Along the road there are old wood houses. Fredrick tells me that once the houses were entirely of wood and the people were so poor that they couldn’t afford windows, and so they carved. We climb the hill and nowadays those old houses, once poor dwellings, have become a tourist site and the “poor style” has become an attraction. Before entering the homes we can see an inscription: “Please no smoking,” with a troll that holds an ashtray. I look Fredrick; he is embarrassed, thinking about the disco.
We get home at 1700, just in time for dinner. His mother welcomes us, as always, with oven gloves and holding a hot saucepan. I disappear for a moment to go to the bathroom and when I return, I apologize to the family already at the table and waiting for me. Fredrick teases me to do the reindeer grimace and all burst out laughing. Figure “shit,” again!
I sit down, my face as red as a pepper; they ask me if after eating Palt I’m full or if I can eat some more. I am a bottomless pit and I start eating. During dinner I discover new Swedish words: hungrid which means “hungry”. It’s easy, it’s similar to English “hungry.” Mätt, means “full,” Proppmätt, “super full” (useless for me, I do not think that I will use it ), and at last,PALTKOMA, which refers to eating palt as the source of the coma that ensues. I translate in Roman dialect: CECAGNA! (It’s a roman term indicating the nap one needs due to feeling tired after eating.) When I translate it, I think of Federica in Rome, my dear friend who I miss as only she can understand me. When we attended the French classses together we had fun translating in Roman rather than Italian.
For dinner we eat Regnbåge lax (rainbow—a kind of salmon from the area—topped with Västerbotte—melted cheese—and Dajm ice cream—vanilla ice cream with pieces of chocolate and caramel. On TV appears an announcement of a concert on the occasion of National Day, live from Stockholm, at Skansen where a monthly concert is presented in honor of the Swedish royal family. After the concert Kikki and Inger go back to their chalet; we say goodbye with a strong hug and I promise to do a tiramisu and eat together in Stockholm on Tuesday. I say goodnight to Fredrick’s parents and come back to our chalet.
I am proud and impatient to use my purchase: the box set of Charlie’s Angels. Fredrick has never seen the two films. I must have seen them almost twenty times. I love Cameron Diaz! As I put the film in the computer Fredrick prepares the popcorn and feeds the fire. A fun movie, warm popcorn, a fireplace behind us, my old chair, a glass of wine… and the midnight sun as a backdrop. Can I ask for more? The film party is successful!