Selso Kirk from alex beauchamp on Vimeo.

One of the reasons I was most excited to return to Denmark was because my trip would fall during Easter. Despite the fact that I didn’t grow up in a religious household or belong to any Church (my father was French Catholic and my mum was Danish Lutheran – very different!), Easter was something that was always celebrated – all four days.

Coming to America, it was hard at first to adjust to not having a Good Friday and Easter Monday holiday, to not have the big family brunches and gatherings. To just have a huge cultural shift over what I think is a really lovely (and for some, meaningful) holiday.

My mum and I have been staying at my cousins house in the country where the weather has been unbeatable (clear blue skies and 20C/71F). Prep for brunch started days before; cook books were brought out, grocery trips were made, flowers were bought, cooking was done, candles were secured around. I was going to meet a lot of family for the first time and see others again.

The night before I was giddy as a school girl because, well, the last time I had had an easter like this I was a school girl!

But that night I got word that my cat, Grace, had suddenly taken ill. She was rushed to emergency and things didn’t look good: she had a brain tumor. Although physically in good shape she was neurologically gone. I had to think about what to do for her health and possibly death and it was one of the hardest things to do. I was up all night red-eyed, making plans, talking, sometimes just sitting in the darkness.

The next monring I woke up and the house was fluttering in anticipation for guests who would be coming at 11. It’s one of those times where you just have to put on a brave face and meet people where they are, not where you are.

As most Danish gatherings go, ours went on for five hours of eating (round one, round two, round three), dessert, lots of coffee, lots of stories and even some napping in between. There was lots of chat, chat, chat and it was good.

Some of the family is very religious (my cousin taught Bible study for 11 years) and some of the group are not. I am somewhere in-between. So thinking about the meaning of the day historically, and then the meaning of the day as it was happening now (being with family, enjoying the good, simple life), gave me a lot of things to think about. I wondered if I was being selfish for laughing with my family, for not grieving openly, for not telling everyone what was happening. If it was weird that when I looked at the yard, the people, the food, I felt happy for that instead of feeling sad every moment. It was uneasy to feel torn.

As the last of the guests were leaving, I got word that Grace had passed away in her sleep. The news was far from easy to take and had me devastated the rest of the night. The comforts came from earlier in the day and somehow of having her pass on Easter.

It reminded me of how just a week before my mum and I were at our family’s plot at the Selso Church (pictured above). Along side some other family are my mothers parents and we were there to do a little something for her mother who had recently passed away. What struck me was that how in the church yard, which was full of death, there was so much life. From all the birds singing, to the cows grazing on the other side of the wall to the trees just coming back to life from winter. There was this beautiful mixture of life and death. I suppose there always is.

I am often accused of not painting a ‘real’ picture of how things are (IE not sharing the dirt, the hardships, the details) but that’s because I think there are so many hard things to deal with that sometimes the best way to deal with and accept them is to find the good. I’m the sort that whole-heartedly believes that there is good to everything if you look for it (with the full understanding that sometimes this is very, very hard to do not just in the moment, but after a good deal of time has passed).

Easter ended up being that lesson for me; how do you deal with the wonderful right in front when the terrible is also happening? Celebrating and being with family beautiful, wonderful and happy and losing one of my most trusted companions was the most painful events ever.

But then, I think, that’s just a perfect surmise of life; the good with the bad. It happens every day, every moment. The trick perhaps to getting through it all, is to always acknowledge and be present through both so that you eventually get to just remembering all the good.

For that’s really the only way to get from one day to the next, and moment through moment.

‘Home’ is a very subjective word for me. Having moved a lot as a child and having lived all over the world since I was 18, home has either meant nothing, a house, a cottage, a mansion, an estate, a bed, a backpack, a desire, a hotel, a beach, a tent, a greyhound bus, a suitcase, an airport lounge, a sleeping bag, my mum’s flat is or simply where my bills are sent to.

Perhaps it’s because of all the different meanings and constant personal confusion that ‘home’ has always been a very powerful word for me. It’s a word I constantly try to define and find long-lasting meaning for. I’ve often tried to create beautiful ‘homes’ yet I’m hardly in them or tend to move frequently away from them. I’ve come from different homes and different countries yet never refer to them as ‘home’ (I tend to say I’m a mutt; from all over, a mixture of a lot of things but no real belonging to anywhere).

