Dec 17th Solrum
Today´s Guest blogger: Lotta. Göteborg, Sweden
My grandma was good.
It was good being with her.
At her place we were always served bread cakes with room temperature butter and thick slices of sliceable liver pate.
She made us pancakes. Almost always when we were at her place.
She wouldn’t have any herself, she just stood there, frying, and loading onto our plates.
At her place you would get a plastic bag cut in half as an apron and a lump of clay in your hand.
We made a thousand clay figures with her, at the kitchen table. Channel One was always on the radio. And the sea weather report and the radio theatre, with the gong at the start of the show, were the only programmes on.
There was a smell of clay and cigarette at grandma’s place. And grandma herself wore a smell of talcum, or soap. Something soft, anyway.
I could never go to sleep at grandma’s. Until she had laid down by my side and told me about indians who were to pity. Or the slaves. From Africa.
When we were at her place, I always slept in her bed. She didn’t sleep herself. That’s what I thought.
She was sitting by the kitchen table, whistling, listening to the radio and sculpting while we went to sleep. She was sitting the same way when we woke up. She whistled beautifully!
Grandma had a disease called narcolepsy. We didn’t know. It was a little troublesome the times we went on the tram together, since she always fell asleep.
And our concern was where, and when, to get off.
But, instants before we reached our stop, she’d wake up.
Grandma kept a hundred sculptures made of wood and clay which she’d made in the basement, She had a huge loom with which she weaved free-hand portraits of people.
She wanted to build a boat, she told me once.
Some of the stuff I keep at home my grandma has made. The horse that’s lost its tail, its ears and a hind leg. And Cleopatra, with only half of her head decoration left, her nose and ears not looking so pretty either. Or did she maybe make it that way, on purpose?
I don’t know and I can’t ask her. She died when I was twelve. 27 years ago.
And I think about her, often.
Grandma made the world’s best fudge. That recipe I would like to share with you behind number 17.
Margot’s simple Christmas fudge recipe
3 dl syrup
1,5 dl sugar
1,5 tablespoon butter
2 tablespoons cocoa
Mix everything together in a thick-bottomed pan, let it simmer for about 20-30 minutes while stirring. Try the texture by pouring cold water over a ”test lump” to see if it thickens enough.
Good luck and Merry Christmas!
Lotta / Solrum
Join the discussion and tell us your opinion.
Thank you Lotta for this post, such a sweet memory
And I so love your familyphoto.
I am going to try the fudge.
Åh så fint du beskriver henne, blir alldeles rörd! Vackra minnen och vackra saker!
God jul och kram
Vilket fint minne.
The Cleopatra is supposed to be like that, the original is in the British Museum, I think! My Mum made a copy in art school :)
Vad fint Lotta… :)
yummy I will try it
Vilka härliga minnen. Tack för receptet. Och himla kul att se dig här på Dos. :)