The Outcast – Chapter 3 – The fruit of Love

The doctor was a handsome man. Really handsome. He had eyes to die for. He was not tall but somehow he had authority about him, that is only visible in great men. His home was in a small village up north in the tiny island where fire and ice fight. The ice sometimes conquers, but the fire is strong.

The doctors wife helped him with the surgery and she took care of the anaesthesia.  They were a team. It was a busy home. Their home was not just a home for their family of 10, it was a hospital as well. The wife played a huge role. She was a tiny woman but being around her you felt like there was a general. Of course, this was a busy woman.

The life went on in the tiny village, the doctor had to travel a lot, the wife took care of the home and then there was the love that needed to be nourished. After a long day the woman was not always in the mood.

Next door lived a young woman. She had 2 children, but was divorced. The children were more or less grown up. She struggled because she was a TB survivor and they often had trouble with their health. There were many visits to the doctor, just to keep her life bearable. Her daughter had a mental illness which was a huge test and burden on the family. Eventually the daughter moved to another place but when the collapses came, she was brought home to the mother. The poverty and the sickness made it difficult to survive.

Although poor, the young woman next door was an artist. She could sow, she could make things, beautiful things from almost nothing. She learned to make clothes, men’s clothes. She studied with a famous tailor and she was good. Really good. Life was hard. She was lonely and the handsome doctor was just next door.

They fell in love.

Some times love bears fruit. And this one did. A little girl was born. The father was 60 years old, the mother 35. They were not married. She was his mistress, next door mistress. The wife got furious. Hell broke loose. A son, studying in England, had to come home. The marriage, the hospital, the doctor, everything was in turmoil. The son came home and managed to help the mother accept the fathers misstep. This was the scandal of the year, or maybe of the century, in the village.

The little girl was a beauty. She had blond hair, blue green eyes and a soft white skin, very white skin. She had her fathers eyes and her mothers skin. Would not a tiny creature like this one be welcome to the world? Would her birth not be celebrated by everyone?

A fruit of love should be precious. This one was not. This fruit was a fruit of passion, and passion did not fit into the environment where she came from. The fathers children stood with their mother. They were angry. He had let them down and this child was not to be accepted in the family. No, this child was to be kept away, hidden where the sisters would not have to see it. The brothers were not as biased. They were a bit more tolerant, but they had not forgiven. Forgiveness is difficult when the  cuckold mother is the strong one in the sibling’s eyes.

The little child and the mother lived next door, next door to the family that had been betrayed by the patient which happened to be a woman.

The man, the doctor, was forgiven but the child not. The child was the curse. It was the child’s fault that the doctors marriage was on fire. The mothers children also hated the child. This little girl had ruined their reputation !

Or was that the truth? Was the reality something else? Was it the child who should bear the guilt and be branded?  Would the child survive in those circumstances? What would the future bear for this one?

Would the mother love the child? Would the father love his daughter?

Hulda Björnsdóttir

 

 

 

The Outcast – chapter 2 – They came like angles

5th  October 2017

It is December and just 4 days left of the year. A busy day at work. The pone rings. It´s the nurse from the home where the mother has lived for few years.

Your mother has had a stroke, again, and we would like you to come and talk to her doctor.

I tell my boss I need to go and see what is happening. He is nice and just tells me to go. He understands. He knows that I will take care of what needs to be done when I can.

I drive to the home and try not to drive too fast. I am prepared for the worst, or maybe it is not the worst. Maybe it is just a relieve. The mother has been kept alive for too long. The son has been in charge. He does not want to let go. Why are people like that? Is it because of guilty conscience? What is it? I don´t know.

When I arrive at the home for the elderly, my mothers family doctor is waiting for me. He explains what has happened. He explains what can be done. He explains what live would be ahead for the mother if she is kept alive, once again, going through the process of not being allowed to get the rest she really needs. She is 90 years old and has been more or less out of the world for several years. In the home for the elderly, she has demanded that her door is locked all the time, locked by key, so the others can not get into her room. Isn’t that being a prisoner in your own room? Every time I have had to lock the door with the key from outside when I leaving her, my heart has broken.

This is not a live, this is death, I have thought when leaving.

The doctor is a wonderful man. I have known him for a very long time and he hugs me while I take in the situation and decide what to do.

