My Friday Book: “Today will be different”

imageI think that most of us, are not always proud of what we say and do. Most of us have that little voice inside us, telling us that “that was a bad thing to say” or “that was a really bad thing you just did”. And most of us, vow to never do it again or watch out next time. That is why the title of this book was an attractive one and I thought that I would feel a recognition factor, reading this book. That it would give comfort and hope for the future. And a couple of hours of relaxation and laughter. At least the guest in a program on TV, promised this.

But this is not a funny book at all. I did not laugh once and there is nothing wrong with me. I have a good sense of humour, but nothing in this book was mildly amusing. Nor was there a recognition feeling to be had, in the storyline, because a person like this does not exist. Or if she does, she needs serious help.

Eleanor Flood, will be 50 in May, but this day, that the book is all about, takes place in the autumn before this event. Eleanor has been married for 20 years to Joe Wallace, a very successful hand surgeon and they have an eight year old son, together by the name of Timby.

The first thing which jumps at you from the first pages, is that Eleanor is the most self-absorbed mother, who places her son in the care of the make-up department in a store, so that she can go off and do her own things. And this has been followed up by her giving him a make up box of his own, for Christmas. Only after this, does she question if this was a smart thing to do and wonder if she has turned her son in to a transvestite. She might think that she is a caring mother, but most of the problems her son has, stem from her actions!

Her relationship with her husband, might at first glance seem to be a good one. But then when one reads that he has to order her to make breakfast for him and their son, without putting on a frown on her face, one realizes that first appearance is deceiving. He declares that it is the least she can do, when he supports her and she is home all day. Macho pig? Not at all. Joe has the patience of a saint and a real man, not a fictional one in other words, would have left her a long time ago. Because he is only there to compliment her ego. Like an accessory. The more you read in the book, you feel sorry for him and you also wonder why he has not walked out. But in the end, you do get worried that he actually will and what will become of Eleanor then?

On this day, Eleanor has decided to be nice to everyone and not think about herself. She is even going to have sex with Joe which for her is unnatural after going through menopause. She is of the opinion that nature knows that woman has done what she is supposed to do by then, and therefore there is no more need for sex. But she has decided to sacrifice herself to keep him happy. Her “words”, not mine.

So, the two men in her life, leaves for school and work and she goes off to do what she likes to do. Pamper herself. She was one of those women who loved her career and waited till she was 41 to have a child. Because of pregnancy, she lost her brain, according to her. Everything about late pregnancy, like getting a flobby stomach, chubby everything, but most of all, the part about memory, is bothering  her the most. Now, this book was written by a woman. I have no idea how old she is and if she has gone through pregnancy herself. I had my first child at 24 and after a week, I looked the way I did, before pregnancy. For the most part, women do bounce back quickly after their first baby, unless they binge on candy, cookies and other fatty things. They even bounce back after a second child with minding what they eat. It is not until child three, you start having a little bit more problems with losing the weight fast. And if you have a C-section, that will effect your looks in later years. I had my final live birth, at age 43, and even if I did not bounce back in a week, a year later I was skinny again. Without exercise. Running after children was enough. In other words, I had had seven children by then, so why did Eleanor not bounce back at all and lose her brain capacity on a permanent basis? This is not funny. I can’t laugh at it.

Eleanor has decided to do something about her brain fog though. She has hired a poet who will choose a poem for her to learn by heart. Every week, she goes to see him at a restaurant, where she recites the poem, discuss the poem, pays him $50 for the trouble plus pays for the breakfast they both eat. So, this morning she goes to meet Alonzo. While at the restaurant, she remembers that she is having lunch with Sydney Madsen, a woman she hates, but who calls herself Eleanor’s friend. So she has the restaurant put together an expensive gift basket.

Ten years earlier, her husband decided that he did not want his child to grow up in NYC where they lived, so they decided that for the next ten years they would live in Seattle, then ten years in a place of her choice, ten years after that in his hometown and then ten years in her hometown. Since she had Timby eight years earlier, the author’s math does not add up. But let us forget that. When Eleanor joined her husband in Seattle he took her to a party to meet all the hob knobs of Seattle. Sydney Madsen was one of them and she bored Eleanor to death with her slow speech and boring life, but Eleanor kept her mask on and readily agreed to luncheons and everything else best friends get up to. Hating the woman.  Today, she is going to be nice to Sydney.

In the middle of the breakfast, she gets a phone call from the Catholic school Timby attends. Even though her Catholic raised husband has turned atheist decades earlier! How does that make any sense, to place your child there then? We never get an answer. Timby is having a stomach ache and can she come and fetch him. Instead of paying the poet and the restaurant, she just leaves and takes the gift basket with her, unpaid for as well. And when she gets to the school, she is in a fury since this is the third time, she has to fetch him for the same ailment. He thinks he will have a nice day off, but instead she decides to punish him and takes him to the ER. But not before she has stolen another mother’s keys, because she hates the way the parents so happily volunteers for things at the school and because she doesn’t like the keys!

At the hospital, the doctor gets Timby to tell him what is really the matter. He has been bullied by this new girl and the latest thing was about him wearing clothes from h&m and that they use child labourers. Now, being Swedish and being drowned by h&m clothes, since that is all I can afford, I know that h&m does everything they can for the environment and to fight injustices when it comes to child labour and abuse of women’s rights etc. So this was NOT something believable backed up by facts. What is it the moron in the White House says? FAKE NEWS!

The doctor tells Eleanor to take a day with her son, but she decides to dump him on his dad instead. Walking in to his surgery, it is empty and the staff all look surprised to see her, asking her if they are back. Back from where? Well, according to Joe, they were going on holiday. Eleanor realizes that for a week, Joe has gone off to work but has indeed not. She draws the conclusion that he has a mistress and is leaving her.

Instead of spending time with her son, she now abandons him at Gap, to try on clothes for himself. While she heads to a bookshop, to buy the newspaper they subscribe to.  She had seen Joe read it in the morning. He had shown distress about something in it, so she wants to find out what, since she had not bothered asking him about it, only thinking about herself as usual. When she gets back to Timby the first time, he has on trousers too small for his fat body, which she thinks is cute. The second time around, he is at the cash register with an enormous pile of clothes, asking the cashier to move faster so that his mother can not stop the purchase. Eleanor arrives only to pay for it all. As a mother, who has lived for a few years in the US in the past, I know that you do not leave an eight your old on their own. That will bring kidnappers and police, if not social services. And you do not let a child go in and choose an enormous pile of clothes in any store, let alone Gap. But Eleanor do buy haute couture from Belgium and France herself, so they are not paupers. On the other hand, what is the point with buying that, when she has a chubby body? And to let a fat 8-year-old choose his clothes? Seriously weird. And not believable.

On their way out of the shop, she asks Timby to read in her calendar, who she is having lunch with. Spencer Martell. Only she has been leaving messages to Sydney Madsen all morning, that she can not come to lunch, that she can, that she can not … Now she goes to have lunch with a mystery man, bringing her son. Spencer it turns out, is a man she has all forgotten about but he has not forgotten her. Eleanor’s big thing in life, has been her work on a cartoon named Looper wash. And for the life of me, after suffering through 337 pages, I can not tell what that cartoon was about. But Eleanor had an entire illustrator team backing her up and Spencer was hired to be part of that team as well, till it showed that he was useless and he was fired. Since then life had gone first down hill for him and now he is a celebrated artist whom pre-occupied-with-herself Eleanor has never heard of. After lunch, she brings Spencer to her flat for him to entertain Timby, while she checks up on some things, like where her husband’s new telescope is pointed. When Spencer can no longer stay with them, he brings her and Timby to his outdoor exhibition in the park where Eleanor usually goes with their dog Yo-Yo. They have brought the dog with them.

That is when she sees her poet Alonzo dressed more casual than she is used to seeing him. She abandons Timby, Spencer and his colleagues, and runs after Alonzo to a Cosco. There she discovers the real Alonzo. Far from being the romantic poet living on nothing but her good will, he works at Cosco selling promotional items that noone wants, like this day selling disgusting tasting fish. Eleanor takes a couple of packages, to show him she is alright with all this, but then dumps the frozen fish in a container with T-shirts. And she leaves. But she is not done with Alonzo yet, since he walks out of Cosco as well and she finds him heart-broken in an alley. He did not want anyone to know what his real job was. Now, he has quit even though Cosco’s health insurance is paying for his wife’s IVF. She does everything to try to convince him to go back, but without avail. And he reminds her of all the money he lost that morning when she stranded him with the restaurant bill and the gift basket bill.

Her stupidity does not stop here though. She spots a yacht in the harbour, which her husband’s telescope was pointed at, so she decides to head over there and catch him in flagrante with his mistress. Only when she arrives, the yacht turns out to be a fishing boat. That is when she receives a phone call. From her publisher, who wants to know what to do with the first part of her manuscript, which was turned in eight years earlier. She never gave them the rest, and now they are no longer interested in her book and her agent has been fired. She says that she has FORGOT to finish it! No functioning human being would forget such a thing! The next thing she does is throwing away her mobile phone in a bucket of bait, standing near-by, and storming off to fetch her son by the art installation. But she walks in to it and passes out.

From then on, the story turns even more unbelievable and bizarre. We are moved back in time, to when her mother died in cancer and she basically came in charge of her five-year-old sister, only being nine herself. Their dad moved them to Aspen, Colorado, where he became the caretaker of an elderly lady’s property but for the most part he went off gambling in Las Vegas, leaving his daughters to fend for themselves and when not gambling, he was drinking. The girls grew very tight, even though they lived separate lives. Ivy being beautiful and supporting herself as a model and Eleanor with her illustrating career.

