My Norwegian Grandparents were immigrants from Norway. My mother, married to a Navy man, lived with them for a while. I was about three years old with a good memory and remember all of us speaking Norwegian. So for the first few years of my life, I spoke no English at all. Mom left me with my Grandparents to spend some time with my father, as he was stationed somewhere overseas. My Grandparents spoiled me rotten but it was with pure love.

My Grandfather took me everywhere he went on the property and I picked berries (more in my mouth than in the can), corn(only the very lowest ones), pulled beets(I was finally banned as I ended up with leaves and the beets remained in the ground), carried cabbages (more like dragged them as they were heavy), and he would lift me up to the branches to pick the highest apples (only small ones as some Gravenstein apples were as big as my head). I am sure that I was more of a nuisance than help but he always told me what a great helper I was. You should be able to picture how much help I was at three years old.

My Grandmother was the one who gave the nicest hugs and she always smelled like Ivory soap. Her hair was long to her waist and she let me brush it in the mornings before she piled it on top of her head and made a crown. She wore it that way every day and promised to teach me how to do it when I grew up. I decided I was old enough to begin housework so Grandma started me with the dishes. Perched on a chair at the kitchen sink I had so much fun playing with the bubbles that Grandpa said I earned the nickname Slopsagurde. In English means "sloppy girl".

When Mom finally returned she decided that I needed to learn English. The switch was difficult.