Anna Hiltunen's Bible.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
All I have of Anna
I never met the lady. She died long before I was born. The little I did know about my grandmother I mostly learn form my Aunt Hilma or other old timers in the area. I heard she was a beautiful woman. A tiny sweet natured thing with jet black hair and eyes. And would bake half a dozen loves of bread a day to feed her family. But going through the old house last fall, I found a trace of who she was, to tie in with the legends I had heard.
Anna was sold as a child to become an indentured servant to a prosperous family in Finland. When the wealthy family decided to immigrate to America, they brought along Anna, then age thirteen, in place of their own daughter who did not want to leave. It took Anna six months aboard a boat with little food to eat before reaching Ellis Island and later settling on the Iron Range of Minnesota. Later she met and married my scroundrel of a Grandfather and became the mother of nine homesteading a section of land in northern Minnesota.
When her rich "adopted" family died, they left Anna their house and land on the Iron Range. Anna, at the time was too poor to pay the inheritance taxes on the estate and it auctioned off. Had my grandparents sold their own homestead to pay the taxes they would of owned the richest mine in the state. Anna was never meant for material wealth.
All I found in the seldom used leather bound Bible was her obituary. A letter in Finish from her motherland. And a strange glass picture of a woman and a child. And a dried lady slipper my sister and I picked and hid in the Bible years ago when we were younger than my boys now. The obituary gave me her maiden name. The town she originated from in the obituary does not appear on any map. I cannot understand the letter. I hope the blurry image is Anna and her mother.
I keep the yellowed newspaper clipping here by my computer and look at it every day. I decided this spring the boys and my Sis and I will be going on a reindeer safari across the Arctic circle this summer. Being dark featured my guess is that Anna was of the gypsy indiginous Sami origin. But that too is at this point only a guess. It will only take us twenty five hours in the air, as opposed to six months by boat, plus over land by ox cart time, and our belly's will be full. When we go to sleep at the Palace Linna, I will wonder if she had seen the castle as she sailed away from her home. And you know for sure I will think of her often when we stay in the much more modest Hotel Anna. And eat some bread.
Anna was sold as a child to become an indentured servant to a prosperous family in Finland. When the wealthy family decided to immigrate to America, they brought along Anna, then age thirteen, in place of their own daughter who did not want to leave. It took Anna six months aboard a boat with little food to eat before reaching Ellis Island and later settling on the Iron Range of Minnesota. Later she met and married my scroundrel of a Grandfather and became the mother of nine homesteading a section of land in northern Minnesota.
When her rich "adopted" family died, they left Anna their house and land on the Iron Range. Anna, at the time was too poor to pay the inheritance taxes on the estate and it auctioned off. Had my grandparents sold their own homestead to pay the taxes they would of owned the richest mine in the state. Anna was never meant for material wealth.
All I found in the seldom used leather bound Bible was her obituary. A letter in Finish from her motherland. And a strange glass picture of a woman and a child. And a dried lady slipper my sister and I picked and hid in the Bible years ago when we were younger than my boys now. The obituary gave me her maiden name. The town she originated from in the obituary does not appear on any map. I cannot understand the letter. I hope the blurry image is Anna and her mother.
I keep the yellowed newspaper clipping here by my computer and look at it every day. I decided this spring the boys and my Sis and I will be going on a reindeer safari across the Arctic circle this summer. Being dark featured my guess is that Anna was of the gypsy indiginous Sami origin. But that too is at this point only a guess. It will only take us twenty five hours in the air, as opposed to six months by boat, plus over land by ox cart time, and our belly's will be full. When we go to sleep at the Palace Linna, I will wonder if she had seen the castle as she sailed away from her home. And you know for sure I will think of her often when we stay in the much more modest Hotel Anna. And eat some bread.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Stolkholm Thursday
The syndrome actually begins on Wednesday night at the rehab I were I work. Thursday is the patients departure day and on Wednesday, if their rejuvenate has been successful, they gush etusiasim and gratitude. And they expect a party along with back slapping and cake for all their accomplishment. Some are scared, terrified of life back in the real world and beg to stay for longer. Most of their self centered needy butts I just want to drop kick out the front door as their grand finaly send off.