When Eleanor was working on her cartoon, one of the co-workers made the staff acquainted with a friend of his. Bucky or Barnaby Fanning. Friend? Can anyone be friends with a total psycho? Bucky coming from a fancy plantation family, is used to getting everything he wants. When a girl had the audacity to turn his proposal down, he became anti women and dedicated his time to the New Orleans Khaos and Mardi Gras. Every week, Lester, the illustrator, phones him to find out the latest news from the rich and famous. But Bucky is weird, because he is finicky with whom he associates with. If you rub him the wrong way, his hatred is beyond measure. Through Lester, Bucky ends up at Eleanor’s 30th Birthday party and that night her sister Ivy flies to New Orleans with Bucky, having promised to marry him. Eleanor and Joe, heads to New Orleans for the engagement party and this is where Eleanor breeches etiquette by 1. coming under-dressed, in a short dress, while all the other women are wearing long inherited dresses 2. when the maid is busy wiping up something from the floor and people demand ice-cream with their dessert, she thinks she is helping, by putting out the ice-cream box on the table. The next day, Ivy informs Eleanor that she has offended Bucky so badly that they basically can not have any contact. She has shamed him since the photo in the newspaper shows the ice-cream on the table that should have been put in a fancy container, meant for the purpose. This is what Bucky is like!

From then on Bucky sees Eleanor like the worse enemy. The wedding takes place in the former president John Tyler’s home, an ancestor of Eleanor’s and Ivy’s, and when Eleanor refuses to give the couple the two pistols she has inherited from their mother, having belonged to John Tyler, both Ivy and Bucky are boiling with indignation. Instead Eleanor gives them a privately bound book with illustrations from her’s and Ivy’s life. A gift the couple does not appreciate. A year later, John Tyler is born and Eleanor gives the couple the pistols for a christening gift, since this time she does feel obliged to. But it does not buy her forgiveness. Ivy cuts her out of her life, but does show up to their dad’s funeral three years later. Dressed like an “ultra-orthodox Jewess” in skirt and shirt which cover everything and with a strange hairdo. She has become a pill-addict and tells them that Bucky watches every step she takes, being completely paranoid and jealous beyond measure. It is decided that Eleanor is going to help her escape the marriage.

When he is on a trip, Ivy will fly to Seattle with John Tyler and Eleanor has signed a lease on a house for her. Paying everything herself. She has also hired the best divorce lawyer. Only, when she goes to the airport, Bucky walks out with his wife and son. They throw the book they received for wedding present, in her face and cut her out of their lives permanently. Some years later, Eleanor sees a funeral announcement, for Bucky’s grandmother, and notices that her sister has had a girl named Delphine. The name which hung on building blocks, on the key ring which Eleanor stole that morning.

When Eleanor comes to, in front of the art installation she has run in to, everyone expects her to stay and wait for the ambulance, but Timby thinks it is too embarrassing, so she leaves with her concussion. He has found the stolen keys, so they run back to the school to return them to their owner, but Eleanor thinks that this is too embarrassing, so she puts them in a donation box instead. From there she drives home where she finds Sydney Madsen waiting for her, who has been confused about the phone messages.

Instead of going with Sydney to the hospital, Eleanor takes her husband’s car and drives off to see where his GPS will take her. She is determined to find his mistress. Only when she gets to the location, with Alonzo, whom she has picked up on the way, it is a building for sex addicts. The equivalent to AA. One person tells her where her husband is and she runs off to the city center where the Key Arena is. She finds her husband with a group of people who are going to sing in a choir for the soon visiting Pope. This is the dress rehearsal. Right then and there, her husband says that he has seen the light. While taking care of members of a baseball team, he flipped out, and this preacher told him what was wrong with his life. Now he has found Christ, is going to quit medicine and go back to school and study Christ’s teachings instead. Eleanor goes bananas. She storms up on the stage, and a guard dog attacks her so badly that her arm gets chewed up and she also falls off stage, hurting herself. Once in the hospital, her husband says that they must move to Spokane or New York or St. Andrew’s in Scotland for his religious studies. If she wants to stay married to him, she just have to tag along. It is decided that they will move to Scotland, because Timby wants that. The boy who was named by iPhone. (Eleanor having sent the suggestion Timothy to Joe, when pregnant, and the auto-correct having changed it to Timby.)

As they arrive home, Eleanor remembers that Yo-Yo was abandoned at Cosco, so Joe has to go fetch the dog, who has been tied up there more or less the entire afternoon and evening.

I have told the entire story, so that noone else will have to suffer through this book. I would never have finished it, had it not been that I reserved it at the library and thereby had to pay reservation fee. It was one of the worse books I have ever read! And while others recommend this author, I am not going to bother with any other of her books. Escapism is one thing, but I want stories to make sense and be somewhat believable. And yes, I do believe that LOTR and Narnia etc. are believable in their own way. But this, no.

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“This was the best Birthday ever!”…

were the words my autistic youngest son “Gubby” said, right before going to bed last night. If he only knew how happy it made me to hear those words, because the planning has gone on for weeks. Like my husband coming home one day from work asking me, “What are you doing on the 3rd September at 10:30?”. – Well, I should be sitting in the car driving off to church, if everyone get out of the house when they ought to. “How would you like to take ‘Gubby’ to the cinema then?”. To be honest, I thought he had completely lost his marbles at this point. Go to the cinema when we are supposed to be in Church? But then he explained. A couple of years ago, this supermarket chain launched a new club for children, called the paprika club. You get a little magazine. Sometimes there are little competitions in the supermarket. But most of all, it has been started to get children to eat more fruit and vegetables. Every day, there is a little testing bowl in the supermarket where the children can take an offered fruit, for free!

When “Big Hero 6” came out in the cinema, or was about to, the local supermarket’s paprika club, hired the entire cinema one day, and let all members go and see the film for free! We all went! Since our boys have autism and one of them also ADHD, we were allowed to have two adults going with, instead of one. And when E. arrived to tell us that her classmates had stood her up, not wanting to do their assignment that day, the staff told her to stay and see the film. They treated us all to popcorn, juice and the children got candy bags. This year, they decided to charge 40 :- for each person, but that is nothing to the regular price for a cinema ticket! T. said something about 150:-? Anyway, the day the paprika club had decided to rent the cinema to show “Cars 3” was the 3rd September at 10:30. We thought about it for two weeks, not feeling too comfortable going on a Sunday, but then we realized that it would make “Gubby” sooooooo happy! We decided to keep it an utmost secret though.

Yesterday morning, he woke up at 07:30 and asked me “Where are my gifts?”. I had to explain that he had to get them that afternoon, since I had not got one of them wrapped yet and everybody else was asleep. At 08:00 I got up to take head ache medicine and F. was up. She was so upset, since she had me send for a Birthday present for him and it did not arrive on time. She wanted to give him something Harry Potter and we decided that a hat could be fun. We looked on eBay since they are faster than Wish. We avoided all Chinese sellers since we suspected that it would not arrive on time if we chose one of them. So we bought from England. We thought. But after ordering, which has to be done on my mobile since my iPad just freezes, I went in on the iPad to check the seller’s reviews and noticed one negative comment mentioning that they lie when they say they are in the UK. They are in China! We felt cheated and upset but hoped for the best, since it had three weeks to travel. But it did not arrive! So instead, she had T. buy a donut with festive sprinkles on it, Saturday, and she told “Gubby” that it was her Saturday candy. Instead of a gift, she got up at 08:00 and boiled him an egg, set a tray with egg, bread and the donut on it and then invited him to the kitchen.

When T. got up, he showed me what he had picked for “Gubby” to wear. Only, that was “Gubby’s” Lightning McQueen PYJAMAS! I told him that my son is not going to the cinema in his pyjamas. T. thought it would not matter but “Gubby” knows that it is his pyjamas and will not go to church in that! He will say so! He objected enough to wearing his sports’ clothes! For years, I have bought these Asian outfits at Sjöbo’s fair, that are of a shiny material, which does not have to be ironed. They are perfect for gym class because of it. And they are bright, colourful and have fun prints on them. This year I bought a pair with Lightning McQueen and Mater on them. Shorts and top identical. But he knows that those are meant for gym class so he said “Going to church in gym clothes!”. I had to explain that they are not really gym clothes, that mamma just likes to use them for that, so I do not have to iron and when one has a Birthday, one can be dressed differently than regular Sundays. He did not object further but got dressed and we drove off.

When we got to the bend in the road, all autistic boys asked why we took another road than the usual one and I answered that “we just have to do something first”. When we got to Lund, “Boo” said, “this is not the road to the church”. When I parked, “Gubby” and “Boo” wondered why, so I said “We just have to go look at something first and then we go to church!”. They did not understand a thing when we got to the cinema. But “Boo” went and fetched popcorn and “Kitty” whispered “are we going to see a film?”. I nodded my head and made “Gubby” go to the loo, eventhough he did not want to. But of course needed to. When we sat down, he still did not have a clue what we were going to watch. But he was excited when he realized!

The Paprika Club at the cinema! “Gubby” ran up and hugged them as soon as he got in through the door!

What can I say about the film? I thought it was good but it was very depressing. I had to explain once to F., once to “Kitty” and once to “Boo” why “Lightning McQueen” had to quit racing. The entire film is about Lightning McQueen having to accept facts, that in sports, you can never remain on top forever. No matter how much go you have in you, how much you still love to compete and how young you feel still, there comes a day, when you have to move on. I told them about Swedish slalom star Ingemar Stenmark, who made all of Sweden stand still when he competed. We would be on our way to have a test in school and instead the teacher wheeled in a TV, so we could watch the competition. I could care less if he won or not. I was never interested. But it gave me an opportunity to review for the test once more. He won gold medal after gold medal, year after year. And then he started getting “old” in sport’s years. Instead of being praised to the sky, we all felt embarrassed. That he had not quit when he was the best. That he just continued even though he did worse and worse. That he did not accept facts and quit while he was ahead but instead ended up in 10th place, 15th, 20th… There was something pathetic about it and desperate!

