February 27, 2007
I Remember Amma

I remember my first hug from Amma, my Icelandic grandmother, when I had just arrived in Iceland at the tender age of "Almost five!"

I remember standing by Amma as she baked paper-thin pancakes for us to eat later . . . only we never could wait.

I remember Amma spreading the newspaper on the kitchen counter by the window, and reading me some of the news, and then looking at the children’s page with her.

I remember Amma all dressed up in her uphlut (Icelandic national costume), for the June 17 Independence Day parade.

I remember Amma cooking lamb or fish soup for lunch and then letting me eat with her and Afi (grandfather).

I remember escaping into Amma’s feather bed, deep under the covers and hiding from my dad’s wrath (not from the roof incident, hid in a closet that time).

I remember how short Amma was, barely up to my ears now, and I’m barely 5 foot tall.

I remember how Amma would walk around wringing her hands, not from worry, but from the pain of rheumatism or arthritis.

I remember Amma telling Afi that, of course he was right. That if he wanted to say that "black was white (or whatever)" that was perfectly OK.

I remember being told that, as she was being brought to the hospital when she was in her mid 80s, she told my uncle that she would not be back, that she needed to say goodbye to the house.

Sadly, she was right.