Please my dear doctor, I say. Please allow her to go now. She has nothing left. The life she has been living these last years is not a life. Please just make sure she does not suffer these last moments, I beg of him.

He hugs me again and agrees. This is the end and the road to a beginning for the mother. A beginning to a better life, a life where pain is gone and she can meet with  those who she loves and are already gone. Those who are alive have to accept and stop being selfish in their guilt.

I have been to my mothers home every day for almost 3 years. The nurses and staff know me and that makes everything easier. They are like a family. They are the ones that have taken care of my mother and cared for her. They are also dealing with grief.

I go back to my work. Tell my boss how the situation is and he tells me to be with her as long as I need. I tidy up my desk, leave and now it is just the mother that matters. These are her last days. I bring a mattress from home and a bock and something to knit. Knitting makes the situation somehow more normal. The doctor and the nurses tell me to talk to the mother. They think it will sooth her. We don´t know how much, if anything, those who are at the end of the road and have lost consciousness, can hear or understand.

I play Gregorian Chant, very low but it is soothing.

The doors are not locked.

This is not a time to use a key and lock everyone out. This is a moment when everyone is free. There are 2 of them dying. Everything is quiet and serene. The others, who live in this part of the corridor, sense that the moment is for quietness, not for joy or laughter, just for being.

The mothers son comes and he is told that nothing can be done and this is the end. He has to accept and he does.

When the nurses leave the shift they come and say good by to the mother. There is so much love and passion in their quiet words and they caress her head and wish her well. They don´t expect her to last the night and this might be the last time they see her alive.

I go to bed on a mattress which I brought from home. I am not leaving. These are the last moments and I am going to spend them with the mother. She is not going to leave alone. During the night I wake up when the night shift comes into the room to make sure everything is ok. They come like angels. They don´t make any noise. They just come. They ask if I am ok. They care. They know it is difficult, but they also know it is a relieve. They understand and have gone through this many times. They have bonded with the people who live in the home and they are also sad. This night it is not just my mother, there is another one also.

When the night shift ends they come in and say good bye to the mother.

When the day shift comes they are surprised that she is still there. This is 2 days before the end of the year.

In the morning the nurses invite me to have breakfast with them. They have breakfast together and there they share some of their feelings and the sorrow but also the good joyful memorise. It is a unique moment. We are all in the same boat. They tell me some stories about their work and I understand more about how difficult and sometimes  undervalued their caring is. They do care. I have come to this home for three years and I have seen how much they care, but this morning I can also see their pain.

During the day, a nice comes and sits with the mother while  I go home to have a shower and change clothes. The new year is coming and the mother has always said we should take a shower and put on clean clothes so the new year arrives into a clean world. I need to make a call to the brother who lives faraway and let him know the situation. I manage to gather my strength and the nice calls. You need to come she sais, the time is close, and I rush back.

When I come back the mother seems to have lost more conscience, she somehow seems to be slipping away. I caress her head and tell her that now I am ready for the new year. I tell her I have taken a bath and changed clothes and now everything is as she wants it to be. The nurses are in the room and I go to the bathroom and cry. One of them comes to me and it is good to be in her arms while I cry a little. She gives me the strength I need for these last hours.

The brother and the wife arrive, the nice is there and I. The mother is fading away but does not want to let go.

When the brother sits there with her fingers in his hands and sais,; Look how the fingers are getting bluer, isn’t it interesting? I get crushed. How can he be so cold? He who has kept the mother alive again and again after one stroke and another stroke. Now he is at her deathbed wondering about how the fingers slowly loose their colour!

I lean to my mothers head and whisper in her ear:

My dear mother, it is ok to let go. Just let go and move into the light. I love you, but now it is time for you to let go and see the light ahead that is waiting for you.

When I rise up, she takes the last breath.

She is gone. She is free of pain. She is where the loved ones are waiting to embrace her and bid her welcome to the new world.

The brother leaves with his wife. The nice leaves. It is just me and the nurses. We sit for a while, talk about the mother and remember the good moments. They follow me downstairs and we hug. This is the end and the beginning.

I will never forget these 3 days, the days I spent 24 hours at the nursing home, that my mother had as a home for 3 years. I will never forget the love and passion I experienced for those 2 who were dying. I will never be able to thank the nurses, the doctors, the priest, the whole staff, that made me realise how little we know about the life inside homes for the elderly. They are not just like angels during the night. They are angels all the time.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

 

 

Just a thought – Can I take a NO for an answer?

