Posts Tagged ‘Jaderberg’

Jumping the Pond, Part 2

July 7, 2012

Oskar Reinhold Berg and grandson.

If you have not read the first part about jumping the pond, please take a moment and click on the link.  If you don’t want to, well, then don’t.  It doesn’t matter to me, but hey, it’s my blog, so humor me. 

*****

Families and cultural styles interest me.  If I can open my mind wide enough and look at things from a neutral point of view, it helps me to understand more of the mechanics about why people do what they do.  Sometimes there’s a monkey-wrench thrown into the works when someone does something totally unexplainable.  My ex-husband’s family seemed rock-solid.  The parents took great interest in whatever the children were doing.  They seemed supportive and generous.  “Family” was stressed as the most important thing.  In retrospect, “stressed” took on a new meaning.  Stress at sometimes turned to pressure.  But the ultimate goal seemed to be what was good for the family.  They gradually absorbed me into their unit.

In truth, they had regarded me as less than ideal for joining their family unit.  I was from another cultural group.  I was from the South, and my family was regarded as common, which I find odd because, although my family was ordinary, we were no less in status in the community than anyone else.  Maybe that was the problem.  We weren’t ladder-climbers or socialites.

They were from the North, although recently in the grand scale of time.  Both my mother- and father-in-law’s families were recently immigrated, recently meaning to me within the last 100 years.  And if I stretch my mind open enough, I can see that there were several cultural groups, all from Europe.  My father-in-law had been absorbed into my mother-in-law’s family, especially when he enrolled in college after they got married.  He would work a full day, get cleaned up, go to his wife’s parents’s home where he would eat a full course meal, then go to night school.  He did this for seven years. 

Oskar Reinhold Berg, his four sons, and grandson.

My mother-in-law’s parents were devoted to family.  Her father was a good provider.  He could also be a tyrant.  His way was the only way, and his wife was devoted to him.  After I married their grandson, I could see how years of being with his grandparents had rubbed off on him.  He was devoted to family, yet he could also be a tyrant, and, in order to keep the peace, I learned to make sure he had what he wanted and to stay out of his way.  I’m guessing that his grandmother had learned to do the same in her marriage. 

The grandmother was from Sweden, the oldest of five children.  The older four children had come over “on the boat” from Sweden in 1909, along with their mother, in steerage.  The story was that the father of the children was already in America and had been there for two years.  The mother of the children had parents still living in Sweden, and her mother had paid for their passage to America so that the family could be reunited.  I found that brave.  What a concept to think that she paid their way to join the father, knowing that she would most likely never see them again.

When the boat arrived in America, the mother and her four children were not allowed off.  That was the custom.  If you did not have someone waiting for you, like a sponsor, you were not allowed off, and you would be sent back to where you came from.  Every day someone from the crew would call out the names of the people waiting for their sponsor down to the waiting crowd.  But when the name was called out, “Jay-der-berg, Jay-der-berg”, no one responded, for the man waiting in the crowd was waiting to hear “Yah-da-bare, Yah-da-bare”.  On the last day, the little girl who became my mother-in-law’s mother, was on deck, and saw her father in the crowd, and waved, and got his attention, and the family was reunited.  I can see the picture in my mind, like a movie.   The happy family was reunited.

*****

On the last day of April, there is custom in Sweden.  It’s called Walpurgis Night, and it welcomes the coming of Spring.  There are festivities, and bonfires, and partying, and if you are interested in learning more, here’s a link to a Wikipedia site. A man in Sweden commented on the blog on April 29, but I didn’t read it until April 30, the night of the celebration that I’d never heard of that commemorates new beginnings.

The man’s grandfather was Oskar Reinhold Berg, who was the oldest child of the family that came over on the boat in 1909. 

Let’s think about that.  How could he be the oldest child?  How could they leave him behind?  Well, he was, and they did. 

Oskar Reinhold Berg’s four sons.

The mother of the group had a child in 1896, before she married in 1899.  The true father is unknown to me, for all I can do is look at the records on www.ancestry.com.  But the child was Oskar Reinhold Berg, who did not take the name of the father of the other children, but kept the mother’s maiden name.  When it came time for the others to leave, the decision had been made to leave him behind with his mother’s parents, for the grandfather was blind and the grandparents needed help. 

Oskar’s grandson told me, via email, of the sadness especially at holiday time, when his grandfather would look through his photograph album at his family in America.  Oskar married and had four sons.  His grandson has shared some family photos with me.  I had never been able to figure out where my daughter got her head shape from.  That is, until I saw the photo of Oskar Reinhold Berg.

Sugar uses the word “weep” sometimes.  I ask him why he doesn’t just say “cry”.  Now I understand the word “weep” a little better, for I weep for the child left behind.

