My last post was in December as I was preparing to exit Paris with Georgia and Roo. I was sad to leave. I had been excited to watch spring slowly chase winter from the ancient storied city. I knew balconies would bloom and overcoats would be shed to once again reveal the measured yet undeniable flamboyance of French fashion.
I was leaving just as I had begun to make some ‘friends’. It’s a term I use loosely to denote the charitably good natured people who chatted to me regularly at the gym and my usual cafes and haunts. The basic little conversations with me were a blip on their radar but formed a meaningful feeling of connectedness for me to my new home. By December, I had learned my way around the city more or less without needing to refer to my phone navigation, and that, in combination with what I like to think of as an improved attention to how I dressed even had people asking ME for directions to places.
I loved it when tourists would ask me for directions in halting French, and I would reply in English, that
“Yes, the Palais Garnier is the Opera house and yes, it is that big building up there with the gold on the roof”, or
“I would recommend Printemps. It is just up ahead to the right. Make sure to visit the two food floors at the top of the Mens building and plan to have lunch there if you can.”, or
“There are actually three Zaras (or three Starbucks) all close to here. Which one are you looking for…?”
Their faces lit with joy at their luck of having inadvertently asked an English speaker and my face lit with joy at having been taken as French.
So returning to our decidedly quiet corner of life on a West Coast Canadian Island was a bit of a reverse culture shock. I think the most alarming part was that it felt like nothing had changed at home. In fact the kids and I would marvel that the more days at home we logged, the more it seemed our time in Paris might not have even happened at all. But Christmas came and we enjoyed all the happiness and family togetherness that entailed and soon it was January.
Rupert slid back into school as if he had never left; Harrison went back to school, and Georgia was engaged in art school applications. It felt the world was ticking back along its indentured path and then Covid 19 came on the scene. Now life has changed for all of us on this spinning dot of blue.
But life for us personally in this little bubble of relative self-sufficiency and low population density has hardly been arduous. But as I follow my French ‘friends’ on social media, I feel pangs of sadness as I witness that ancient city of architectural beauty and continual motion, stop. The streets are bare, made so by roaming armed guards insisting people stay behind closed doors. A photographer friend sent me photos of the city as almost never seen before: entirely empty. (Credit to Marc Aussett-Lacroix)
The streets are in fact so empty that they almost appear photoshopped to me. Paris is NEVER empty. The City of Lights never sleeps.
Tour EiffelRue de Rivoli The LouvrePlace de la ConcordePlace Vendome
I’ve always thought Paris is its famous monuments and its other gorgeous buildings, its parks, the Seine, and the way the light dawns and sets on it all. But without its people, Paris appears to have become like a beautiful car without an engine. Navigating the streets with throngs of people, and so so many tourists was tiring and often frustrating for us, but I must concede it was also the people who brought the magic: magic in the form of windows piled high with spectacular cheeses and bread and pastries, people standing and chatting (and smoking) and laughing and looking. It was the people on loud scooters, in speeding taxis, on sidewalks rushing, in restaurants clinking, and the lines of them disgorging from endless buses that were a massive part of the city’s vitality. I think old buildings have a soul, but without the life of any people, they don’t have a pulse.
And while the world’s people stay behind closed doors, we have taken to entertaining ourselves in wild and wonderful and weird ways at home. We’ve had a few ‘sophisticated Sunday’ dinners, where we make a nice dinner and get dressed up and have a dance party afterward. Last Sunday was Mothers Day and Georgia suggested we embrace an 80’s German Techno theme.
In preparation for the event, Georgia and Roo decided to create their own heavily synthesized song. They wanted to incorporate proper German lyrics, so went to our friend, Google to find some phrases in German. Turns out there are some very intriguing German idioms. Georgia has a couple of German friends and she said it’s amazing how they have a word for things that in English take a number of words to say. For example they have one word to denote the feeling when something is on the tip of your tongue.
