Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Snowday



Not now, not here. In Denmark a long time ago; A village called Rungsted where my family stayed while my father was teaching at the university. It was only for a year. I had thought it was forever after, like in fairy tales. It was, for me a fairytale. I was in first grade and at an age when you can pick up languages without a thought. My mother had felt it too much trouble to send me to the English school, located somewhat distantly, so I was popped into the village school. My Danish was sufficient to have friends, go food shopping and do non-technical translations for my father, who claims I wouldn't let him speak Danish in public. I loved my red Danish clogs and I had my own brand new golden (!) bicycle. I ate strange new things like raw egg yolk with sugar (yum!) and sandwiches on black bread with herring and paper thin chocolate. Who would have thought fish and chocolate to be a most excellent combination. I loved the snow and there was a duck pond for skating within walking distance. The house we had was huge, we had taken over the lease from another American family, it was like living in a castle. Part was kept shut off to conserve heat. This was the best part to explore and run through. The road outside dwindled into a forest path that lead to, of all things, a pink manor house with a fountain. Our Christmas tree was lit, not with strings of bulbs, but with actual burning candles. What a delightful hazard.


During the winter I found it exciting to be trundling around in the dark, but the long, cold, darkness was not so kind to my mother, who, at one hysteric historic point, began to throw dishes in the kitchen so she wouldn't have to wash them. My eldest brother went to the University of Louvain in Belgium, he says he nearly froze to death because my parents neglected to send him money for the heating bill. My next eldest brother, who would have been in his last year of High School spent the year in his room, though he says he did a lot of gardening. I never saw him at it. My father still claims the Danes to be the rudest people in the world because they would not speak English when they were around him. Yes, I think I maybe the only one with fond memories of that year away.

9 comments:

bunnygirl said...

Lovely memories. What fun that must've been, to see a new country without the filters we have as adults!

Christina said...

How very lucky you were to experience this.

mum of critters said...

awesome :-)

Crafty Green Poet said...

sounds like you had a great time!

ggbbgg123 said...

IS VERY GOOD
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Becca. said...

My mom thinks the Norwegians are equally rude as well for "pretending" to not understand her Norwegian or English, and their refusal to speak English or at least speak Norwegian slowly. Makes for some good stories :)

Rabbits' Guy said...

Oh my! The good, the bad, the ugly, and then more good! I suppose your family was very courageous to even go there!

Annette F. Tait said...

sounds wonderful - all of it!!
what would life be like without families and amazing memories - so glad you enjoyed it Diana

Happy Christmas to you, Sydney, Tyler and Amelia, love Annette, Arabella and Wesley xxx

Paula said...

You always seem to make the most of any situation, D. I'm sure it was a wonderful experience.