Oskar Reinhold Berg, his wife, and their four sons.

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Jumping the Pond

May 5, 2012

I returned to college in 2008.  In 2009, one of my classes was information technology.  One week’s assignment was to create a website and to create a blog.  One assignment = two different aspects.

My website was a shopping site for my knitted products.  Some of the photos included propped-up knitted-and-felted handbags in beach chairs for a backdrop, and other photos were my hand modeling fingerless gloves.  It’s hard to take a decent photo of your own hand, and don’t let anyone else tell you it’s not. 

For my blogsite, I chose WordPress.com after consulting with my computer guru, also known as my nephew Keith.  Writing the blog was so much fun, I just kept doing it, and here we are, almost three years later. 

WordPress has a dashboard page where you, among other things, control the look of the blog.  Y’all just go to WordPress right now and make a blog – it’s free – and you’ll see what I mean.  Another aspect of the dashboard is the stats graph.  You can see how many hits you get per day.  I usually get at least 5 hits, which doesn’t sound like very much, but sometimes my stats shoot through the roof to maybe 16.  Sometimes I see a trend of a lot of hits, usually because someone is searching for something specific, perhaps through google or bing, like “Corinne Elliott Lawton” or “seed ticks”.  (I know.  Seed ticks, right?  Who’s not searching for seed ticks.)

So my goal is to get ten hits a day.  That’s not too much, and I suppose one is supposed to have some sort of goal, but really?  I write the blog for me.  The blog turned into a way for me to unload some of those old photos and letters that I have been carting around through various lives and lifestyles.  The blog has been such an unburdening of the responsibilities of me being the only one who has these bits of the past.  When I started collecting genealogy stuff, I would think, “If I only had a picture.”  I met some really nice folks who send photos of gravestones, and photos of people, and snippets of stories, and some wonderful old letters, and I know how wonderful it felt to have the kindness of strangers bestowed upon you, if for no other reason except that they could.  One woman did a headstone rubbing of my 3rd great-grandfather Theophilas Rawls.  One volunteer copied the entire family Bible ancestry of Josias and Anne Gamble, because she could, but she also copied a lot of pages of her family group sheets and some photos of some of my great-grandmother’s sisters, who she knew *in person*, and she told me that she thought when she was a child that she was related to these people because the families were so close.  Touches my heart.

So I’ve uploaded my own fair share of some of my family stuff because you just don’t know when and how you can touch someone else’s heart.  And therein lies a tale.

If y’all will just go back in time and click on this link to my daughter’s 6th birthday, and re-read it, or read it for the first time, and don’t fail to read the comments, because we’re about to jump the pond.

*****

When I met my now-ex-husband back in 1976, he spoke lovingly of his family.  He had spent a lot of his growing-up years with his mother’s parents.  He said that his grandmother Aina was from Sweden, that she was the oldest child in the family, that she and her mother and 3 younger siblings came over “on the boat” in 1909, and that she was one year younger than the year and that was how he remembered how old she was.  If it was ’77, she was 76.  It was sweet to see how much he loved his family.  Later when I met his family, they all seemed to enjoy each other’s company, and they planned trips and outings together, and they were very serious about being a family.

A few years before she died, his grandmother told me about her younger brother Bertil, also known as Bert.  He was the only boy with four sisters Aina, Estrid, Brita, and Gertrude, and if they all went out to a community dance when they were young, Bert danced with all the sisters so that they got at least one dance.  My mother-in-law told me that Bert had a full scholarship to UCONN, and I thought it odd that they would consider sending him off to the Yukon, but I didn’t say anything – fortunately – and I listened and learned that Yukon was not UCONN.    (I’m from the South.  I don’t know such YankeeTalk like UCONN.)  But Bertil contracted a disease, and he died. 

*****

One of the comments was from a gentleman in Sweden.  I could only read the first few words of his comment, because I was confused by it and I was trying to process it.  He said that he saw the picture of this grandfather’s sister Aina, and I stopped reading, trying quickly to figure it out, because there was only one brother, and that was Bertil, and he died before he married or had children.  I read it again, and this time I kept reading and saw that his grandfather knew the family names, like Aina, and Bertil, and Gertrude, and then I realized, scratching my head, that there was a brother out there that no one knew about.  Or worse, that they did know about his existence, but, for whatever reason, chose not to talk about him.

*****

Another feature of the blog is that the blog-holder – the dashboard-reader-type-person – can view the email address of a commenter.  I emailed the gentlemen, and told him that I didn’t know his grandfather’s name.  He replied, and told me that his grandfather was the oldest in the family, and was left behind in Sweden to stay with the grandparents to help them, because the grandfather was blind. 