Georgia and Roo got a kick out of researching these phrases and the song they composed, incorporating most of them is pretty fantastic. It ends with an inspiring ‘Happy Mothers Day’ and gave us some much enjoyed dinner chuckles. As the Germans would say, ‘now we’re in the salad’ with the state of the world. But it’s time to get over our ‘grief bacon’, and to recalibrate and remember what, or more importantly who is of importance to us in these journeys of life we are fortunate enough to enjoy. I don’t think it’s an ‘air castle’ to think there is still so much magic and beauty in the world and in ourselves. It’s important to remember that the challenges make the victories that much better. We can’t all ‘live like God in France’. We need to remember that ‘life is no pony farm.’
Hope you and yours are keeping safe, content and feeling loved. ❤️
Well, this is my fourth attempt at a blog post. I have been thwarted at every turn. Twice, the wifi cut out in the middle of me writing…once my piece was lost due to my own error in closing the window, and then the second time it was saved, but alas the moment of inspiration was lost.
When I create, whether painting or writing, I tend to work until the piece is done. I will go back and edit or modify a painting at a later time of course, but the initial genesis always comes out in its first iteration in one sitting. So I have a few posts now sitting in construction, and I will attempt to come back to them, but for now I am surging forward.
It has been a hard week with a few emotionally dramatic scenarios occurring. They are not my stories to tell, but they have been dramatic and traumatic. I think Roo will allow me to say that he was mugged. He is physically ok, but mentally quite shaken. A guy accosted him at the skate park (about 2.5km from our apt) and tried to take Roo’s drink off him. Roo stood his ground and then the man followed him into the skate park course and started to point and pull at Roo’s knee and elbow pads. Roo had the good sense to leave the park, but unfortunately the guy followed him…keeping out of sight. When Roo opened his cross body bag to retrieve his key card to enter the building, the guy sprang on him as Roo was closing the door behind him.
The guy grabbed him by the scruff and thrust his hand into Roo’s open bag and made off with some cash. He couldn’t steal the whole bag as it was attached to Roo so that’s at least a consolation. The loss of money was little consequence compared to the awful feeling of violation Roo felt being accosted in our own front lobby. So that has very much eroded his sense of safety and well being. And it’s really unfortunate because Roo was just starting to feel at ease, making small circles from our apartment to get familiar with the area. Our neighbourhood is very safe and it’s just very unfortunate that this crime of the skate park followed him home.
Roo’s courage and resilience has impressed me no end and I am pleased and relieved to see him recovering. This incident has however lessened his love of this city, and he is struggling with not wanting to remain here. This is a familiar predicament for me because I was an exchange student to Venezuela and I had some exceedingly traumatic events occur and I was desperate to leave. I didn’t disclose to my parents the full extent of what had happened so they didn’t know what I was dealing with, and insisted I stay. My mom grew up in the Middle East and a day where bullets didn’t ruin the family’s good sheets while they were drying on the line, was a victory. My mom is made of tough stuff and I know wanted me to grow from my challenges of living abroad.
But do I think leaving Venezuela would have been the right choice for me? I do. I stopped going to school in Venezuela because I was harassed there by the boys, and I turned to exercise as a means to cope. I lived in a tiny gated community of about 6 houses in the mountains and we had a shared driveway that was about 1 km long at about a 40% incline. So I sprinted up it. Again, and again and again. I also found a gym I could go to and feel safe and so I worked out. Class after class after class. When I arrived back in Canada I was wiry and lean (and absolutely totally mentally wrung out.)
My physical prowess inadvertently put me in perfect condition to hit my next chapter of life which was starting in the Canadian Navy as a Fighter Pilot trainee. I arrived being able to surpass all the physical fitness standards set for (women and for) men. I could do chin ups for days and as the smallest person was always the ‘marker’ when we formed up. (The marker was the one around whom everyone else had to keep the proper distance so the squad stayed in perfect formation while in motion. It was kind of a thing of beauty to be honest, but I was often shrieked at to slow the pace while we ran for miles as one.) So perhaps the challenges of South America prepped me well for military life, but Rupert is not training for military forces and he is also only 12. So we are working our way through finding what will feel like the right path forward for him.
