The Swedish term for what we call Good Friday is Långfredag, or "long Friday". Neither term seems especially appropriate when you think about the origin of the day, but the Swedish one seems a little more solemn than ours. There is an explanation of how it came to be called Good Friday here.

In Australia, it is a public holiday and the day that hot cross buns are traditionally eaten. Special afternoon prayer services are often held with readings from the Gospel accounts of the events leading up to the crucifixion. Meat is not normally eaten today and time is spent visiting the graveyards of family members. Most shops are shut and there is an air of quiet mourning that is fitting for the day.

In Sweden, it is also a public holiday. But as this is a far more secular country, many shops remain open, people go away skiing and there is very little to seperate it from most other days. As we passed the big IKEA shop at Kungens Kurva, there was a queue of people waiting to get into the car park, which I thought was rather sad.

We spent the day with Lars-Göran's mother in Huddinge. It was another beautiful spring day and as we left Nynäshamn, we saw a lone fisherman standing on the rocks just off Strandvägen, trying his luck - perhaps to catch his dinner.



Except for the tell tale signs of ice around the rocks, you could almost believe that it was a summer's day. Look at the water glitter in the sun! It made us both long to set sail again and reach out for that horizon.

When we arrived at Huddinge, we took Evy (my mother-in-law) out to the cemetery to visit her husband's grave. I never knew Lars-Göran's father, Edvin, who died a few months before I moved here but everyone assures me that we would have really liked one another. It is almost five years now since he died and it still feels very fresh in Evy's mind, especially as he was her constant companion and caretaker twenty four hours a day since she had the accident that put her in a wheelchair twenty five years ago. I know that she feels his absence deeply.

While it was a sunny day, the cemetary itself at Botkyrka kyrkogård was still ankle deep in snow. Mother was really surprised as most of the snow has melted in her area and we decided that it was still far too soon to plant out the punnets of pansies we had bought with us. We'll come back and do that next week if the warm weather continues.

While we were there, we saw a group of gravestones that were much smaller than the others, so I went and had a look. I wish I hadn't as they were the graves of small children, ranging in ages from newborns to about 5 years old. It was so sad to stand there and think of death coming so soon to these tiny children and the poor parents who faced the heartbreak of burying them.

On the way home to her apartment, we passed a small kiosk, decorated with easter feathers.



I don't know about you, but the only thing I think of is completely tasteless. Maybe you have to grow up with it, but I never think to celebrate Easter by draping trees with feathers dyed fluorescent shades. Imagine how long it took to do that? It just seems bizarre to me as do the people who decorate their homes with these same feathers mounted on birch twigs. I think I prefer the dyed eggs and daffodils myself.

Back at Evy's home, I prepared a dinner of spicy fish, rice and salad, while Lars-Göran did some odd jobs under her supervision - things like repairing wardrobes, changing light bulbs, fixing curtains, hanging paintings. It was all a bit much for Lambi, so she happily slept with granny.



For dessert, I had a Finnish Easter speciality called Memma. Lars-Göran's family are Swedish speakers from Vasa in Finland, so I find that their traditions are often a blend of the two cultures. While I am not especially fond of this dish myself, I know that it is one of Evy's favourites, sprinkled with sugar and served with lashings of rich, whipped cream. You make memma like this:

Ingredients:
2 litres water
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/4 cups malt
2 tbsp. grated Seville orange rind
3 1/2 cups rye flour
1/2 cup syrup

Directions:

Heat the water to about 60C. Mix ¼ of the malt and some rye flour in the water. Cover the surface with a thick layer of the rest of the malt and rye flour. Cover the saucepan and cook over a low heat for about three hours (note it should only simmer, never boil). Then bring to the boil and allow to boil for 5-10 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the syrup, orange peel and salt. Continue to beat the mixture until it is cooled off. Then, spoon the memma into a low, square cardboard box and are bake at 175C for about 3 hours until it is dark brown.

It is thick, sweet and tastes like nothing I can really describe.



Still, Evy enjoys it and that is the most important thing. We spent the evening with her, enjoying her company and watching a favourite film before heading home at nearly midnight through the stunning full moon shining over the snow creating a blue, eerie but very peaceful light.