3rd of October 2017

This morning there was a thick fog all over my village.

I opened my kitchen door and looked out. What a sight ! Everything grey and mystic. The magic in the fog is something that never ceases to surprise me. My imagination takes the flight and goes into the ghost world where everything is different. What is behind the fog? Where does it go? Where does it come from? Will it last? Sailing into it can be dangerous not to mention driving into a foggy wall.

This morning, on my way to the gym in Coimbra, which is 45 kilometres away, I saw the wonders of the fog. I left Penela in sunshine and drove for about 20 minutes. Then the miracle happened. Over one of the mountains there was sunshine but the middle of the slope was covered in a grey, dark grey, cloud sailing like a slow fox dancer moving gracefully like only slow fox dancers can do.

Driving a bit further there was a wonderful blue clear sky with a thick grey fog beneath, just like a carpet, covering the mountains. Driving into the unknown, the ghost cloud, turning on the parking lights, taking down the sunglasses, was something. Nothing in front, just this thick grey carpet.

When arriving in Santa Clara, where my gym  is, the fog had disappeared and the sun shone. This was a cold morning but would be up to 30 later in the afternoon. Just an ordinary morning. A glorious day ahead. Or so you would assume.

Only few months ago I began a recovery after 2 years of serious illness. The gym was vital for my recovery. I would have preferred to go to Condeixa gym, but its a small one and during the winter its really cold there so I decided to go to Santa Clara, even though it takes about 45 minutes to get there. At the beginning I was not happy in my new gym. It was not a friendly environment for me who did not have a personal trainer, by choice. I complained and it changed. Now the coaches do bid good morning which is all I wanted, just to feel a tiny bit welcome. This is not cheap place, I can tell you that. What looks to me is that the upper class is attending this place, which is ok.

In the beginning I was evaluated and had to tell the history of my health which is normal in a place like this. The coach made a plan for me, an exercise plan, which was in my mind rather useless. I followed the plan for a little while but then just gave up and used my knowledge to make my own. Of course there are machines I don´t know and have to make acquaintance with. We managed with the help of some good people, me and the machines managed, I mean.

The coach that evaluated me has been trying to help me and guide me. She was friendly and I was happy. She asked many times if I would like her to teach me the new program and even one day she took 30 minutes and made me do something different. Little did I know. This looked quite nice. At the end she asked if I wanted her to be my personal trainer? I asked about the price and  said no.  I told her I could not afford to. She tried to convince me and I told her it was impossible for me. I explained a bit about how my money these months go to the taxman, which I am happy about. I am happy to be able to contribute to the society that takes good care of me when I need help.

She continued to “help” me when it was her sift to look after those training on their own. I still thought she was just being friendly.

One day she told me it was impossible for her to continue “helping” me and she did not want to get some crap from the others about paying to much attention to me. Now she sat down with me and explained once again, how important it would be for me to have a personal trainer! I explained again, I did not want a personal trainer and I could not afford it. Then it came.

She told me, there was a customer of her, that earned 500 euros per month. He prioritised ! He smokes 2 packs of cigarettes per day. He pays 174 EUR per month for personal training. He has to take a lot of medicine, because of his health. HIS PRIORITY is the personal training, she said.

I asked her, as a stupid woman, how he could live? How could he pay for electricity, rent, food, medicine, health care, clothes and so on?  At that time I did not know the price of cigarettes here in my land, but now I know. Her reply was, he values his health more than anything!

Right. I went home. I thought about the situation. Most of all I thought about how annoying this endlessly business trying was. I already pay 200 euros per month for the gym, 50 for the gym, and 150 for diesel on my car. Am I going to spend more on the Gym? No.

If you smoke 2 packs of cigarettes per day it is 300 euros per month. If you earn 500 per month and spend 300 on cigarettes what’s left  is 200 euros. If you pay 174 for personal training and 50 for the gym you are in minus. Makes sense to me.

I came to the conclusion the either the coach thought I was an idiot or she was obsessed with getting more private clients and could not take a no for an answer.

This morning I just said good morning to her and nothing more. I was not happy about her approach and just wanted to be left alone.

