Pillow talk

For Christmas we got new pillows for our bed, nice ones from the manufacturer Høie of Scandinavia. They are so called “downfeel”. Not real down but really comfortable. A few weeks ago, when I was in a spring-cleaning mood, I had the bright idea of washing them. Weather permitting, we usually hang our duvets out over the veranda railings to air them every morning, but the pillows mostly stay in.

You know what it’s like when the sun is shining and there’s a nice breeze; everything feels so clean and crisp, – and I just wanted the pillows to be equally sweet smelling and lovely. So I stuffed them in the washing machine. It was amazing what an effort it took just to get the two pillows in there and there was no way I could fit anything else inside.

I happily set the wash cycle for 130 minutes and left to do other things. What I didn’t think about was that when pillows are wet they are not so voluminous. They became two thin but very heavy lumps. The washing machine didn’t like it at all. It started waltzing around the floor in the laundry room and that somehow prevented the spinner from working.

When I came to collect them, they were still soaking wet. My dream of resting my head on clean, fresh smelling pillows evaporated. They would probably have to drip dry for a week before they could even be put in the dryer.

Hubby came to the rescue and secured my comfortable sleep (as he does every night) when he managed to fix the washing machine. It was a few hours job he hadn’t bargained for but with the help of a few select oaths, he took it in his stride.

The other day I found something pillow-related that I had indeed bargained for but had completely forgotten about. When looking for something in a drawer that isn’t much in use, my eyes fell upon some pretty green material wrapped carefully in thin paper. It wasn’t until I unfolded it and found that it was two silk cushion covers that I remembered that we had bought at a market in Hong Kong last year. I must have put them away until I had found a place for them, and then promptly forgotten. That happens to me all the time. It wouldn’t surprise me if there are ten more cushion covers hidden away at the bottom of some drawer. It not for nothing that I think it’s fun to read about Rebecca Bloomwood. Not that I’m a fully fledged shopaholic but I will admit there has been the odd time when I have returned from the shop with something that has been put straight to the back of a closet.

Now, however, the spring-like fresh colour inspired me to put the cushions on our dark leather sofa, where they complement our green easy chairs in a fantastic way.

In a bookshelf above the sofa lies another oriental bargain who looks like he really could do with a pillow. Buddha has been lying there, resting on his elbow, since I brought him home from Thailand more than ten years ago. His composed, relaxed look reminds me of how nice it is to put one’s feet up and meditate for a little while.

Hmm, come to think of it, I think I’ll grab a silky cushion and do that right now.

The Bluebell

A fine and subtle spirit dwells

In every little flower,

Each one its own sweet feeling breathes

With more or less of power.

There is a silent eloquence

In every wild bluebell

That fills my softened heart with bliss

That words could never tell.

Yet I recall not long ago

A bright and sunny day,

'Twas when I led a toilsome life

So many leagues away;

That day along a sunny road

All carelessly I strayed,

Between two banks where smiling flowers

Their varied hues displayed.

Before me rose a lofty hill,

Behind me lay the sea,

My heart was not so heavy then

As it was wont to be.

Less harassed than at other times

I saw the scene was fair,

And spoke and laughed to those around,

As if I knew no care.

But when I looked upon the bank

My wandering glances fell

Upon a little trembling flower,

A single sweet bluebell.

Whence came that rising in my throat,

That dimness in my eye?

Why did those burning drops distil —

Those bitter feelings rise?

O, that lone flower recalled to me

My happy childhood's hours

When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts

A prize among the flowers,

Those sunny days of merriment

When heart and soul were free,

And when I dwelt with kindred hearts

That loved and cared for me.

I had not then mid heartless crowds

To spend a thankless life

In seeking after others' weal

With anxious toil and strife.  

'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times

That never may return!'

The lovely floweret seemed to say,
And thus it made me mourn.

Anne Brontë

If you would like to listen to the poem, go here.

For a lovely Norwegian song about bluebells, listen to this,

My Little Pony

On the plot of land next to ours, our neighbour keeps his mare. She’s a Norwegian Fjord horse, a breed from the mountainous region of Western Norway. This relatively small breed is one of the world’s oldest and has been used mainly as farm horses. All “fjordings” as we call them are dun in colour with a light coloured mane and a dark dorsal stripe that goes all the way from fringe to tail.  They are beautiful and somehow seem to belong to the nature and rugged landscape in this part of the country.

Fjordings are usually known for their good temper but this mare was getting cranky and bored. Our neighbour thought she might be lonely, so he got her a pet – a tiny Shetland pony. At first she didn’t liked him one bit. He was homesick for his mum and very clingy but she wouldn’t offer any kind of consolation. Somehow though, he must have won her over, because now she won’t let him out of her sight. He is allowed to come over and greet us but she gets very suspicious if we try and pet him.

One good thing about having horses around is that they will greedily eat all fruits and vegetables we would otherwise throw out. Now, we don’t feel so bad about not having eaten them ourselves.

NOM NOM NOM. Bite sized pieces of apple are very popular.

HE HE HE! Hubby told a joke. 

Dreams of Eden

Neither Hubby nor Husfruen, we must admit, are blessed with green fingers. Nevertheless, since we are now blessed (or shall we say cursed?) with half an acre of land surrounding our house, gardening is an inevitable hobby.

Division of labour came naturally to us. Hubby, being inspired by the well-kept English lawns of his native homeland, immediately took charge of the grass. While anything flowering was left in the care of Husfruen.