Regardless of what we all decide is the right choice for Roo, I know this experience of living in Paris (regardless of the length of time) will inform him for the rest of his life….and I don’t just mean the being mugged part. That was an unfortunate experience but there have already been soooo many good ones. So it’s a matter of finding the balance of how many good ones we pack into his bucket before he returns home to Victoria.
As I sit writing this, my hair is in a wild mess on top of my head. We are now at day 3 without hot water and feeling like I’m back in the military, on a multi-day field exercise where personal hygiene isn’t a priority. But I have to take a moment and let off some steam, and say, ” ummm, WTF?!…last I checked I am living in PARIS….one of the largest metropolitan cities in the ‘modern’ world. Why on God’s (still mostly…) green earth is it taking 2-3 days to get a part for a boiler in a building that has just been gutted to the studs?! ”
This is a rhetorical question, because in France in this situation one just shrugs one’s shoulders and simultaneously exhales whilst also saying ‘Ufffffttt….’ and trailing off. I mean honestly I would expect this from some enchantingly quaint town in rural Italy, but not in the freaking centre of freaking Paris. Sorry there is a lot of ‘freaking’ happening here, and let me just say that I’m actually toning it down.
I wrote about the challenges of the French bureaucracy….I accidentally typed that as ‘bureaucrazy’ and really, no spelling mistake could be more apropos. In order for us to ‘validate’ Georgia’s student visa we need to pay a small ‘administrative’ fee and present her visa and passport to our local city hall. In order to pay the aforementioned admin fee, however, we need to have a French bank card or credit card to pay. Those are the only two accepted forms of payment.
I am now about a month and a half into the process of getting a bank account. I’ve given them copies of everything under the sun, I even have my IBAN number AND have given them 800 Euros to open the account. I felt like I was just about there, but do you think I can get the bank to give me the bank card to be able to access my bank account?! Absolutely not! That appears to be a whole different thing. I’ve been to the bank four times. They now know me there. They actually KNOW my first and last name just by seeing me. At least I have that going for me, except they just shake their heads and give me the French ‘uffffttt’ about where my bank card is. Apparently they are waiting from authorization from the heavens. God, if you are listening….I know you have WAY bigger fish to fry….world peace, starvation, environmental peril, the ill and the suffering…..they all take priority, and I want them to, but…..I just kind of really need that bank card in order to get some $hit done down here in the earthly realm.
I’m not one to watch many movies, but lately I’ve just needed to escape into some kind of feel-good screen therapy. My latest drug of choice was a delightful little movie called ‘Letters to Juliet’. I am most certainly NOT recommending it because I don’t want to hear from anyone who says it’s a cheesy giant cliche. Maybe it is, but it offered a little bit of welcome happy magic to me as I feel like I’m floundering in a french quagmire of challenge.
Letters to Juliet is the story of a young girl played by the absolutely gorgeous Amanda Seyfried who stumbles upon ‘the secretaries of Juliet’ who are the Veronese women hired by the city to reply to all the letters written to the famous Juliet Capulet. In a lovely twist of fate involving her ill-suited fiance, she ends up replying to an overlooked letter from 50 years ago and setting off a chain of events that leads to the search of one woman’s unrequited love.
The story is a beautiful adventure through the most absolutely stunning Tuscan countryside. It is everywhere I would like to be right now. And it gives me pause.
When I was looking at being an exchange student all those years ago, I had wanted to go to Australia, but my mom insisted I go somewhere where I would learn a different language and expand my cultural awareness. So I went to Venezuela.
When Georgia was applying to design schools, it’s no secret that I thought the ‘right’ choice for her was the Design Academy in Eindhoven in Holland. But when she got the nod from Paris, everything else faded to black. She was determined to be here, and I wanted HER to make her own decisions. But I also didn’t think it would be a great idea for her to hit Paris alone. After all, Paris is a big city, with the propensity for danger. ( #MuggingMuch ?! ) So I wanted to accompany her and ease in the transition.
