I Believe In The Kindness Of Neighbours

I can't sew. The only sew I know is the "Sew - a needle pulling threeeaaad" from you know what-movie. Not the real deal. It makes me sweat and ache and swear and pant like a dog running a marathon. Annette on the other hand is calm, cool and collected and knows her way around the machine. So I begged. That's what I do, I beg and bribe. And she threw caution to the wind and helped me sew a new cover for the kitchen sofa, asking nothing in return. I gave her coffee and lasagna (I'm not a total monster), but apart from that I think I was mostly in her way. It was like having a blue wizard in the house. Wiz, wiz, wiz and all of a sudden there was spring in the kitchen. Thank you, Annette. I owe you.

Turns Out Our House Is A Home Away From Home

Who has been sleeping in my bed?
Jennie has!
And her whole family too!
Just take a look at this.
While we were in Cornwall freezing our butts off, they were in our garden drinking up the sunshine. I'm so very glad.
See, the internet's a beautiful thing.
Blog friends, huh?
Who would have thunk it.

Say Hello To 1932

This is our street in 1932. Our house is the second on the right hand side. The downstairs window facing the camera is our kitchen. The one upstairs is Wilhelm's room. I wonder about the family that moved in here first. Who were they? Our kitchen window would have been their livingroom. And Wilhelm's room the bigger bedroom upstairs. Our study would have been their kitchen, and our bedroom and livingroom wouldn't have been there at all. The big birch isn't there. But the apple trees in the back would have been planted, though we can't see them here. I wonder who they were, the house's first family.

Homestead Happiness

We finally have a gate. A homemade one! Superdad made it. He and Jesper installed it (hard work if ever there was any). Am over myself with joy. Tallyho!

Dear Angela Duncan

We finally framed it! And we love it. Sorry about the passepartout being a little tight, though. And don't be fooled by the really awful pictures, it actually looks very much at home in our living room. Thank you!

More of Angela Duncan to be found on Etsy or here.

Run, Yasmine, Run Like The Wind!

We have neighbours. It's a new thing. When you live in an apartment you pretty much live in your neighbour's lap, but still there's not much interaction. In the House it's very different. We have neighbours to the left and to the right and right across and from afar. And we meet and greet and exchange pleasantries more or less daily. And they are all so nice! So friendly, so kind, so funny. And we feel so lucky, having heard many stories of the terror of Suburbia.

But here's the thing. Everyone, from dearest friends to parents to co-workers, says the same thing: You don't want to be too friendly. Not get too involved. You'll soon get tired of them. You don't want to have their children running around all over your house.

And when we reply that maybe we do, if not all the time, they all look at us like we're the biggest fools on this planet.

Yesterday the kids and I ended up next door. The sun was shining, the kids were playing and there was blueberry/coconut (no, it was good!) cake and coffee. I was happy. It was lovely. And I kept wondering if maybe, somehow, I have turned into the most naïve person on earth.

So now I need to know, is this a Swedish thing? The whole don't-get-too-close-approach? Because I'm having a hard time listening to the voice of reason here.

Leo is with me on this one. But he is American. Does that explain it all, or am I taking the easy way out? Let me know what you're thinking.

Mis En Place

We are now house people. I know this because yesterday I pondered the possibilities of buying some kind of fleece garment for cold nights on the porch. We are so definitely House. It's not so much a transition as a total transformation, but a good one. In the words of Madonna, everything feels shiny and new. Raking leaves, having cold feet, running out of hot water, commuting. All shiny and new. I love it. And true friends have not forgotten us. Or my birthday! Thank you so very much. I felt like Hollywood royalty.


Easter was celebrated in the name of food. Cheers! (And no, that's not Wilhelm drinking wine, with his mother's arm protruding from his head, it's an optical illusion known as really bad photography.)


There were eggs.


And Påskmust obligatoire.


And mousse au choc (or chocolate mash, if you ask the young'ns).


And lots of cake. Outside! Leo would have been happy to join us. The new life would do wonders for his stress levels (if not for his arteries).

Not Quite There Yet

The new house has turned me schizophrenic. I walk around in the kitchen, "Hmm, I wonder where they keep the toaster?" It's not a pretty sight.

But, oh, New House, how I love thee! Wilhelm picked all the flowers in the garden on his way to pre-school. The kids are like newly released prisoners, in awe of everything, eating dirt, ripping up flower beds, talking like crazy to strangers.

And it's my birthday.

What Would Leo Do? With a house in transition and not a ballgown in sight and a loving family all going a little crazy? He would postpone his birthday. So that's what I have done. My birthday will be on Saturday instead. Do come by!

