CHAPTER ONE

"I'm warning you guys," I said, as I cupped my hand over the receiver of the phone.

"You'd better cool it." The kids are at it again, I thought.

"You're either fighting or crying...you'd think you'd be able to play nice."

"Okay, I'm back." I said, as I walked around the kitchen doing my cleaning, the phone cradled between my head and shoulder. "I've decided to see what I can dig up on our family tree."

"UH-Hummm." The voice on the other end moaned.

"Do you think we'll get very far?"

"Well, I don't know," my Dad said, "I don't remember too much. I was so young when Dad died. I remember him telling us as children that when he arrived in the United States as a small boy of 4, that all Grand Dad had in his pocket was 10 cents. If you'd write your Aunt Hildy in Oregon, she'd know more than anyone."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to write her and just start from there. Just see what happens. Huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. Your Mom's got a book here at the house that I think has some information in it you might be able to use. I know it's got my Dad's obituary in it."

"That's great. Are you going to be out later today?"

"I suppose so."

"Can you run it by for me?"

"I suppose I can."

"Great! Well, I better get back to my cleaning,...Thanks Dad."

"Un-huh."

"Bye-Bye."

"Bye.

I hung up the phone and proceeded with my cleaning, anxiously awaiting the time when Dad would arrive with the book I needed. I finished cleaning my kitchen and quickly sat down with pencil and paper, starting a letter to my Aunt Hildy and wondering how much she'd be able to tell me about my Grandparents and Great Grandparents that came from Sweden.

*****

It's been about two years since I fist got that book from my Dad. And slowly, piece by piece started putting together bits of information about my family's roots. I had found several pieces of interesting information, but I wanted to know more, so much more. was so excited when I acquired the address to the Parish at Almeboda. It seemed to be the answer I had been looking for. This is where my relatives were born. surely they'd have the records I needed. The Parishes keep all records of births, deaths, confirmations. But it's been almost a year since I wrote that letter. Has it gotten lost? Maybe they can't read my English. Maybe they couldn't find anything. Surely they would at least give me the courtesy to answer my letter, even if no information was found. If I don't hear anything from them, I don't know what to do next, where do I write. I've hit a dead end.



CHAPTER TWO

I sat on the couch. My eyes shifting from the TV to the clock. 12:35....then back to the window. "He's running late today.", I thought, as I looked back toward the clock again...12:36. I whispered to myself..."how I wish I'd get a letter from Sweden today. It's been so long since I wrote that letter to the Parish at Almeboda. Why haven't they answered? They probably can't find anything. If they don't have any information there, I don't know where to write next, or what to do.

I glanced back at the clock...12:40. Standing up, I walked over to the front door. Opening it, I stood and looked out the screen window. I couldn't see him coming. I can see almost all the way up the street. I would be able to see him, if he were coming. I wish he'd get here! I turned and headed back toward the couch. If I just sit here and watch my story, time will pass, and he'll be here before I know it. I sat down and had soon become engrossed in the ongoing saga of my favorite soap.

Commerical! I jumped up from the couch and rushed to the door. My eyes took in every car I saw on my neighborhood street, till I spotted it. At last, it's about time he got here! I stood and watched as the small yellow car made it's stops at each mail box along the side of the street. Two more houses. He shut the lid on the mail box and proceeds slowly to the next box. "One more box." I said.

The car moved up to the next box. I watched as he opened the door, then glanced back down inside his car. Then his hand appeared through the window, depositing the contents in the box, the one bearing my address. His hand slowly disappeared again.

Opening the screen, I walked down the two steps that lead out of my front door. As I walked down the driveway, I watched as the mailman continues to make his routine stops and I try not to look to anxious. It's hard not to appear excited. I have done this exact ting so many times, hoping a letter will come. Everyday, for almost a year. I want to find out something so badly. I get so anxious when the mail finally gets here. Then, part of me will get discouraged and I feel as though I'm making that trip to the mail box again, just to find that there's nothing there.

I opened the Door, and quickly grabbed the hand full of mail that was left. Quickly I thumb through the envelopes. MasterCard, ....Penny's,.....bills, just bills....Wait! Oh No! Sweden! I glanced quickly at the return address:

Ann-Marie Ahlberg
Arnasjo

Almaboda, Sweden

Who on earth is this?" I said, talking to myself. I quickly jogged back down the driveway, thinking only about what I would find, when my long awaited letter was finally opened. It didn't really matter to me where it came from, just the fact that it came from Sweden was all I really cared about.




TO BE CONTINUED