June 30, 2011
The sign is up
The sign "Gone to London" is up. A long weekend of food, friends and frolics. And of course shopping. And a baby shower, which I haven’t been to in almost 20 years as this is something we don’t do in Sweden. Hopefully I won’t feel out of place, like I did last time. Even though I’m still not a baby person, but on the other hand the mother-to-be is very good friend so you just have to love her Bump. There will a post about that I’m sure… And about other marvellous experiences in my beloved second hometown as always.
June 28, 2011
June 26, 2011
Aunt Inez
When I grew up mum had a friend called Inez. Aunt Inez to me. Aunt Inez was almost 20 years older than mum and lived a couple of blocks from our house, just across the street from school. I don't know how mum and she became friends, but since mum was at home I'm sure they must have met at the shop, post office or something. Aunt Inez had become a widow in her mid-40s (just like mum later did too) and the story surrounding her husband's death was rather tragic. Her husband was sea captain and over the year she had travelled with him all over the world and they had lived both in Asia and the US. They had just decided to move back to Sweden and bought a house when he got killed in accident at sea. She was home getting the house ready when a policeman and the vicar one day knocked on the door and delivered the terribly message.
Aunt Inez and her husband never got any children of their own, but Aunt Inez adored children. If they were well-behaved. In her eyes I was a very well-behaved child so she adored me and I adored her. Over the years I always knew that if something happened and mum wasn’t home Aunt Inez would take care of me.
I loved spending time at her house. A house filled with treasures from their travels. Masks from Africa, dolls from Japan, strange music instruments from Persia, but most of all she had a study. A room filled with bookshelves, two big armchairs and a desk by the window, where Aunt Inez wrote all her letters. This was long before emails and the Internet. She also had stacks and stacks of old glossy magazines that I could spend hours going through. Sometimes she would be working at her desk and sometimes reading herself, and then by 4 o'clock it was time for tea and cake. Royal Blend that she bought directly from Fortnum & Mason. Twice a year she got a parcel with tea and biscuits delivered.
Besides teaching me the lovely ritual of afternoon tea Aunt Inez also thought me how to do a French manicure, to use rosewater on my cuticles, how to use old fashion big curlers and that you can never go wrong wearing pearls. She was a lady in her pleated skirt, jumper, black pumps, the classic pageboy hairstyle and of course the pearls. In the summer she wore chiffon scarves and big Jackie O sun glasses.
She adored my father as well, her tall, dark and handsome handyman that helped her with the house, garden and car when needed. When he got ill she was devastated but still she became my safe haven all through his illness.
When I went to school in the England and the US we wrote long letters to each other and she probably knew more what was going on with me than my own mum. She was very proud of my adventures and always cheering me on saying that I could become whatever I wanted. Nothing was going to stop me.
During my last semester at college in Texas, mum called me one day to tell me that Aunt Inez had become ill with cancer. I was in Texas and she was in Sweden and there was nothing I could do. When I got home that summer I went to see her and she was a very ill woman. It was devastating. It had only been 6 years since dad died of cancer and it was real hard for me go and visit her. I couldn't take seeing another person that I loved and adored being in so much pain. I sent cards, letter and talked to her on the phone but I didn't go out and see her again.
By October I was living in student flat and she called one day to thank me for the birthday card I had sent her the week before. She was crying and said she missed me. When would I come out and have tea with her? Soon I said, when I'm done with this exam. Just two more weeks. But after that exam there was another one, and another one. Soon it was the new year and February. Reading the newspaper at the Uni library I found her obituary. She had died a week earlier. My dear, dear Aunt Inez had died.
It has been 17 years now and she's a distant memory from my childhood, until a couple of nights of ago. I was just about to fall asleep when I started to think about Aunt Inez. Probably for an hour or so I thought about her and all that time I spent with her. The things we did and talked about. What a true gift it was to have person like her when growing up. I think she would have been proud of me and what I have become. Especially that I wear my pearls with both pride and joy and feel like a lady every time.
Aunt Inez and her husband never got any children of their own, but Aunt Inez adored children. If they were well-behaved. In her eyes I was a very well-behaved child so she adored me and I adored her. Over the years I always knew that if something happened and mum wasn’t home Aunt Inez would take care of me.