The truth is, that although I long for a real sense of physical home and belonging, the vagabond in me will almost always equate home to a suitcase and where my head is that night. And with all the travel that is to begin, that train of thought won’t be derailed anytime soon.

On Tuesday I leave for Copenhagen where I’ll be spending time with my mum (Tivoli opening day! Victor Cafe! Horse ride through the Deer Park!) before heading out to various family homes in the country for visits and finally getting to see the inside of an old family home. So home will be a hotel in the city, a farmstay in the country, a spare room at my cousins and end with as a summer house on Fyn.

Then I’m off to the UK; part business and part pleasure. Having lived there and having spent a great deal of time in London, I’ve had to find ways to get excited about going back (a certain wedding helps). This year, I’m determined to ride a bike through Hyde Park, partake in real afternoon tea again and of course finally see the British Anthropologie. I’ve picked out what I’m hoping will be a fantastic hotel; something that during my weekend in London I can call home (it’s supposed to feel like one, more on that to come).

After the UK, I’m headed to Karlsruhe in Southwest Germany. Having never been there before I’m hoping that amidst all the business there will be time for a little sightseeing so that between the hotel and office, a cafe or park bench can be home. Spring in Europe is a very rare site for me as I’m usually there in the midst of February’s winter for my birthday. So blooms, milder temps and hopefully sun will be a welcomed site indeed. I just don’t want to miss it.

And then back to America on May 06th, specifically San Francisco, where home will be a guest bed for awhile before heading back to my little cottage the following weekend.

That’s a lot of travel, especially after just having spent almost two weeks calling the Driskill Hotel in Austin my home. And all this travel has me thinking (as travel usually does) – what is home – is it a place or a feeling? Is it where you were born, the place you go back to or whereever you are in this moment? Is home temporary (meaning, it can change each night – I always say, “Going home” even when talking about a hotel) or long lasting (you think of your physical home you live in now). Is home more than a memory, a birthplace, a suitcase, family?

For me, home is always just where I tend to be whether it’s in a hotel with two suitcases or my cottage by the sea. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t had grounding or maybe it’s because I make myself feel at home when I travel by taking and doing familiar/calming things (my favourite tea in the morning to get me going, Lush bubble bars for a nightly unwinding bath, a couple of friends for company, a candle, my camera/computer to putter with, a stack of glossy mags for reading and favourite clothes to feel good in).

So the next several weeks I’ll be calling two suitcases and a myriad of places home. What about you?

PS: I’m going to try very hard to share my travels via Twitter with Hygge House and AlexTravels. I’ll also be sharing a lot of photos/info/stores on my Flickr Page.

Today’s agenda consisted of running errands around town on foot in blustery, cold, misty weather. Having worked this morning I was pressed for time in getting things done and didn’t want to take the time to wash and fuss with my hair. The solution for warmth, style and manageability was a hat. Luckily, I’ve about a dozen of them.

From woolly caps to structured hats, I’m literally covered for every outing. And no matter if it’s summer or winter, I find a reason to wear a hat and, more often than not, that gets comments. And today was no exception.

About half a dozen women commented on my hat (not the one shown above – that’s about 6 years old). Each time they say the same: they love the hat, they wish they wore them more or could pull it off. The last part always gets me. There’s this idea I’ve found across America that women feel they can’t really wear hats – that they’re theatrical, not appropriate, or young. Unless they’re baseball caps or visor, I don’t really see many women here wearing them.

When I’m wearing a hat in Europe, however, my hats aren’t a conversational piece at all as everyone there seems to wear one and I just blend right in. Maybe it’s because women there tend to be more pedestrian oriented than their American counterparts; when you’re out in weather especially, you need something that is warm, that keeps your hair from flying all over and styled. In America, more women drive from place to place and a hat becomes less a necessity and more of a fashion accessory. And it seems as though that’s a style that doesn’t seem to be in fashion.

I wish it was as I have quite a few hats that I like to wear depending on the outfit, the weather, and the need. I’ve dressy ones, casual ones, practical and fun.My ginourmous sun hat that borderlines obnoxious but I wear it to the beach or out to a casual summer lunch when the rays are harsh or I’m feeling dramatic amongst my girlfriends. I have a simple sun hat for walks about town and a more practical sun blocker for longer walks during the day. I have so many woolly caps for warmth and bad hair days and a couple of pretty rain caps for an evening out.