I’m not sure I’ve succeeded thus far with easing much, however. I think my frustration with most things French hasn’t been very easy for her (or Roo) to endure. And maybe it was a mistake to think I could handle the chaos of all things big city-ish nevermind, en Francais. Big cities and I are not bosom buddies. I question my sanity in being here every time I head to the gym to out-run my thoughts and to enjoy the gym’s wonderful peace and quiet.
I was on the treadmill the other day and my favorite Prince song came on. I couldn’t believe the flood of memories the song brought back. These must be some of the best song lyrics I know. (I know I don’t get out much, but the whole ‘Trojans/horses’ analogy is still as amazing now as it was all those years ago.) I was close to Rupert’s age when the Purple Rain album came out. My beloved aunties bought me the cassette for my birthday and I played it non-stop on my waterproof bright yellow Sony Walkman.
Anyway, with one thing and another I find myself daydreaming about the ‘what if’s’. And if Roo and I happen to disappear, I can tell you where to find us. I will have found us a bright orange Ferrari California and we will be racing through the rural Italian countryside in search of the next best olive oil, with Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” blaring in the offensive way in which only North Americans are capable.
“Buckle-Up Bitches!” (as my favorite fashion design student in Paris is known to say…)
Life in Paris in a Haussmanian Apt, a couple of blocks off the Champs Elysees.
Who brought SO many suitcases?!….For sure it was Harry. (hehehe, riiiiight!….Harry had 1/2 of the smallest bag. Yours truly had to bring all manner of ridiculous things. #HardcoreHomebody
We are now happily ensconced in our apt a couple of block off the Champs Elysees, and close to the Arc de Triomphe. It’s really a beautiful space. As I mentioned on my instagram post on the same topic, interior design is of huge interest to me and knowing we are going to be here for at least a year has me putting my mind to getting settled in it to the best of my ability.
The owner is a Fashion Designer in LA (and her husband) and they have a penchant for high end French furniture. Most of it is Roche Bobois, and our family room couch is definitely, er, ‘cheerful’ as my granny might say trying to be diplomatic about something she thought to be very loud. But I must say the jewel tones have already grown on me and it’s also super comfy so I’ve embraced it.
Look at these floors! Very ‘typical’ I’m told and I think the herringbone in wood is gorgeous.
Because I am who I am, I had to rearrange the furniture and artwork a few times. My family is so tolerant. They come to expect it now. (Full disclosure: I also do this in hotel rooms if I’m there for more than one night. It’s not their fault they can’t read my brilliant mind!. Hahaha….brilliant/insane….it’s a thin line.)
First to go was the massive TV in the family room. We watch on ipads anyway and I’m really not a fan of TVs being seen in rooms. So I hid it in a closet and the table it was on became our low slung coffee table to accompany our low slung french couch. (It’s kind of a Japanese style vibe to me, and I imagine us sitting cross legged doing (very thin!) puzzles, eating sushi or playing board games (or bananagrams, right Maile!?).
Then I moved a desk from another room and now I have a writing perch that quite delights me. (I’ve started compiling a ‘you know you are old when you get excited about ________’ list in the style of those memes you see on the same topic.) Getting excited about a desk seems right up there with vacuum suction power and kitchen cloths that magically resist smelling gross but I digress…. So now I’ve got my desk, complete with dimmable desk light which only took us to 5 stores to locate. I don’t like harsh overhead light. I don’t know what to say, but I’ve got the whole of the Hygge lovers with me on this one.
And from this vantage point I can see/hear the world of the courtyard happening to the right and the world wandering past the street to the left. A friend asked me if this apt has inspired any specific topics or genres for writing. My immediate thought was ‘Rear Window’, the Hitchcock movie where James Stewart is home bound with a broken leg during a hot summer and spends so much time looking out the window at his neighbors who are living with their windows open and he hears and sees a lot and one night he thinks he sees a murder occur in one of the apartments across the way.
