo and poem © 2012 by Magical Mystical Teacher

Songs my Mother taught me # 1

The idea to this blog theme came from Mrs. Mac. She's a Unikum in so many ways, especially what household, cooking, gardening, nature, education and other crafts are concerned.Often, when reading her articles, I remember, this is how my mother used to do it.
I've decided, my Mom's skills are too many and too special to be forgotten, so I've set out to make some posts to honor her.
Most of the pictures in these blogs are made by husband Gunnar, daughter Serina or myself.
This picture is taken in the home where I grew up and my mother lived till 9 months before she died, December 13th 2012.
I'm holding her hand written songbook, where her Christian songs were written down. She used to sing and play guitar in the church choir from the age of 14.
Here's one of her favorites.

 

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