No, not me... my grandmother!
Farmor (Norwegian, literal translation Father's Mother) is an amazing woman. I've always admired her immensely, since I was a little girl.
She made the most fantastic meals. I really looked forward to going to my grandparent's flat to eat. My sister and I had to wear our best (and most scratchy) dresses, and we had to be 'seen and not heard' but I was always too busy eating to mind.
My Farfar (you work it out!) was a very old-fashioned man, like a Victorian, and not exactly a barrel of laughs. But Farmor loved him, frequently called him 'Teddybear' in front of everyone, much to his embarrassment! When he died, she was in her mid-seventies, and she was crushed. But she grieved, and then moved on, a single woman again and enjoyed her independence in good health for another 15 years.
Her health and stamina have always amazed me. She was still skiing and hiking in the mountains well into her eighties! She took frequent trips abroad, and was never afraid to travel alone. She lived independently, in that small but beautifully furnished flat in the centre of Oslo, until she was in her early nineties. Now she is in a nursing home, and well looked after. She is blind, and almost completely deaf, but she still knows my father and mother when they go to visit her. I have no doubt that she will have a sip of Cognac and a few chocolates to celebrate her special day.
I'll raise a glass to her myself this evening. <img src="/ubbt/images/graemlins/laugh.gif" alt="" />
Happy Birthday, Farmor!
Alph.