It's The End Of The World As We Know It

This is our last weekend as city people. Come next Friday, we'll be moving the lawn, chatting with the neighbours, clearing out the attic, decorating cup cakes (ok, I've been known to do that already) and commuting.

This is a big step for us. No to say huge, enormous, humongous, gargantuan. So stay tuned for a special photo extravaganza – It's The Last City Weekend In Pictures!

(We are of course taking mr McGarry with us to Suburbia. All that fresh air will do him good.)

Tea For Joy (For Lynne)

I don't know if I'll ever use these. I'm a big girl when it comes to tea, and these little dainties don't seem to hold more than a mouthful. But they sure are easy on the eye!


And with buying a house comes the need for things I never dreamed about before. Such as tiny teacups. My mother saved these for me from the Christmas market in Midsomer. Thanks darling Mom.

Of course Leo thinks I've lost my senses.

The New Zen

We found the house. And now we've sold the apartment. We've found a school for Wilhelm, but no pre-school for Blanka (she's number 90 on their list, muahahahaha). We're moving a whole lot sooner than we thought and la sweet cousine is getting married right in the middle of it, about a thousand miles away and my hotel reservation seem to have been cancelled. But do I fret? Is my neck all red and blotchy? Is there a hint of panic in my voice? Do you find me packing through the night? Oh, No. I'm positively buddhist these days. It's the new me. I'm so calm it's frustrating. And I love it.

Leo enjoys it too.

Yep, That's Me

I blame my happy childhood. I had (still have, truth be told) a major thing for Anne Shirley, Laura Ingalls, Frances Hodgson Burnett's Little Princess, Noel Streatfield's Ballet Shoes and Thursday's Child, anything by Edith Nesbit, I think you get the picture. Heroines who led lifes more challenged and dramatic and somehow way more romantic than mine. Well, they shaped me, like good books do. And now when I find myself totally swept off my feet by a house, I blame them.

You see, there were almost always a pretty house somewhere, lurking in the background. If it wasn't a homestead on the prairie or a townhouse in Kensington, it was the recurrent nightmare of a palace in India going up in flames or the dream of something better than the hardship life at the orphanage. I was branded for life. The perfectly nice 1975 brick-with-Swiss-Alp-balcony that I grew up in, didn't quite match the House of Dreams. So forgive me now, if my posts have been less frequent and only mildly interesting. I'm in love. I think it's gonna last forever.

Leo would be too.

Now With House!

It's here, it's ours and it has a red door. And apple trees. And a fireplace. And I'm the happiest person in the world.

There's even an apartment for Leo in the basement! Should he ever want to stop over while in Europe.

WTF

I'm not a lion. I'm not even a cat. I'm a just a piece of a-s, at best.

Where is Leo when you need him? Where is Nancy McNally and the Marines? Where are the choppers and the code red?

Survival Of The Fittest

The House is closer than ever, but still out of reach. Just when I'd decided that this most probably is my House Of Dreams, it turns out that we're not the only players in this game. I knew that, of course. But I've been calm, cool and collected about it before. Not anymore.

Please God, please please let me be the lion.

Leo doesn't have concerns like this. He's not interested in suburbia. And if he was, he'd buy it all and shut up about it. Sometimes it feels like we're worlds apart.

Realtor Slash Psychic

My Lundberg at Fastighetsbyran e-mailed me. Apparently she thinks that I will be single very soon, because she recommended I buy the apartment featured above. It's a little small for four people, I think. Hope she doesn't know something I don't.

If someone at Fastighetsbyran had Leo's private e-mail I'm pretty sure he'd go bananas. I'm trying to take the higher road here.

The Bear Fight

Tomorrow we're looking at a house. A house I like. And thought we could like together. Turns out J's dream home looks very different from mine. Somehow I guess I always knew.

It's like our first real fight. About the superior polar bear.
Of these two very commercial polar bears, who is cool and who is not? The Coke Bear:


Or the Winner Taco Bear?


Now, J has always had a thing for the under dog, whereas I am more of a winner-takes-it-all kind of person.
And anyone in his right mind can see that my bear kicks the little one's ass.

How this applies to our house buying ordeals I don't really know.
But I know that tomorrow the Coke bear will be working all kinds of tricks to avoid J's perfectly sane questions. Like "can we really afford this?" and "do you really want to spend all your waking hours renovating?".

What Would Leo Do? Probably buy the inferior bear and tell him to shut up.

Forever your humble servant,
A.