what would great grandma think?

i have a stack of quilt tops that my great grandmother made. mom said she could remember, as a little girl, seeing her bed-bound grandmother, who didn't see all that well, sitting in bed, sewing squares together by hand. it's absolutely amazing to me that she could do it and keep the pattern of the squares perfectly if she wasn't able to lay it all out on a table or a wall or the floor. when i lay out a quilt, i have to see it, photograph it, walk away, move things around, do it all over again. but she could sit in bed, sewing away and make the most beautiful quilts. i'm so pleased to display them at my favorite little museum in connection the what we call "handicrafts days" at the end of the month. i wonder what my great grandmother from salem, south dakota would think of her quilts being in denmark, displayed in a rather alternative way - one that invites people to touch them and look closely. though i never knew her, i think she'd love it. and oh the stories her stitches would tell us if only we could hear them.

a magical secret chair

yesterday, i took a walk down around the lake after work. i needed to get outside and get some fresh air, so i donned my rubber boots and headed down there. i walked closer to the lake than usual, thinking that the mama swan was on a nest somewhere along the edge. i wanted to find her and see the nest. the papa swan was out on the lake and didn't flee as usual when he saw me. he actually seemed a bit aggressive, so maybe the nest was on our side of the lake and i was looking in the wrong spot. but, in looking, i happened upon an amazing handmade lounge chair. it was made of sticks and held together by fishing line. it looked like it had been there for a few years, so it wasn't newly constructed. i didn't try sitting in it, i just photographed it. but i might want to go out there and try it out. i wasn't sure it was strong enough to hold me anymore, but i will try it this weekend. i rather want to sit there and look out on the lake. it was quite idyllic and in such a peaceful spot. it felt a bit like happening upon a secret magic haven. if it's nice this weekend, i want to go down and feel the magic.

i'm going back to weaving!

when i went back to the magical randbøldal on wednesday evening, it was like coming home. and i wondered how it was i stayed away so long...sometimes we have to lose ourselves for awhile to find ourselves. i'm going to make a long runner for the kitchen. and it doesn't matter how long it takes.

100 happy days :: day 100

there is something about the low, swampy wooded area at the end of our lake. the trees grow low and rather twisty, turny. even if it's raining or windy, it's always still and quiet there, a sense of waiting hanging in the air, but not a menacing one, more a kind of deep patience. and in the air, there is a vibration of primeval magic that you can feel, but which feels just out of reach, beyond your grasp, but still hanging there, almost tangible. it's in the green. it's in the quiet. it's how it's always still. one of those places where you just feel the magic. and you believe in it, even if you can't quite capture it. and my 100th happy day is a happiness that i have one of those places right here at home and i can go down there anytime and fill up my soul with magic.

* * *

and that's it, that was my 100 happy days project. it got me through a bit of a tough time and i think it really helped. it can be beneficial to take a moment to think about the little things that make you happy every day. doing it makes it a habit. one that i hope that i will continue even if i don't continue it as a post or a tweet. i think one of the things that i found is that often my moment of happiness was a moment of feeling grateful - for sunshine, for a beautiful view, for the time to take the back way, for cats, for a flower in bloom, for noticing in general.

but, in all honesty, it also felt a bit heavy at times. because not every day is filled with happiness. some days are hard and you just want them to be over. and i find myself generally feeling too earnest and righteous and not light-hearted and funny anymore. so maybe i need to find a new project that will help me find my way back to a lighter, more buoyant view of the world.

magical places

i most definitely filled up my energy batteries today - i dressed up in my hugo boss suit, i wore fabulous heels, i had a great conversation with potential for the future and excellent results on a couple of tests in the morning, followed by a visit to a little second hand store where i found several treasures and then spent a couple of hours in one of my favorite places, that magical little museum in randbøldal, surrounded by creative people who were actively creating things.

artist anne brodersen was there, stitching on various fragments and talking about her work. i'm even more in love with it now. as anne explained the work with the greek bull from cyprus on it, i got goosebumps when she suggested that all of those cultures which are but artifacts to us live on somewhere in another dimension.

