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

Good days after this?

My Mom four days ago. Today she fell, broke her arm, injured her eye.

I woke up sweating,
My breath was short from running.
From dreams and mares of reality.
His soothing voice was rhythmically sounding:
"There will be good days after this."


How can you tell;
She lied there screaming,
Her arm was broken and her eye was bleeding?
He hid his face, but the kept repeating;
"There will be good days after this."


I can foresee tomorrow,
A movie still rerunning; of horrors,cries,
Of helpless agony and endless nights of black isolation,
You failing angel, why did you slumber, I need a wonder;
"Will there be good days after this?"


I am no prophet,
I need relay on promises, kept  step by step,
Nothing any more  of cruelty hidden behind a mirror darkly.
Walk with us upon the water, stretch out your hands;
We will need good days after this.

A true hero

A true hero.
Soldiers may be called heroes, even though they are armed to the teeth when meeting the enemy.
Firefighters and policemen are often acting heroically, but they have been properly trained for their assignments.

Saturday I had the honor to meet a true hero, veteran and survivor from WW 2. He went to sea as an apprentice at the age of 15. This was not uncommon for a young boy living on the Norwegian coast, not even when I grew up in the fifties.
A whole lot became fishermen along the coast line, or sailing in small vessels to Arctic or Antarctic waters.
Others followed the big Norwegian fleet of merchant ships all over the globe.
15 years and shortly after their confirmation, their mothers would equip them as well as they could afford, with a trunk of necessities and a Bible on top.

Our hero, Dag Midbø, went out on a ship owned by a local shipping magnate in 1939 and would not set his foot back on Norwegian soil until 1946. He sailed in 50 convoys, an unbelievable number.
The merchant ships were mostly unarmed, and sitting ducks for German planes and submarines. They went in convoys to freight vitals equipment such as tanks, weapon, ammunition and gas to Europe and Russia from the USA. Every tenth civil Norwegian sailor dead at sea during the 6 years of war. Many, I guess about half, were psychologically injured for life. Many war sailors ended up living on the docks of New York, London and New Castle for the rest of their lives. Leaving their ships was not an option during the war. The government declared that would be an act of desertion, and punished thereafter.
Even after being shipwrecked, the sailors were promptly placed on an other old vessel or hulk.

The young sailors were unarmed, not wearing a uniform, but nevertheless the most heroic and momentous Norwegian participants in WW 2. They were sadly not rewarded according to their heroic commitment.


Dag Midbø wrote a book about his 7 years at war, but not until year 2008. The wounds were too deep.
For English/American readers I strongly recommend Alistair MacLean's autobiographical novel HMS Ulysses. It's the naked truth for thousands and thousand of sea men.

Serina and I had the luck to meet with this war hero and his daughter at a small café in Skudesnes called Majorstuen kafe.
Somehow we ended up sitting in the same sofa, and this was how we got his fabulous story.

Dag Midbø came from a lunch held to honor him and the three other remaining local war sailors. He told us, this was only the second time he wore his war medals. They came too late and could never bring him his lost youth back.
His daughter was a lady my age, now a sweet grandmom, and she was very proud of her father. That meant the world to him.

P.S. I'm posting today. July 2nd is my mother's birthday.

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