Archive for ‘Writing’

The house

This was the latest he said. Everything was prepared and just shipped to the site on a truck, even the doors and windows. The salesman put up a dental commercial smile. They were actually a bit surprised when he didn’t pull up that toothpaste tube. Instead he pushed the contract forward on the table for them to sign. To make sure they didn’t read to close he offered more coffee. Again with that perfect smile he spent a full week perfecting at the sales training.

The couple looked at each other as to seek confirmation. He had been promoted to manager and with that he earned more money. Now was the time for that dream house on the west coast. Everything was prepared. A piece of land and a permit to build was granted from the county. The only problem was that the road was not able to carry a loaded lorry. They solved that by delivering the parts to the small village across the fjord. Then they simply loaded into rowboats and rowed across to the small beach. It was put there in a perfect order just waiting to be assembled.

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But it was never built. Nobody came to put it together. Days turned into weeks. Then into months and into years. A storm took the tarpaulin to the sea. Now nature had free access. Rain, snow and wind. Somebody did move in, but not humans. The tidy pile of building material became home to insects. Insects that started feast of the trusses and the window frames. Finally ants found a perfect spot for their empire. A tree grew next to the pile, higher and higher until a storm tilted it over the pile. Sounds of shattered glas was drowned by the howling wind.

Slowly nature wins and soon only the roofing tiles and the shattered glas remains. Remains of somebody’s dream. Why was it not built? What happened with the couple in front of the smiling salesman? There is a true story and I’m sure my father-law knows it. I would like you to use your imagination and fill in the missing piece in the story. Please share your thoughts and ideas in the comment section.

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2020-12-03 4 13

Foundation

He held his arm around his shoulder. It was strong and heavy over his small shoulders. It was an unusual closeness he showed him. As he stood there he realized that it was the closest to a hug he could remember. A cool breeze came from the southwest on this late summers day. The smell of sweat as they stood there looking. He looked up at his fathers face. He was pleased, proud even. How many times had he not felt the pain from his open hand hitting him in the neck. Accused of showing pride. A mortal sin for his strictly religious father.

You know son, his father said while pulling him even closer. This will stand a hundred years from now. Long after both you and me are gone. Our great grand children will live here. This foundation is as solid as the Lord. As if that statement got him to realize what sin he was committing, he let go of his embrace by pushing his son hard forward. The boy could barely keep the balance when he landed two meters away. Now let us start with the floor frame, he said in a harsh voice.

Little did he know that day that the foundation would stand almost completely intact hundred fifty years later. Even if it was unprotected by a house for over a hundred years.

*The foundation and food cellar. Photo by Ulle Haddock ©*

Weakened by the fever he tried to pray. Pray for forgiveness for his and his fathers pride that day. That blessed and cursed day when the foundation was completed and again when the house was done. Together with his father they built a house stronger and higher than the neighbors. Now God was punishing them by taking his entire family in this flu. This terrible flu they said came from Spain.

Trough foggy eyes he saw them take away his wife and two daughters to be buried on that island. He hoped that the priest had consecrated the ground so they could go to heaven. He was convinced to go the other direction even if he tried to convince the Lord to accept him in his prayers. After all he had worked hard from dusk to dawn. He had never missed a Church day and spent the evenings in prayer together with his family.

A few days later the two poor peasants tossed him over the other bodies in the boat. They rowed with tired strokes the short distance to the island. He was dropped with the others in the large grave. While some other poor boys covered the bodies with the sandy soil they drank their Scandinavian vodka and smoked their pipes. Where is the priest, one of them asked with a faint smile. The other frowned and looked at him with misstrust. He has bolted himself inside the chapel. Some say has gone mad. They can hear him scream inside. You’ll see, soon we will toss him in the same pit as these.

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This story is inspired by the foundation you see in the pictures. We don’t really know what happened to the family but the house construction made of wood was dimanteled and moved fifty kilometer inland for almost hundred years ago. The Churches in this area had a very strict interpretation of the bible in this period around 1900. This trend in the Church was called Schartauanism after the priest Henric Schartau.