she explained some of her techniques, especially the way she uses photos and her transfer technique using a special kind of glue (which i ordered as soon as i got home). she also added texture to some of the pieces inspired by iceland in the form of different colors of soil that she collected on her visit to iceland. hmm, perhaps something can be done with all that sand i've collected from the world's beaches.

many of her works are a collection of various small fragments put together in creative and interesting ways. it was so inspiring. i find that i often have so many ideas swirling in my head and on my pinterest stitching board, that it stops me from getting started. but i think i can manage to get started if i just begin stitching various small pieces with the idea that they can be put together later. at times i'm so paralyzed by my own brain and probably also by my abundance of supplies.

we discussed the tension (insecurity?) that is in evidence in many embroidery artists around the interwebs about whether their work is art or handcraft. anne is, as i said previously, seemingly very secure in her work being art (which it very much is!). we talked about the resurgence in the popularity of such handcrafts today and she said she felt it was a product of these times. if you embroider, you are showing that you really have time to devote to such things, so you are showing what a surplus person you are. it's a status symbol today, in the midst of our busy lives. (i think this is equally true of gourmet cooking, crochet, sewing, etc.)

i talked with her about her courses in various techniques and i will definitely be taking both of the ones she offers. they're held over a weekend at her studio near the west coast of denmark. the courses are small - only 5 people. and i just can't wait! but it probably won't be 'til spring.

the museum in randbøldal has some kind of special energy. it's palpable in the air there and it gives me a sense of inner calm and peace like nowhere else does at the moment. it's a combination of atmosphere, looms, creativity and wonderful people. i think everyone needs a place like that, a place that gives you a calm and centered feeling when you didn't even know you needed it. magical.

now run along and find one for yourself!

it's a good year for mushrooms

the mushrooms are amazing this year. it's been a very good year for them around here - very wet and strangely warm (it was 20°C yesterday) - perfect conditions. i swear there's something magical in the way they spring up overnight in whole groves. and then they linger on until they're picturesquely withered and look ancient. i've got nature on the brain because i'm reading roger deakin's wildwood. in it he waxes poetic on forests and the pleasures of sleeping out in a shed in a remote corner of his property. and pencils. and i hope he does something about mushrooms too, but so far he hasn't (i'm not that far in). if he doesn't, i'll have to do so myself.

magical place, magical light

we have this magical little forest at the end of our lake. i've actually told you about it before. it's a bit swampy and you've got to wear your wellies, but it's well worth walking down when you need to clear a bit of writer's block and calm your over-active mind. and with the sun at its setting angle on the horizon - it was better and more relaxing than a glass of wine.* the trees are close and it's a rather dramatic place. but also quiet and primordial and deep and waiting. almost breathing around you. and you can't help but feel that if you just held still enough, you would be witness to something magical.

*i bet you never thought you'd hear me say that. 

a magical toy shop in berlin

back in september in berlin, just a couple of doors down from the apartment where we stayed, there was a magical little toy shop.  it was stuffed from floor to ceiling with toys new and old. in the back was a bearded man who sat in a lair repairing toys. he was surrounded by drawers of supplies - eyes, little screws, small wheels, any bit or bob that a toy might need. did you get that? someone was repairing toys? instead of throwing them away! isn't that magical?

the proprietor was a real toy geek. he was intense in that way that only a geek who really burns for his particular geekdom can be. he was such a geek in fact, that i suspect he lived in the back of the shop. and he seemed harmless enough, tho' when he tried to usher us into the basement through an alice-sized tiny door to ostensibly see his collection of east german toys, he did seem slightly less harmless.  we declined.

my favorite bit was his wide selection of little tin replicas of the old-fashioned mechanical toys. i bought several robots and this magical little ferris wheel. it has a key that you wind and then it turns around.

it was the kind of store that gives you hope for the world. hope that it won't all be taken over by the giants - toys r us, wal-mart and the like - hope that there is a place still left in the world for magic. and wonder. and a bit of geekiness. and where they repair toys instead of throwing them out. but maybe that's just berlin.

everything i needed to know, i learned in the lobby of the manila pen

night in the lobby of The Pen - hipstamatic style

i'm in the heavenly lobby of the manila peninsula hotel, which is perhaps my favorite place on earth. everything seems clearer here, more relaxed and mellow. and it occurs to me everything i ever needed to know, i learned right here...

