picnic

On Saturday, we had a picnic outdoors.
Me, dad and the Mrs.
We got some pizza, and a thermos with green tea/Earl Grey infusion.
And it was sunny and over-all a lovely idea.

We had two pizzas: one with added blue cheese and pineapple which is like my childhood favourite. And then one with all the spicy stuff.

Also, I've never really been on a nice sunny skiing holiday and this just felt so so much like a fit time at some after-ski place. So I suddenly found myself battling serious feelings about having a ski trip.

Seriously. Yay, for winter picnics.

Have a winter picnic.
M.

STHLM pictures, as promised

A's future husband.
We went out for dinner, and saw this guy, bearded, beanie hat.
Holding a baby on one arm.
We died. So therefore, this guy in the middle could do the same thing. He's allowed.

Indoor market in Stockholm. Pastry. I heart pastry.

Textbook A+M situation/Chaos and Mayhem adventure
= 3AM in Macdo.
The people, and I mean the circus - one of the best I've ever seen.
You get a point, youths of Stockholm.

Bag of coated nuts (omg the variety), and tea.
Location: A's floor. White, wooden. No carpet!

Same indoor market, wintery festive cheeses.
My favourite is the snowman one.

Just some pretty lights.

Since I was wearing A's red Converse (cause I had no other flat shoes),
I couldn't resist the temptation for a self-take at H&M.
Oh, and I fully embraced "the Stockholm pony" -
middle-parting, low-pony-tail.

Oh, and we tried on the same dress, different colours.
Potentially for New Years. It still might be on the cards.

Sweden's biggest out-door museum - it's a biggg village.
All working little houses, and a pharmacy, and a tavern,
and people in national dress.
A. and I danced around a Christmas tree with some children,
for 30-40 minutes.
And then I had a Lussekatter. It's basically a saffron bun.
And its name ends in "cat".

All red. Before heading to the airport.

TALLINNNNN.

share your meal

So.
I had an idea the other week (...potential understatement of the year.)

So, I've been fairly obsessed with this Swedish thing lately.
I think it was True Blood's man-delicious-ness going under the character name of Eric Northman that kicked it off some time ago.
I've always had a place in my soul for some Swedish things. Being from a Nordic country I think we all have a lot of time (and a little bit of jealousy) for the Scandinavian sense of life. The pace, the architecture, the amount of space, the use of space.
Just more advanced I guess as a group of people in understanding what they want and how they want to want it. Or maybe it's all wrong, and it's more about the pace.
The connectedness as well. This is what we share. Understanding the roots, you know.

Then this idea of having a red house with white windows arrived. Somewhere near the sea, with a separate sauna house, with a big birch tree outside. And a swing behind the house.

So the idea that I had the other week was that I don't want to have this house for me. I'll most probably be jetting around the place quite a lot (or using trains if I get my way) so it wouldn't make much sense to have it as a permanent place.
Then I decided that it would be dandy to share it.
And therefore have a shared summerhouse, owned by mine and A's fams.

Shared meals, and shared sauna times.
And we can sit on the porch, our men will be fishing, and the children will be swimming so we can lie there in sundresses, waiting for the sauna to heat up, under the birch tree.

(S)pace.
M.

...you see, the thing is

Ahh, I did some daydreaming today...

It will be called plan 43.

And it includes A., a NYC loft, or a townhouse, and the Met, of course.
And dogs who will have to stay in the servants' quarters (HA),
and cats who can remain in front of the fire.
Cats hypo-allergenic, and otherwise.

A. will be a professor of something ÜBERinteresting. And she will have just returned from an expedition to either Pole. Doesn't really matter which one.
On this expedition she will have met a guy, who turns out to be quarter-Icelandic. But a lifelong Newyorker. Doing a PhD in something ineffably cool. So her visit does not only include seeing me, but going on scarf-and-coffee filled walks with this guy, in Central Park. Of course.
And I will be in New York singing the Met Autumn/Winter season. Doing a REALLY good production of Lucia. And I mean, really good.
And we'll be there, in some sort of a rented accommodation. So we'll be there, in the library, which holds a fireplace and a grand piano, sitting on the sofa, napping. That is A. will be napping, I'll be sat behind the piano, going over some part of the score.
A's nap is due to the fact we will have just finished dinner, followed by cheese. And it's the cheese that will have created this nap-time.
And it will be nearing Christmas.
And I'll be wearing really world-class socks. This is of utmost importance.
And then some sort of a man, in a loose tie, will arrive home from whatever work business whatever, wherever. But he'll arrive.
And then after the opening night, we will all go to a Russian restaurant. It will have to be around midnight because I doubt I'll get out of the Met before that.
And I will order of course - cause it's from my hood.
And we'll walk home - cause it's just across the Park. Of course.

DAYDREAMING
M.

friday

..was a great day.

(Even though sometimes I question my own behaviour. But apparently it was banter. So all is well.)
Young hearts run free.
M.

(And it's not a head-band. A. thought it was, so just in case, you know.)

öös on asju

Envy and greed, honestly. Honestly. They like making a strong comeback.
But enough of that.

In other news, I have a massive urge to throw a dinnerparty. But it's more one of those fantasy ones, not with no-longer-alive people, but rather people who never spend time on the same continent.
Everyone would wear dresses (because why not) and no one would complain about not feeling pretty, because all of them are pretty. Emma Stone has said that it is far more important to be funny, or honest, than to look a certain way. I like her so much.
Back to the dinnerparty. So, everyone would feel beautiful, but in the serene sense of the word. The kind of beauty of contentment type of thing.
There would be a large wooden table, I'd serve some fresh salad, some great cheese, and grapes, and some cold and hot meat, soft-boiled eggs, good bread, and wine, and for dessert there would be a sorbet or an icecream and of course, I would bake something. Or make soufflés. And there would be lanterns, and candles, and maybe fairylights. And really quite conversation-enducing music, something from the jazz legends, Ella most probably. And there would be loads of chatting and laughing, the kind of laughing when people don't care what they look like, and at some point probably singing as well, cause no one really cares enough to mind, and why should anyone care anyway? Singing is great. Especially if the occasion, much like this dinnerparty, is suitable. And at some point someone would say that they want to read a poem, and they would. Again, cause no one cares about what you "should", what is "cool", or not, or edgy, or "in", or whatever the stupid terms. Just be. Just the joy of being, of being yourself, as an individual, but also of being in this fantabulous atmosphere, having some food and laughing with the people you sincerely like, in your head and heart, double combo.
And this would go on till the latenight/earlymorning hours. And then me and someone else would decide that right now was the time to go indoors, so we could play a song on the piano that's standing in the corner, and whoever's cold could get some duvets going.

(I just made some dinner. Some salad, cheese, ham. So I thought I needed 2 eggs, hardboiled. Accidentally I managed to make the most perfect little soft-boiled wonders. And it's a warm night outside, and we haven't had many of those lately. I mean, really, really. Simple pleasures.)

So that is the kind of night I would like to witness. No awkwardness, no inner troubles of being, I would like to see my friends enjoy being themselves as much as I adore and long for their company. Just sit there not comparing and stressing, or measuring, or weighing, or assessing. Such a night. One day maybe. But I really really really hope so. Because the truth is, life really is too short. At least too short for any of that.
Not to short for dinnerparties and good food.

There are things in the night,M.