The children were upset though, because everyone told McQueen that he was old. I reminded them how quickly a computer is considered old. That no, in years he was not old, but his motor could just not drive as fast as the rookies. No matter what, he could not get up to their speed. That is why the rookies laughed at him. And that speed was everything. He knew all the tricks in the book, to win, but lacked the speed. Question of course is, why they did not just put in a new motor. At the end though, his new trainer Cruz Ramirez, a girl car who always dreamed of being a race car, takes his place in a race wich he has started in and she wins it for them both. He goes on to be her trainer instead and accepts that this can be fun too. The film had fun moments but nothing to laugh out loud about, like my husband did! As a matter of fact, he was the only one laughing out loud so I was happy sitting far away from him! One could tell from the film though, that this will be the last film of “Cars”. They really pressed the final blood out of the stone. I will say, that “Cars 2” was the best of the three.

As soon as the film was over, we left for church where we could attend the last hour. At the end, when they had the conclusion for the children, everyone sang to “Gubby” and he was delighted, standing there proudly in his Lightning McQueen outfit. To be honest, I do not think he understood what half of the film was about. It was too complex of a topic for him. How can anyone say that a car is old and useless when the car is red and shiny, driving super fast?

When we got home, big sister E. was still not back from the child blessing she had gone to in Malmö. The baby being that of her former employers in Basingstoke, England. We were starving and had no interest in waiting up for her, so we had dinner and then we sang to “Gubby”, giving him his presents finally. He loved everything he received! I had finally settled on a Junior Lego set with Luigi and Guido, from “Cars”, a pencil-case with emojis, a jubilee set of Thomas the Tank Engine, and finally an insane toy called Stretch Armstrong. All of the things wished for by him, but especially the last toy, which I think is a crazy item. A grotesque stress ball in the shape of a naked man! As a toy I think it is pointless BUT I think that an autistic child can actually get a lot out of it. Touching, pulling, relaxing with it…

“Boo” so much wanted to give his brother something, but had no money. Then he usually looks around the house and finds something to give. In this case, he ended up giving “Gubby” an old skateboard for a smaller child, that he found at the city dump. Dirty and wobbly. F. took one look at it and said she did not want it in our clean living room. Having OCD, she just gets like that. He exploded and stormed upstairs screaming. And I had to explain to her that by doing what she did, she offended him saying that his gift was not good enough and that his heart was in the right place, that it is not easy to give, when you have no money. I decided to grab one of the Christmas presents I had bought for “Gubby” and let “Boo” give him that instead. So upstairs I went and told him that “Gubby” is too young for a skateboard, that he is too scared to go on one and that he could give him a troll instead. “Gubby” loves the film “Trolls” and especially the troll “Guy Diamond”, for some reason. I found one when looking for Birthday presents and decided to give it for Christmas, having the shop wrap it in Christmas paper. “Boo” took the present, walked down and gave it to “Gubby” and he said happily, “Oh, I love the paper!”. Father Christmas all over it! He did not even think about it being Christmas paper! And it being the wrong season. He got really happy about his troll and we put him for decoration on the “ostglass”, since I had forgotten to buy a marzipan rose!

Ostglass- or homemade ice cream cake

We sang again, had cookies and the ice-cream cake and then it was time for the film he really wanted to see. When we got to France in July, they were showing “Gnomeo and Juliet” on French TV, dubbed in to French of course. We all sat down and watched what was the last 20 minutes of it and the boys regretted not getting to see the entire thing. None of them saying that they had not understood a single word! Anyhow, I managed to find the film to order it and when it arrived, “Gubby” said he wanted to watch it on his Birthday. I asked him if he was sure. I could offer “Vaiana”, “Beauty & the Beast” and something about storks. But he wanted to watch “Gnomeo…” so that is the film we watched last night and it really is a cute one. And more over, it does have a happy ending, because the couple does not die at the end! And the one garden gnome who did die, got glued together again! After the film, which is a garden take on Romeo and Giulietta, I sat down to watch the extras, where it showed that the film was made by Elton John, who wrote the music. Handsome James McAvoy does Gnomeo’s voice, his mother’s voice is done by Dame Maggie Smith (YES! My favourite actress!!!!) and Juliet’s father’s voice, is done by Sir Michael Caine. So my husband had no reason to huff and puff at all nor taking a nap, like he did in the middle of the film. He did not wake up until E. walked in, while the Capulets and Montagues or should I say the Reds and the Blues, fought like maniacs!

(Storyline is that two neighbours living in attached 1930s houses, hate each other. Hers is with blue decorations and she has class, while he has red decorations and his are somewhat tacky. One gnome has one of those horrid bathing suits for men which is just a string in the back and only holds the private part in the front! When the owners go off to work, the garden decorations come to life. They compete in the alleyway with the lawn mowers but also take care of everything in the gardens. One day, when the blues are out to get revenge, Gnomeo notices the beautiful but protected Juliet, high up on a garden tower and his heart is no longer in the mood for hurting red gnomes! Instead they date in an adjacent abandoned garden. When they are discovered, Juliet’s father glues her in place, so she can not go see Gnomeo. And Gnomeo has an accident, which makes everyone believe he is dead. To get revenge, the blue gnomes, order a gigantic lawnmower called the terraferminator, not adviced for personal small gardens. The lawnmower arrives and is started by the blues. Soon, both gardens are completely ruined and all the gnomes now believe that Juliet is also dead, since the lawn mower took down the tower. But out of the crash site, climbs Gnomeo and Juliet, holding hands. Happy ending, even for the garden plastic flamingo, who was single. They order a female flamingo for him! You can’t find a cuter film!)

E. never joined the party in other words. She just sat out doing her own things in the kitchen. But “Gubby” was so hyped that he did not even notice the slight. I am glad, because her behaviour since she got back from England has been appalling. When it was time to go to bed, he was still all happy. I asked him which was his favourite gift and he counted them all up, which was nice to hear. It is sooooo difficult to buy presents for autistic children! They do not really play with toys! And they often have a very short attention span.

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A shopping spree

I have now been trying to publish this since 28 July 2017!

When we drove out from the petrol station, on the 2 July, I asked my husband for the third time, how much the garage bill came up to. We were heading off on holiday, which we both knew, was going to cost us an arm and a leg, but still I needed to know, what he had paid for getting the AC fixed once and for all and for the so-and-so-many miles service. I screamed on the inside when he finally admitted 8,000 :- (£752 , € 839, $985 ). I can only say this: It is NOT fun to head off on holiday knowing that one is that deep in to debt, nor is it any fun to get home and realize that the kitchen fan above the stove, has to be replaced. It has been sounding like having a jet engine going when cooking and to be honest, it has frightened “Gubby” and “Boo” so much, that I have had to cook without it, causing the fire alarm to go off or bringing on a cough attack out of this world.

My husband usually prefer going shopping with his daughters. Or should I say, they just jump in to the car, preventing me from going? This time, he asked me to come along, which I think was a symptom of him feeling at a loss as what to do when F. starts nagging for more clothes. Last time he went off to just get something, she had him buy her TWO pairs of shorts and a pair of jeans. One can not be satisfied with one pair of shorts, oh no… Last week, she went with me to Sjöbo fair where I was persuaded to buy her both a Harry Potter necklace and make up brushes. Sparing her poor father to have to purchase that for her on the next day, when she went to the same place with HIM. Noone has told me if she had him buy her the ball gown she wanted for church dances (her having bought one in May, but one must have two to choose from) and the handbag she wanted for church, no longer wanting to carry the mini-rucksack containing her scriptures.

So off we went to buy a kitchen fan, T., F., “Boo”, “Gubby” and myself. T. had had to order it in for pick up, so we drove to Löddeköpinge, with a short stop off at Nova in Lund. He needed to return a filter for our old fan, since someone had thought it was just the filter needing to be replaced. I, have been drooling over an Odd Molly cardigan for months and months on end, suddenly realized that it might be 51% off, their sale being on. So I headed there on my own, since she will not tolerate me buying any clothes for myself. Only to discover that the cardigan was sold out in the colour I desired:

Not wanting it in the available coral/watermelon colour, I disappointedly started to head for the exit, when I spotted all their wellingtons on sale. Now, I bought Lola Ramona wellingtons on Campadre a couple of years ago. Really funny looking ones, like all of Lola Ramonas shoes and boots are. BUT fetching boys at school with high heeled wellingtons have not really been that comfortable. I mean, who in their right mind designs wellingtons with high heels? Wellingtons are not comfortable in the first place, to walk in. They are a necessary evil when it rains and I have to trot up to the schools on muddy gravel parking places and walkways. High heels make it a nightmare. Trust me, I DO KNOW NOW. So, instead of a romantic cardigan, I walked out of Odd Molly with a pair of practical wellingtons. Yes, this time they are practical. Not even tall so I do not have to stand and try to put jeans or trousers down a narrow shaft.

To my surprise, the daughter did not object to my purchase, BUT started telling us that SHE might not need wellingtons. Thank you for sparing us that expense at least. We headed for the fan next and while we stood waiting, the children ran in and placed themselves in front of a computer each, at the store, to play computer games. It actually looked hilarious! Even little “Gubby” sitting in front of a gigantic dream screen playing some silly game. The fan set us back 1,999 :- (£188 ,€210 ,$246 ). Deep sigh.

The best thing would have been to have sat down in the car and driven home, at this point. BUT how often do I get to go to Löddeköpinge nowadays? We used to go there all the time when J. and D. were young, but since Lund built its own shopping mall, there is no point in driving that far. They do have some fun shops though, especially the craft shop Panduro, which has a sale going on every July. While the children joined T. in HIS favourite spot, Kjell & Company (I, like most women, hate this shop. Low priced electronics and gadgets, which are not made to last! Heaven for my husband. Or should I say, Heaven 2 since Jula, a low-priced, low-quality do-it-yourself shop, is Heaven 1! He goes there every week and I would rather go to the dentist, and THAT says a lot, than enter that shop!) I walked around Panduro, contemplating whether I really should buy anything or not.

