The flight to Stockholm from Helsinki is less than an hour.

You go up, you have a shot of water, and you come back down, greeted by another blanket of green trees. It still had not hit me that I am now in Sweden. I have wanted to visit Stockholm for many years, and this trip was so all-of-a-sudden that it never really sunk in that I was actually going to Sweden. And now I’m here. Literally. The first thing I notice as I step into the airport terminal is how beautiful the airport is, with hardwood floors and decent lighting – oh and it’s soooo quiet… there is zero background noise – no annoying sound system making public announcements nor television broadcasting the local news. You could hear a pin drop, but instead the only noise I hear is the ruffling of my cargo pants as I made my way thru the terminal to baggage claim. The carts are complimentary; in America they charge you $5 a cart, whereas here at Arlanda, they gift them to you. Might as well save my back and walk thru the terminal with ease, I grabbed a cart.

There I was, in Sweden… with cart in hand, walking thru the airport.. about to embark on a weeklong adventure thru this little corner of the world. Somebody pinch me.

I have a handful of Swedish friends that currently live in Stockholm whom I was visiting, as well as a handful of Swedish friends whom live elsewhere that each gave me a list of their favorite places and must-dos in the city. One of my local friends very graciously offered to pick me up from the airport. There is something so welcoming about having a familiar face come scoop you up from an airport. This same friend also very graciously gave me his apartment to stay in for the entire week I was in town. Wow.

I am a lucky girl!

I have my very own place to call home right in the heart of Stockholm! Amazing. And home it did feel. My friend has an incredible sense of style and a keen eye for design and color; his home has a quirky but tailored aesthetic. I was quite impressed. Surely, he had someone help him – I had to ask. I loved it. He claims he did not have any help, which at first was hard to believe, but after seeing the city thru his eyes and him escorting me about town to museums and his favorite restaurants, I noticed his tendency to point out design characteristics that he admired. I, on the other hand, tend to keep my admirations to myself; observe, take note, move along.. and then write about them!

Stockholm is absolutely stunning. One of the guys from the Helsinki wedding had warned me that I was heading to a supremely gorgeous country that is utterly pristine and not an ounce of trash in sight. After all, it’s a kingdom; one senses a hint of Royalty in the air.

The first two days I saw and walked almost all of Stockholm. I had the best tour guide. We walked everywhere. I was a complete tourist… saw the changing of the guards, peeked in the church that the Royals marry in, visited Fotografiska – the new photography museum that featured an incredible exhibit on artists Lennart Nilsson and Annie Leibovitz , took a scenic ferry to the island of Sandhamn in the Archipelago, also saw the costume history museum that featured wedding gowns worn by the Royal family (!) and dined galore! The food. Absolutely delicious. We ate at the best restaurants and indulged in the best Swedish foods. It was the first country I’ve visited in which I brought home cookbooks I purchased in that country. Now if only someone would read them to me as two are in Swedish… kidding. In the meantime, I will invest in a Swedish to English dictionary.

In just 2.5 days I had seen and experienced the best of Stockholm, a huge thanks to my utterly amazing tour guide. I was in such good hands. I have the balance of the week to wander and discover the city as I please, and live as a Swede. How am I so lucky?

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I was one of the first wedding guests to arrive at the hotel; the lobby was bustling with the wedding crew transforming the restaurant and lobby area into a wedding reception fit for royalty. I quickly dropped my bags in my hotel room (yes, the silver bullet arrived safe and sound at the airport), threw on my bikini and headed for the pool.

On a crystal clear blue sky day, the only way to fight off jet lag is to soak up some Finnish sunshine. The air here is so clean and everything is so green and vibrant. I thought about walking along the lake to admire the beauty but that thought diminished entirely when the hotel staff brought me sparkling water and said a poolside lunch and spa treatments were organized for all of the girls. Heaven. How will I ever leave? How could I possibly want to go back to the smog infused chaotic hustle and bustle of New York City?
Rumor is Sweden is even more beautiful and more pristine. I can hardly wait.