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2020-11-27 0 9

The Pilot

The storm settled during the night. The pale morning light revealed a thin layer of ice in the barrel. Woolen socks, warm jacket, he decided. Breakfast was coffee and salted dry herring.

His wife’s belly pushing the blanket up like a hill. She would nag at him for letting her sleep. Mother would taunt her. But he could not find in his heart to wake her.

Behind the squeaking door he could hear her call his name. Across the yard his mother served breakfast. He shivered, put his cap on and walked up the steep path to the little pilot house.

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I really challenged myself with a hundred word story in my second language, English. Hope it makes sense. The picture shows the small pilot house on top of a rock that inspired the story. Taken with the zoom lens I borrowed from my father-in-law. Like, subscribe and please comment.

2020-11-21 0 10

Haze

You walk around in a haze. Trying hard not to bump into other people. Watch your step! Forget it, your feet are gone in a fog that makes the area around a chain smoker look clear. Should you by any change see through the mist, your sight will be blocked by something blue or white sticking out over your nose.

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You try to breathe. Like a steam train pulling to many wagons loaded with iron ore. Or high up in the mountains carrying your skis in deep snow for that offpist. You try, oh well not so difficult in the fog, to avoid the young peoples pitiful eyes. They look at you with “are you having a heart attack old man” written in the question mark over their heads.

Don’t try to speak. The stubble on your cheeks will pull it down. You try to adjust it. Only to get an angry look from the old lady in front of you. “No you should not touch it” she says with a high-pitched voice that makes the damp on your glasses freeze. At least the fog went away. Now everything looks much more psychedelic. What was it really in that coffee?

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You stumble of the train. As soon as you are alone you rip it of with a sigh of relief. Only to see your expensive glasses go to the ground. The spectacle sidepiece stuck in the lace of the FACE MASK! You put on your spare spectacles on only to see a lady in the next car get out and easily put the mask on. She wants to look good so she uses a car window as a mirror to adjust it. Four pair of eyes from inside looks up with a very surprised expressions.

No I will not take a stand for or against Face Masks but tomorrow I will get contact lenses. If I can find my way home! Hope you enjoyed. You know the drill, like, comment and subscribe.

2020-11-19 0 13

Meet my family

It is only the closest family, she said. My grandparents and my parents. It will only take a few minutes. Then we can go on our dinner date. It is my grandfathers birthday.

She held his hand and looked up at him with her blue eyes. He drowned in them again, like the first time they met. He could not argue against those blue eyes. Her dimples made her lovely face even lovelier as she smiled up at him.

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Even though he felt it to be too soon to meet her parents on the third date he went along with butterflies in his stomach. Holding her soft hand as they walked across the village. He felt like walking on clouds. A connection he never felt before.

Her grandparents lived in a retirement home at the center of the village. The butterflies in his stomach turned into full grown seagulls as they walked along the corridor to her grandparents room. Was it a bit noisy behind the door?

They knocked and the door slammed open. He immediately wanted to turn on his heels and run. The small room was filled, no crowded, with people. Was it even possible to find room for them there? With a nervous smile he entered the room with a firm grip in her hand. An image of sardines, popped up in his head for some reason!

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She pulled him across the room, eyes starring, to the side of the bed where her grandfather lay. He was suffering from a lung disease and could hardly get out of bed anymore. Even if he was very sick his eyes was full of life and humor. The grandfather took his hand and held it tight. He said with an wink of the eye and a smile that he would have his hands full with the granddaughter.

Now introductions to the rest of the family started. Three uncles and two aunts with spouses. Then there was all the cousins! Even if he felt heartily welcomed he still have not learned all the cousins names after twenty years of marriage.

Hope you like this Saturday story. You know what to do then. click here for more.

2020-11-14 0 10

Stonewall

He took of his cap and dried the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The linnen cap was already soaking from sweat. He gazed towards the sun. Sun burning his eyes.

He called out to his son to bring him some water. His son hurried to bring him the water bottle that he handed over with his head bowed. With a trembling voice he told his father that the water was almost out. His father bent down. Held him hard around the neck and with his dark growling voice asked him; “Well why don’t run to the well and get some more”!

