about me

I was born in Africa to a Danish mother and an English father.  Well, not entirely English.  Bits of me are Irish and Scottish.

At home, candles were always lit at the table. My Danish grandfather built our open fireplace and the wooden bench we sat around to eat toast after school. I loved our matching cotton vests and pants, our dyner, real candles on the Christmas tree.  As children we longed for Danmark. We felt foreign in the lemon yellow kitchens and fitted carpet drawing rooms of our contemporaries. 

Every summer we packed up the car and took the boat to Danmark to spend weeks on the farm or close to the sea with our family.My sister, B, and I have spent years thinking about hygge.  As adults we have lived far apart and often talk about home. What makes us feel at home? And where?

In our search for home, we have held on to hygge and discovered that we carry everything we need with us.  Hygge is our treasure box under the bed, our bag of tricks, our box of tools – hygge is the thing we do to celebrate our daily lives and get through the times we have been ill, lonely and blue. We can hygge anywhere - a field, an allotment, an apartment with a tiny balcony, a windy beach, beside the fire, in a cardboard box with a blanket, a book and our children.