They are the same people that I have been feeding two meals a day from any where from one week to two months. I am in control of, for the few that do not chain smoke like dragons, their last addiction. Food. I know their peculiar likes and dislikes. But to them they are needs. "I NEED chocolate milk. I am allergic to white milk." Like you could be allergic to dairy that does not contain chocolate. There are the ones who claim to be allergic to red meat, glutton, night shade vegetables and soy, but will eat off the other guests dirty plates when they think no one is watching them. They will refuse to see our dietitian to be put on a meal plan, they do not want yet another choice to be taken away from them, and because they need to feel special. They can not deny themselves one less pleasure. Having me prepare them unusual dishes makes them feel important. Guenthorn, the lady from Sweden, is a vegetarian. I make her a special meat free lunch and dinner every day, that I serve her but know to have a plate set aside for her after I close the kitchen, while the other guests are at lecture so she can sample the entrees that once bled. That way she gets double attention.
The same people are the ones who pretend that I am invisible when I am working within ear shot while they are having their personal conversations. The things I do hear them discuss does make me wish I could disappear when I hear them. "Why would anyone tell my kids I am in treatment? Why would they make me look like the bad guy? I am a good father and I love my kids. The little bastards don't need to hear this bullshit." This was the man who snuck booze along to the boyscout camping overnighter and they found him in his tent suffering from alcohol poisoning covered in his own filth. "Yeah so my parents didn't know I was using so I hired two strippers for the drive back to collage and brought them to my fraternity party and the cops busted me after I kicked the shit outta this dude that owed me sixty grand in gambling debts." This is was from the forty something year old from Ironton, where sixty g's would buy the entire town.
And there are the pornographic stories I wouldn't even type if I was writing the script to a triple x movie. The lying and the addiction go hand and hand. It's part of the same sickness. A weakness I hate so very much. I cannot call it a disease. It is a choice.
I grew up in an alcoholic family. I am the daughter, the grand daughter, former wife, the sister and aunt of addicts. Do not tell me it is a disease. High blood pressure, cancer and diabetes are chronic illnesses that are past down. Addiction is a cowardly excuse. I really have to question why I work where I do.
Maybe it is the Sunday after church phenomena that helps. Sundays are family visiting days. All afternoon you can see the family's strolling around campus, putting their best sober face forward. It is after services, so they all have their pious attitudes and their best clothes on. They so want to believe their loved one, that they are spending what equals a collage tuition for a months cure will work this time. And the patients do no want to disappoint their family's again. Their born again glow causes my to advert my eyes when meeting any of them of the walk way. It would be different if the illuminations source was real. And if I didn't grudingly wish it was I visiting my family here instead.
By Wednesday night however, my guests are like my own family. I have started to feel empathy for a calibere of people I normally won't think twice about. I have Guenthorn's meal ready for her, plus a side dish of ribs and a rib eye in the back warmer. I get hugs and hand shakes from people I would normally never touch. The Stockholm Syndrome is in full swing for me. I worry for them and wish them well. Some of them I will miss.
"Thank you, for all the foods jo? It was all so wunderful. You took such care gud for me."
"You are so welcome Guenthorn. Take care now ok? Hope you have a good flight home."
"Ja, you too. Thank you again so so much."
"You want me to make you a sandwich for your trip?"
I made her a roast beef of white with a peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat on top of it so no one would see she is a carnivorous. I am and always will be an enabler. It is my choice.
They are the same people that I have been feeding two meals a day from any where from one week to two months. I am in control of, for the few that do not chain smoke like dragons, their last addiction. Food. I know their peculiar likes and dislikes. But to them they are needs. "I NEED chocolate milk. I am allergic to white milk." Like you could be allergic to dairy that does not contain chocolate. There are the ones who claim to be allergic to red meat, glutton, night shade vegetables and soy, but will eat off the other guests dirty plates when they think no one is watching them. They will refuse to see our dietitian to be put on a meal plan, they do not want yet another choice to be taken away from them, and because they need to feel special. They can not deny themselves one less pleasure. Having me prepare them unusual dishes makes them feel important. Guenthorn, the lady from Sweden, is a vegetarian. I make her a special meat free lunch and dinner every day, that I serve her but know to have a plate set aside for her after I close the kitchen, while the other guests are at lecture so she can sample the entrees that once bled. That way she gets double attention.