Last summer, which was our first here, we didn’t do much. We wanted to see what came up from the ground. As April came along with an abundance of crocuses and daffodils, we couldn’t wait to see what other surprises were awaiting us. But apart from a few rhododendron bushes, that was it. Flowers had apparently not been high on the agenda of the previous owners.  The flowerbeds were in a terrible mess, full of totally overgrown bushes and weeds. In fact, everything was overgrown. Secateurs were not the appropriate tool to get it all under control, we needed a chainsaw to fight our way through the thicket. In some patches of the so-called garden it felt like something out of The Day of the Triffids. Really, the only thing that was not overgrown was the lawn, mainly because moss had taken over.

So, the plan is that this summer we’ll have a proper go at it all. We’ll let you know how it goes. Unfortunately there are no spectacular results just yet so we haven’t got much to show you in the way of photos. Instead we thought we’d let you have a look a garden we visited on the English/Scottish border a couple of years ago. On a terraced and narrow, steeply sloping piece of land, the owners (delightful people, by the way) had managed to create a little Eden of flowers. We have probably never been so impressed by any private garden before or since. Funny thing was when the master behind it showed us around this lush and colourful paradise and Husfruen asked what he considered to be his pride and joy of it all, he pondered for a minute before he replied: “Hmmm, that would probably have to be my cucumbers!” We never saw those, but by God, they must have been some real whoppers to outshine those flowers.

Here are some pictures from it. Isn’t it a great inspiration?

The measles?

Oh no, oh no, oh no! What has happened to our lovely pansies? We’ve watered them and cared for them and removed the deadheads to encourage blooming, but today we found that half of them had developed funny white spots.  Where did we fail?

Does anybody know what’s wrong? Can they be saved?

Unfortunately, there is no doubt what has happened here. Those blasted slugs! 

Nå på norsk

Nå er norsk side oppe og går. Bare se her. 

Things Take (a frustratingly long) Time

Since this blog is meant to be about interior design, I suppose it’s time to invite you all inside the house. (Just wished I had tidied first…) Hilltop House is a relatively large house by Norwegian standards, approximately 300 square meters (3.200 ft²). One should think that the two of us would have enough space but somehow clutter seems to be everywhere. Where does it all come from?

MEMORY OF GRANDMA. This old paraffin lamp came from my grandmother’s home. I have no idea how old it is, but it’s dear to me.

When we first moved in Husfruen was full of plans for all the things we were going to do in the first few months; redecorate the kitchen, paint over the horrible baby pink walls in the hallway, build a library from scratch in the downstairs spare room, build a patio in the backyard and tear down a part of the upstairs hallway to make space for a huge bathroom. And maybe, in my spare time, I’d do some craft; embroider a national costume or two perhaps. Oh, and (this really goes without saying but still…) loose a few kilos at the same time.

And how much have we done? You guessed it, not a lot.

After the final piece of furniture and the last box had been hauled inside and put into place, our arms felt two inches longer. (Books are heavy, so we really ought to get library cards soon. I wish shiny, lovely dust jackets were easier to resist.) All we had the energy to do was sit and stare catatonically at each other, but not for long, for we had a wedding to plan.

A MUST-HAVE. I’m sure you’ll all agree that candles are one of life’s necessities, and they obviously need pretty little lanterns to shine out of.

THE NOOK with winged chairs from Slettvoll. They’re a bit old now, but they have been reupholstered and still look ok.

All I can say about that is that the house was tidy and clean when the wedding guests arrived, though I sincerely hope none of them ventured down into the cellar when exploring the house. After all, we had to throw all the clutter someplace. To digress a little: The guests who had arrived a few days early probably felt as though they were being thrown the same way. The day before the wedding Husfruen, in a fit of cleaning frenzy, sent them, along with Hubby, out of the house and wouldn’t let them back in before the house was ship shape. They came back to find the living rooms locked and barred with a note saying: “Keep out!” They were allowed to enter the downstairs den, under strict orders that there would be no moving anything and that there under no circumstances would be any eating of crisps or other crumbly food. Hubby senior (Hubby’s dad, that is) looked a bit put off but I thought I could see a humorous glimpse of understanding in my mother in law’s eyes.
If anyone is worried: Our wedding day turned out to be fantastic - sunshine and romance all the way. And everybody admired the house.

OLDE WORLD. Husfruen has a soft spot for English reproduction furniture. The right accessories are important too.

Still, despite being tired and worn out, Husfruen’s imagination and creativity couldn’t quite be kept in check for long afterwards. There were just so many possibilities here; the house was a blank canvas. Hubby on the other hand couldn’t quite see what the heck the point was of starting to redecorate just as soon as we had got everything into place but he was gently nudged and persuaded into activity. (Perhaps not so gently, according to the man himself, but then again, are there any housewives out there who manage to get anything done around the house without nagging at all? If so, tell me the secret, please.)

Anyway, Hubby rose to the occasion and did a great job in the kitchen. We’ll show you that soon. 

By and by we’ll get around to doing everything we have planned, and sooner rather than later you will get a proper tour of the house, we promise, but today we’ll just let you have a few glimpses of it all. As you’ll be able to see, it’s a far cry from the shabby chic, white style we see so much of in Norwegian blogs. We tend to go more for the classical English style, with bits of travel memorabilia thrown in here and there.  Enjoy!

CULTURE FUSION. This frame was made by a wood carver in Ubud, Bali; a place famous for their talented craftsmen. The workmanship is just amazing and I love the art nouveau inspired flowers and curves combined with the very Indonesian bird. I did not want the frame to compete for attention with a picture, so I fitted it with a mirror.