I know just how blessed I am. It's not the time away, or the weeks off work, or the downtime reading relaxation. It's not the wind or the water or the rocks or the little fishing villages with their red houses all in a row. It's not the things we've seen or the things we've done. It's not even the sunshine. Okay. It IS the sunshine, at least part of it is. But mostly it's these:











Photos of Karin, Anders & Simone by John Slaughter; Photos of Martin and John by Anders Ek

Cracking Me Up: Where the wild things aren't

A Sparkly Firecrackly Roundup of Birthday Wishes to totte, jax_in_sweden, shazzerlive, idahoswede, kejn, ms_hackman, and Mia!

Since I was in college, I've always liked canoeing. We went on several canoe trips with all our floormates from Akers Hall, and even after graduation, dispersal and my move to Chicago, we continued to organize weekend-long canoeing trips in Michigan for several years. We've only gone a few times since moving to Sweden...the local river is a fairly easy one and we've only rediscovered the canoeing bug now that the kids are old enough to paddle as well, and we also have access to the canoes that belong to the local Scout troop, which we're members of. On Friday, we drove north, nearly to the Norwegian border and rented canoes at the top of Noth Bullare Lake (at least I think that's which one it was). The day was windy and there were whitecaps on the water, but paddling south with the wind was fine and we rather imprudently didn't think about the slog it would be to come north again, against it. The sun was sparkling on the water and the mica in the cliffsides.

Lake canoeing is very different from river canoeing, and I have to say I think it's much less exciting. The view changes so slowly that it's as if it doesn't change at all; on a river there's always something new around each bend. One thing which struck us was the absence of people. There were very few homes at all on the water, and for hours we saw no one at all. Once in a while, we'd find a little cove with a motorboat pulled up, but mostly it was just the gurgle of water under the canoe tip, our own voices, the wind, and birds. We pulled up at one rocky cove that just looked pretty, and which we thought was an island (it turned out not to be) and had a drink and a snack and the kids and Simone went swimming. Then we paddled further and finally found a small sandy beach to have lunch on. The sand was swarming with ants, but they didn't bother us, and after eating, we all lazed around for awhile in the sunshine until the kids, who were wading in the shallows, discovered the satisfying splashes and shrieks a strategically plopped rock behind someone could create. Commence rock-splashing and stone-skipping competitions!

Beating back up the lake later, against the wind in very rough waves. wasn't so fun, but we all just put our backs into it and pushed on. Back at the campground where we'd hired the canoes, we rested on the grass under the birch trees while Simone jumped off cliffs and Karin swam out to meet her. A lovely day on a lovely lake with the voices of wind & water singing in the breeze.


Shores of Norra Bullaresjön (photo: Anders Ek)


Pulled up for a break (photo: Anders Ek)


Simone & kids swimming (photo: John Slaughter)


Simone & Martin (photo: Anders Ek)


Simone jumping off the cliff (photo: John Slaughter)

Busy every day but in a leisurely way with time to sit in the sunshine and read books and walk along the piers of the little fishing towns. On Thursday, we drove north to Tanumshede to see the bronze age rock etchings that dot the area. Apparently there are more than 10,000 boat drawings alone, scattered around Sweden. They are colored red in order to be seen better by tourists, as in their natural state, they're scarcely noticeable and many have eroded badly due to pollution and weather. The world heritage site at Tanum included a replica bronze age settlement farm complete with a place of sacrifice (bog where offerings were made) and various hunting traps like the fox trap that John caught the kids in.


Bronze Age rock carvings at Tanum (photo: Anders Ek)


Thief warning! (photo: John Slaughter)


Caught in a bronze age fox trap! (photo: John Slaughter)

On the way home from Tanum, we stopped and ate in Fjällbacka, a pretty town on the water. We ate at Bryggan at Ingmar Bergman's Square where the food was delicious, and then had huge 2-scoop ice-cream cones before walking up by the cliffside to explore KungsKlyft, a gorge in the rock that has split it in two. The temperature in the gorge was at least 10 degrees cooler than outside, and the view from the top of the rock (Vetteberget) was spectacular.


Daring to walk under the boulders of Kungsklyft (photo: Anders Ek)


View from Vetteberget over Fjällbacka (photo: John Slaughter)

We crammed in a lot of activities during our week up north. Even though I could have easily turned into a slug, something about the early early sunshine got me going much faster than I would normally have liked managed. Simone was up in the early yawning every day, doing pilates on the cliffs and she and Anders took turns biking into town for fresh bread and breakfast rolls. We did most of the things on our list of things to do in the area, though we never did actually make it to Smögen.