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He took the bottle and writhed out of his fathers grip. He could feel the slap in the air behind him. With a long harang of swearword the father resumed his struggle with a large stone in the dry soil. As he placed it with the others in the stonewall he looked at it. This would help keeping the neighbors sheep in their place. But the poor soil in the field he was clearing would not feed many mouths.

Was it this stonewall? Today hidden in the forest.

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2020-11-08 0 11

Mulle Meck

The continued story of a black car with a soul.

One of my first blog posts was about a car me and my son bought for him to learn mechanics. Read it here. Now I had to sell it as my son is no longer with us. It was with mixed feelings. But I’m convinced that the VW Golf has a soul, or a ghost. So Mulle Meck provided me with some more stories.

Bilprovning

In Sweden all vehicles needs a safety check up every year by a government controlled station, “Bilprovningen”. I was convinced there would be some things to fix before it was OK for another year. I sat down in the car that we named “Mulle Meck” and turned the key. Nothing! Not a click or cough, nothing. The skilled mechanic, me, popped the hood and looked down in the engine room. Trying to look knowledgeable. Waste, it was only me there. Maybe the car would be scared and start!

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So without doing something else I tried to start again. Yes, you guess was correct, nothing. The German engineers back in 2000 had in their mind that a petrol car need electric power to start. Hidden like a treasure under a plastic cover I found the battery. Do you know how high you jump touching even a flat car battery? About a meter is my estimate, landing firmly on your posterior.

Engine kittens

My father-law had a battery charger and with some instructions from him I managed to charge the battery. Trying to avoid setting a new battery jump record I disconnected the cables. As I turned the key there was lights on the dashboard and after some very nice words, in german, to the car I turned to start. Ignition, Mulle Meck was spinning like a kitten! I could almost go on YouTube! Mjau!

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As I expected Mulle Meck did not pass the safety check. The threshold boxes was infested with corrosion, Covid-19 for cars. Parking brake was too weak and there was an oil leakage. My wallet screamed in fear, seeing all those kronor fly away to a greedy garage owner. It was time for me and Mulle to part by selling it of. I was crying tears and Mulle Meck dripped oil on the parking.

Lockdown

In Göteborg, a two hour drive away there is a company buying old cars after a checking it first. So I arranged a time last Friday. So the day before I started up the car. It started only after multiple attempts. To charge the battery I let it run while I put in the spare wheels in the back to go with sale. As I shut the booth I heard how the doors locking with a loud click!

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Car running and the only key was in the car! I tested all four doors without any luck. Last change was the booth. With trembling hands I reached for the handle and pulled. I think I heard Mulle Meck laughing when it had left it unlocked. Luckily I am very agile still even if I passed fifty years. Hoping nobody could see me I wiggled my way in and managed to open the back door. From there the front door was easily opened. Saved!

Last laugh on me

On the way to the dealer Mulle Meck was running like a Formula One car. Don’t worry, I did not drive that fast. A mechanic from Barcelona started to check the car by taking a short test drive. Came back and placed it in the garage with the engine running. Open the hood and got out of the car to check for vibrations in the engine room. He closed the door and the creepy sound of looking doors was heard! Mind you this Halloween season! The mechanic looked at me and asked if there was another key!

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You can now hear the music from Alfred Hitchcocks horror movies. You know when they abuse the violins. By now I was convinced that there would be no sale while crawling in from the booth. I’m not kidding, the car was laughing! There was a sale but as you can imagine I didn’t get much paid. Enough for a treat at Göteborgs best sausage place. Gourmet Korv in Nordstan shopping mall.

Hope you liked the story of Mulle Meck. Find more from me here. Like, subscribe and comment.

2020-11-02 2 8

Stroke part II

This is the second part of the story of a stroke. The first part you can find here. I considered to call this part Strike but that could give misleading associations?!

More corridors with bright artificial light. The hospital architects should be forced to ride in a bed along the corridors. They might come up with a better idea for lighting that does not poke patients eyes. Some decorations in the ceilings perhaps? He was laying there with the early signs of boredom and anxiety of what was happening in his brain. Also this time he lost count of the lights as the orderly wide-charged the corners.