I loved spending time at her house. A house filled with treasures from their travels. Masks from Africa, dolls from Japan, strange music instruments from Persia, but most of all she had a study. A room filled with bookshelves, two big armchairs and a desk by the window, where Aunt Inez wrote all her letters. This was long before emails and the Internet. She also had stacks and stacks of old glossy magazines that I could spend hours going through. Sometimes she would be working at her desk and sometimes reading herself, and then by 4 o'clock it was time for tea and cake. Royal Blend that she bought directly from Fortnum & Mason. Twice a year she got a parcel with tea and biscuits delivered.
Besides teaching me the lovely ritual of afternoon tea Aunt Inez also thought me how to do a French manicure, to use rosewater on my cuticles, how to use old fashion big curlers and that you can never go wrong wearing pearls. She was a lady in her pleated skirt, jumper, black pumps, the classic pageboy hairstyle and of course the pearls. In the summer she wore chiffon scarves and big Jackie O sun glasses.
She adored my father as well, her tall, dark and handsome handyman that helped her with the house, garden and car when needed. When he got ill she was devastated but still she became my safe haven all through his illness.
When I went to school in the England and the US we wrote long letters to each other and she probably knew more what was going on with me than my own mum. She was very proud of my adventures and always cheering me on saying that I could become whatever I wanted. Nothing was going to stop me.
During my last semester at college in Texas, mum called me one day to tell me that Aunt Inez had become ill with cancer. I was in Texas and she was in Sweden and there was nothing I could do. When I got home that summer I went to see her and she was a very ill woman. It was devastating. It had only been 6 years since dad died of cancer and it was real hard for me go and visit her. I couldn't take seeing another person that I loved and adored being in so much pain. I sent cards, letter and talked to her on the phone but I didn't go out and see her again.
By October I was living in student flat and she called one day to thank me for the birthday card I had sent her the week before. She was crying and said she missed me. When would I come out and have tea with her? Soon I said, when I'm done with this exam. Just two more weeks. But after that exam there was another one, and another one. Soon it was the new year and February. Reading the newspaper at the Uni library I found her obituary. She had died a week earlier. My dear, dear Aunt Inez had died.
It has been 17 years now and she's a distant memory from my childhood, until a couple of nights of ago. I was just about to fall asleep when I started to think about Aunt Inez. Probably for an hour or so I thought about her and all that time I spent with her. The things we did and talked about. What a true gift it was to have person like her when growing up. I think she would have been proud of me and what I have become. Especially that I wear my pearls with both pride and joy and feel like a lady every time.
June 24, 2011
Happy Midsummer!
It's Midsummer's Eve in Sweden today. Probably the largest holiday after Christmas, but I have to admit thought it's not big for me. Growing up Midsummer was of course spent very traditionally with singing and dancing around the May Pole with family and friends. The grown ups had pickled herring and fresh potatoes and the kids got hot dogs. I still don't like pickled herring, but I stay away from the hot dogs nowadays. For dessert fresh strawberries and cream.
Then as teenager when you're are suppose to start you're own traditions I was never home during Midsummer. Every single summer from when I was 13 until I was 18 I spent abroad. (Yes, I was one of those spoiled kids who got "sent" away over the summer.) My first Midsummer abroad was celebrated in a park in Hastings and I cried all evening because I was so homesick. That was the first and only time I have ever missed Midsummer. Another Midsummer was spent gazing out over the strait of Gibraltar trying to explain to the Brits what's so special about Midsummer. Already then I said that the most special thing is the light. Three Midsummers were spent in the humid heat of Washington DC. Needless to say dancing around the May Pole was quite an ordeal, and something I only did the first year.
As a grown up I've taken the advantage of the long weekend with going to London and Paris and just escaping it all. Some years I've been home alone doing nothing, which usually is something you don't say out load. On Midsummer's Eve everybody should be together and be happy. Well, the thing is I'm still happy without being together with everybody, i.e. people you're forced to be together with because they are family. Having a tiny family - just mum and stepfather – is sometimes a blessing...
The last couple of years since Mum moved back to town I've agreed on a little bit of celebration. Traditional Midsummer lunch with her and my stepfather. Sometimes a friend of mum's join us as well, but it's never a long thing. The Midsummer tradition is to leave the city so when I walk home the city is more or less deserted and very quite, just like a Sunday morning.
So Happy Midsummer wherever you are or whatever you do. Enjoy the light, food and do just as you please. There is no right or wrong with traditions. It's for you to decide.