Suddenly my husband joined me, the children having taken off to a toy shop (we thought, but indeed, their sister had dragged the poor boys to some clothing shops) and he wanted me to look at this bullet journal corner they had set up. Now, the way he packed our purchased books, leaving England, resulted in my beautiful Union Jack filofax MELTING! I know, but I am serious, it did melt! The print that is, was all stuck to the bags plastic lining and when I lifted the filofax out, the print remained on the bag and the filofax was just one sticky mess. T. told me to order a new one. I wish he had told me about the bullet journaling before I went ahead and did that! He stood there drooling over the note books you do this form of journaling in and I can’t say that I was too interested. Finally, I started to ask him about it, to be polite and interested in what he was interested in. He exclaimed that THIS was the way to journal. To keep a diary, to-do-list, you name it, all in one place. “AND WHY DID YOU NOT SAY THAT BEFORE I ORDERED MY FILOFAX?”

He apologized and tried to sell me on this idea instead. So I asked him if he was buying one of the Leuchtturm1917 notebooks. He said that he wanted to but… I could tell that he really wanted one but was considering the price, especially after the fan purchase. Since I was feeling bad for him, I said “fine, grab the colour you want”. He picked a drole steel-blue, small size one, and this is when I looked at the samples they had on display. It did speak to me, I must say that! All those notebooks spread around the house, with books to read, quotes I like etc. All that is supposed to go in to your bullet journal as well as daily chores, appointments etc. But looking at the stabilo pens they recommended with a purchase of the Leuchtturm, really was a turn off for me. They are not waterproof and it is enough to be out with your bag in the rain ONCE and then all your work will be one floating mess, illegible among other things.

At the cash register, I suddenly grabbed myself a petrol/teal coloured one. I was going to give it a go, after seeing these pictures on Panduro’s wall.

I know, a bad thing for a perfectionist like myself! All the stress it will create. Anxiety. Why do I do this to myself? We walked out, happy though, with our notebooks and a set of Panduro’s waterproof pens in all sorts of funny colours and the best of all, they do not bleed through the thin Leuchtturm paper! (Who is the idiot who calls that paper thick???) I realized that I had a new hobby going, but I am not so sure my husband understood that, at this point.

We joined the children and poor “Gubby” told me how boring it was to look at clothes with F. (The poor thing was with her and my husband two days ago, when the shorts and jeans were bought and when I asked him if he felt sad about not getting any clothes he said “No mamma! I do not need any more clothes!”. For someone with autism, he is very skilled at knowing what the difference is between need and want.) Maybe it was my feeling of looking forward to dive in to the world of bullet journaling, that made me benevolent, but I ended up buying F. another T-shirt at H&M because she said, her previous one in those colours was too tight, and a black pencil skirt, at New Yorker, to be spared all the whining every Sunday, about her present skirt not being up to snuff. And this, even though my husband and I had sworn to not buy her any more clothes! Coming out of the last shop, I did tell her that I do not appreciate this though. I came home with a whole bag of clothes from Primark, from England, and yet she keeps on telling us that she has no clothes to wear and that she just needs more and more and more. At the same time, we are drowning in clothes. The house is full to the rim with them. Or so it feels!

To give the boys some sort of reward for their immence patience, during this constant clothes shopping for their sister, we took them to McDonald’s for McFlurries. After our shopping spree, that is all we could afford, but they munched away, as happy as could be.

Coming home, “Kitty” had not even noticed that we had been gone for six hours! His computer playing has reached new heights this summer and we do not know what to do about it. Autism combined with ADHD is impossible to deal with in certain respects. The gaming addiction and the anger… It will just make me mad to talk about it. I am going to have to go ask the experts about it, because it has gone too far in my opinion.

But, after dinner, I tried to shut out his screams from the computer area, people on the internet not doing what he wants them to do on Overwatch, and googled Bullet journal. WOW! Talk about performance anxiety now! T. tried to tell me “You make it in to what you want it to be! Don’t bother with what others are doing! Do your own thing!” but how can I when I see all the possibilities? All the pretty layouts on Pinterest? I want to do them all! So, I set out to do the thing I wanted to do the most. Before anything else. A book list. Now, when it is done, I realize that perhaps it should have been a “want to read list” instead of books read this year so far. Hmmm! I also should have taken a photo of it before I started to enter names of the books. It sort of ruined it all, when I started to write them in… See my problem? No? The feeling that things get ruined when I USE them!

But my problem was not just that one. My husband asked me why I had not made a future log first. So I did one when he took the children swimming. I guess I had not understood what a future log is because when he came home, he told me that that was not what he meant. And then he laughed because I was livid about having made an ugly mistake in the middle of the page, when numbering dates.

Purple paper to the left: Because I wrote the wrong weekdays beside the wrong numbers and of course I messed up the numbering to make the page extra “pretty”!

It turns out that my mind is determined to wreck my pretty layouts, because I make mistake after mistake and I have a difficult time accepting ugliness when I am trying to make something pretty and pleasing to look at! Him laughing did not make things better though! When trying to stamp a nice Volkswagen bus, he laughed so loud at my foolishness that I slipped and only got half the bus stamped. And when I tried to fix it, the lines became too thick, not getting the stamp properly aligned.

Clumpsy double lines AND unfortunately, Leichtturm’s paper is not thick enough for stamping ink! You can see the image through (see above on the month log).

Note added: This morning, my husband came in reading the do’s and do not’s in bullet journaling. That one is not supposed to freak out, not dress one’s journal for the Oscar’s, to just write the way one would if a child has pooped on the floor and the in-laws standing in the door for a surprise visit… Somehow I did not like that article. Guess why?!

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Dukkehusfestival in Farum 2017

http://www.dollsinminiature.com
Some things are out of reach but leaves you in awe.

I had basically decided to not go to the dollhouse festival in Farum this year. How could I justify going when I owe the state 6500:- (£566 /€671 /$731) in taxes? Do not ask me how that happened, when I do not have an income! But it has happened because I receive care allowance for my three autistic boys. As I told “Kitty”: “CSN wants their student loan paid back from that money and now the state wants the money back, which they gave me. So first they give me and then they want it back! I know, it does not make any sense what so ever. What is the point really?”

But not only do I owe that amount because they have withdrawn too little tax during 2016, we also have a garage bill for 7000:- (£609 /€723 /$787). And if that is not bad, the Air Conditioning in the car is still not working, even though we took the car in something like ten times last summer and autumn, for it to be fixed once and for all! And I can not even get the windows down, to get air that way, since the only way to get them down on our “modern” car, is with a button, and the electric cables to those buttons, do not work anymore! And once again the sign for the exhaust system is lit, telling me that something is WRONG. That lamp has basically been lit since a week after we bought the car. I wish we would have understood that this would be a more or less permanent problem. We are talking about our WV Sharan being the worse money pit here.

At the same time, I never get out of the house at all anymore. I drive the children to school, I fetch them, and if I run in to an adult, I might exchange a word or two. But that is it. I go to church on Sundays, but I sit there and try to listen to the talks, while I also try to keep my boys behaving. Then I teach “Boo” the Sunday school lesson, since he refuses to go in to the teacher he is supposed to have and MY students choose to sit in the hall playing mobile phone games instead. The final hour, “Boo” refuses to sit in on, because his brain has had enough by then. So I sit in Primary filling out the numbers of grown ups in there, and waiting for “Gubby” to arrive the final 20 minutes. My social life stinks.

When E. was home from England over Easter, she asked me why I am not working on my dollhouse. First of all, one brick broke off, when I put the house upright, after working on it. So it needs to be laid down again. In the laundry room, so that I can spray the house down with sealer, again, it obviously not having enough on the side of the house where the brick broke off. But my husband uses our laundry room as a general dump, so there has not been room for the house in there, nor do I want laundry sprayed with sealer!

There is also the problem of things missing, for me to proceed. And that was the one and only reason, why I took myself and the MasterCard over to Denmark Saturday. To get a few items, so I can make a little bit of headway on the house. As usual, I was nervous about going since our GPS lives a life of her own. “Jane” of course did not lead me to Farum’s Culture House without detours. She got me going in the wrong direction, told me to make a U-turn on the autobahn, turn right where there was no road… I tried to phone my husband so he could look on a map and see if any of the towns were close to Farum, so I could drive by signs instead, but of course he did not have the sound on, on his phone. He never does, so it really is useless ever phoning him! I got myself off the autobahn instead and drove the “scenic route” through Copenhagen’s suburbs. But I did arrive finally. 30 minutes wasted!

I did not have time to look in any of the fun shops and this was a disappointment, since the entire shopping centre closed an hour before the fair, so I totally missed out on that. I who love to look in the bookshop! But, I did go there to attend the dukkehusfestival and this I did accomplish. I started out with the first shop I had checked out on the internet, which I assumed was going to sell wood for making wall skirting.

Last year when I came home from this fair, I had a contact number to a lady in Lund, who told me she had dollhouses to sell. And I did end up buying one of them. A tall Georgian house decorated to look like a 1900 Copenhagen townhouse. I could take Georgian but not a Danish look, since the scene I wanted to create, was London Blitz 1940/1941. So I worked for weeks, trying to remove all wallpaper, which meant that when the wallpaper came off, all wood skirting by the floors and ceilings also came off, since she had glued them on top of the wallpapers. When I removed the paint on the outside of the house, all strips of window surround came off as well. And nothing could be saved, since these thin strips really are thin! But the lady who has all sizes and thicknesses, had not bothered taking anything like that with her! She was quite rude actually, snapping at me and telling me that she can’t take everything with her. My mistake! I could have decided early on to attend the fair and then I could have pre-ordered things to be collected at the fair. On the other hand, I needed advice on what to get in the first place and how much!

Disappointed, I headed to another shop, where I had seen what I suspected would be perfect 1930s carpets. Only, that shop had not brought any carpets at all. Nor had they brought door handles and door locks, which I had also planned on buying. Same thing with that. I could have pre-ordered and collected. On the other hand, I wanted to see the carpets to make sure the colours were right! At this point I started questioning why I had bothered coming at all. But, I still did end up buying more than I had planned. Unfortunately, not all was needed at this point, in my dollhouse restoration!