Uri the Amur Tiger at Nordens Ark (photo: John Slaughter)


Lysekil Pier before going to Havets Hus Aquarium (photo: John Slaughter)

On Wednesday, Martin and I stayed home and read for an extra hour before packing up all the picnic and swimming stuff and driving over to Ramsvik Nature Preserve to meet the rest of the gang who had left by bike. They had a great time zooming all over the area...it's a very rocky flat area with gradually sloping stone down to the sea. There was at least one herd of cattle wandering freely nearby, and lots of waterfowl. Martin found a ton of dried and scattered crab carapaces and claws, which was all that was left of unlucky crustaceans dropped from flight to crack on the stones by hungry seagulls. We ate a picnic lunch sitting by Sotens Canal, waving at the boaters going by, and saw a meter-long black snok (Grass Snake). After lunch and some more maniac mountain-biking, we sat in the sun by the water, while Simone and the kids jumped in and swam around a bit. We have a bazillion photos of John, Simone, Anders and Karin biking around the rocks, though I only posted 2 here :)


Karin speeding through a puddle at Ramsvik (photo: Anders Ek)


Anders with Simone in the background (photo: John Slaughter)

After the swim, we decided to hike south to Nöt Island and then Trygg Island, which features a burial cairn for King Tryggve high up on a mountain. After climbing and riding up one mountain, where Simone crashed and banged up her knee, we reached the top only to discover that the cairn was actually on the NEXT mountain, but we still had to climb DOWN, cross a tidal mudflat and then go up again, whereupon we 3 girls bailed. The boys made the trek all the way up to the cairn, while we took a leisurely descent back down to level ground.


John & Martin paying their respects to King Tryggve (photo: Anders Ek)

In one little town we picked up a mini fishing rod with a clothespin clip on it for crabbing. Karin and Martin had a blast crabbing from the piers, using the ubiquitous mussel shells for bait. In the early evenings, the crabs were swarming the shallows: little green ones, medium-sized blue ones and big pinky-red ones. Each one that was fished up was deposited in a bucket and when we had 4 or 6 of them, we found a low rock with easy access to the water and turned the bucket over for crab races: first one to the water wins! The crabs were so fast that Anders could only get very blurry shots of them just as they zoomed into the sea with a splash!


Martin & Karin crabbing from the pier (photo: John Slaughter)


Arriba! Arriba! (photo: Anders Ek)

The light is incredible along the western coast of Sweden in the summer. It's one of the sunniest spots in the country, logging more sunlight hours by far than the rest of us. This past week, right after midsummer, the sun never actually set, just dipping down behind the horizon around 1 a.m. and apparently scooching quickly around to the east to rise a short hour or so later. Frankly, sunset photos never do the real thing justice. We drove up from Skåne in rain, which slowed and ceased as we arrived on Ödby Island. There were puddles in every rocky depression on the surrounding hills and cliffs and a washed-clean feeling in the air. All week the sky was a uniform robin's egg blue: a perfect blue bowl overhead with a fresh sea wind to keep us cool.


Rainbow over Sotens Fiskarby (photo: Anders Ek)


Heading home to Hunnebostrand (photo: Anders Ek)


Sunlower lighting: Martin, Karin, John & Simone (photo: Anders Ek)


Sunlower in progress (it never actually set!) (photo: Anders Ek)


Karin & Simone on the bridge to Hunnebostrand (photo: John Slaughter)

Family, friends, a midsummer pole dressed with 7 kinds of wildflowers, dancing like tail-less, ear-less frogs (kouack kouack!), toads under ferns, swan babies, 6 kinds of herring, strawberries, singstar silliness, a hotdog-begging kitty, reading on the trampoline or alternately, bouncing on it, downpours with hail, giant fluff-clouds, sunshine! a walk in the woods, hotdogs on the grill, 2 puppies to pat, schnaps songs, packing, games, laughter! Happy midsummer everyone!


The kids, with John & Simone's help, were justifiably proud of their midsummer pole! (photo: John Slaughter)


Sillybutts! (photo: John Slaughter)



Karin, Liz, Martin & Simone (photo: John Slaughter)



The Ek's with Uncle Johnnie (photo: Simone Slaughter)

OMG! I bet you thought I was never going to get my diploma! Where the hell was I? Aaaah, yes, moving from Belgium to Germany! Back when we moved to Germany, there were US military bases everywhere, all over the freaking country. Berlin still had its wall, after all. There were so many other DoDDS (Department of Defense Dependents Schools) that our sports teams didn't even have to play against any German schools, ever. My dad was stationed at Ramstein AFB, but we lived in Landstuhl which was where the military hospital and Army post were, and we went to school in Vogelweh at Kaiserslautern American High School, otherwise known as K-Town. The K-Town military community is the largest one outside the U.S. and we were surrounded by Americans everywhere we turned. It was really different from living on the economy, off-base, in Belgium.

