Memory number 7
Icicles
The attic was hidden above squeaking stairs, high up in my grandparents red-timbered farmhouse. The attic was only opened on special occasions, letting ripe wood smells permeate the house. The first occasion was Christmas, when regular access to the freezer was required. The second was in the summer and the third was in the winter.
In summer and winter you needed blankets. There were stacks of them. The white and yellow ones were for summer and the dark grey ones for winter. The summer blankets had belonged to great grandma Svea and the dark ones had come from Norway, where great grandad David had fought in the war. They were heavy and warm and spoke of memories.
They saved us from frostbites when our fingers had turned to icicles after long afternoons of snowball-fighting. They provided a soft padding from pebbles and twigs when we were sun bating. It was always an adventure when we were sent up into the attic to fetch the blankets. Each time we would find and open yet another dusty box and let out its forgotten memories. The Isak Penguin blanket has been made in honour to Inger & Olle and in memory of Svea & David.