I relate to the way he has nicknames for all the people he observes. One of my favorite things to do is eat alone in a crowded restaurant and observe the other people eating and create narratives about who they are and what they are doing. I can go really deep into my imagination about where they find themselves and what they are speaking about. It’s the best when I can’t actually hear what they are saying and can only lip-read the occasional word.
In that vein, we have new neighbors who have suddenly made their presence very much, well, present. That’s my diplomatic way of saying they are bloody loud. I think it’s a couple and young child. The lady of the house tromps around in heels in the morning and the man of the house appears not to be of the shy bladder variety. The sound of him peeing echoes down one of the small interior courtyards and comes into my ears as though he was in the next room. ‘Waterfall Wayne’ seems not to suffer from prostate issues and I had him pegged in his mid 30’s. But what is throwing me is his weekend music choice. He listened, very (VERY) loudly to a French classical music radio station. And he listened to it the ENTIRE weekend. I can’t wait to see what happens next weekend. Will he mix it up with something else? Can I send Roo upstairs with a request?
But Double Dubs n Co have some damn fine geraniums in their window boxes which are very much putting ours to shame which brings me to my next post, “Competitive Geraniuming”. I know, I know….how can you even wait another second for this wildly exciting topic? I hear you, and I’m on it, my people. But now it’s time for bubbles. And look at the flutes here!? I need a stool just to reach the rim of the glass.
Yup, it’s been a serious ‘canicule’ here. The tour can’t wait for a reprieve…
Tapping into some Danish Inspiration about how to create a home environment filled with warmth, togetherness and security.
*This post is dedicated to my lovely Danish friend, Sacha who taught me her beautiful art of Hygge before I even knew there was such a thing. You inspire me!
As I start packing to *move* (gulp…) to Paris, I ponder what makes a house feel like a real ‘home’. ‘Our’ furnished apartment is really lovely. We are incredibly lucky and I’m wondering how I can make it feel like our own without having chosen the furnishings, paint colors, art work or linens.
My sister in law gave me a book called ‘Hygge – The Danish Way To Live Well’, by Meik Wiking and as I read it, I realized the elements articulated made so much sense. In fact, the Danish ideas of living well resonated so much with me that I’m wondering if I might have to abandon my phrase about having been Italian in a former life in favor of claiming to be Danish. I definitely look more Scandanavian than Italian. And my risotto making skill is sufficiently lacking enough to raise doubt about any purported Italian heritage.
It appears, however, that most places in the world have similar ways they describe these ideal feelings of home. The Italians have ‘La Dolce Vita”, or ‘The Sweet Life’, which means enjoying all that life should be (and described by others as ‘the seven deadly sins’, which is fascinating food for thought, but I will leave that to the film students to dissect Frederico Fellini’s intentions in his 1960’s Italian drama that brought the expression into popular vernacular.)
The Dutch use the word ‘Gezelligheid’ to mean ‘cozy, quaint and social’. Norwegians use ‘Koselig’ to denote ‘warmth, intimacy and togetherness’. Wiking references that Canadians call our ideal spaces, ‘homey’. Wow!….aren’t we wildly creative and descriptive in our language skills!?! (Not….) Nevertheless the word ‘homey’ apparently conveys the idea of ‘authenticity, togetherness and warmth’. The German word, ‘Gemutlichkeit (with the umlaut over the u, which my keyboard is refusing to type…and no, it’s not me. I’m a tech genius as you all know. (Bahahaha…) Anyway, the German word refers to the ‘state of warmth, friendliness and belonging’. And so we see a trend about how an inviting home feels, in the parts of the world where we are lucky enough to mostly live without hardship.
So what do the Danes mean when they say ‘hygge’? Wiking says it’s described as:
-“the art of creating intimacy”
-“coziness of the soul”
-“the absence of annoyance” (which immediately prompted me to think this is exactly why we all generally loathe being solicited by people ringing our doorbell.)