The military housing that we lived in on Landstuhl hill was one of three 12-story high-rise buildings. They were "segregated" —our building had officers, the other 2 had enlisted families, but we all went to the same schools and hung out together. We lived on the top floor in a big 4-bedroom apartment with a balcony. I don't think I mentioned that for the entire 6 years we lived in Europe, we had no television, so we had a great conversation opener for making friends—everyone felt sorry for us and invited us over to watch the 1 English-speaking (military) channel that showed Dallas and Saturday Night Live and other bad programming from the States. I made friends with the oldest daughter (and the youngest) of a family on the 8th floor and their apartment quickly became my second home, and her parents my second set. I'm still in touch with a great many of my high school friends and was thrilled to see them at our 20-year reunion.

	AAAA! The horror continues. I promise, it gets better. Gods only know what happened to me on THAT school photo day—I look like something the cat dragged in. A velvet vest, a lace butterfly brooch and holy 80s, a cravat! A cravat, of all things. HEE! I liked my school, I had friends in every clique: cheerleaders, popular kids, stoners, nerds, whatever. I sang in the school choir AND in an inter-denominational church choir on base. I was such a good girl and was very into religion at this point: Bible youth groups, the works. Funny, when I look back on it now, because my views of organized religion are so colored by this period of my life and even though I have ultimately moved on, I had a GREAT time these 3 years.
	By 11th grade I had had my fill of short hair forever. I went shoulder-length and never went back. I still obviously had curling iron issues that wouldn't resolve themselves for another couple of years, but I was starting to settle into my self. The stickpin cracks me up! Anyone else have a stickpin? I probably still have it somewhere. I don't think I was dating anyone at this point, though I had dated a long-haired rocker boy for 7 months at some point during 10th or 11th grade. I was still pretty much a goody-two-shoes though. I was already planning to major in art for university and was concentrating on art and English classes. My favorite classes were Humanities, Social Studies and Art. I learned how to do calligraphy and had started writing poetry. And was still a reading fiend, of course.
	Finally, senior year! It's funny—I think this one harks back to my 1st & 2nd grade pics somehow. I was a total social butterfly, busy all the time. In addition to all the choir concerts, tours and competitions, I was the manager for the dance drill team, had a singing bit part in our school production of South Pacific and in the yearbook Senior Hall of Fame, I was voted Most Talkative AND Class Clown. (!) In the spring I finally hooked up with a boy I had liked for a long time and we dated intensely until graduation, double-dating to Prom with one of my best friends. My dad tried to find another posting so that our family could stay in Europe but alas, bases were closing and military families were getting shipped home. We moved back to the States in the summer of '82, and I went on to college at Michigan State.

WHEW! I can't believe I made it through all 12 years of school photos. I can't believe YOU did, either! Especially after 8th, 9th and 10th grade! Hope you enjoyed the ride through these memories, bad hair days, Little House comparisons and all. Har!

Previously: Lower Elementary, Upper Elementary, Junior High

The summer before my 7th grade year, we moved overseas to Belgium. I didn't even know where Belgium was on a map beforehand. My dad was stationed at a tiny little Air Force base named Kleine Brogel (strangely, I can't find a translation for Brogel online...any of my Dutch LJ friends able to help?). We didn't live in base housing, instead my parents chose to rent a house on the outskirts of a little farm village called Overpelt which was a few miles away, but we spent nearly a month of the summer before we found the house living in a family-run hotel with our 2 cats who had come over with us from the States. Because the base was so small there was only an elementary school available and so I was to be bussed an hour over the border to an International school in Brunssum, Holland The Netherlands. The school was primarily military kids but there were some Dutch nationals and lots of other diplomatic corps and military brats from other countries including an entire section of Brits. I was to make some lasting friendships during our 3 years here and also take some incredibly scary school photos.