Did that happen? O no! She came to the machine I was working on, stopped my training and asked why this long face today? I got pissed off. Told her to leave me alone. She was not going to give up. We are going to talk about what’s wrong next day, she told me.

No, we are not going to talk about anything, my reply was.

When going to the shower I noticed she was talking to her fellow coaches about me and my peculiar mood!

So, when I left I asked the receptionists to talk to her and tell her to leave me alone. I don´t need her degrading help. If she does not leave me alone I will complain to the boss, the receptionists know that, and if nothing works I will just leave and find another gym. There are plenty of them in Coimbra.

My point is this. I have said no, more than once. I have explained my choice. The argument, that she just does want to help me, is fine. That is business. If I don´t want to buy what I am being offered a NO should be enough. I should not be harassed because someone is desperate to get clients.

When driving home from the gym this morning I was quite happy. The sky was bluer than blue, the autumn colours shone like never before. Everything was perfect. I had stood up for myself, which was a victory in itself.  The fog had disappeared until tomorrow morning and it was warm. Tomorrow is another summer clothes day and what more can I wish for? The next 7 days we will most likely have a wonderful weather and it is October. The grapevine gets more beautiful every day. The grapes are already gone into huge barrels and will make the people happy and drunk. The olives are next. Soon I will see the farmers on their way to pick the olives. It will be grate if they can do it in a warm weather. Usually they are freezing but it could be different this year.

Everything is changing in the nature. One thing does not change. We need to be able to take a NO for a answer.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

 

Portuguese sagas – My first days in Portugal – I was freezing to death

30th of September 2017

I came to Portugal in January 2011 and it was very cold.

There was no heating in the snake house and during the night I could not sleep. I was paying 600 euros per month for this tiny house and it was not even warm.

Something had to be done. My dun quilt  was traveling by post from China to Portugal and it could take some more days. I had put on several clothes during the night but nothing helped.

I needed to find warm pyjamas and the landlord needed to do something. I had been complaining but nothing happened.

One day, after traveling from Podentes to Penela by taxi, I found a shop in the main road that sold all kinds of everything. In this road, which is the Rua de Coimbra, there were many shops in the year 2011. Nowadays many of them have disappeared. Sadly my little village is slowly changing.

I went into this wonderful tiny shop with all kinds of everything. The woman spoke English. These were my first days in the country and of course I did not know much of the language. Almost nothing, to tell the truth.

Did she have warm pyjamas? I asked.

No, she did not have anything big enough for me, I am tall. But she could order them and in 2 days they would be in Penela. Wonderful, I would not freeze to death, just as long as I could survive these 2 days.

This was my beginning. I was in the main road, where all the shops were and the people. During the day, when the sun came out, the shop keepers stood outside. Inside the shops was cold but outside it was wonderful. The sun is amazing.

Anyway, my new friends taught me some words in Portuguese, at least so I could ask politely. I tried and we had fun. Some words the strange tall woman could not pronounce, there was no way she could say Portuguese J. I think that sound is the most difficult in the world. Even Chinese is easier. We had a good laugh and everyone was nice. I told them how much I was paying for the house in Podentes, renting, and they lost their breath.

I was being robbed, they told me.

Well, I needed to find an apartment to buy, as quickly as possible. And I did. Of course I did, but I also needed a car. From Podentes to Penela there was hardly any public transportation and I needed my freedom.  I could not leave at 6 in the morning and spend the whole day in the village until the bus travelled to my home late in the afternoon. I needed a car.

When in Podentes there was no way out except by taxi and it was expensive and inconvenient. When in Penela I could keep warm, at least while sitting in the library using their computer. In the snake house there was no internet and no phone. In the snake house I just saw the next door neighbours windows and I came from a beautiful area in China where I could see the mountains and the lake and the trees and the beauty.

And I was even freezing to death in Podentes and the landlord told me to put on more clothes and more blankets on me during the night.

Seriously, there is a limit how much weight you can tolerate around you when in bed.

One day, when I came home, there was a heater, a really small one, just inside the door. The landlord had brought it. Did it help? Not much, it was tiny and the bathroom, oh, the bathroom had a huge round hole in it where the wind blew through like mad. I did not see any snakes going through the hole but the could have. Did the landlord do something about the hole, when I pointed it out to him that I could not survive taking a shower in there and needed to go to the bar to pee? Well, he told me to put some papers in the hole!!!

