Once our paths crossed, being together was all that mattered.
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Around Easter in 1960, Nils
wanted to meet. He arrived on Good Friday. On Saturday, we took a
12-mile hike in rainy April weather to Worpswede, a famous artist
village in Lower Saxony, Germany. In the evening, we visited the
world-renowned Ratskeller in Bremen, which housed Europe’s oldest wine
barrel, dated 1653.
By this time, it was not only the
wine that had warmed our hearts. Nils proposed, and we planned our
wedding
in Sweden for Midsommar (midsummer),
a joyful annual holiday
in Scandinavia in late June. Two days later, Nils flew back home, and
I
was left to plan the wedding by mastering piles of paperwork and
fighting bureaucracy.
Now what? I did not speak Swedish and decided to cram in 10 hours of Berlitz language lessons a week before the wedding.
We drove to Helsingborg, where
the marriage took place in a beautiful old kyrka (church) with Nils’
family and a few friends present. My father was still in East Germany,
behind the Iron Curtain. To this day, I do not know what the pastor
said, but according to the certificate, we were married!
At the end of 1962, we moved
to
Encinitas, California, to establish a flower business for
a well-known
Swedish grower.
Nils built the business and eventually purchased it
from his boss, changing from carnations
to roses shipped around the
U.S.
We became U.S. citizens and
adopted two children. Nils and I did a lot of volunteer work in the
community and received many awards.
Nils died at home in 2004 when he was 82. We had a blessed 43-year marriage after our Swedish/German courtship blitz.
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