There’s hope, however, as over the years I’ve been seeing more hats in shops from Anthropologie, Nordstrom, Urban Outfitters, JCrew and on Etsy.

So perhaps hats will start trending more stateside because they’re not just pretty, they’re practical.

PS: I’m still trying to find the best way to store my hats. Wool ones go in bins but my harder ones that need to keep their shape need boxes and I’m still searching for those elusive round bins. Any ideas?

I think the only (spring) food that Danes like more than their new potatoes are perhaps Asparges. After a long, cold, winter the spring is welcomed with everything asparagus; soup, salad, open-faced sandwiches, and as alone as a simple side dish. If there is a way to incorporate asparagus into a meal, the Danes will find a way to do so.

However, it’s only recently I’ve come to really appreciate, love and cook Asparagus. With access to the famous Santa Monica Market, I’ve been meeting local asparagus farmers who are so passionate about this vegetable that they could give any Dane a run for their money. When I bought a couple of stocks a few weeks ago, one of the growers asked me how I was going to cook them. I gave him my tried and true recipe: put on pan, drizzle with olive oil, add salt and pepper and broil.

He looked at me with great disappointment and said that his asparagus were so amazing, so tender and sweet (it’s the season) that they deserved to be the full meal and not a sad side dish. He gave me a simple recipe which I have to confess to having for either lunch or dinner every day since. It’s the perfect light but satisfying meal that I intend to keep having until the season is over. Besides, there’s an old-wives tale in Denmark that says it’s bad luck to eat asparagus after June 23rd (Saint John’s Eve).

Click through for the recipe:

Asparagus with Poached Eggs and Parmesan

• 4 large eggs
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
• 1 bunch asparagus spears, trimmed (I just snap off the bottoms where they naturally break)
• 1/2 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 garlic clove, chopped
• 1 tablespoon butter (I omit this and just use a little more olive oil)
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice (I use half a lemon)
• 1 teaspoon finely chopped parsley
• Black Pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons coarsely grated Parmesan cheese.

1. Break eggs into one small prep bowl or cup. Fill a large, low sided pan with water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Take a spoon or spatula and make a circular pattern in the pan so that the water is moving in a big circle. Then slowly drop 4 eggs into the middle of the pan. The swirling action will create wonderful poached eggs. If you don’t like this method, use your preferred methos for poaching. Poeach eggs 2-3 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, bring a separate pot of water to a boil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add asparagus spears, cook 3-4 minutes or until crisp-tender. Remove asparagus with tongs, set aside.
3. Dry the medium saucepan. Add olive oil and heat over medium-high heat. Add garlic and saute about 1 minute. Turn off heat; add butter (or a little more olive oil), and swirl pan. Add lemon juice, parsley and salt and pepper. Add asparagus and two tablespoons Parmesan then toss with lemon-butter sauce to coat.
4. Divide apsaragus among 2 plates. REmove eggs from water with a slotted spoon, 1 at a time, blottong bottom of spoon on towl to absorb excess moisture. Place 2 eggs on each mound of asparagus. Pour any remaining sauce of each and sprinkle with remaining Paresan.
5. Serve immediately.

For another great recipe, check out Willi’s Roasted Asparagus with Pomegranate Syrup on Diggin’ Foods.

She doesn’t know how much it weighs. Nobody she knows or has ever met could tell you how much their bike weighs. Likewise, she doesn’t know how far she rides each day. It isn’t interesting. She rides at a good pace, not too fast to cause a sweat, and the ride is nice enough. She likes the fresh air and she often sees friends on the bike lanes. She loves crossing The Lakes and seeing the transformation from season to season. That will suffice.

She doesn’t wake up and make a decision to “commute by bike to work today”. It’s just a part of her day. She just walks out of her flat and gets on her bike. If it has a puncture, she’ll walk it down to the local bike shop to get it repaired and then take the bus or train to work. Picking it up in the afternoon.

She isn’t an activist, doesn’t belong to a cycling organisation with a long acronym and she doesn’t even think about the fact that she lives in something called a “bike culture”.

From a great article on Danish biking by Copenhagen Cycle Chic. This site has become one of my daily reads.