The same people are the ones who pretend that I am invisible when I am working within ear shot while they are having their personal conversations. The things I do hear them discuss does make me wish I could disappear when I hear them. "Why would anyone tell my kids I am in treatment? Why would they make me look like the bad guy? I am a good father and I love my kids. The little bastards don't need to hear this bullshit." This was the man who snuck booze along to the boyscout camping overnighter and they found him in his tent suffering from alcohol poisoning covered in his own filth. "Yeah so my parents didn't know I was using so I hired two strippers for the drive back to collage and brought them to my fraternity party and the cops busted me after I kicked the shit outta this dude that owed me sixty grand in gambling debts." This is was from the forty something year old from Ironton, where sixty g's would buy the entire town.
And there are the pornographic stories I wouldn't even type if I was writing the script to a triple x movie. The lying and the addiction go hand and hand. It's part of the same sickness. A weakness I hate so very much. I cannot call it a disease. It is a choice.
I grew up in an alcoholic family. I am the daughter, the grand daughter, former wife, the sister and aunt of addicts. Do not tell me it is a disease. High blood pressure, cancer and diabetes are chronic illnesses that are past down. Addiction is a cowardly excuse. I really have to question why I work where I do.
Maybe it is the Sunday after church phenomena that helps. Sundays are family visiting days. All afternoon you can see the family's strolling around campus, putting their best sober face forward. It is after services, so they all have their pious attitudes and their best clothes on. They so want to believe their loved one, that they are spending what equals a collage tuition for a months cure will work this time. And the patients do no want to disappoint their family's again. Their born again glow causes my to advert my eyes when meeting any of them of the walk way. It would be different if the illuminations source was real. And if I didn't grudingly wish it was I visiting my family here instead.
By Wednesday night however, my guests are like my own family. I have started to feel empathy for a calibere of people I normally won't think twice about. I have Guenthorn's meal ready for her, plus a side dish of ribs and a rib eye in the back warmer. I get hugs and hand shakes from people I would normally never touch. The Stockholm Syndrome is in full swing for me. I worry for them and wish them well. Some of them I will miss.
"Thank you, for all the foods jo? It was all so wunderful. You took such care gud for me."
"You are so welcome Guenthorn. Take care now ok? Hope you have a good flight home."
"Ja, you too. Thank you again so so much."
"You want me to make you a sandwich for your trip?"
I made her a roast beef of white with a peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat on top of it so no one would see she is a carnivorous. I am and always will be an enabler. It is my choice.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Hard Days Night
I'm on day 397 of my five day work week and I'm tired as an old pig. Pig tired. I do not fall into bed dreaming of my up coming holiday north of the arctic circle, or my impending wedding to the Rock. I don't even dream of an entire day off. My fantasy's are of bathing for pleasure, instead of turning my clothes inside out and hitting myself with some Fabreeze on my way out the door. Of entire meal eaten while sitting down and not yelling, "Kids! Got your instruments in the car-we are late!" Or even what my boys faces look like for that matter. Of reading.
I once a while back was invited into a lovely friends home for a book study with a group of intelligent well read ladies. As our own introductory to the rest of the group, we were asked to introduce ourselves and tell everyone our favorite hobbies. Seams as there is an abundance of gardening crafters out there. I simply said with all honesty, "In my free time, I like to walk around my clean house in my pajamas." I was never invited back. The ladies just couldn't wrap their bookish minds around how seldom I had any free time.
In two days I will have a day off. Which will be wonderful as I have hair to do, baseball, tutor conference, swim lessens, the cooking competition to plan and shop for the catering.
Anyone got a line on free time?
I once a while back was invited into a lovely friends home for a book study with a group of intelligent well read ladies. As our own introductory to the rest of the group, we were asked to introduce ourselves and tell everyone our favorite hobbies. Seams as there is an abundance of gardening crafters out there. I simply said with all honesty, "In my free time, I like to walk around my clean house in my pajamas." I was never invited back. The ladies just couldn't wrap their bookish minds around how seldom I had any free time.
In two days I will have a day off. Which will be wonderful as I have hair to do, baseball, tutor conference, swim lessens, the cooking competition to plan and shop for the catering.
Anyone got a line on free time?
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