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Noise

Arriving in the ward he had to tell the story again to yet another nurse. The emphatic nurse heard his loud complaining stomach and offered something to eat. After the stomach has settled down he was taken in to a room. Now is past midnight but the room was not silent. Had he arrived in the engine room? Maybe a sawmill? No it was his new roommates snoring! Call the Work Safety Officer, earplugs needed! He was tired so he managed to doze off. Only to be woken up by the night shift nurses coming to draw some blood and measure the blood pressure. This goes on every two hours until the morning. They let people know it is not a hotel.

At six o’clock new nurses comes in and start drawing blood. He asked the nurse if the blood bank at the hospital was running low? The nurse only answered by showing her fangs (was there blood?). Almost like hearing a silent alarm the nurses was simultaneously ready with him and his roommates and went out the door with a wooshing sound. As the door closed it fell down from the ceiling. Boredom! He lay there with his arm folds looking like a teenagers face from all the needles. It is Amazing how much sound the human body from four older men can produce without anybody saying anything. Again he was thinking about having some art in the ceilings. There should be a hash tagg #hospitalceilingart!

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The Doom of Boring

The door opens. Strange that the doors closes with a silent woosh but opens with a bang! A nurse comes in and attaches him to a portable heart monitor. Gluing on the sensors at his chest. Later when they came of he wished he had gone over his chest with the razor. At least the nurse tells him he can wander around in the corridors of the ward. He soon realized that the monitor was there to make sure he did not leave the ward. Too far away from the ward the monitor set of an alarm. Now it came at him from three angles, the ceiling and each end of the corridor. Boredoom!

The only thing breaking the looooooong hours was the ever occurring blood drawing and pressure measuring. He never thought that breakfast, lunch and dinner would be such highlights of a day. Even when he was taken away by an orderly to a new test with a machine going “ping” or “pong”. He was amazed by how far into his body the probes could reach. As a Star Trek fan he found his dream come true when entering the loudest machine in the hospital. That is apart from his roommates. The Magnetic Resonance Imaging Machine (IMR)! At least he was offered earmuffs for the sound. The result was that the ears was the only part of his body not going blue from cold. He was pleased to hear they found something in his head! Not so rude at this machine!

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Not so pleased when the doctor later told him they could confirm that he suffered a smal, but yet a stroke. The words hit him like punch right in the face. Would he now turn into a walking zombie like the other patients in the ward? They reassured him that he would probably be fully recovered but they needed some more test to figure out why he had this stroke. He was convinced the nurses only wanted him to stay since he was the youngest inmate, no sorry, patient in the ward.

Needles and pins

He had to spend a few more days at the hospital to find out how many differents sizes of needles there is before he was sent home. Finally this is over he thought. Just before he was leaving the doctor gave him a long list of medicines he needed to eat for the rest of his life. So this was the reason for all the probing, to make sure the pills would fit the throat. As he went of in the Taxi did he not see the doctor carrying a golf bag with a medical company logo?

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Hope you like this story and if you do you know the drill. Like, subscribe and please comment. Check out more from me here.

2020-11-01 0 5

Invisible

He was grunting to himself as he poked through the waste basket. Without looking up he moved to the next. Now mumbling louder he started to poke this one also. He looked up triumphant as he found a returnable bottle. A half eaten hamburger was also collected after he taken a bite.

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People walked passed him as if he was not there. Amazingly nobody bumped into him even if the railroad station mall was really crowded at rush hour. Even the mobile phone zombies managed to avoid him. It was like there was some kind of advanced radar system keeping the two worlds apart.

I wondered why this man ended up here. Dirty and worn down clothes. Hair that was a long time away from Head & Shoulders. I recalled the commercial with that hockey player telling the team. “First shampoo, then balsam”. I didn’t think he would care if he only was allowed a shower.

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I was disturbed by the waitress that came with my coffee. When I looked out for the man again he was gone. Suddenly I saw him between two security guards leading him out from the station mall. Out in the cold. Strange that the only ones saw him was the security guards. What was the risk? Probably that he dampen the shopping spirit by reminding us what can happen if we stop fitting in.

