A walk in the park...

...exactly a year ago, offered these views and blooms. Needless to say, things are a bit behind in the bloom department this year. But the views are there, the 'lake' (Swedes: read 'pond' or 'puddle') is a watering hole in more ways than one, the pretty village of Westrop on the other side of the lake, with the house with the spectacular leafy entrance - still there, of course.
All this, just a few steps from the High Street of my little town.

Country living, just the way we like it. And we like it.

(The top left picture with the strangely shaped box (?), has the entrance to the property in the hole in the green, as seen in the picture just below that one.)

Very, very spring...

Today has been a gloriously warm day. Coats off, frenzy to find last year's sun cream, bare feet in grass... In fact, the first properly warm, properly spring-y day this year. The man in the house panicked, ran out and soon came back weighed down by bags of seeds and compost.

The sound of manic birds, only interrupted momentarily by an ambitious lawn mower growling somewhere nearby. The smell of freshly cut grass blending with that of wet soil and crisp, fresh spring (oh yes, it does smell!).

For me, today was the first day of real spring vibes. Or as someone I once knew, whose first language was not English, would have put it:

Is very, very spring.

(Wreaths made from a tall twig bunch bought at IKEA last year, soaked overnight in the bath tub. Hat from a local charity shop.)

A make-over made in heaven...

After...

Before...

At least we think so. Admittedly, it was a little more than a slight make-over. From darkness to light and airy, from cramped to a roomy room we feel unreligiously blessed with. We inherited the green kitchen, and even though it had a nice country cottage feel, it just did not work for us. (The shelf in the top right corner of the old picture is just above where the beam is in the top right corner in the newer picture.)

The Nordic light-desperado in me sings now. It is a heavenly bright-hearted tune.

That furry, fluffy feeling...

Nope, nothing new and exciting today. No pulse-raising shopping finds, no creative extravaganza.

Just some pussy willow shoved in a haste into a mossy habitat.

Just like that.


Till alla er rara, vänliga läsare som tar er tid att inte bara kika in, men också kommentera så snällt - ett varmt tack. Ett VARMT tack.

Thinking inside of the box...

Two weeks. Two weeks of loveliness have started. Two weeks of no school, no child care, no mummy time, no going to the supermarket on my own and actually remembering what to buy. Do not get me wrong, I do love my children more than life itself. I just love them a teensy-weensy bit less in supermarkets.

Perhaps that is why the consolation prize seemed so much sweeter, and I so much more worthy, yesterday at the local garden centre, where their "Bygones" section seemed to hypnotise me to walk straight into its vintage arms. There it was, and at a bargain price. I do not like to think of myself as a materialistic shopoholic, but an old wooden apple box... does that count?

The infatuation was instant, and with it came a small lavender "tree" and a few more of the grape hyacinths I love so much (the larger one boasting to explode into two colours soon).

The series of images below may appear a little repetitive to those of you less besotted with the motifs, and to you I apologize. My delight in watching the delicate flowers against the rough wood, the blues and the light greyish-green againts the wooden brown, well, I confess I got a little carried away. Carried away times seven, to be precise.







Now, if only I could make my mind up what to do with this new woody friend of mine...

Whispering verdure...





Living close to the town centre has the downside that parking can be a bit of a pain and many houses do not even have their own drive. We are lucky enough to have a small space in front of the house, but only just big enough to squeeze in one car and only after careful negotiation of the old stone wall posts and other cars parked too close...

Does this mean there is no room for a little bit of floral welcome outside the front door? Nonsense. There is always room for a twig and a handful of moss!

And between you and me, I sometimes hear little voices from the flowering baskets. Oh yes, it is as true as the sky is blue. Little voices whispering 'welcome home'.

Sunday not so slow...

Hm. Yesterday I wrote so proudly about our aspirations for a slow Sunday.

After letting the Swede out for a short walk in the morning, the Swenglish home then saw the birth of a shelf for the hallway, now boasts a cleaned-out greenhouse ready for planting, have painted shelves to go in the living room, can wear cleaner clothes, is pround to announce a much larger worm family in the wormery (and a moderately disgusted mum being shown every new member very close to her face by small, proud hands...), have fresh, newly dug-up leeks from the garden that will leave us begging for leek mercy at the end of a leek-meal-ed week, and a twice hoovered kitchen floor after two mudcidents*.

Oh, what a slow Sunday that was.

Maybe next week.

Hence the random photos above, with no theme, rhyme or reason. Just eclectic images from an eclectic, not so slow Sunday.

* I claim the "foreign" right to make up words as I please in English. In the Swenglish house many words have been given the ending "-cident" over the years, referring to a minor disaster involving whatever word is put before "- cident". Very handy, as all sorts of "-cidents" seem to multiply in the presence of boys of all ages...

Slow Sunday...

Today we slow down. Gone are all the chocolate eggs, eaten or smeared where they ought not be smeared. No school bags to be packed for tomorrow, no homework needing attention. Maybe we will poke and prod at one of the vegetable beds in the garden. Perhaps plant a seed or three.

Today is a slow day. Just what we need.

Happy Easter...

... to all you happy bunnies out there!

Inspired by the beautiful blog Helt Enkelt, http://heltenkelthosmig.blogspot.com/, and by other bloggers who this year have gone to town with letters in their decorations, these eggs were born in the Swenglish Home last night.

Will they hatch into little alphabet chicks charging around the kitchen tomorrow? I promise I will let you know...

Room for dreams...

Today I invite you to put your feet up, to rest for a brief moment, to join me on a journey to the land where dreams are soft and bright, and where you can wake up feeling refueled and rejuvenated. Or at least have a little snooze, snore if you wish, and dream of nothing, nothing at all...

Today we are in the room often referred to so amusingly in this country, the "master bedroom". A bemused smile escapes me. "Master"... where then lies the mistress? Or is it perhaps master as opposed to servant? Either way, it is a bedroom. Where sleep carries us into the next day. If we are lucky enough not to be disturbed by small people, that is. Children, whose dreams may steer their sleep carriage into the land of dragons and "baddies", rather than all things fluffy and fine.

That's when the faux fur throw becomes their close companjon, keeping them safe. That's when synchronised snooring becomes their lullaby, and the pile of pillows their castle.

That's when zzzzzzzzzzzz...........

Don't put all your eggs in one basket...

Perhaps save some for a "cagey egg house"..?


Pussy willow with furry catkins - spring vibes!

Easter Hat parade at school yesterday, 'Eggventions' competition today - phew, with those crafty parental assistance demands, there is not much time left to eggify neither blog nor house ...

Will the Easter Bunny still find its way to the Swenglish Home, I wonder?