-“taking pleasure from the presence of soothing things”
-“cozy togetherness”,
…and the very specific:
-“cocoa by candelight” (Here is a sentiment I can get well behind! Add a number of furry creatures (those with paws. I don’t mean men with beards. Sorry….) and some books and/or music and you’ve pretty much described my ideal scenario.)
What I love about the concept of Hygge is that is speaks to atmosphere and experience, rather than things. This is a big relief for me because if I can’t move everything plus the kitchen sink, it seems all hope is not lost!
In creating Hygge the desire is to elicit “the feeling that we are safe, that we are shielded from the world and we can let our guard down.” According to Wiking, Danes are also at the top of the Happiness Ranking on the World Happiness Report. To many this is a perplexing idea as the Danish experience horrific weather and some of the highest tax rates in the world. There is however a wide support for the welfare state. Danes don’t seem to resent high taxes, instead they see them as investments in society, that is to say they see taxes as being the purchase of quality of life. The Danish welfare model reduces risk, uncertainty and anxiety among its citizens and in so doing prevents extreme unhappiness.
I’m reminded of having heard the phrase that a family is only as happy as its least happy child (or family member.) Perhaps then this familial model can be expanded to the happiness/well being of a national population? ‘Hygge’ translates as ‘well-being’ and thus it makes sense there is a link between hygge and happiness.
But what do these happy Danes actually ‘do’ that makes them experience such high levels of well-being? Research reports that Danes, compared to other European nationals and to North Americans meet most often with their friends and family and they feel the calmest and most peaceful by comparison. Denmark has shorter work weeks than other nations do. Danes with children reportedly leave by 4 and those without children leave by 5. At 5:30, most offices are entirely deserted. Wow! And so now we see how/why they are able to enjoy so much togetherness with friends and family!
Danes work to be able to spend time with those they love. I wonder how accurate this reporting is? Many European nations seem to share the same workaholic tendencies that North America does. Denmark is geographically so close to other nations. I’m surprised their culture appears to remain so distinct but the proof seems to exist.
Workaholism tends to reward its devotees with higher incomes and despite most people knowing money doesn’t buy happiness, it does buy a lot of nice material things that people tend to equate with a preferable lifestyle. But a lifestyle filled with expensive things doesn’t seem to be on the Danish wish-list of well-being. So what is?
How do the Danes create Hygge in their homes and workplaces and restaurants and shops?
You might be surprised.
Turns out that candles top the list. The American Ambassador to Denmark at the time said the Danes have an insane love affair with candlelight. “I mean it is not just in the living room! It is everywhere! In your classrooms, in your boardrooms. As an American, you think, ‘Ah! – Fire Hazard!!’, but it’s a kind of emotional coziness.”
This isn’t so shocking really. Even North Americans have clued in and are readily installing dimmer switches in their homes. “Mood Lighting” is the term we call it and we know it makes everyone feel calmer and happier. And perhaps as North Americans we might be one step ahead on this because it turns out candles actually shed more particles indoors than cigarettes or cooking. Even though Danes are very much into being healthy, natural and environmentally conscious, (having adopted organic foods before the rest of the world), they eschew worries over the risk of particulates into their air, such is their obsession with authentic candlelight.
‘Hygge’ reminds me of the way many people I know use the term ‘uber’, (the german pre-fix meaning ‘super’, not the car service replacing taxis.) Hygge is a verb and placed with another word, it becomes a noun. Here are some great examples which go a long way to describing the Hygge* concept:
-‘Fredagshygge’ = Friday night hygge, usually family time, cozied together on the couch watching tv, or playing a board game.
-‘Sondagshygge’ = Sunday hygge, meaning a slow day with tea, books, music and blankets and perhaps a walk for the very energetic.
*Hygge is pronounced “hoo-ga” which only makes the whole concept even better! Sunday hygge is thus pronouced ‘Sonda-shooga’ which just contributes to conveying the concept of the Danish Sunday chill vibe.