This was needed though! For a year now or more, I have looked for the perfect wallpapers for that period in time. But can there be anything worse than ordering wallpaper, paint and fabric over the internet? Most of the time you will be disappointed. The wallpaper I bought from http://www.minimissmattosant.com is PERFECT though and a wallpaper which I have had favourited on Etsy for years. In green and in blue. Unfortunately, the person on Etsy no longer lives in England but in New Zealand, which of course will affect the  shipping and also, she has changed the measurements of the sheets to a more easy size to handle for her, A4 that is. Not so perfect in my house though! But you can imagine how happy I became when I saw this Swedish seller having at least the green one! And in A3 size! Best thing of all: Half price off! I do not know why, but I grabbed the matching fabric, in case I will need it for something. And from another seller, http://www.anitas-grote-kleine-wereld.nl, I bought the matching roses which I thought could be kept in a vase in the bedroom, where I will use this wallpaper. It will be the master bedroom, belonging to ROSE. How perfect is this?!

http://www.minaturehuset.dk was the lady who had not brought any building supplies and the few times I walked by her stall, there was not any real interest in it. But two stalls beside her, stood http://www.poppenhuis.com from the Netherlands and to my joy, THEY had brought plenty of building supplies and were willing to help me with advice. I not only bought skirting for the floor but also a really nice kind for the ceiling, all the wood needed for around the windows on the outside and the one piece for one inside window, which had an unfortunate accident. In a way, I am now all set. I only need one more thing and that is wallpaper for Lily’s bedroom. And of course, I have to decide whether to put a panel in the kitchen or not. It would look SO nice but then it would be way more difficult to furnish, since the furniture could not stand flush with the wall. I love paneling though! Deep sigh!

One place I avoided last year, was a stall where the owners were very grumpy: http://www.de-pronkkamer.nl. They were also being overly suspicious of people, assuming that we were all there to steal. I am glad that not all stall owners are like that. I even heard one Dutch woman say that she loves coming with her merchandise to Farum because there are no security cameras and people are honest. Well, this couple do not trust anyone and will stand behind you and breathe down your neck, making sure you do not steal anything. But I decided to shop from them all the same, this year. Not to prove how honest I am but to make “Gubby” happy. I looked at the dog pillows last year, but was turned off by the owners, this year I decided to bring a smile to my son’s face by buying some things for the dollhouse that HE would appreciate: So, I splurged on the Bulldog pillow, since it is his favourite dog, on the little mouse and trap, which was fun and unusual, and finally the cross stitch kit, which was on sale and had a nice message for my WWII family.

I also decided to do something about knitting. Last year I stood and admired all the beautiful yarn shades at http://www.wolwereldje.nl. The owner only spoke German then so I gave up trying to explain that I do not have any pattern to make anything. This year it seemed like he had learned how to speak a little bit of English, since he tried to make me buy ten yarn balls and get one free. I settled for two but still could not get across to him that I do not have a pattern and where can I find one? I want to knit soldiers’

socks which was what most women sat and did during the war. But I also would like to make a cardigan for one of the women. To hang on a washing line or in a room somewhere. In an episode of “Foyle’s War”, driver Sam Stewart had a lovely coloured cardigan on, so I bought the same kind of green. Now where on earth do I find patterns for these projects?

So far so good. Not totally unnecessary items to buy, or? The following, I am perhaps not too proud of having bought:

I am truly sorry about the quality of the photo, but for once we have a spring sun shining! From http://www.miniaturehuset.dk I did end up buying the cheap little picture, which in all likelihood was made in China. But the lady looks so pretty and could post as Rose’s and Lily’s mother! The little iodine and poison bottles were bought from http://www.dukkehusbutikken.dk which was supposed to have had the carpets and door handles. They did have some fun hospital things and I bought some things especially, since I want traces of Rose’s military husband in the house. Not that she has tried to poison him! I was thinking rat poison perhaps, which everyone had at home. And Iodine, for a husband who has been home recovering from perhaps a wound at Dunkirk? Or a RAF/RN combat situation? Haven’t decided which force he belongs to since I am not planning on buying him as a doll for the house. But he will be present in many ways, which you can also see above in the already knitted socks from http://www.kunkelhandmade.dk and the typewriter from ateljelillahjartat.blogspot.se. I have no idea what his pre-war occupation was, but since I have been toying with the idea of a profession needing a typewriter and then standing in front of one at a fair… well I had to buy it!

I must comment on the two-table-stall of that latter place. Absolutely gorgeous! Flowers of all kinds. Pricey or should I say, out of my league as all the Swedish sellers’ items, but very detailed and pretty. Made  by the doll Ture! I have not found his story yet on the internet, but the owner’s friend told me that I must look it up and read it. Ture is a cute old man doll and he was present in the hot-house they had on one of the tables. They pretend that everything in the stall was made by Ture or his wife. Can’t remember her name though. She was sitting in a rocking chair, knitting. I was just happy to find the typewriter since the one I have in my watch list on eBay, is too expensive and the shipping even worse. Now I can remove that one from the list!

The little toy car was dirt cheap and in metal, so I bought it for the attic boy’s room, which needs toys! I think I bought it from Danish http://www.d-r-n.com. But I am not 100% sure.

I have left the best bits till last though. At five stalls, I spent a lot of time talking to the owners. Or the owner’s husband, as was, in one case. I of course could not ignore Jane Harrop’s (www.janeharrop.co.uk) stall with all her gorgeous wartime kits. She was not present when I went to look, but I got to talk to her husband for a LONG time. Him telling me how much they have travelled lately and about all the metal pieces he has in his body. Not so much dollhouse chat in other words. But it was nice to talk to him, even though it bothers me that he voted Brexit last year. To me and all other Swedes, Brexit voters stand for utmost xenophobia. Including the rejection of tourists! I ended up buying the lovely Art Deco bookend kit from him. Totally unnecessary item at this point yes, but I am curious to try it out since it should not require pre-owning paints!

An even more lovely stall, or on the same level perhaps, was http://www.iriginals.nl / http://www.inhetpoppenhuis.nl. I fell in love with everything! The house kits! The interiors! The furniture and how the owner had painted them. But I felt that I could not afford everything that I wanted, so I ended up buying the cutest item of them all: An egg-cupboard! It was absolutely lovely. Now, eggs were rationed so I have only bought a few in the past, BUT those will have to go in to this adorable cupboard, when I have put it together. I must say this, if you want to buy kits and well-made sturdy ones at that, this is the place to go. The thickness of the wood makes them well worth the money. I hate when you see wood furniture or kits that are so fragile that they can not take any kind of “abuse”, without breaking. You must be able to handle things without them breaking.

The final kit, was bought from US seller http://www.moeminiatures.com. Since I love playing Chinese chess and learned how to play it from the master himself, my father, I just had to get that little kit. And of course talk about Washington state, my husband’s favourite state of all. Typically my hypothyroid brain fog had to strike, so I could not remember a single place where he has lived nor where his dad lived right before he died. Just an empty black hole in my brain! So annoying and embarrassing!

Before it was time to leave and them all closing shop, I walked up to the big hall and re-visited http://www.stellaquepassa.nl since I had decided to get a little pewter dollhouse from phoenix model developments. But when I got up there, I noticed a little old-fashioned toaster instead! One like I actually grew up with, and naturally I had to buy that one instead and also four little tin mugs

that I will paint in the traditional cream with green rims, because I have seen those mugs in many WWII photos! I was totally excited about those purchases because I always am, when I have bought pewter and things from Warwick/Phoenix… I just love their things the best. She brought me over to the owner of http://www.artofmini.com to discuss painting. I love Art of Mini but it is not the kind of items I can use for my time period of house. But everyone else is mad about the kits and buy lots! Now the stall was empty, since the fair was almost over, but she showed me some of the paints she uses for her displays and told me to go in to the game shop in Lund and demand that they help me. She uses Citadel paints and she totally dislikes Humbrol, which are the paints that Phoenix themselves tell you to use. Even though they are clumsier to use for details and according to her, take forever to dry. I will contemplate Citadel, but since I have already bought a couple of colours in Humbrol, I must try them first.

I must say that I am very impressed with the Dutch sellers! Last year I basically avoided them all, but this year, they were the ones who really came through for me at least and had the most interesting items! And some, like the two last stalls mentioned, had owners who were very, very friendly! That does a lot to your shopping experience and your contentment with the items you have purchased! All in all, a good fair, in other words! And “Jane” behaved on the way home! A miracle!

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Where is my left ovary?

No, it is not a joke! My left ovary really has gone missing! And I would like to know where it has disappeared to. Of course I have my suspicions as I told my daughter yesterday, when she was sitting in Basingstoke, ready to soon fly home. She claimed it must be MAGIC but I think it is more sinister than that…

Five years ago, I was diagnosed with Hypothyroid. In other words, my body has basically slowed down to a standstill. Nothing works the way it should. I was told that I must have been living with Hypothyroid and Hashimoto’s for years, but that did not really mean anything to me. What was more important, was to get that all vital medicine to feel alright, again. For the first time in over 20 years. I was put on Levaxin like the rest of Sweden’s 440 000 Hypothyroid sufferers, and waited for the feeling better part. I waited and waited and waited… And I am still waiting. Going from a size 34 in trousers to size 38. Not being able to wear wedding ring or engagement ring. Body full of fluid, not being able to lose weight when I eat practically nothing.

What is it like when your Levaxin does not work even though your blood work is just fine? Well, like I said above, you can’t lose weight, you are swollen, you lose hair, your skin goes superdry, your nails become superthin. You get brain fog, not remembering things you knew two seconds ago. You have anemia. Muscle pain. Problems with membranes. The list just goes on and on.