Then as teenager when you're are suppose to start you're own traditions I was never home during Midsummer. Every single summer from when I was 13 until I was 18 I spent abroad. (Yes, I was one of those spoiled kids who got "sent" away over the summer.) My first Midsummer abroad was celebrated in a park in Hastings and I cried all evening because I was so homesick. That was the first and only time I have ever missed Midsummer. Another Midsummer was spent gazing out over the strait of Gibraltar trying to explain to the Brits what's so special about Midsummer. Already then I said that the most special thing is the light. Three Midsummers were spent in the humid heat of Washington DC. Needless to say dancing around the May Pole was quite an ordeal, and something I only did the first year.
As a grown up I've taken the advantage of the long weekend with going to London and Paris and just escaping it all. Some years I've been home alone doing nothing, which usually is something you don't say out load. On Midsummer's Eve everybody should be together and be happy. Well, the thing is I'm still happy without being together with everybody, i.e. people you're forced to be together with because they are family. Having a tiny family - just mum and stepfather – is sometimes a blessing...
The last couple of years since Mum moved back to town I've agreed on a little bit of celebration. Traditional Midsummer lunch with her and my stepfather. Sometimes a friend of mum's join us as well, but it's never a long thing. The Midsummer tradition is to leave the city so when I walk home the city is more or less deserted and very quite, just like a Sunday morning.
So Happy Midsummer wherever you are or whatever you do. Enjoy the light, food and do just as you please. There is no right or wrong with traditions. It's for you to decide.
June 21, 2011
The art of being alone
There is a big difference between being alone and lonely. Alone is when you enjoy your own company. Lonely is when you feel left out and wish there was someone there to notice and talk to you.
I love being alone and sometimes people find that very strange. I'm not a aloof and loner, OK maybe a bit of loner, but what I have learnt is the art of being alone and enjoy my own company.
I travel by myself. I go to the cinema by myself. I go to the theatre by myself. I dine out by myself. And it's not that I don't won't company, it's just that I've learnt to enjoy it and don't give a toss what other people think. Yes, because that's what people do sometimes. They talk and look at you with pity. Especially since I'm a woman. Sometimes you get treated with less respect as well, like you’re a second class customer.
If that's the downside of doing things by myself the upside is that I get to talk to people I never ever would have talked to. I get to experience and see exactly those things I want to, selfish yes I know, and I don't need to think about anyone besides myself. Again quite selfish, and probably why I like it so much. It's just me and I can do whatever I feel like.
Most of all when doing things by myself, I’ve learnt to trust myself. To trust my instinct and gut feeling. To be cocky and stand up for myself. To be a strong and confident woman. So it's not all that bad to be alone, but to be honest company is always nice.
I love being alone and sometimes people find that very strange. I'm not a aloof and loner, OK maybe a bit of loner, but what I have learnt is the art of being alone and enjoy my own company.
I travel by myself. I go to the cinema by myself. I go to the theatre by myself. I dine out by myself. And it's not that I don't won't company, it's just that I've learnt to enjoy it and don't give a toss what other people think. Yes, because that's what people do sometimes. They talk and look at you with pity. Especially since I'm a woman. Sometimes you get treated with less respect as well, like you’re a second class customer.
If that's the downside of doing things by myself the upside is that I get to talk to people I never ever would have talked to. I get to experience and see exactly those things I want to, selfish yes I know, and I don't need to think about anyone besides myself. Again quite selfish, and probably why I like it so much. It's just me and I can do whatever I feel like.
Most of all when doing things by myself, I’ve learnt to trust myself. To trust my instinct and gut feeling. To be cocky and stand up for myself. To be a strong and confident woman. So it's not all that bad to be alone, but to be honest company is always nice.
June 19, 2011
You're not your weight
Yesterday I tried on some dresses I haven't been able to wear in years and they fit. Whoo hoo! Some of the dresses were from special occasions such a first date, a wedding and a dinner thing at work. All occasions where I have considered myself as slim, or at least at normal weight and being OK with my body. Being 5'8 and loving food and wine too much means I have given up the idea of size 0. It has not even crossed my mind to be honest. All I want to be is a healthy (and somewhat slim) good looking woman. Something we all want to be, right?!