Even though I’m not related to these folks, not even by marriage any more, my children are related, and it feels like my responsibility to tell this story.  But right now, mostly I’m so sad for this little boy who was left behind.  I have a theory about this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to purchase the international version of ancestry.com. 

And now, a “new” letter that you have not seen before. 

Page one.

And also… 

 

*****

Sat. Nov. 8, 1986

Dear Ruth,

I am sending your birthday card very early Ruth because I want you both to know about the Campbell Soup Christmas ornament and calendar that I have ordered for the children and am having them mailed to your home in time for Christmas I hope.  They are to be mailed separately so look for them one at a time.

About two years ago we gave Jennifer a tree ornament and the calendar to Andrew; this time the ornament goes to Michael and the calendar to Jennifer so they will both have a Christmas ornament for their Christmas tree.

This morning we received an invitation to a Thanksgiving dinner at Suzanne and George Morris’ home in Oxford.  This is our third dinner there.  They have also invited my sister Brita.  It is so thoughtful of them to have us share the dinner with them.

Grandpa and I spent yesterday with Aunt Brita; took her out for dinner to celebrate her 81st birthday, a month late, as I wasn’t feeling well enough to go down before.  Gladys Benson stopped in afterwards and we all had supper together.  We are looking forward to seeing all of you at Christmas.

Love from Grandpa and myself,

Grandma

 *****

Sleep well, Oskar.  We’re just about full circle.

Jenn & G-grandparents

August 4, 2010

BabyGirl is one week old, and Aina is 81 years old today.

I did not realize until I scanned this picture and examined it more closely that it was Aina’s 81st birthday.  In the excitement of having a newborn in the house, I didn’t realize much of anything for a while, except I. was. tired.

I love this picture.  The Moselles had a son who died as an infant, then one daughter, who grew up to be my mother-in-law.  This little baby was the start of something special in all our families. 

The look on the adults’ faces?  Priceless.

Jenn’s 6th Birthday

August 4, 2010

Birthday times were spent with family.  BabyGirl was the 1st grandchild and the 1st great-grandchild for my in-law’s families and we did a lot of celebrating for her.  When she started kindergarten, she had 4 birthdays – one at home, one at school, one with friends, and one with my in-laws.  After that she thought she should always have 4 birthdays. 

This picture is especially sweet because of the generational angle.  Her great-grandmother, Ruth Aina Marie Jaderberg Moselle, was also celebrating her birthday – she’s 87 here.  Husband Edward George Moselle is 83 and his birthday is soon to come in March.  And of course, there’s BabyBoy, angling into the picture at the lower left. 

This photo was taken at my in-law’s house in Tennessee.  So here’s to old days and new ones to come.

Another Time, Another Place

May 21, 2010

Once upon a time I was married. The person that I married was very confident and self-important. His entire family took pride in who they were, although they didn’t seem to be anybody very important at all. They took pride in their family name, and they took pride in their happy little family unit, and they took pride in their pride. They scrubbed their faces and their floors and their cars, and everything shone in their pride of self.  It was an interesting concept to me.

My mother-in-law’s parents were a tyrannical little Frenchman named Moselle and a sweet Swedish cookie named Jaderberg (Yah-deh-bear).  My husband explained that his grandfather was from the Moselle region of France.  You know the place, the Moselle valley, the Moselle wine.  Ah, of course, others would smile and agree, oh, yes, of course. 

During and after my divorce, my mother-in-law did something unheard of.  She sided with me.  Not with her own dear eldest blood child, but with me.  She decided that he was wrong, and that I was wronged, and that she would choose not to choose him.  She was my greatest ally, and my champion, and a source of great strength. 

She died in 2006.  My father-in-law has since moved on, and has recently met someone that he adores.  She’s very nice, and I can’t even look at her.  It makes me too sad because I miss my mother-in-law so much.  She died too young.

So I decided that I will make a family tree for her memory on my ancestry.com account.  I found her father, Mr. Moselle, in 1930, and further back in 1920.  Both times he is living in the home of his parents.  In 1930, his father, also Mr. Moselle, claimed that his birthplace was in France and that his mother tongue was French.  But in 1920, something weird happens.  He claims that he was born in Austria, and that his mother tongue was German. 

I finally found this little family in the 1910 census, living as lodgers in a boardinghouse, and now their last name is Mozell, and our head of the household, Mr. Mozell, is from Germany and his mother tongue is German. 

That’s a heck of a long way from the vineyards of France.  And I’m a heck of a long way from Tennessee.  Our lives take such odd twists and turns that no one can predict, and we form alliances where they shouldn’t exist, and when the bad comes, hopefully we get up and go on.  We reshape and reinvent ourselves to make the best of our situations. 

Sleep well, Mozells.