	I'm not sure if I didn't know it was school photo day and that's why I showed up with a faded too-small t-shirt and uncombed hair but this look only deteriorates further the next year so not much else to say about it. When I first met Becky, who would become my oldest, dearest friend, it was in Mr Davis' English class and I thought she was a childish weirdo and she thought I was a snob. But one day I saw that she was drawing a picture at her desk and our mutual interest in art and drawing brought us together in friendship. We called ourselves the Dreadful Duo and played silly games and wrote each other silly notes and drew reams and reams of pictures and comics, many of which I still have. At home in Belgium, our house was huge, and I had my own room for the first time in my life. My brother and sister made friends with the Flemish kids in the neighborhood and my brother even learned Flemish. I loved Belgium and The Netherlands with their trees in rows and canals and Napoleon lemon balls and Tintin comic books.
	Not so cute now, am I? *shudder* The best part is that shirt I'm wearing? It's a PYJAMA TOP. Don't ask me why I was wearing it to school, I have no idea. Becky and I had increased our circle to include several other friends. We were a gang, a club, and we even gave ourselves a name. The initials of the club were LLG but if I told you what it stood for, I'd have to kill you; it was A SECRET. I sang in the school choir but couldn't participate in any other activities outside of school hours since we lived so far away, and was quite envious of my friends who were all members of the amateur theater group. To compensate, my friends and I frequently had sleepover parties at each other's houses that lasted all weekend. Becky had pet chickens and I went with her and her Baptist family to church on Sunday mornings: I had to borrow a skirt to wear.
	The year was 1978 and disco was king and feathering your hair a la Farrah Fawcett was all the rage, except I didn't have a clue, obviously, how to get the right effect and Barky, even in the beginning stages, didn't help matters much. The necklace I'm wearing is a big red apple with a hole and a little worm sticking out. This year, after 2 years of riding the bus an hour each way every day, I was old enough to stay all week in the Student Dormitory just blocks from the school, which was a very eye-opening experience. Being a dormie was fun, though, a special privilege, and it helped a lot when it came time for college later. Halfway through the year, Becky moved back to the States and I felt a bit like a lost soul for the second half of 9th grade. I was glad when it was time to move: to Germany!

Previously: Lower Elementary, Upper Elementary. Next Up: High School

I know the picture of Melissa Then is black-and-white which wasn't the best choice for comparison, perhaps, but it was actually the best one I could find, and the one where you can really see the resemblance. She was 9 years old when she first starred in Little House on the Prairie and I was 9 years old in the picture below. She was born the same year as I was, only 3 months before me. We had the same color hair, freckles, brown eyes, and big front teeth:

Melissa Then

Lizardek Then

( Then it all went horribly, horribly wrong )

Aaah, the middle school years. These were the years where my memories started to stick and become smoother, with fewer gaps in between. There is a lot that is still a blur, however. I only remember the family across the street, for example, and none of the other kids in my classes or neighborhood. I tried long hair, and though you don't see it in these pictures, I had glasses, though I hated them and took them off at every opportunity, and at one point had to wear a patch to help correct my amblyopia. My mom would draw eyes on it with one of those pencils that is red on one end and blue on the other to try and make me feel better.

	4th grade was my favorite year of elementary school. My teacher's name was Mrs Amendum and she encouraged my reading to the point of insanity. I remember nothing of the entire school year because all I did was read. The year was 1973 and we were living in Omaha, Nebraska. We had a German Shepherd named Heidi and a Siamese cat named Tish and my sister had a black & white rabbit named Thumper. Sadly, both the dog and the rabbit died at some point before we moved from Nebraska. I set up endlessly elaborate doll houses and doll living spaces but never actually played with the dolls and listened to The Carpenters OVER AND OVER. Also, Little House on the Prairie was not yet on the air.
	There are NO EXCUSES for this dress, Mom. None! *shudder* It's Dorothy crossed with Peter Pan, by way of Laura Ingalls Wilder in her Sunday Best. Which show, by the way, was NOW ON THE AIR. Thank goodness, I had cut my hair in a Dorothy Hamill bob like the rest of the world, so that the references to Melissa Gilbert would be staved off for a short while longer. 5th grade was our last year in Omaha. I had a case of severe strep throat in the middle of the school year and missed something like 5 weeks of school. My teacher, Mrs. Brown, was a complete witch, and my math skills were traumatized for life after her influence. Plus I turned in an awesome book I wrote for an assignment (with illustrations) and she NEVER GAVE IT BACK.
	AAAH! Laura Ingalls LIVES! haaa! What a hoot. To make things even more funny, I had a mad crush on Michael Landon. My father was at some year-long military officer course and we had moved to Montgomery, Alabama for a year. We lived in a walled community, and each set of townhouses had an inner courtyard with a pool. I grew my fingernails really long against my mother's wishes and devoured books like The Witches of Worm and House of Stairs both of which still give me the willies to this day. We explored the creek outside the housing community for miles under the Spanish moss and my sister and I were both obsessed with making jewelry out of colorful plastic-coated telephone wire.

Previously: Lower Elementary. Next up: Junior High School