Posting my victory on Twitter a friend reply with "Way to go!" She knows about how hard I tried this last year to lose weight and get back to healthy eating and working out. How I quite easily lost 10 kilos from August to December, and that I've been stuck since then. That I've lost and gained the same 1-3 kilos over and over again. Somehow through the spring (not sure how) I've continued with my healthier eating and working out as much as possible. To my big surprise my body has changed despite my weight not changing, which trying on those dresses yesterday yet again showed. But instead of saying thank you to my friend’s reply on Twitter I moaned about the scale not moving. Her reply was very firm – It's what you see that counts, not what it says on a fecking scale.
Right after that I stumbled over an article called Your Weight Is Not Your Worth, and then it really hit me. My dear friend was totally right. My weight is just a number and I'm not any less of woman because of what it says on the scale. I need to make peace with body (again) and celebrate what it can do instead of how it appears.
So my thighs and calves are big, but hey 2-3 times a week they make me run/jog 4-5K. That's pretty marvellous in my opinion. So my stomach isn't flat and my upper arms aren't especially toned, but each day my arms help me pick up and carry things. My love-handles show me I live in a society where food can be found in abundance and (most) people go to bed with a full stomach.
My long eyelashes, my pretty smile (that I don't show often enough) and the big chest I've been blessed with, I love you. (And I know other people who do too...) You are all part of me along with those big thighs, calves, love-handles and flabby upper arms. You are my body and you're pretty darn amazing. If I said something else I would be very stupid.
Love your body.
Posting my victory on Twitter a friend reply with "Way to go!" She knows about how hard I tried this last year to lose weight and get back to healthy eating and working out. How I quite easily lost 10 kilos from August to December, and that I've been stuck since then. That I've lost and gained the same 1-3 kilos over and over again. Somehow through the spring (not sure how) I've continued with my healthier eating and working out as much as possible. To my big surprise my body has changed despite my weight not changing, which trying on those dresses yesterday yet again showed. But instead of saying thank you to my friend’s reply on Twitter I moaned about the scale not moving. Her reply was very firm – It's what you see that counts, not what it says on a fecking scale.
Right after that I stumbled over an article called Your Weight Is Not Your Worth, and then it really hit me. My dear friend was totally right. My weight is just a number and I'm not any less of woman because of what it says on the scale. I need to make peace with body (again) and celebrate what it can do instead of how it appears.
So my thighs and calves are big, but hey 2-3 times a week they make me run/jog 4-5K. That's pretty marvellous in my opinion. So my stomach isn't flat and my upper arms aren't especially toned, but each day my arms help me pick up and carry things. My love-handles show me I live in a society where food can be found in abundance and (most) people go to bed with a full stomach.
My long eyelashes, my pretty smile (that I don't show often enough) and the big chest I've been blessed with, I love you. (And I know other people who do too...) You are all part of me along with those big thighs, calves, love-handles and flabby upper arms. You are my body and you're pretty darn amazing. If I said something else I would be very stupid.
Love your body.
June 14, 2011
Behind the black door
I'm a bit of a political junkie when it comes to memoirs. I've read them all and find it fascinating what goes on behind the scenes. Sometimes it also gives you a total different view on things or make you wonder how three people so very differently have experienced the same thing (Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright on the Lewinsky story)
Sarah Brown's book Behind the black door is a diary over the 3 years Gordon Brown was Prime Minister and Sarah was WOPM. It's an honest and open book where she writes about everything from being a mother of two little boys to meeting President Bush and Nelson Mandela. How she finds herself feeling frumpy after recently given birth and not liking to speak in public. A very normal woman. And that is why I like the book. Sarah Brown is just a normal woman who happens to be married to the Prime Minster of the UK. She still has her own life and own agenda and is trying to do her best. Just like you and me.
Sarah Brown's book Behind the black door is a diary over the 3 years Gordon Brown was Prime Minister and Sarah was WOPM. It's an honest and open book where she writes about everything from being a mother of two little boys to meeting President Bush and Nelson Mandela. How she finds herself feeling frumpy after recently given birth and not liking to speak in public. A very normal woman. And that is why I like the book. Sarah Brown is just a normal woman who happens to be married to the Prime Minster of the UK. She still has her own life and own agenda and is trying to do her best. Just like you and me.
June 12, 2011
Norwegian fine dining
Arne Brimi is one of Norway's best well-known chefs. His food is typical Scandinavian and Norwegian, using local produce to mix and match both taste and texture in new ways. As famous chef he has of course written cookbooks, done TV-series and has his own brand on food, wine and other lifestyle products. More or less Norway's answer to Jamie Oliver. He's everywhere and people love him.