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2020-10-29 1 12

Förändringar

This is the Swedish translation of Changes. Detta är den svenska versionen av Changes.

Idag ägnade jag lite tid för att hitta lite bakgrundsfakta till en novell jag skriver på. En historisk berättelse som utspelar sig i området jag lever i, Sannäsfjorden. Jag har berört detta i några av mina tidigare bloggar så kolla gärna dem. Området häromkring är rikt på historia så det finns mycket att ösa ur.

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Innan du slutar läsa! Jag kommer inte bombardera dig med kungar och årtal. I skolan var detta det värsta med historielektionerna. Alla kungar och årtal du skulle komma ihåg, djup suck! Nej, det är bra mycket intressantare att förstå hur vanligt folk hade det. När jag går runt i området finns många spår. Husgrunder, stenbroar och stengärdesgårdar. Jag tänker på de män och kvinnor som levde här. Var livet alltid hårt eller var de lyckliga?

Efter att den senaste istiden tog slut för ungefär 10000 år sedan reste sig landet sakta ur havet när trycket från isen försvann. Till det uppstigande landet kom folk i båtar och blev kvar eftersom fisket var bra här. De många Hällristningarna i Tanumshede vittnar om att folk bott här under lång tid.

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Det som slår mig är att det genom seklerna varit många förändringar. Perioder med rikedom och perioder med fattigdom. För vanligt folk har livet vanligen varit hårt. Sedan vikingatiden har det varit perioder där fisket varit väldigt lätt. Dessa perioder kallas sillperioder. Sillen gick till i enorma mängder under tjugo till trettio år för att plötsligt försvinna under åttio till hundra år. Under de goda åren var inflyttningen stor och de små samhällena växte fort.

När sillperioderna tog slut var folket tvingade att hitta andra sätt att försörja sig och sina familjer på. Många flyttade inåt landet och bröt ny jordbruksmark eller försökte fiska andra sorters fisk. Sillen fångades i stora nät liknande trålar som kallades Vad (jag kan inte hitta en engelsk översättning, skriv gärna en kommentar om ni har en). Fiskarna gjorde detta i små roddbåtar. Från dessa vader östes fisken upp i båtar eller ibland direkt upp på stranden. Fisken saltades eller kokades till fiskolja som kallas Tran. (Också här kämpade jag med engelsk översättning).

Under den sista sillperioden mot slutet av 1800 talet började det bli efterfrågan på den speciella rödaktiga granitstenen från området. I hela Bohuslän finns lämningar från stenindustrin och stenbrotten. Många stora städer ute i världen har denna sten i byggnader och gatsten. Sten av lite sämre kvalitet användes vid väg- och kanalbyggen. Det lilla samhället Sannäs var som störst runt 1900 med cirka 350 själar, som kyrkböckerna uttrycker det.

Idag bor det endast 57 personer året runt men under några sommarveckor är de nästan 300. Många av husen som byggdes under expansionen under 1800 talet står kvar men är idag sommarhus. Av de många stenindustrierna återstår endast ett.

Det är livets kretslopp. Naturen söker efter de bästa möjligheterna för utveckling. Drar sedan vidare när förutsättningarna ändras. Som i historien kämpar människor för att finna en utkomst men med modern kommunikation har det blivit enklare. Många pendlar till större städer både i Sverige och Norge. Allt eftersom infrastrukturen för IT blir bättre ökar möjligheterna att arbeta på distans. Under denna pandemin har det blivit ljus i många sommarhus igen.

Som källor för denna text har jag använt boken “Sannäs – Ett Bohuslänskt Kustsamhälle” och mina kära svärföräldrar samt Wikipedia.

Gilla, prenumerera, dela och kommentera (ställ frågor). Läs mer från mig här.

2020-08-06 0 6

Bilprovning

Engine kittens

Lockdown

Last laugh on me

Noise

The Doom of Boring

Needles and pins

UlleHaddock

The thinkings of a sheep man

Archive for ‘Writing’

The house

Foundation

The Pilot

Haze

Meet my family

Stonewall

Mulle Meck

Stroke part II

Invisible

Förändringar