I can tell you what my life is like. I wake up every morning and can not breathe. So I use nose spray. Three times a day, since years back. On the bottle it says you must not use it for more than ten days! I wake up with a throbbing head ache, so I take aspirin. What that is doing to my stomach and my intestines, is something I do not dare to think about. And my body does not want to get out of bed. Because I am TIRED. My feet are swollen, my hands are swollen and I go in to the shower which makes me swell even more. After taking the children to school, I drive home and go to bed again. To sleep. Heaven forbid that anyone phones me, since I must sleep, to be able to cope during the afternoon, with three autistic sons. At 11:55 my alarm goes off to say that I must wake up and drive and fetch the youngest son. The afternoon is spent with them, in the living room, because I am too tired to go to a playground or anything else which is fun for them. Words go missing in the middle of a conversation, when I do talk to people at school, so I avoid human contact as much as possible, since it is embarrassing, to sound like one who has Alzheimer’s.

Christmas 2015 I went and saw a new doctor, which had been brought in to just get rid of the long queue, at the health clinic. All she wanted to talk about was the Roma beggars and how she had forced her man’s son to spend 14 days a month, in care, because she could not cope with his autism, and she thought I should do the same with my sons. Nothing came out of that appointment. Then I was handed over to the horrible Chinese doctor, they had permanently employed. They raved about him, but I was on a collision course with him, from moment one. In China the patients must be quiet and not have an opion. So after our phone call, I had created an enemy. Because he could not even take the time to meet me. He said my only problem was anemia. And for that, he had written a prescription of fluid iron. I refused to get it when the chemists told me that it would stain my teeth really bad. I tried to take iron pills instead, but as everyone with Hypothyroid knows, you already suffer from constipation, so the iron pills will only give you hell.

Two years later, I was so sick and tired of having symptoms like congested ear for three-six weeks, not being able to eat anything like everybody else does and of being so horribly tired. So I changed health clinic to one in town instead. But the doctor I was recommended there, was not available for ordinary patients, so I had to receive one whom they could spare. I went there and what was the result? She told me the following:

1. My weight gain must be caused by age.

2. My hair loss must be genetic even though noone in my family has suffered this.

3. My heavy menstruations must be a muscle knot in my uterus.

4. My fatigue is due to anemia which must be caused by the menstruations.

5. Brain fog, dry skin and bad nails must be caused by stress

6. Congested nose must be polyps in my nose.

7. My ear problems must be wax.

8. With three autistic children I should have been in therapy for the past ten years.

9. Perhaps I am just afraid of growing old?

She sent me to a dietician, whom has no idea what to suggest that I should eat, but I must eat more calories or I will die. The doctor pumped iron in to my veins, to get a quick result, but I am more tired than before! She said that she was going to prescribe something for my nose congestion, but when I went to the chemist, she had not. Nor had she written prescription for my migraine medicine NOR my Levaxin. And she sent me to a gynecologist.

In February, I walked in to the Women’s clinic. Nervous and scared and the waiting room was filled to the brink. All of them acute cases, but noone was called in. A nurse came out after 30 minutes and told them to go home. But this woman working on a laptop beside me, raised her voice and said “No way! I was here for five hours yesterday and then you told me to come back at 08:00 and I would get in at once. Now it is 10:30 and I am still sitting here and I am not moving. Is it better in Malmö?”. She was told no, and another woman said she had been there the day before as well, and had been told to come at 8:00. None of the women were budging. I was called in since I had an appointment. But I did not get called in at the appointed time!!! Swedish health care 2017!

In the room, I had to meet with a medical student, who asked me all sorts of humiliating questions. Nice to sit there and have to say “No, I am not on birth control. My husband has not touched me for three years. Among other things, he blames me for his sons’ autism!”. When she had asked her two sheets of questions, she went and fetched her teacher so I could repeat everything one more time. And then it was time for the dreaded CHAIR or should I say gurney with foot rests.

The student was going to put in that horrible metal instrument, but was not particularly light on her hand. It hurt! And then she and her teacher had to check things together. They were supposed to take a pap smear, while they were at it, and for the first time, THAT hurt REALLY bad. And then they discussed something awful they were seeing in there. My cervix was all scarred badly. At once, my mind travelled six years back. The loss of my little Serena. And the botch job of the surgeon! They could not understand why I looked like that and what was I supposed to say? Sorry I am shocking you down there! I am here, up here ladies, and you are scaring me! Upsetting me!

Then the metal tool came out and the vaginal exam started which almost had me screaming, since they pushed on my stomach as well and my stomach is horribly tender after three C-sections! First the student had to grope around and then the teacher to make sure what the student felt, was something she could also feel. Finally, the ultrasound stick was put up in to me and two things came out of that pain: My left ovary was missing somehow and they could not see my uterus well enough.

The Italian doctor/teacher from Bari. told me that if I had a muscle knot sitting in the uterus lining, then putting in an IUD would not take away the bleedings and she would have to perform a hysterectomy. I walked away severely depressed, knowing that now I was going to be sent to a specialist. I was told that this person would take a long needle and put it through my stomach and push in contrast fluid, so it could see where my muscle knot was sitting. Because the Bari doctor, was sure I had one.

Yesterday, I headed scared to the hospital again. My husband had nothing to say to me the first time I went, nor did he ask what the outcome was. Yesterday, he did not even know where I was going, even though it has been on the family white board for a week and the children having asked about it in his presence. Nor could he understand why I would be scared of going to the women’s clinic. He just does not care whether I live or die. Nice, is it not?

So, on trembling legs I headed to the ultrasound department and all these feelings flushed over me. I saw the doors to delivery, I saw the doors to the maternity ward and I just wanted to run. I did not want to be there. All the happy moments when I have held a lovely, soft little newborn baby in my arms, are all gone. All I see now is my big tummy, the words that my baby is dead, giving birth to her with Nurse “Ratched” helping out. And being rolled to surgery twice in 16 days, for scraping.

But I had to go up to the third floor, after paying 300 :-, and I had to sit there with all the happy big tummied mothers. And I had to go in there, to the German doctor, and once again have a student present. This time a muslim student (with hijab) who luckily did not go near my private parts. Medical students are to be avoided! Since the doctor was teaching and pointing out everything, the examination took a while. This time it was just the ultrasound stick going up my vagina. And it was painful like you would not believe it. I wanted to whine, but I doubt a German would have appreciated it. So I bit my tongue!

What were they doing this time? Pushing down on my belly, which hurts for above reasons, and pushing around that stick all over, searching for ovary and knots. There are NO KNOTS! But scarring inside the uterus, from among other things, the C-sections. So my doctor is going to have to come up with another reason for not letting me see an endocrinologist and receiving Liothyronine to treat my T3! But she could not find my left ovary and asked me if I had had any surgery to remove organs? In other words, had I had the ovary removed? I said no, but driving to the shopping mall afterwards, I could not help but going six years back in time.

Going to the midwife, happily, to listen to my baby’s heart and do blood tests. Her strange face when she could not find a heart beat anymore. Me driving home in record speed and tears running down my cheeks, trying to find the phone number to the women’s clinic. Crying on the phone and getting an appointment. The doctor looking at a baby on the ultrasound, whose heart was no longer beating, who just lay there still in my womb, like a big piece of lump. The pills they forced me to take and then the wait. Two days  later, showing up at the hospital to give birth to my baby, even though no contractions had started. And noone paying attention to that I was sitting there on a sofa, waiting for someone, anyone to help me.

In the storage room they put me, I was faced with nurse “Ratched”, who told me to knock it off and stop feeling silly about all this. She gave me more  pills, but the baby did not want to leave my body. So more pills, but up the vagina this time and then more pills orally. Finally the contractions starting and the pain so awful she had to give me morphine. And then, sitting on the toilet, having to deliver the baby in to a plastic dish, that was rushed out of the room. Nurse “Ratched” just telling me to be glad that I had seven children. I was not happy. I was crying and wanted to rip my hair out. I was not grateful for anything and just wanted to die. But things were not over. A German young doctor came in and tried to pull the placenta out, but only got pieces. So I was told I would have to have surgery. And Nurse “Ratched” came back and informed me that the baby was abnormal, so what was I fussing about.

That night, I was scraped and when I woke up from the anaesthesia, I was shaking the entire bed from being cold. I was reacting to the blood they were pumping in to me and I was vomiting. Could things get worse? Yes, they could. My husband kissing me on my forehead, when he saw me in the morning! Like I was some sort of dog. The final kiss! Could have done without it really, because it really was the final blow to our marriage. They asked us, if we wanted to see our baby girl, and I almost died when I heard it was a girl. Had she lived, I was going to have named her India Temperance Marguerite, but now, I decided Serena Rose because she looked so serene when I held her. I held her little cold hand in mine, which had been in prayer position in the dish, I touched her little cold face and I knew that she would have been a beautiful little girl, had she been allowed to live.

There was no skin covering her tummy, so I suspected that this was why she had died. But then I found out, at the autopsy weeks later, that there was nothing wrong with her at all. (Except my hypothyroid of course, which had killed her!) She had died and when a baby is in utero, the breaking down of the body goes quicker. That is why her tummy looked the way it did! And Nurse “Rached” had the gall to say what she did! She should have known this, but she just had to be cruel. I was sent home with my sorrow. A week later I was back with a high fever and very ill. The German doctor had done a sloppy job of the scraping and had left pieces in the uterus, so now I had a full-blown infection. There seemed to be no end to my afflictions. Scared, I layed in the ward for four days, before they had the time to deal with me.

Once again, I was rolled in to surgery, but this time the doctor was not on my side at all. This Swedish female doctor wanted to put in an IUD, while she was in there, because I was not going to have any more children. Her decision. I said no, that I wanted my eighth child! And she told me that seven children were more than enough. I was put under and when I woke up, I knew full well that she had done something to my body, to make sure I would never get pregnant again. I did not know what, but I suspected that she had caused damage on purpose. I just felt it like you feel other things that are real.

