My first homes – Sweden and Iceland

Like any "academic brat," I lived in more than one place. I guess you could say that my family was a "serial mover" family, starting even before my parents graduated from the University of Lund in southern Sweden, both with advanced degrees – Doctor of Science, in Europe, is comparable to an advanced Ph.D. in most studies.

I don’t remember much about the apartment I lived in, except for what I have seen in photos of that period. A bedroom, a living room and a kitchen, basically… oh, a small bathroom, was about it, except for the balcony that looked out over nearby fields, and in the distance, a "sea of greenhouses." It was apparently close to the university since my parents rode their bicycles to their classes, and to the child-care center and pre-school, as well as to shop. I have photos in an album yet to be unpacked of a net grocery bag hanging from the handlebars of one bike, and another resting on a box carrier on the back of the bike. On the other bike was a child’s seat. Guess who sat in it?

In the living room were my dad’s big desk with built in bookshelves, some "homemade" orange crate furniture, and probably a small dining table. Chances are that since it was wartime still (early 1940s), probably the dining table was also made of orange crates with a board stretched between the upended crates.

I spent a lot of time in Kristianstad, on the other side of Sweden, some 2-3 hours by train and near the Baltic Sea, with my grandfather and Musse, my mother’s and aunt’s nanny, and my aunt. I stayed there over summers and also while my parents were working and studying at various botanical lab stations in Sweden.

My grandfather’s city home was on the top floor of a small apartment building, one of several he owned. Wood floors, great to crawl on and later, when I was a bit older and running around, incredibly good as a stand-in for a skating rink. The mostly uncovered wood made the whole place echo. Except for this small detaiI, I don’t remember a lot about the city home.

The beach "cottage" was where I spent my summers, right on the Baltic, with lots of kids that lived in neighboring houses. The outside, as I recall, was painted a dark red with white window frames, and a big white enclosed veranda facing the beach.

A large eat-in kitchen was at one end of the downstairs, complete with a wood-burning stove, and a hand pump – no running water, just ice cold water that we pumped from an artesian well just down the hill from the kitchen. Next to the kitchen was the veranda, where we’d often eat or just sit. On rainy days, we’d sit there and watch the thunder and lightning break over the waves on the beach. All the furniture was made of white or natural rattan, with big, squishy cushions everywhere. Browsing through outdoor furniture stores always reminds me of that veranda! Half way down the steps outside the kitchen was the outhouse, a two-holer, supplied with the requisite newspapers and lime powder to sprinkle after we were done. I was petrified – not of falling in, but of the huge flies that buzzed around as we sat.

Beside the kitchen was a large family room, with rustic Swedish country furniture, a huge braided rug, and framed pictures of Carl Anderson prints hanging on all the walls. The only windows I remember were several round ones, high on the wall. At the end of that room was a set of stairs that went up to my grandfather’s bedroom suite. I don’t remember ever stepping foot in there until I was much older and visiting for the summer from Iceland.

Next to the kitchen was another set of stairs that led up to the rest of the bedrooms, all tiny, all furnished sparely with white painted iron beds covered with blue and white striped cotton ticking that are reminiscent of Laura Ashley or Martha Stewart type sheets and pillows. On a table beside the bed were a bowl and pitcher for fresh water. And, under each bed… a bed-pot, and hung by a string on each bed, a flashlight. Also on the table was a candle holder with a small candle.

Outside, maybe 50 meters away across a small sand dune, on the sea side of the house, was a smaller red and white cabin with a tiny porch. This was the sauna hut, one little kids didn’t go into. By the time I finally did, I was married and visiting (that time from California!). The sauna was completed with a naked headlong rush into the ice-cube cold Baltic, regardless of what time of year. Pretty much like the water at Santa Cruz.

On the other side of the house was a large wooded lot (pine trees) and several small cabins – one for guests, one used as a play house. It came complete with child sized furniture, dolls, everything a child could wish for, and most of it harking back from when my mother and aunt were still young. Behind those small cabins, again a few meters, were wild raspberry bushes where we were told not to go because there were snakes. I never saw one but was not about to take a chance.

Behind a break in some shrubs was the road into the small beach town. My aunt, still a teenager when I was little, would walk with me to buy bread and milk, and sometimes a "sockerdricka" which was simply sweetened soda water.
Strung along the whole beach was a series of bunkers, at one time used for cannons to protect the country from an attack from across the Baltic, possibly Poland, I don’t remember. At any rate, when I was 7-8 years old we’d all play inside the bunkers on warm days.


My next home was in Iceland with my grandparents, Afi and Amma, after World War II had ended and travel across the Atlantic was once again possible. My father was ordered back to Iceland and left my mother and me to follow him almost a year later. We lived in the basement of a small house near downtown Reykjavik, along with an young aunt and uncle, Sigga and Kobbi, for probably a year, while a new and large family house was being built.

It was, from what I am told, the first pre-fabricated house in Iceland. The wood and all that was needed to build the house, right down to the appliances, commodes and bathtubs were shipped by ocean freight. The cement was from Iceland. (show photos of house) .

It was a two-story house with a full basement. All the flooring was of a light oak – parquet squares, except the stairways that led in a full cirlce of steps (narrow at one end) up to a large and bright second floor. We used the floors as a skating rink and the stairs as a bumpy playground slide, and rehearsal hall for short plays we occasionally put on.

Downstairs at one end of the house were my grandparents’ rooms and a small bathroom with a shower and basin. I’m not even sure if there was a shower. Next to these rooms was the kitchen, a large one, with low cabinets – all the Love family was short, so even the stove was of a comfortable height. The kitchen window looked out over a part of the Reykjavik bay across to the mountains on the other side. In front of the window was a wide counter where my grandmother would spread the newspaper each day to read, and to teach me to read Icelandic.

Then came the dining area, a large one that had to accommodate a large family on holidays and some Sundays. Lots of kids, lots of sliding on the wooden floors accompanied by lots of delighted shrieks until one of the adults would peer at us with "the Look" … one that said, ENOUGH!

The living room was large, at least in my memory, and was separated partly from the dining area by a round fireplace that jutted out from the wall. On cold days, there was often a fire to warm up the huge room (even if there was a form of central heating). The living room was equally large. There was a sliding glass door to the garden, and a large picture window in the living room. The walls were all painted white or a light color at any rate.

Upstairs was a large open area – used as a play room first by my cousin Sigrún, just a bit more than a year younger than I, and later by my sister and cousins. Off this large open area were 4 or 5 large bedrooms, and a big full bathroom. My sister and I shared one room, a corner room that looked out on the street and was conveniently lit by a streetlight for extra reading after lights out. The other corner room was my aunt’s, until she was married and left Iceland with Nonni so he could go to university in Worcester, Massachusetts. Later those rooms were converted to a small apartment, as were the two bedrooms on the opposite side of the house.

There was a large balcony on the garden side of the house that faced my school. I can’t remember just where my parents slept. Upstairs, I think.

The basement also had a small apartment to one side, and a separate entryway, as well as a washroom that was also used by my grandmother when she was making sausages at harvest time, and this was well within the city limits! Lastly, under the steps was a darkroom for my parents’ photography hobby, and then the big coal heating unit, that heated water that would run upstairs through pipes to radiators in every room.

I lived in that big house until I was about ten years old, when we moved to Canada; first Winnipeg and then Montreal. I’ll describe those homes and other places I have lived in during my life in other "chapters."