Here are some other good ones:
-‘Hyggebukser’ (hooga-buk-sr) : your favorite (likely hideous) comfy lounge/PJ pants.
-‘Hyggeonkel’ (hoo-gunkel) : the lenient uncle who favors fun over good behavior. He is the Danish version of what my brother calls ‘the funcle’ (fun uncle.)
-‘Hyggestund’ (hooga-stun) : a moment of hygge
-‘Uhyggelit’ (ew-hooga-lit) : when something is un-hygge like, such as the scary feeling of walking alone down a dark street.
I’ve backtracked a bit into the word, its derivation and its meaning(s), so now how do the Danes actually create Hygge? Wiking breaks the concept into points:
Presence (as in being present without distractions of screens etc.)
Pleasure (things that create warmth and comfort and satiety and pleasure like blankets, a fireplace, warm drinks, comfort food, pets, sweet treats (the Danes have a superhero they call ‘cake-man’ which illustrates their love of cake.)
Equality (‘we’ over ‘me’….and now I’m seeing how the concepts of Hygge and ‘family togetherness’ can co-exist, wink wink…)
Gratitude (being thankful for all we are so lucky to enjoy now.)
Harmony (selflessness and lack of personal ego in conversation.)
Comfort (not sure how this differs from pleasure but Wiking’s suggestion is to create a relaxing environment. I would argue that comfort is the result of having all the other elements in place, but what do I know?….not much, AND I’m not Danish..)
Truce (no drama which again I would say is the same thing as Harmony, but refer to point 7…)
Togetherness
Shelter (This makes me think of the concept of the ‘small spaces’ architect, Susan Susanka talks about when she says how important it is to create ‘shelter around activity’ which references the human desire to be cocooned, safe and cozy in a warm little area of space.)
Where Hygge resides, people hopefully feel relaxed, warm, open, close to others, un-threatened, comfortable, snug and welcomed. These feelings can also be used to describe the feelings when someone is given a hug. Hygge comes from the ancient Norwegian word for ‘hug’, so I suppose a space should feel like it’s giving its inhabitants a warm hug.
Wiking gives suggestions of specific things a Hygge-hus (thats my own creation there; ‘hus’ is house in Danish) might have:
Treats (a jar of candy. I am anti-candy so this is a tough one for me. But hygge is meant to be harmonious and judgment-free so there’s that….groan 😉.)
Smell of fresh baked goods. (A dear friend is coming to Paris to visit me and we have planned to take a bread making class. This is a social activity in a warm toasty kitchen that takes a lot of time to create and as such seems ‘uber-hygge’ to me. (See what I did there?…)
Slow/Comfort foods (that take all day to cook and need loving care all day. This might not be hugely practical on a daily basis but I roast tomatoes with balsamic and garlic cloves and make it into a very simple soup and served with artisan bread, it is one of my kids’ favorite meals so I definitely recognize the value of lovingly making food for people we nourish.)
Hot drinks (which given my love of my morning hot chocolate, which, yes, i know it’s basically a liquid chocolate bar and chocolate is candy and I am supposedly not a fan of candy. I know it makes no sense. I’m an enigma, what can I say?) Anyway, it makes me think that of top priority once I arrive in Paris will be to get a milk frother so I can make Hot Chocolate and London Fogs. I guess I should also get a Nespresso machine so I can offer guests a ‘Nespressahooga’, hehehe. (I’ve written it as its pronounced because it’s more fun that way.) As an aside, the Danes apparently drink more coffee than any other nation so if Nespresso machines are sold there and Nespresso is not yet capitalizing on this term, I think they have missed a valuable marketing opportunity. Just saying…)
Candles….duh…
Music…ditto
Books…obvi
Warmth (its hard to get your ‘hooga’ happening when you are cold or uncomfortable, so lots of blankets and cushions.)