Yes, it was wonderful living in the snake house in Podentes, something I will most likely never forget, but now, being warm, I can laugh. At the time I could not even cry, the tears would have frozen on my cheeks.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

Portuguese Sagas – The monastery of Santa Cruz (Coimbra)

30th of September

Last Wednesday I went with a dear friend to Coimbra. We had lunch together at an Indian restaurant. She had chicken and I fish. I love this restaurant. It is in centre close to the Tourist Bureau. A beautiful restaurant which reminds me of India. Since I have been there many times the waitress and the cooks have become friends. The food is cooked on the spot. Nothing buffet there. Just wonderful fresh food. Just as it should be.

The pity about the Chinese restaurants here is that they all adjust. Maybe everyone adjusts, I don´t know. But this is such a shame because Chinese food is wonderful but when they have added fried potatoes and fried chicken it is not Chinese anymore. At least I don´t want food like that when I go to a Chinese restaurant.

So, going through the centre of Coimbra there is a huge  church which I usually visit if on foot there. I like to play a tourist in this area.

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The picture above is from Wikipedia, I hope it is ok for me to put it here. If not I will change it the next time I go to Coimbra and take a new one.

Inside the church there are tiles, blue ones, who tell a story. Every one is unique.  I wonder how the builders could make buildings like this in the year 1131? How did they manage to get to the top?

The tiles are not the only historic phenomenon. Just look at the door. Who has been inside? What is inside? Is there anything?

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Who has walked through this door? The trap is used like everything else in the wonderful building. The steps, the floors, the stones, everything is marked with the steps those who lived there centuries ago, took.

Two kings are buried in the church. This was the most important monastic house outside the walls of Coimbra during the early days of the Portuguese monarchy. The monastery and the church were erected between 1132 and 1223. The monastery was granted numerous papal privileges and royal grants, which allowed the accumulation of considerable wealth, at the same time as it consolidated its position on the politico-institutional and cultural scene. Its school, with its vast library, was highly respected in medieval times and was a  meeting point for the intellectual and power elites.

King Alfonso Henriques is buried in the church. I think he is there watching over those who visit.

Nothing remains of the early Romanesque monastery.

In the first half of the 16th century, the Monastery was completely renovated by King Manuel’s order.

The whole monastic complex, the church and the tombs of King Alfonso Henriques and of King Sancho I, were rearranged and transferred to the main chapel in 1530, where they still lie in a sculptural work by Nicolau Chanterene.

I find it amazing that I can go to a church, now in the year of 2017 and visit the graves of kings from the 11th century.  I can sit there and contemplate of eternity. This is part of life. Just sitting and letting your imagination wander with the help of the beautiful blue tiles that cover every wall.

The altar, the Pipe organ which is from the 18th century, the steps, the floor, the doors, the font, everything is full of history. And the outside. My oh my, the outside is something.

After sitting for a while, wandering around, discovering something you have not seen before in this amazing church, you walk through thick wooden doors into the sunshine and from the silence into the ordinary day. Your life will never be the same if you have taken in the history you just witnessed.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

 

 

The autumn has arrived

24th of September 2017

The autumn has arrived here in Penela in Portugal, with all its glory.

I love this time of the year. After a hot summer the cold breeze is soothing like a healing hand.

The clear sky is covered with pictures. Blue and grey is dominating. What wonders are there? Who lives in the sky? Where do they come from? Why do they go away?

When sitting at my computer, writing, I look up and out through my door. What a beauty. I have to share this with you . The beauty can not be put into words. You have to see it for yourself.

This is autumn in all its grace and glory. The autumn in my home town and the clock is almost half past six and the evening gliding in.

Yesterday I drove to Taveiro. I needed to get a big ball to sit on. My body is needing some pampering. I had already bought a blue one but my legs are terrible long and the blue one was not big enough. I needed the orange one, and off I went.

While driving through the highway I noticed the trees. There are trees everywhere here in my country. They are ever green and they are grapevine and olive trees and just ordinary trees. Here in the centre of the tiny country, where I live, the trucks are slim and I sometimes wonder how they can survive the storms, but they do. They somehow sway back and forth. I have seen it when looking from my balcony. In the north the trucks are bold and strong, protecting themselves and the branches from the cold winter. Different in the south also. There the trees are smaller. The cork is there. A beautiful tree which takes ages to grow but when it is there it´s of great value. I love the cork. Nowadays we make all kinds of things from the cork. Bags, purses, shoes and even umbrellas.

