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Thick-Anders and thick milk

So there are 30 jam jars here.
They will serve as vitamin injections next winter for our breakfasts with the cheese milk and a mixed jam of red currants, strawberries, rhubarb and blueberries.
That's just the way it is, take a lesson you who are younger and want to be as old as us old people.

Lars Erik, I have many old stories about Thick Anders who lived in Kulthammar but as soon as he woke up cycled down to Björsgården and said Thick Milk. Could you possibly continue. It was a constant battle with this 100 kg giant who wanted to play with us little ones but he probably tried to be careful. The only one he had respect for was the farmer Björs Jonas. When my brother Per came home and introduced his future wife Siv, she was attacked by StorAnders who wanted to play and Björs Jonas said. Easy to get stuck.
And he did.


Olle, damn nice to hear from you. I'm sorry, but I get into periods when I come home and find your pearls and think now I have to write back, but then it's over. I'm not stressed at work, but with an average of 10 hours a day, it happens that you just pass out after a pilsner and - like today - lightly fried pork fillet with soft fried onions with mustard seeds and cumin and freshly boiled potatoes with a little butter on them and a nice glass of wine . Just made coffee. Got a kilo of some terribly finely ground very strong coffee that one of my Indian workers gave me. Spiked with a little vodka, it's BEAUTIFUL.

I don't remember Fat Anders very well, but I know that as a child he played with your and my father.
Otherwise as an auctioneer he was fantastic and also a pardoned violinist. Too bad he passed away. When Boris Wittenberg, Inga Grip's fiance who was first violinist in the symphony orchestra in Leningrad, was at home and we got together Oskar Bergkvist, PellPers Pelle and Jonas Frank from Nordsjö, for a small gathering at home in the hall. When Boris played the third part on Ravstabacken directly from the sheet music, Farnken said 'yes boys'. But, as you say, he was a bit difficult for the wife, so with both him and Oskar, it would have been difficult for Inga Grip.
But Hammarstrand wasn't bad either. I remember when he held an auction for the old man Norin, Kåra's neighbor. It got trickier with the bids as the day progressed and when the last miscellaneous box was gone, Hammarstrand sat down and hung his head. It emerged that the old man Norin had previously put a liter of Grönstedt's cognac under the mattress in a folding bench with instructions that Hammarstand should have it when he held the auction. That was it, but Hammarstrand was found down in the stinging nettles down towards the hill later in the evening.

Thick milk! Did you ever hear of Russian fungus in connection with condensed milk? My mother talked about it sometime in my childhood. Then we built two slaughterhouses in eastern Poland that I took care of and I became friends with a Polish lawyer who was taken by the Nazis after the -38 invasion, kept in a camp and later transported to a concentration camp in northern Norway. I had no idea that such existed. Eventually, said Juri Siewzieck, he got tired of that camp and walked over the keel to Sweden in the middle of winter, ended up in Sundsvall and learned Swedish. We had some great nights running out of cognac in the village taverns around Sokolow Poladski to keep his clients happy. As it was, Juri sent me home a jar of what looked like loose warts or shriveled peas and said that this should be used to preserve milk. How happy mom was! That was exactly WHAT she was talking about. As you may remember, I also bought Polish winter boots for dad and Björs Jonas. Calf with rubber outer shell. Warm and tasty and also in the chromosome size that the old men needed. Approximately one Swedish five per pair. They wondered at customs what the hell I was doing. Slip-stitches for the winches for a bunch each - I think there are still some left at home in Kåra.
I'm going to start growing almond potatoes down here if you'd be so damned kind as to smuggle four or five tubers in your luggage. They can endure a little culture down here. I'm planning to go home in a year or so and then I'll damn well bring a can of sour strömming here. It is admittedly transport class 3 - explosive product - but it is good. At that point, it's probably time for an old man like me to end my working life, so if I get deported because of streaming, I guess I'll have to accept it then. I took a small jar over to England thirty years ago and the wife has still not forgotten when I invited another English crazy violinist who is actually well known. We finished the can with a little putell home-roasted and then his wife doesn't talk to my wife so there are solutions to everything in this life.
Now I'm going to go inside and look at the mattress for a while. Up with the rooster tomorrow and inspecting a roof - it's about +39 to +45 and 70-80% humidity so it will be sweaty.
Live well and enjoy blackcurrants straight from the bush - I miss that quite a bit.

Kåra Lars Erik

We are talking about two different (Thick Anders) Your Fat Anders who lived up on Stene and once in his youth pulled off with a sled down the kungsbacken and rammed the door to Steneboa and ended up inside. But he survived and became a well-respected gambler and well-respected auctioneer. The Thick Anders I'm talking about was a bullied man from Nordsjöhemmet who was transferred to Kulthammar. He had learned to ride a bicycle but was still in childhood and did not develop much more. But we children in Björsgården had to receive this 100 kg. the man who wanted to play with us in his own way. There were hugs so you didn't think you would survive. It was only Björs Jonas the farmer who could get him to stop his command, easily.

Björs Olle

Yes, I remember him. When we played football on the wood hill down in Björs, he wanted to join in and then he had to stand in goal. If someone managed to get a ball in behind the bastard, it was chaos. StorAnders (as I remember his name) tried to get the rascal who shot the target and when he couldn't, he cried like a baby.

Kåra Lars Erik