Once again, they tried to give me blood and once again, they had to stop because my reaction was too severe. I was so freezing cold and shaking the metal bed so bad,  it could be heard outside in the corridor. Did we try to have another baby after this? I was adamant that a little girl was missing in our family. I bought ovulation tests for thousands and forced my husband  to have sex when the test showed that I was fertile. I did manage to get pregnant two years later, but it only lasted for ten weeks and then I miscarried. The Levaxin was not working, there was no way I could carry a baby anymore. Especially thanks to all the scarring I have, which is something I got proof of yesterday and in February. And I guess it is remarkable that I got pregnant at all, in 2013, if one ovary also is missing. I guess I will never know, but my suspicions are that the doctor damaged it out of spite and then removed it so noone would know? Not recording it in the surgical report, like the first surgeon not writing one up at all, which is required. The team in the theatre must have known, but the doctor decides right? And a hospital does not want to be charged with misconduct!

I can live without an ovary. I am too old to get pregnant anyway and it is impossible to do so when you are living in a completely celibate marriage. But I would have liked an official apology for the hell I was put through in 2011 when I lost my baby Serena. I should not have lost her at all. They should have checked my hormone levels at the midwives, like they do today. And I should have been met with compassion and professionalism at the hospital, when I arrived there as a grieving mother. It does not matter how many children you have already. What matters is how you feel about the pregnancy and the expected baby. They saw that I was grieving and they should have made life easier for me. I will never get over the trauma and today I know what sort of internal damage they did to me, as well as taking a punch at my psyche. And where is my ovary?

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Nordic Supernatural Beings

It is interesting how the publication of one book, sent ripples across Swedish society. Less than a year ago, the little museum at the Charlotte Weibull centre,— in the village of Åkarp, picked up on it and made an entire exhibition based on the book. How did I come to be there on the opening day? Long story!

Charlotte Weibull is now deceased, but she was THE authority on folk dresses in Sweden. I am not sure about the history behind the house in Åkarp, but the first time I stepped across the threshold of her shop, was as a young girl. Then it was situated in Malmö. But at some point she grew out of her shop there and moved to the village of Åkarp, where my mother grew up. I would say that I was born a historian. History has always fascinated me in all its forms. And stepping in to the shop, where the old folk dresses were re-created, was like taking a step back in time. The time, when people in the country-side wore those dresses in their daily work and those dresses being a sign of where you came from.

In the old days, female farm hands were paid not just in money, but also in homespun wool and flax. Everyone wore these dresses and passed them down as heirlooms, since a lot of work went in to making them. When I grew up, I got used to seeing my grandparents in their folk dresses, since they belonged to a folk dance team. And it was my mum’s dream to make one for herself, from the county she was born in. But, they are expensive to make. Not only do you need to sign up for an expensive evening class, you need to take that class for about two years to complete the entire outfit. On top of that, you have to add the fabric, which is expensive as well, not being ordinary fabric, but hard to find. Charlotte Weibull has been THE place to get the correct fabric, ribbons etc. for Swedish folk dresses, for decades. At her prices!

Last year, in June, something awful happened in my life! We had to go to the house, where I grew up and empty it for sale. My sister had come from Australia to help out. Right! Or should I say, grab everything of value? She behaved in an abominable way, and I still have not recovered from the shock. I never even got a post written about it, because how can one put in to words, how hurt one feels? Not only did she go to the house, over a week before me, in order to pick out the best bits, she also checked up with auction houses, as to what was worth to keep. Stashed the best bits in what used to be her closet and forbade us to look in there. And then, when we went through things, she would just say “I am taking this!” and doing just that. She wanted everything with sentimental value and everything worth something. Modern, new acquisitions, was left for me to do what I pleased with. My oldest daughter reacted and asked why I did not put up a fight, why I let myself get stepped on like that. I did it, because we can’t take anything with us when we die! And I thought her behaviour so appalling, that I was not going to stoop that low!

In the middle of this, I thought it was so strange that I did not run in to my mother’s folk dress. So I said “Where could she have hidden that?”. I got worried, because my grandmother donated hers and my grandfather’s, to the Charlotte Weibull museum, after he died. And Weibull sold them for a profit! So where could my mother’s be? The one she made in record time. She did not have the patience to take a course for two years. So she contacted the teacher and paid for private lessons, after buying all the fabric and materials from Weibull. In 6 months time, she had it finished, so she and my dad’s sister could go to Midsummer’s Eve dances, dressed in their folk dresses. And now, it was missing.

Actually, it was not. My sister just turned to me and said that our mother gave it to her! I got cold inside and wanted to puke! That  folk dress cost thousands to make! But my sister claimed it only cost 2000 :- ($223/£178/€210) to buy one. I went in on an auction site to see and sure enough, the starting bid for ONE folk dress was indeed 2000:-. Today I saw the starting bid for one like my mum’s being 14 000 ($ 1,560/£1,244/€1,465). But I do not care! Because 1. Our mother paid several thousands in tuition fee. 2. Several thousands in fabric and other materials. 3. She made it herself. 4. I have lived in this province for 25 years, so if anyone is entitled to wear it, I am the one. My sister has never lived anywhere close to this province and has lived in Australia for 25 years. Exactly when is she going to wear that dress? She just had to have it, since it was valuable. She finally agreed to let me have my dad’s mother’s hand embroidered apron, from when she worked as a waitress. But the head-piece was missing. And it was little consolation! I would much rather have had the folk dress.

When we left Trollhättan behind us, being chased off by my sister (she ordered a charity shop to come and fetch the beds we were sleeping in, so we would have nowhere to sleep), I decided to go to Charlotte Weibull’s and see exactly how much the fabric for the dress cost. After T., “Kitty” and I, had been to see the resource school, where he subsequently started in August, we headed to Åkarp. “Kitty” was so upset about having to leave his old school, even though that school should be forced to close down for mental abuse of its non-Catholic students and not following the school law. I decided that the museum at the Weibull “gård” might cheer him up. That day, was the opening day for a new exhibition which meant free entrance, free cookies and free elderberry “saft”. My boy will never say no to cookies.

And he loved the exhibition, which was all about the supernatural beings that our ancestors “lived with”. Well, they were of course not there for real. But people believed in them all the same. And the fear of them was real alright. Because as we learned at University, in my Ethnology course, the world was a scary place for these people, which had to be explained somehow. So they explained things with these beings. They prevented people from going places and doing things, which could be dangerous. And of course, if accidents happened, one blamed these beings.

Coming in to the exhibition, one was asked to take one thing of protection, with one:

hymn book with cross on it, garlic, salt, steel to make a fire with or a bag with the magic herbs cumin, wormwood and yarrow.

The exhibition was not a fantastic one, which one would find at a large museum in London, but all the same, they had tried their best!

Lets meet the giants:

Believed to have lived here before the humans arrived in the Nordic countries. Since they did not like humans, their habitat was in the North. People of old, said that giant stones scattered all over the countryside, were thrown there by the giants. They hated the sound of church bells but were bad at aiming and missed the churches, to make the sound stop.

Of course the natural explanation behind the stones laying about in odd places, is that the ice age brought them there.

What made me sad, was arriving to this exhibition and as the first thing, I had to stare at the church that my sister took. My grandmother had a wood church just like the one pictured and every year, she put cotton around it and placed little gnomes and angels on the “snow”. On their way to church on Christmas Day. After many years, my grandfather decided to make her a more grand church. A big one that he worked on in the boiler room, away from her vision. He surprised her on Christmas Eve one year, and she was overwhelmed. My sister could not take that large church to Australia without spending a fortune in shipping, so she said she would take this smaller one.

To be honest, I would have loved this little one, since it is small, since my village has a church just like it and the church that Åkarp belongs to, looks just like it! For me, it meant a lot! To see the wooden church like that, in the exhibition, was just getting more salt in the wounds! I tried not to think about it, since to her children, it will mean absolutely nothing. They will put it in a dumpster or use it for the open fire, since they do not know a word of Swedish nor any of our culture! Sweden is just a foreign place were their mother happened to be born.

But onwards in the exhibition we went:
To make children and grown ups alike, stay away from water, one talked of “Näcken” or in this province “Bäckahästen”. Scary beings indeed. Näcken, was the explanation for all drownings. He lured people in to the water with his violin and water lilies meant that he was close by. He usually played in the evenings and it is believed by ethnologists, that the invention of Näcken was to keep people from going out at night. Makes sense, since in the dark, without light, you could fall in to a river or get seriously hurt falling over something. All these creatures explained the world to people and kept them safe!

Unfortunately, people were envious of each other and if you were a talented violin player, you were accused of having been taught by Näcken. You were not supposed to be too good at something nor should you entice people to sinful dancing.

Bäckahästen or river horse, did not play the violin, but he would lure children to sit up on his back and then he would run in to the water with them. A way to explain a child’s drowning.

If you wanted to have a bathe, you had to put a knife in the ground by the water, to tie Näcken!

Probably everyone has heard of trolls. Especially if one has watched Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings. But in Sweden people really believe in them. That they stole and that they kidnapped humans. Everyone was instructed to not accept troll food, if abducted, since then they would get stuck with the trolls forever. So the belief was real alright.

Unfortunately, the belief in trolls did not just explain the eerie atmosphere in a forest, or the disappearance of foods, but also explained why some children were not developing normally or were too smart for their own good. If one’s child fell in such a category, people assumed that the trolls had exchanged the child for one of their troll babies, after birth. It was important to put steel in a newborn’s cradle or a hymnbook and also have the child christened as fast as possible. All Swedish babies were christened within three days of birth, so the mother could never attend, since she was considered unclean for six weeks after birth.

In the North, you would have found the little people, living and working under ground, called Vittror. I guess, they were mostly wearing folk dress.

But here in the South, my people would have believed in Vättar (lower picture). A sort of gnome, dressed in grey or black, living under people’s farms, as big as rats. You had to be careful to not make them angry. Pouring scolding hot water on the ground or peeing behind the house, would do so and anything could happen after that. Someone getting sick, the farm burning or you finding strange-looking sticks on your property. Since they could turn themselves in to mice, rats, toads and hedgehogs, you had to treat those animals well. I would say, that everything with this belief made sense in a world looking for explanations and not having google available. One should think about where one throws out hot water and goes to the toilet. And nature sure can behave strangely.