When I was in Taveiro yesterday I took some photos of the trees around the retail park. Some are colourful, some are just tired and want to rest, some need water, the truth is they all need water. I love them all. They make me happy. Those trees are safe. They will not be burned down by arsenics. Their beauty will still be there next year.

While driving yesterday I noticed that cleaning was over. There were huge gaps but no black horror. Next year we will find some new tiny tiny shoots. They are strong and the roots are deep.

Here in Penela there were big fires 5 years ago (or maybe 6 years ago). Yesterday I noticed that the new grow is already a meter high and smiling happily. This years disaster is still black and sad but during the winter we will burn the wood that is left and everything will be clean for the coming spring.

But now it is autumn. My favourite season with the colours and beauty that no other season has.

The winters are cold here in my land. Very cold. We think that Portugal is  always warm but that is before we move here. Just as in my beloved Chine. The summers are extremely hot and the winters extremely cold.

Is this maybe something like life. Sometimes very happy and other times really sad? Could it be?

It crossed my mind while driving yesterday and contemplating on the beauty in front of me, how miserable those who make life take a turn to the worse for others, are. How the guilty feeling must be eating them up and they try to justify their actions by blaming the others.

Taking responsibility for ones actions is freedom. Freedom that includes the gift of beauty and ability to enjoy the life ahead.

Hulda Björnsdóttir

 

 

 

The Outcast – The doctor has arrived –

Chapter 1.  The doctor

 

A young boy lies in his bed. He is seriously ill. He lives at the countryside in a tiny country close to the North Pole. The country of fire and ice.

Outside the storm rages, with heavy snow. The children can not get back from the schools on their own. They have to be picked up. The wind is such that grown ups are struggling. The children need to be carried on shoulders that have seen much worse. This is just a typical winter day.

The doctor lives in the village. He needs to get to the boy. The snow is knee deep. The farm is far away. The boys live is at stake.

What is there to do?

The doctor does not hesitate. There is someone in need and he can help. He puts on his  skis. He is going skiing. There is no other way.

After the long journey the saviour arrives. He is cold, vet and his clothes have drops of frost like a decoration. The beard is white with snow and the face frostbitten. He takes of the coat and steps into the room where the little boy is half conscious. The mother is sitting beside the bed, holding the boys hand. This is not a wealthy home. They are poor. They will not be able to pay for the visit.

“Mother, now I will get well, the doctor is here”, sais the little one. He knows the doctor can do miracles.

He is right. He does get well and the parents are grateful. The country is lucky to have doctors like this one. A doctor that does not hesitate to put his life at risk to safe others. The people don´t have to fret about not being able to pay. They know the healing hands are there for them, no matter what social class they belong to. Everyone is equal in this doctors eyes.

This doctor is successful, he has healing hands. He is not just an amazing doctor. He is also an amazing person.  He is not tall. He is shortish.  He smells of cigars and medicine. His eyes are mild and his smile happy. Some say that when he smiles the world lights up. People either love him or they don´t. There is nothing in between. Great men are often like that, and this man is great, there is no doubt about it, but he is also human, and he is not perfect.

One day he is on his way back from  sick call riding on his bicycle.  This is a beautiful summer day and the boys playing football, enjoying the simple life, where there are no worries, just the joy of being.

The football lands in front of the doctors bike. Ups. Not good. The boys are quiet and look at the man.

He steps of his bike, kicks the ball back to the boys and joins them in the game. He gives them some good tips about how to be successful in playing football.

After playing a bit they need to go home. They walk with the man. He tells them about life and how to be a good person. He emphasise the importance of being kind to each other and show respect. He tells them about healthy life and how important it is to take care of the body and the soul.

His voice is mild and his eyes look at them with bit of humour. The humour is never far away, even though the conversation is grave.

He bids them farewell. They go home to have dinner and he has one more call to make. The day is long for a country side doctor, but he has enjoyed the company.

The boys will remember this moment for as long as they live.  The little boy had faith, he knew he would be well because the doctor came through the screaming winter weather. The young boys have  good provisions. The philosophy they learned one beautiful summer day, when the football landed in front of the doctors bike.

Hulda Björnsdóttir