- white wine is best served in a chilled glass by a cute waiter with a flashing smile.

-  life should be accompanied by a live orchestra.

-  lighting is everything.

-  palm trees totally work indoors.

-  the ceiling can never be too high.

-  true gentlemen hold the door and greet you by name.

-  wireless internet is key.

-  it's good to read the IHT on a daily basis.

-  you can learn a lot (possibly about the US military) listening to other people's conversations.

-  people like to talk about themselves. rather loudly (at times).

- time truly does fly when you're having fun.

-  if you have to stage a coup, choose a really elegant place to do it.

-  travel is key to my existence.

-  being recognized and valued is important.

-  a proper pedicure goes a long way (ok, i may have learned that at the big mall across the street).

-  heaven is indeed a place on earth.


do you have a place that taught you what you need to know in life?

* * *

i got an email yesterday, telling me that i was one of three winners of a photo contest from the viking harbor museum in bork havn. i get a big gift basket and a season ticket to the musem.  and what's even better?

...my zen master elizabeth's husband was one of the other two winners!  yay for us! :-)

here's hoping your week is as awesome as mine!

into the fog

it was deliciously foggy this morning. i took at least 20 minutes extra getting to work because i couldn't stop taking pictures along the way. fog is somehow so mysterious and magical. it has a spookiness to it as well, but this morning, it wasn't the spooky kind, it was pure magic. it was warm, balmy and still as could be. it was quiet save a few audible drips from the overnight rain falling from the trees. the fog settled the magic heavily down on the landscape.

there was a hush over the countryside and even when i photographed a friendly cow that seemed to want to pose for me, i felt like i should do it quietly, not to disturb the magic in the air. i had this feeling that to make noise would be to make the fog disperse and the magic dissolve and i definitely didn't want that to happen.

fog lends a timeless quality to the landscape. i had to fight the urge to just leave the car and walk down this path into another place and time and forget all about making my way to work. in my imagination, because of the fog, the path would have led somewhere completely special and unique, somewhere not accessible on an ordinary morning. somewhere accessible only in the fog.

in the looking glass...

i wrote once about mirrors. and about the version of ourselves we might leave behind in them.  in a room of old mirrors like this one, i was struck again by that thought. there was some magic in that faded, decaying but once grand room. and somehow it felt like you could catch a glimpse of its former glory if you looked just right into the mirrors.

so i took a lot of photos of the mirrors. hoping to capture that moment. that glimpse of the gateway to memories not my own. so present in the air, yet so inaccessible. palpable yet elusive. the air was heavy with magic in that place. it felt so empty and abandoned, but full. i had the feeling we had to whisper and the feeling that there was whispering all around me...silks rustling, voices, music..there but also just out of earshot. it was there somehow, to be glimpsed in the mirrors if you caught the right angle.

so i looked for the angle. at the light. at the puddles of black where the silvery backing is falling away. and i listened. and i imagined i could glimpse all who floated past those mirrors over the decades. and it felt like touching magic.

in the glen

down at the bottom of our pasture is a lake (i may have mentioned it before, mostly on flickr). husband and i were exploring a couple of weeks ago and we found a beautiful little glen. it was a sunny, beautiful day, with sunshine peeking through the trees, but i found the glen so deliciously hushed and mysterious.

there was a feeling there of waiting. like the place was holding its breath expectantly, as if something was about to happen.

yet at the same time, it felt like it could wait eternally. like if that something didn't happen exactly then, at that moment, that was ok too. it could wait.

the air felt heavy with a kind of magic. i half expected a faun to step out from behind a tree and invite me home to tea, ala the lion, the witch and the wardrobe. and i more than half hoped that would happen.

it's a special place, like a portal to a secret world. or at the very least, a place where some sort of natural magic is more concentrated than in other places. hidden, waiting, patient and deep and calm. oh so very calm. and oh so impossible to convey in pictures.