Onboard Stena Saga sailing between the Norwegian capital Oslo and Frederikshavn in Denmark, the a la carte restaurant is serving a special 3 course Arne Brimi meal with matching wine. Last year travelling on the route I tried the meat menu and this year just a couple of weeks ago I tried the fish menu.
It was really nice to see Metropolitan, as the a la carte restaurant is called on Stena Saga, to be almost full. Last time there was only three of us eating there. Obviously a Thursday night in late May is a lot better day to travel than a Tuesday in early April.
The starter is called Syrlig fisk med urtemajones or Pickled fish with herb mayonnaise. The fish is made up of salmon and monk-fish (or similar) served in nice bite size cubes. Unfortunately the pickle is a bit too vinegary for me, but the mayonnaise take away some of the sourness. Still though I do not finish my serving.
A glass of Hugel Riesling is the perfect match, even though I have to bite my tongue not tell the waiter off when he pours the wine and put the bottle on the rim of the glass. He doesn't just do it once, but for all five of us in the party. In the end I'm just speechless watching what he's doing. I'm sure it might be difficult to pour wine sometimes in a crowded restaurant out on sea, but this is an a la carte restaurant and a waiter working there should know better. Putting the bottle neck on the rim of the glass when pouring is a big no-no.
The waiter then goes on to astonish me again with serving the wine to the main course at the same time as he serves the Riesling. The wine menu calls for two glasses of wine for the main course, and since I'm the only one having fish and Bonaterra Chardonnay I get a large glass filled more or less all the way up. When I ask the waiter what he's doing he tells me that the wine is too cold and need to warm up since the glass has been in the fridge. Again I'm speechless.
Yes, white wine sometimes need a bit of warming up, but for crying out loud that is not the guest's problem. Also if the menu says two glasses of wine please serve it in a normal size glass and top it up if needed.
Despite having a not very knowingly waiter the main course Ovnsbakt breiflabb med fløtekokt sjalottløk smaksatt med vermouth. Serveres med vårgrønnsaker or Oven baked monk-fish with vermouth and butter sauce served with spring vegetable is plain delicious. As usual the monk-fish comes apart in perfect slices and is very tender. Way to go Chef!
For dessert everybody have Sjokoladekake med romtopf og vaniljerømme or Chocolate cake with rumtopf and vanilla sour cream. A glass of Torres Moscatel Oro also makes the desert complete.
Just like last time the Brimi menu is very nice and it's an easy choice to spend the evening in the Metropolitan restaurant. Some of the waiters need to brush up on their service skills and learn a bit of first class style though.
Onboard Stena Saga sailing between the Norwegian capital Oslo and Frederikshavn in Denmark, the a la carte restaurant is serving a special 3 course Arne Brimi meal with matching wine. Last year travelling on the route I tried the meat menu and this year just a couple of weeks ago I tried the fish menu.
It was really nice to see Metropolitan, as the a la carte restaurant is called on Stena Saga, to be almost full. Last time there was only three of us eating there. Obviously a Thursday night in late May is a lot better day to travel than a Tuesday in early April.
The starter is called Syrlig fisk med urtemajones or Pickled fish with herb mayonnaise. The fish is made up of salmon and monk-fish (or similar) served in nice bite size cubes. Unfortunately the pickle is a bit too vinegary for me, but the mayonnaise take away some of the sourness. Still though I do not finish my serving. A glass of Hugel Riesling is the perfect match, even though I have to bite my tongue not tell the waiter off when he pours the wine and put the bottle on the rim of the glass. He doesn't just do it once, but for all five of us in the party. In the end I'm just speechless watching what he's doing. I'm sure it might be difficult to pour wine sometimes in a crowded restaurant out on sea, but this is an a la carte restaurant and a waiter working there should know better. Putting the bottle neck on the rim of the glass when pouring is a big no-no.
The waiter then goes on to astonish me again with serving the wine to the main course at the same time as he serves the Riesling. The wine menu calls for two glasses of wine for the main course, and since I'm the only one having fish and Bonaterra Chardonnay I get a large glass filled more or less all the way up. When I ask the waiter what he's doing he tells me that the wine is too cold and need to warm up since the glass has been in the fridge. Again I'm speechless.