Pets (yup….I wish I could bring our beloved feline to Paris but he will get lost because he doesn’t speak French and he won’t learn a new language he informed me because leopards don’t change their spots.)
Natural materials: leather, fur, woollens, wood, ceramics, plants. (At first I was surprised by the omission of ‘flowers’ which I always think goes an enormous way to making a space feel inviting but fresh flowers in the dead of a Danish winter would be very expensive and I love that instead there is attention to other equally lovely and more readily available natural elements like twigs and branches and pinecones and green boughs.)
Vintage items (France is full of markets so I’m sure I will find some beautiful old jugs or linens.)
Alcohol (Further endorsement for popping corks!! Bring on the bubbles!!!! And where better to enjoy bubbles, than in France?!?
On that note, Cheers to you, my friends!!! 🥂✨ I hope you enjoyed a hyggelig Canada Day long weekend! 🇨🇦❤️ Below are some hoogalicious images I found. I love this concept can reside just as happily in a rustic cabin as a stylish chic interior. It just goes to show home is really where the heart (and the art) is.
Wanting to get myself in the French mood, I’ve collected some books over the last while and have begun my digestion of them. Digestion sounds so weird but I feel that with books that’s what happens….I enjoy them like a delicious meal and then once finished, I sort of ruminate on them and digest their meaning and beauty.
A number of them have a similar flavor: a woman starting life again. I’m reminded of that movie with Meg Ryan where she falls in love with a french man who owns a French vineyard somewhere if I remember correctly, so it seems France and Italy are the go-to destinations for women wanting to reinvent themselves in some way or another. Eat Pray Love has had so much traction that I’ve heard it being used a verb now and I find that curious and intriguing. Used in a sentence for example, ‘After that heinous divorce, I heard Daphne decided to Eat Pray Love in the South of Italy. I heard she’s been gone for 6 months now.’
What I like about this particular selection of books is they combine a few of life’s tasty pleasures: books, food (and wine), art and travel. ‘Little French Bistro’ has a strong culinary theme; ‘The Room on Rue Amelie’ and ‘To Capture What We Cannot Keep’ are historical fiction, set in 19th Century, and WW2 respectively. ‘Paris By The Book’ is a mystery about the disappearance and death of a writer. ‘Alone Time’ is a travel memoir, and ‘The Unbreakables’ is the fictional story of an artist who learns to love art again. It also happens to be set in the same small french coastal town that keeps coming up for me so now I”m taking it as an omen and have added it to my must-visit list.
The first book of the pile I read is ‘The Unbreakables’ and it is a common tale of the woman scorned (by infidelity by her husband), but it is SO much more, and the story is as complex and suspenseful as the characters are engaging. Lisa Barr has done a wonderful job crafting her characters so they are believable, almost ‘knowable’ and she articulates their flaws with grace and empathy. The story is brisk paced and I couldn’t wait to finish it. I enjoyed it so much that instead of moving onto another book in my pile, I’ve decided to get Barr’s first novel, “Fugitive Colors” and read that one next. Coincidentally it is also set in France (Barr lives in Chicago but must have an affinity for France) and tells the story of lost and found art masterpieces during WW2. I love well developed stories about artists and writers. I love to be immersed in the portrayal of creative peoples’ lives. I guess I identify with the kinds of lives artistic people often construct and the things (and people and animals and passions) that give their lives purpose, meaning and joy.
Each section begins with a great quote from a famous artist. Here are a few I love:
“Your gifts lie in the place where your values, passions and strengths meet. Discovering that place is the first step toward sculpting your masterpiece – your life.” – Michaelangelo
“If I create from the heart, nearly everything works: if from the head, almost nothing.” – Marc Chagall
“The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.” – Auguste Rodin
And my favorite:
“Life beats down and crushes the soul, and art reminds you that you have one.” – Stella Adler
Have you any other recommendations in this genre? Please send me a note. Until then if you are looking for me, I’m likely to be found, waiting, buried in a book at the french visa office….
