My father's parents were both Swedish immigrants and met here, settling in Worcester, Massachusetts. Farfar worked at the wire mill and went to night school to learn English, as did Farmor. My favorite trips as a child were at the holidays when we would go to Farmor and Farfar's to visit. Since my father was transferred to the Philadelphia suburbs for work, we would make the trip several times a year. My sister and I always looked forward to it, and since they had had no girls (only my father had his one brother), there would be a doll waiting or a shopping trip to by two matching dresses. Farmor liked my name Marlyse (it is German, and comes from my mother's side), but she always wanted a daughter named Sonja Margaretha, so I when I was about six I insisted she call me that during our visits. That was good for a dollar.
Farfar was a big swede, about 6 foot 4 inches, long arms and broad shoulders. I remember his laugh and feeling so content just to sit on his lap as he told stories. He would tell the same one each time, in fact my sister and I would request it, and each time we would run away laughing.
Farmor was quite the character and finely dressed, wherever she went, even if they did not have much money. She always wore hats and when we would go shopping all the sales ladies knew her. "How are you Mrs. Gradén?" "Who are these lovely girls with you?" and she would answer and chat awhile with them. The funniest thing was when one lady asked her "Are you from Sweden?" Her reply was "Yes..vell how in da verld did you know?" She came out of the shop and told my parents who were waiting nearby that this woman figured out she was from Sweden. My father said, "well Ma, you do have an accent." She said, "I don't have an accent, in Skåne they have an accent!"
She was quite something. I can still remember waking up to the smell of the coffee pot (brewing by 6 am) along with her infamous pannkakor. We were even allowed to have a little coffee with lots of milk in it, somethings we did not get often at home. And as far as discipline goes, my father could never scold us when she was within earshot. "Leave the little girlies alone Harald, they aren't doing anyting!", was said to him more than a few times.
One summer when I was 12, she and Farfar were taking a trip to Sweden for six weeks. Farmor called on the telephone and asked if I would want to go along? I was scared and excited at the same time, I had never been away from home before for that length of time or to a foreign place like that. I grew up with a love of Sweden, but I was a bit afraid. "What if I don't like it, or I get homesick...?" I asked a friend of mine. She replied, "You will love it Marlyse, don't be afraid", so I agreed. However, about two months before our trip Farfar got sick and we had to cancel. That wasn't so bad, I figured there would be another time...but that never came. Farfar died that following New Years Eve at age 76. Farmor had us even if we lived a distance, but also had many friends and her sister nearby to help. As I grew she would hear that I had this boyfriend or that boyfriend and her big question was always the same ..."vell is he Svedish?" to which I would reply "No Farmor, he is Italian, which happened more than once", or "no Farmor he is German." etc. Farmor passed away in her sleep at the ripe old age of 96 and is buried in the Swedish Cemetery in Worcester, Masschusetts next to Farfar. A beautiful marble bench that says Gradén on it is where I visit these days, with my mazariner in hand (her little cake favorite from the Swedish Bakery). There and I sit, enjoy my cake and remember.
PS Farmor,if you are listening,"Yes he is Swedish, and you would love him too!"Guess Farmor knew something I didn't.