Yes, white wine sometimes need a bit of warming up, but for crying out loud that is not the guest's problem. Also if the menu says two glasses of wine please serve it in a normal size glass and top it up if needed.Despite having a not very knowingly waiter the main course Ovnsbakt breiflabb med fløtekokt sjalottløk smaksatt med vermouth. Serveres med vårgrønnsaker or Oven baked monk-fish with vermouth and butter sauce served with spring vegetable is plain delicious. As usual the monk-fish comes apart in perfect slices and is very tender. Way to go Chef!
For dessert everybody have Sjokoladekake med romtopf og vaniljerømme or Chocolate cake with rumtopf and vanilla sour cream. A glass of Torres Moscatel Oro also makes the desert complete. Just like last time the Brimi menu is very nice and it's an easy choice to spend the evening in the Metropolitan restaurant. Some of the waiters need to brush up on their service skills and learn a bit of first class style though.
June 09, 2011
From the dead
During last week's very long weekend I finally got time to catch up on my reading. In the pile of books was Mark Billingham's latest DI Tom Thorne detective story - From the dead.
Female private detective Anna Carpenter encounters Thorne witha photo of a man who supposedly died 10 years ago in a murder ordered by the man's wife. The wife has now just been released from prison after 10 years and is trying to make a new life for herself. At first Thorne isn't very interesting in the story, but Anna keeps nagging him to take a closer look at the case. A case that Thorne and his other detective colleagues remember very well. And soon they have opened a can of worms.
There are snitches, there are crooked policemen and most of all there is a man on Costa del Sol that wants to show that he is still in charge – even as dead.
The book is a real page-turner and is nice to see Tom Thorne being back in gold old from in his beloved London.
Female private detective Anna Carpenter encounters Thorne witha photo of a man who supposedly died 10 years ago in a murder ordered by the man's wife. The wife has now just been released from prison after 10 years and is trying to make a new life for herself. At first Thorne isn't very interesting in the story, but Anna keeps nagging him to take a closer look at the case. A case that Thorne and his other detective colleagues remember very well. And soon they have opened a can of worms.
There are snitches, there are crooked policemen and most of all there is a man on Costa del Sol that wants to show that he is still in charge – even as dead.
The book is a real page-turner and is nice to see Tom Thorne being back in gold old from in his beloved London.
June 07, 2011
Just Kids
To me Patti Smith has always been one of those 1970's artists that I was too young to experience myself. Over the years she has I've read articles about her and so on,but I've never listened to her music. Earlier this years she won the Polar Music Prize and again I read some articles about her and realized that she was quite an artist, not only doing singer song writing but also poetry and photos.
A couple of weeks later a friend told me that I had to read her book Just Kids about her early years in New York struggling to become an artist. I didn't matter that that I was a fan of her, it was just such an incredible story about giving your life to become an artist. Now having read the book I can only agree. It is an incredible story about her and her soul-mate Robert Mapplethorpe's years together in New York during the late 1960's and 1970's.
Like so many artist they really struggled for their art, but at the same time they were also part of a very special era in New York. They lived at Chelsea Hotel with artist like Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Sam Shepard. They frequented clubs like Max's Kansas City and CBGB. They lived for their art and in the end they did become successful and world famous artist.
It's an easy book to read and you can tell Patti Smith has a way with word (otherwise she wouldn't be a singer song writer and poet). Very quickly you get into the world of New York circa 1973. A great story about an era that will never come back but gave the world a lot of very famous artists.
A couple of weeks later a friend told me that I had to read her book Just Kids about her early years in New York struggling to become an artist. I didn't matter that that I was a fan of her, it was just such an incredible story about giving your life to become an artist. Now having read the book I can only agree. It is an incredible story about her and her soul-mate Robert Mapplethorpe's years together in New York during the late 1960's and 1970's.
Like so many artist they really struggled for their art, but at the same time they were also part of a very special era in New York. They lived at Chelsea Hotel with artist like Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Sam Shepard. They frequented clubs like Max's Kansas City and CBGB. They lived for their art and in the end they did become successful and world famous artist.
It's an easy book to read and you can tell Patti Smith has a way with word (otherwise she wouldn't be a singer song writer and poet). Very quickly you get into the world of New York circa 1973. A great story about an era that will never come back but gave the world a lot of very famous artists.