One of the more dangerous parts of the old farm society was envy. The most important thing for a farm, was having milk. From milk you would get butter, cheese and cream. Without milk, the family might starve and how could it be explained that one farm had plenty of milk while another one did not? The wife residing on the plentiful farm must be a witch who through black magic had conjured up the milk hare. Not really looking like a hare at all, but a nasty looking little thing with bells. She sent him out to milk the neighbours’ cows at night, by sucking the milk from them and then vomiting it up, in a trough held by the “witch”.

As horrible as this idea was and perhaps lethal in the 1600s, when accusations hurled wildly and could lead to prosecution and death penalty, there was another side to this envy and luck idea. Making butter  was very difficult. Conditions had to be perfect, and even so, sometimes the woman of the house failed to make the milk in to butter. Butter was the farmer’s gold. Rarely was it kept on the farm, but it was sold for money or traded in the nearest town. So it was very important to have “butter luck”. If one did not have butter luck, then someone must have stolen it! And who was accused of being such a thief? Who did not fit in to the very patriarchal society, the very organised society where noone was allowed to be different?

The farm society was always on the look out for what was called “whores”. A whore, was a woman who had had a child out-of-wedlock. Accusations were common in theses societies and so were the court cases for slander. One believed in a certain limit of luck. Often there was not enough luck to go around to everyone, and then people were accused of having stolen luck. And in the case of the unwed mother, well she was always accused of stealing butter luck. And putting rickets on children. A D-vitamin deficiency, which would have been cured had children spent more time outside. But of course outside, was dangerous, since it was populated by all the beings above! I think they call it Catch 22?

Anomaly has never been accepted in Swedish society. The person transporting the dead, was an outcast. So was the executioner. They always had to sit in the back of the church. So did the unwed mother. According to the law, she was forgiven of her sin, after paying a fine. But farm society never forgave and the church made sure to instill the eternal punishment. Instead of wearing her hair out, like the unwed girls, or covered with a white headscarf, like the honourable married women, she had to wear a red one, so she could be seen from far away and be avoided. I suspect that she often was accused of conjuring up a milk hare!

Not only oaks were considered magical, but also the ash tree and in my province, Askefroa or the lady of the ash, lived in those trees. She was the spirit of the ash tree and one avoided going close to them after sun came down. Ash trees were not supposed to be chopped down, nor was one allowed to pee on the trees, since that would make one seriously ill. A sacrifice had to be made on the Wednesday after “Fettisdagen” (first day one is supposed to eat a semla), called Ash Wednesday to this day. Before dawn, the village elders had to pour water on the roots and say “I sacrifice to you, so you will do us no harm”. Creepy to think this went on in Christian times. But old habits die hard and Yggdrasil from heathen times, was an ash. The bark was considered to stop blood flow and the leaves to heal snake bites, so perhaps not so strange they did not give up the superstition of their ancestors?

Today some explain strange lights, with that it must have been a UFO. But in the old days, people believed it was the lyktgubbe or lantern man. He was a dead person not finding peace. All land was marked out with sticks, to show who owned what. These lyktgubbar were dead men who had moved the sticks, when alive, to get land they were not entitled to.

He was considered dangerous since he could lure you out in to marshes and glades. But sometimes he would help the lost home. If so, you had to pay him or he would never let you get home, but walk around in circles. But to stop him leading you astray, you could always turn your shirt inside out.

Another nasty little man, was the kvarngubbe or mill man. He was like the little gnomes on the farms, keeping everything running at the mill. But he also made sure that the miller did not have the mill working in evenings and at night. Nor did he want it working during the weekends. Then he would stop the millstone from working.

Many men, came back to the farms describing having met the most wondrous woman in the forest. More beautiful than anything. But she was no woman, they had met the skogsrå, with a hollow back. Her domain was the forest and I guess the stories kept people on their toes, understanding to treat nature in a nice manner but also to take heed.

The hunter wanted her on his side when hunting , so he sacrificed a coin to her and then was allowed to shoot what he wanted. If it still did not work, then it was a magical animal under her protection. If she was in a good mood, she would help lost children to find their way home, but if she was in a bad mood wanting to show her power, she would get you lost and the only way to break the spell was turning your jacket inside out. But having been spellbound by her always meant wanting to get back to the forest, wanting to be alone and having few words for fellow humans. Your soul had stayed with her. Some became seriously ill, mad or died under suspicious circumstances.

Finally, the exhibition showed fairies. Tradition says that they were small, white glowing women with wings and sometimes they showed themselves as a fog, or small frogs and other insects. They liked to put diseases on people, especially small children, so you were supposed to put steel in the cradle. Like scissors. At dawn and dusk they danced an entrancing dance and humans could be enticed to join, only to find out that they had lost time, sometimes years when waking up. Or they went ill or mad.

Not only has the book become a bestseller, but the colouring society can also “delight”in the author’s first drafts for the drawings. They have been published as a colouring book. But while the exhibition at Charlotte Weibull’s was cute, the pictures are far from cute. They are rather horrifying, so I have not been tempted to buy it.

But the reason for this post, was not really to tell the story of the exhibition, but how the schools have jumped on the trend. My youngest son “Gubby” came home one day and really wanted to watch “Tinker Bell”. I thought that it was , since we had not watched those films for a long time. He gets a favourite film and then watches it every day for a couple of weeks, since he is autistic. We were in a Nanny McPhee marathon, so fairies was a surprise. But I put one of them on for him.

The next day he wanted me to see what they had made in class, and finally the penny dropped. The reason why he wanted to watch the fairies in “Tinker Bell”, was because he had not really understood what they were talking about in school. For him a fairy is “Tinker Bell” and her friends, but what they had talked about in class were the old Scandinavian myths found in the book above. They had talked about what people of old believed in and how mean those fairies were. Not quite Cicely Mary Barker’s adorable fairies nor Disney’s. But here was what the children had come up with when they were going to make fairies and their homes:

Class 1’s fairy village. More had misunderstood!

My little “Gubby’s” fairy house in front!

He was very proud, showing his fairy!

And then we have Johan Egerkrans’ version. I know which one I prefer, do you?

Sadly, I could not tell the teacher’s to take the class to Åkarp. A new exhibition has replaced the supernatural one. I am just all amazement that we actually got to go to it, since I have not set my foot at Weibull’s for decades. And the answer to my question about fabrics, which brought me there in the first place, was just as I thought. Horrendous prices, so no way I can afford to make my own folk dress!

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Gorgeous Turned Wood in 1:12 scale

A couple of weeks ago, I received a note from a dear pen pal, who had visited a dollhouse shop quite by chance. It was situated in Canada and she sent me the shop’s card, so that I could be as dazzled as she had been, when entering the physical shop.Unfortunately, the shop does not prioritize their internet shop, like many miniaturists. To most it is a hobby, a side-line to their “real” job. The woman I bought my dollhouse from, works in health care, but in her spare time, she makes the most gorgeous miniature things. She does not have the energy for a third thing though, to put things on her internet site. So, she sells at fairs, and that is it. Her site has not been updated for years.

Since it seemed that the miniatures had stunned my pen pal, I decided to give her a good address for a well sorted internet shop. Not saying that the one she visited is not up to snuff, but to show what amazing things are out there! Nothing like shared joy, right? But which one, would I choose? Many has some real gems. But then, they also have a lot of mass-produced Chinese garbage, which is not that fun to display in your dollhouse. I particularly hate blurry details and sloppy painting. I finally thought of a shop, which is one of my favourites, since the owner sells quality in all price ranges. And she has unusual items, not found in other shops. But most of all, she sells WWII items, and this always puts an extra wide smile on MY face. Cheshire Cat one!

Just to make sure I got the address right for my friend, I went in to the shop. Bad decision for my wallet!!! When I got Ain on the site, I just could not restrain myself from peeking around a little bit. And especially in the news section. Now, I have often looked in this shop just for fun. But many times when I have fallen for something, it has been out of stock. Once I was especially smitten with an item and I wrote to enquire when it would be in stock again. Turned out, that it never would. The owner had bought up all stock, from a lady who was retiring from the miniature making scene.

This time, when I went in, on behalf of my pen pal, to make sure that there was plenty of fun items to look at, I noticed that the owner once again had bought up all stock, from someone retiring. But this time, I was in luck, since all unusual items I found interesting for my WWII dollhouse, were still in stock. Now I stood in for the choice, of buying things now when available or never, since the artist has retired. I decided to go on a shopping spree at http://www.smallwondersminiatures.co.uk and buy the things I felt would make a difference in my Blitz house. Especially when I saw that some of the items I put in my shopping basket, were the last ones in stock. So enjoy looking at my beautiful turned wood items in miniature 1:12 scale:

A stool for my WWII kitchen and also a little storage pot with removable lid

The pot with the lid on.

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Pedestal and flower pot, which I hope I will find a fern plant for.

This will of course go in the WWII Art Deco sitting room, having been handed down to the family from Edwardian times.

An Art Deco vase, also for the sitting room, I think, where I will put some flowers matching the Art Deco wallpaper. In that room the sisters will have left their sock darning tools. One each, since Lily will of course bring her’s back to base after her leave.

Why a screen shot from “Foyle’s War” in this post? Because that series is excellent for studying what is correct for this time period. I look more on the interiors than the actors and pause the program to take screen shots of items. Here I wanted to document the china and dinner ware but also the fact that people bought flowers, even though a war was raging. (Behind the actors shoulders you see some red roses!) So vases were needed and it would not be wrong to put flowers in them.

Two hat stands for sisters Lily and Rose. On Lily’s stand, I will put her WAAF hat. On Rose’s, I hope to be able to afford one of the lovely hats I have favourited on Etsy. The best would be a black and white hat, since that is what the authorities recommended, so you could be seen by a car, in the black out.

Finally, since I had to pay such horrendous shipping, I added a stack of newspapers to be put in the attic, with Rose’s son’s little trolley/cart. He had collected all sorts of items for the war effort, before he was evacuated. Now they will be in the attic, till some of his friends come to collect them for salvage.

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