I'm no suede.

Let's face it, I'm not really Swedish, I am just making it up. Proof?
Whenever I go to Ikea I always come back with the wrong things.
The wrong size pillowcases and the wrong style of mattress sheets. Little jars I want to use for herbs that are really more suitable for rubber bands. Lightbulbs that don't really fit my lamps.
All this should be in my DNA, but that's not the case. I should glide through the place as if I was walking through my own living room.
So, not so Swedish after all...

Burning Man

It seems like everyone is getting ready for Burning Man today and if tickets sales are anything to go by, it will be a very quiet week in the city next week.
My lovely neighbour pulled in to his garage as Richard and his friend were loading a Tacoma truck with bikes, tents and other necessities.
- Oh, Burning Man, he says. Last time I was there was at Baker Beach.
In a beautiful and funny way he is letting us know his age, and we all have incredible amounts of respect for him. That must have been the real deal.
In all the surplus and thrift stores on Haight Street, people are rummaging through racks for last minute add on's to their costume collections. Apparently, a lot of the second hand stores in the neighbourhood, who are all relying heavily on tourism to see them through the year have a lot to thank the Burners for - they are keeping them afloat this recession year, which is great.

But I admit: I am kind of happy that I am not going. I favor a cocktail poolside over desert storms and and cold fried chicken any day...

Sign of old age is -

going to gorgeous Alembic two nights in a row, sample the entire cocktail menu and suffer the consequences in an unfair way the third day.
I think it was the Blue Steel with a hit of absinthe that sunk me.
I am logging of for today.

This is happening today:

My gardener came in unannounced yesterday and did a major make over in the back yard, much appreciated! No more cobwebs and weeds. Unfortunately he cut down eight of the ten blue whatchamacallit flowers that I took pictures of the other morning. Maybe not so great.
I thought it was the first time they've ever blossomed since we moved here three years ago, but Holly informs me that they have indeed blossomed before, when we just moved in.
- The reason you never saw them was because I picked them all one day and the threw them in the shrubs by the wall.

Ah. So I guess they belong to the more highly strung families of plants. And it will be another three years before we see them again.....

This I know is true:

You know you have lived in California too long when you go out to dinner and:
* ask to have no croutons in the french onion soup
* ask them to serve the salad dressing on the side
* ask them to skip the white bread and go for a double order of brown bread for the cheese platter
* leave the blue cheese alone but polish of the goat cheese
* ask if the sauvignon blanc is organic and when not, seriously consider sticking to tap water instead

All is Lagom

The thing with going on holiday every summer for me is that I, essentially, am returning home rather than going somewhere new. Don't get me wrong - I would never want to be anywhere else but Sweden in the summer - but it does present a few problems. The stress of living out of a suit case and the added physical impossibility of trying to divide oneself in multiple pieces so we can spend time with everyone aside, coming home to me means exactly that: coming home.
And coming home means that I have just spend a long time doing the opposite: being away.
I think it is one of those inevitable headf***'s that aliens have to deal with, the feeling of always being part of something but not really belonging anywhere in particular. This is a very existential issue, and one not ready to be dealt with on a Wednesday morning before coffee, but there you go:

When I come back to my home country can't help but noticing how easy I fall in to certain behaviors. It has something to do with being comfortable in my own skin. By default I am Swedish and always will be. The "Swedishnes" is programmed in my DNA. At home, I feel myself. It is filmjölk and knäckebröd, moaning over SJ and getting caught up in the election debates. Talking about the Eurovision Song contest (Salem Al Fakir would have done sooooo much better) and the new Kepler novel. The Stieg Larsson phenomenon is a different subject altogether, what did you think? That you'd really be able to fully understand his books if you weren't Swedish? Not that they are anything spectacular, but nonetheless: his legacy belongs to us, and we reserve all rights to criticism or praise.

It's not just about the more trivial aspects of life, of course. There is something about being Swedish that is hard to put your finger on that I feel will never leave me. I think it has to do with "lagom", and that "lagom räcker".
"Lagom", the word exclusive to the Swedish language, which means that something is not too much, not too little, but just perfectly "enough", is the balance that I am always trying to achieve in my life.
I try to eat lagom, sleep lagom, and and have lagom fun.
I think lagom is what makes Swedish people being so beautifully balanced, never over the top, but always present enough. I love Lagom.

No I'm on my way out for a lagom day at the beach and after that I will meet my gorgeous friend and have a lagom mani/pedi followed by lagom amounts of cocktails and gossip afterwards.

The small things in life

This will sound very vain, but one of the best things with coming back home is getting rid of the carefully constructed three outfits that you have been wearing for six weeks solid (the room in your only suitcase being taken up by clothes of other family members more in need of several practical changes). Hello closet!! Hello lovely clothes. Hello denim blue Hasbeen clogs that I for some reason didn't take to Sweden this year.
I feel like a new person!

Back in the city 2010

We are back in warm, sunny, beautiful San Francisco after six long weeks in Europe. Sometimes it takes an extended absence for you to realize how much you love this city. And when I woke up this morning at five o'clock (you've got to love jet-lag) I was welcomed by these gorgeous blue flowers in my sunny garden - they have not blossomed since we moved here three years ago.

The highlight of the last 24 hours:
Being upgraded to Business class - what a luxury for a family of four to be able to stretch out, eat well and have snack's on tap on a ten hour long flight!

The lowlight: forgetting Finn's back-pack in the cab when coming home. Diapers, toys and a jacket lost just second's before hitting the finishing line - what a shame.