June 02, 2011
The little things
This morning Eat Love Savor Magazine tweeted the following question:
What (mundane) activity can you turn into a luxury moment today?
Being Ascension Day and Bank Holiday today I decided to make the little things count. To make the ordinary things more luxurious.
I started out with a long breakfast with freshly made scones, strawberry jam, blood orange juice, yoghurt, coffee and even some fresh strawberries (left over from last night) to top off things.
Laundry was then next on my list. And I really tried to make more luxurious, but it didn't work. I did add an extra splash of fabric softener to make my towels smell like a summer meadow, but to be honest there is nothing luxurious to load the washer, hang the washing to dry and then in the end maybe do some ironing.
The sun had finally come out when I was done with the laundry. So no more excuses of not going running. Off I went. I usually do 3 laps (3K) around the Tech Uni and I start thinking about the last lap the minute I start. The scenery is rather boring, but it's close so I live with it. Today though when I was on my 3rd lap I told myself that I could do another lap. I could at least walk it if I would run out of steam. I sort of did and walked for a while, but somehow I just continued on a 5th lap as well. Now I was back to running, besides that steep uphill that always kill me on my first lap.
When I realized what I had done I let out a little victory scream. Not very loud but just when one of those really fast guys passedme. He looked at me like I was crazy. Well, I sort of was. I had just done 5K. Something I haven't done in 3-4 years.
Back home again I decided that instead of a shower I was going to take a hot bubble bath. Pure heaven, especially for my poor calves that really thought I had overdone it (calves are my Achilles heel...) A hot bubble bath on Thursday afternoon, that's what I call luxury. I then continued with doing a facial, mani, pedi and in the end painting all 20 nails with the same summery hot pink colour.
I also decided to not get dressed again. I love my fluffy dressing gown way too much to not wear it when I can. Writing this post there is glass of wine next to me and a chicken/pasta casserole is simmering away in the oven. Again luxury on a Thursday. It's those little things that really counts.
Unfortunately I need to do a bit of work tomorrow (no Bank Holiday but most people take the day off to get a long weekend which was my plan as well), but thinking about how relaxing and luxurious today have been I think I'll survive. Also working from home is also a sort of luxury. I can wear my dressing gown all day if I want to...
What (mundane) activity can you turn into a luxury moment today?
Being Ascension Day and Bank Holiday today I decided to make the little things count. To make the ordinary things more luxurious.
I started out with a long breakfast with freshly made scones, strawberry jam, blood orange juice, yoghurt, coffee and even some fresh strawberries (left over from last night) to top off things.
Laundry was then next on my list. And I really tried to make more luxurious, but it didn't work. I did add an extra splash of fabric softener to make my towels smell like a summer meadow, but to be honest there is nothing luxurious to load the washer, hang the washing to dry and then in the end maybe do some ironing.
The sun had finally come out when I was done with the laundry. So no more excuses of not going running. Off I went. I usually do 3 laps (3K) around the Tech Uni and I start thinking about the last lap the minute I start. The scenery is rather boring, but it's close so I live with it. Today though when I was on my 3rd lap I told myself that I could do another lap. I could at least walk it if I would run out of steam. I sort of did and walked for a while, but somehow I just continued on a 5th lap as well. Now I was back to running, besides that steep uphill that always kill me on my first lap.
When I realized what I had done I let out a little victory scream. Not very loud but just when one of those really fast guys passedme. He looked at me like I was crazy. Well, I sort of was. I had just done 5K. Something I haven't done in 3-4 years.
Back home again I decided that instead of a shower I was going to take a hot bubble bath. Pure heaven, especially for my poor calves that really thought I had overdone it (calves are my Achilles heel...) A hot bubble bath on Thursday afternoon, that's what I call luxury. I then continued with doing a facial, mani, pedi and in the end painting all 20 nails with the same summery hot pink colour.
I also decided to not get dressed again. I love my fluffy dressing gown way too much to not wear it when I can. Writing this post there is glass of wine next to me and a chicken/pasta casserole is simmering away in the oven. Again luxury on a Thursday. It's those little things that really counts.
Unfortunately I need to do a bit of work tomorrow (no Bank Holiday but most people take the day off to get a long weekend which was my plan as well), but thinking about how relaxing and luxurious today have been I think I'll survive. Also working from home is also a sort of luxury. I can wear my dressing gown all day if I want to...
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