Time-skipp! 1940's

5 years of scissor free hair ended not so dramatically yesterday in the garden. Very happy to have a change to go with my life changes..

 

So with my short hair, to the sound of swing /electro-swing and the 1940's UK radio I have found my way back to my wartime fascination. For so long I have had my hippie like Victorian hair, and a 40's hairstyle is just impossible for me to accomplish so NOW I have all new opportunities!And with that came the inspiration to try to make a 1940's dress. Just a house dress really, the kind made out of curtains during the rationing. I've had a fabric for some time that is just amazing, but it's actually from the 70's...but I think I might just make it work. 

I quite like wartime..rationing and all. Managing well on very little kind of suits me and, aside from that, unlike the sleek and helmet-haired 30's & the curly full figured 50's, the 40's naturally malnourished look works very well for me! So for a while I'll be back to shoulder-length soft curls, red lips & strangely cute summer dresses. Hopefully.

Ps.  Eggs in hair. It's awesome. Totally doing that again.

A word from one of my role models.

 "I have never deceived anybody, because I have never belonged to anybody. My independence was all my fortune and I have known no other happiness. It is still what attaches me to life."

- Cora Pearl

A very strange morning

As any woman of the western world not living on the streets or in a religious cult, I have my own carefully selected beauty products that starts off my morning. I actually feel a bit sad about how bound I am to my soaps and facewash and such sometimes..

So this morning I washed my hair in eggs and had a steamy facebath with a lemon & bicarbonate of soda facemask. Feeling very liberated by the modern scientificly engineered beauty product consumption right now. 

 
I have high hopes for this! my hair is no where near as awful as I thought it would be (I'm letting it self dry..the horror!) and my face is smooth like a peach. Maybe I could make it in Victorian times after all...

But we'll see how it goes!

On a different subject though, I see many of my readers are American. That's interesting. Because let me tell you right now, I think America is the fat loud and stupid shitstain on the western world. Your government may be evil, but the people choose comfortability over freedom and human rights. I seriously hope Europe can do better ( yeah, I'm looking at you Britain!)..

Happy weekend to all

Keep calm and drink mead!

There I sat.. eating my liquorish, in the candle light, wearing my white dress and listening to Chopin. Blogging. Read the blog. And suddenly... I realised why my husband calls it "my serial killer music". Obviously I deleted that post faster than little children get black poop from a liquorish overdose!(spoiler: there is a slight chance I might just be an evil master mind...just saying)

that is NOT fries, that's what that is.

But I HAVE actually done other things too! There has been a lot of making of different sorts this week.  Right now I'm making mead for the second time ever in my life. The first time went way over my expectations! 

Mead is probably mostly associated with the Vikings in most parts of the world, but as a born and raised post-Viking I associate it with May-day celebrations and raisins (it's the only time I ever ate them..in the mead).

All I really had to go on was memories and a recipe from the internet. Here is my recipe if anyone wants to try it out: 

4 litres of water

500 grams of brown sugar

2 lemons

1/8 of a tea spoon of yeast

This is what I did: I measured up half the water and boiled it up, then I put in the sugar and stirred it in. I cut one lemon in half and squeezed the juice into it, then I cut the other lemon into slices and cut away the peal (all of it! the white stuff makes it bitter), then put the lemon slices in the pot. After that I measured up the rest of the water (cold) and poured it in and left it all to cool down for 2-6 hours. (Mead making is, for obvious reasons, not an exact science..) Last of all I put in the yeast. 

Now it will all be in a covered plastic bucket in my kitchen for 2-3 days. Then it's time to bottle it and put a few raisins in. It will all be ready to drink in about a week...ish.

Now every time I go in the kitchen I lift the tinfoil and smell it! It smells like the good parts of my childhood. Like spring and smoked fish and running in the long grass. Like my sister. Like braiding our blond hair and walking bare feet. It smells like Swedish. Like old dialect. But that's just me. Really it smells sweet and slightly stingy. I suppose it's the amount of yeast and time that makes it alcoholic or not..this one is not, it just bubbles a bit.

This, with some salty liquorish, will be the perfect late (late!) birthday gift to my sister..

But speaking of "not an exact science"! It seems there is more Viking blood in me than I thought.. This is how I cook soup:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ta3F0JBnEqY

50%  seagull. I shit you not.

..and bake bread...and make pasta sauce...and really any other food! just throw it all in there! And theen: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4RsrD-kBvU

Having a happy invasion! Gonatt!

Todays happy place. Vive la revolution.

Yes. It is the French revolution of 1789. It made me so angry to see the threats, the shame and the repression of what is, I suppose, my people.. After a year away I saw it in a new "light". And it was awful. We may be less in number.. and the oppression is a revenge. But we could really use some  

Liberté, égalité, fraternité!

Just a box.

As I'm having a thinking break I will tell you about my tiny box project. It's not so much a project as a sidestep really, but still. Lately life has been catching up with me..and sometimes things surface that no one is ever ready for. Still, in the middle of it all there was always one thing that always captured my mind. The making of miniature worlds. So a miniature world I will make.

..box making..

Estella. Because Tess is lame.

And speaking of not being ready, this box is very much inspired by one of my first steps into the real world. At the age of 18 I was thrown out into the world to try to find my way and since my childhood resembles a Dickensian one, there was some missteps at first. I fought and I ran and confused and lost I lied to plough my way though a harsh world. The snow fell heavy and my 19th winter brought the change of a lifetime. I remember the stone balcony under the roof...the music and the smoke..I left my clothes and for the first time I knew I had always known who I was. 

My first place of my own was a 1930's wooden house with a boiler (for English information: a boiler is a sign of an unrenovated and poorly heated house). It was draughty, often crowded, dirty and possibly haunted. I ruined the wooden floor with my high heels. At times there were 4 other people living in that one room. We lived like bohemians in Paris on love and cheep drinks, with Victorian picture shoots and the occasional naked party. There was always someone stepping over my pattern cutting. We were free and I love it.

It has been 7 years..and even in it's rose tinted light I know there are so much more to living then that..the freedom then was nothing compared to the one I have now and the love didn't die. But that time defined how I want to live. So it does undoubtedly deserve a box.

To my love.