Let me introduce you to my family, as I remember them, of course!
left to right
standing:
• My grandpa Kallman. See his lips? Well, that is the biggest smile you would ever get from him. He was sort of a tough and stern old Swede, those crossed arms say it all. His favorite saying? Tyst meg dig! (Be quiet!) as he pounded his cane on the floor. To be fair, he did have a rather tough life and was quite crippled with arthritis at a young age. To me he didn't seem to care for much...except his snus...chewing tobacco tucked into his lower lip which seemed to constantly dribble from the corner of his mouth.
•My favorite uncle, Uncle Arnold. Always happy and laughing with red hair as bright and curly as mine. My mom's older brother, grandma's favorite, he worried our religious family with his chain smoking and love of a nip now and again. When he gave you one of his big hugs, oddly enough, it made me happy to breathe deeply that faint smell of smoke that clung to his collar.
•Tall fellow in the middle? Uncle Howard. He always seemed as he looks here. A little uncomfortable as he quietly walked around observing, never saying much, just "ummm" now and again. Almost like he was thinking "who are these people and how did I get hooked up with them?". A straight-up dependable guy.
•Uncle Bill. A burly, swaggering Irishman. Loud, fun, vocal, outgoing and straightforward. Exactly what our tightly wound Scandinavian family needed, whether they knew it or not. He would chase me, grab me in a headlock and give my head a knuckle rub. "It's good luck to rub a red head and I need some good luck". I loved him.
•My Grandpa Sevald. Kind, honest, loving and generous. Short and bandy legged...he could tap dance! He adored my grandmother. His right arm no doubt is draped across her back so he could give her a little klappa (pat) now and again.
seated:
•Aunt Ebba. She never married nor left Grandma and Grandpa to have a life of her own. Or any life really in my opinion. She didn't work, I don't think she ever did. She spent her time at the Salvation Army and playing religious hymns on the piano. To me things just didn't seem right about her. She had a big box under her bed where she had many many notebooks where she kept daily diaries. But of what? I never saw her actually DO anything. After she died the box was tossed. I often wonder now... what was in those diaries?
•Aunt Laverne. She was the youngest and the prettiest. Never overweight, her hair always done nicely and makeup on. My favorite of the aunts, she was gentle, kind, dependable and forgiving of everyone. She seemed to always have a look of wide-eyed wonder on her. She saw the positive side of everything.
•My grandma Kallman. She always seemed grey, elderly and crippled to me. Always wincing in pain but she never did complain. Family, close and remote speak well of her but I never really knew her at all. I regret that now.
•My grandma Sevald. I spent loads of time with her. They never lived far away and my mom was ill a lot so I remember my grandmother coming and caring for us quite often. A devout Christian, she lived it. She didn't just pray for you, she worked beside you and for you. She could be feisty, opinionated and strong willed but she was dependable, a rock that could weather any storm. You never worried because whatever happened you knew that grandma would always know what to do. She would "make a plan". All would be well.
•Aunt Eva. I think she was my Dad's favorite. She had the same goofy sense of humor as he. She was a lot of fun. No putting on airs with her. See her bit of a buck tooth grin? I remember when she had to get false teeth she asked them to please make them overlap a little so my friends recognize me!
Up front:
My Dad the birthday boy. He just loved everyone getting together and laughing so I am sure it was his prompting to get a picture of the whole gang.
A few of the cousins have already been born and are pictured here (Karen, Marilyn, Rita and Robert) in 1952 but where am I? At four months, probably napping or beside my Mom who no doubt is the one taking the photo.
Good job Mom! You caught them all, just as I remember them!
“How often do we tell our own life story? How often do we adjust, embellish, make sly cuts? And the longer life goes on, the fewer are those around to challenge our account, to remind us that our life is not our life, merely the story we have told about our life. Told to others, but—mainly—to ourselves.”
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