In My Day

In my day if you wanted to talk with someone across town you went home, picked up the telephone and dialed their number. If they were home they might answer.  If they weren’t home the phone just rang until you gave up and hung up.  If you wanted to talk with someone outside your immediate area, i.e., make a long distance call, it was financially wise to wait until the weekend when the long distance rates were lower.

If you were expecting a call from someone you hung around the house waiting for the phone to ring.  If you weren’t home when the call came, too bad.  There were no cell phones, there weren’t even answering machines to take the call if you weren’t home or to leave a message if the one you were calling wasn’t home.  It was a  tough world.

This was the state of affairs until not that many years ago.  Of course, this also depends on how old you are.  If you are under 20 this is something you’ve only heard about in history class..  If you are under 30 you may have some memory of such a world.  Then there are those of us who are considerably older and for whom carrying a computer in our pocket– which provides instant, constant communication with everyone everywhere–is still a marvel.

Which brings me to the internet.  We live in an “internet hole”.  Comcast hasn’t made it out here and they have no intention of doing so unless we fork over $4000. Which we are not about to do.  So we suffer along with a “jetpack” which provides a hot spot.  When it feels like it.  If the weather is right and the stars align just so.  Which isn’t particularly often and is certainly not predictable.  And makes me wonder why I’m pouring my money down the jetpack rat hole.

This is also my excuse for not keeping up with this blog. Oh so frequently I fire up my computer and try to “get on line”.  And Jetpack says, no, don’t feel like it.  So I go to bed before I throw the thing thru’ the window.

Here’s hoping Jetpack cooperates while I post this.  That will make me happy. But there are no guarantees.

Hygge on!

All my growing up years and for decades of my grown up years my family and I were certain of our French heritage.  Our last name looked and sounded French. We didn’t have much other proof than that but what more proof do you need?

Then we discovered some 4th cousins, with our last name, who live in Vienna Austria. These 4th cousins have done a lot of geneological research. And the fact of the matter is, we are not French.  Not at all.  We are Austrian and have been for generations past. No French blood.

There’s no proof of Danish blood either. But I’m pretty sure it must be in there somewhere because I’ve recently discovered hygge, part of the Danish culture. And it’s me.

Hygge, pronounced HOO-GA, is “loosely translated as a sense of comfort, togetherness, and well being.”  “Hygge is humble and slow.  It is choosing rustic over new, simple over posh and ambience over excitement.”*

When my family and I moved to the country we decided that installing a wood stove would be a good investment.  Out here we are certain to lose power for a day or three every year or so. A wood stove would provide heat and light.  We could warm soup or water for tea. We could melt snow so we would have water to add to the toilet tank because when you live in the country and you lose your power you don’t have water to fill the toilet. We would be okay in a power outage. And should we choose to do so we could build a fire now and then for some ambience. So the wood stove was installed. And we have used it for emergencies and we have used it for occasional ambience.

But mostly I use it for hygge.  I love to build a fire and just sit and watch it. It’s warm and calming and well, so hygge.  Which pretty much is proof that I must have Danish blood in there somewhere.

*The Little Book of Hygge by Meik Wiking