Is it strange that I over obsess on allowing ample time to get to the airport, check in, go thru security and board my flight considering I have priority access and can therefore use the first class counter for check in, scoot thru the priority security line and board the plane before the bulk of the passengers?

Is it obvious that I hate to be late? Even when deep down I know my chances of missing my flight are very slim, the moment I see brake lights ahead on the freeway en route to the airport I suddenly feel a wave of anxiety and I immediately start looking at the clock every 2 minutes. It’s heightened when I’m not the one behind the wheel. I love to drive and love to be the decision maker when it comes to which lane to weave in and out of. I realize I can be a tad annoying to the one who is behind the wheel so I try my best to remain calm and trust his/her judgment. However, when I’m paying for the ride, and I am sitting in the backseat as opposed to the passenger seat, for whatever reason I feel its somehow OK to voice my opinion and offer them unasked for advice on how to maneuver thru the traffic to get me to the airport at the time I had originally planned.

I digress.

Knowing that I was:
1) traveling on Finnair for the very first time and not quite sure if my American Airlines priority status would transfer
2) traveling international from JFK and
3) traveling with my new 25-inch silver bullet that was stuffed to the brim and potentially could be over the 22-kilogram limit …. I gave myself an extra hour to get situated before departure. I hailed a cab relatively quickly and my driver was considerably sympathetic to my requests for more A/C power in the backseat. As I attempted to cool down post my back and forth trips up the 3 flights of stairs in my apartment building to bring my bags curbside, I rang my father to inquire about the TCA approved lock on the side of my new 25-inch suitcase. He graciously tried to explain it to me, but I was half listening as I noticed brake lights ahead …. He was saying something about a ballpoint pin and the 000 setting and if it was already locked I’m in trouble because I won’t be able to open my bag… Oye! My cabbie kept hitting the brakes so abruptly; the A/C was not kicking in.
A migraine was forming.

Miraculously I arrive at JFK ahead of schedule. Migraine immediately dismissed. I inquire about my priority status and fortunately I am granted access to the first class counter to check in. I flip my new 25-inch silver bullet on the conveyer belt… worried that I have maxed out on weight pre-holiday and smile at the young gentleman who is checking me in and explain I have a new bag that my father convinced me I could fit my stuff into and I need to tag my bag. He smiles and hands me a paper ID tag and I fill it out as he checks me in. I glance over at the scale. 42 lbs! I’m under par. I’m thinking to myself how brilliant of a packer that I am as I hand the piece of paper back to the agent, not expecting that to be the actual tag he tags my bag with. What. It can’t be. It’s soooo flimsy!

“That’s it???” I blurt out. He looks at me confused. I ask him if he has anything stronger and explain I’m going to a wedding and I cannot lose my bag. He hands me a sticker. I fill that out as well. He slaps a priority tag and the sticker on my bag branding it as mine and says “goodbye bag, see you in Helsinki.” I realize he is poking fun at me and join in on the fun… I pat my bag goodbye as well and wish it safe travels. I watch it move along the conveyor belt, unlocked and hoped that I can open it in Finland. Assuming, that is, that it makes it.

Post 10 switchbacks of fellow travelers cued up for the security screening, I fork over $5 for a bottle of water – such a rip off and secure myself in an area near my gate but still far enough away so I am alone and away from the noise of a busy airport.

The flight to Finland was stress free and quite entertaining. The flight attendants were blonde and beautiful – very Catch Me If You Can worthy; it felt like a scene from a movie. The apple green blankets and pillows and sky blue upholstery sure beats the color palette of American Airlines. I tucked myself into the nook of my window seat, browsed the movie selection only to find a bizarre mix of Braveheart, Valentines Day and an array of foreign films for my movie options and opted for my purple earplugs and a lengthy nap.

Helsinki here I come!

Brand new 25-inch hardcase suitcase that my parents father talked me into as its super light weight + overstuffed hang up bag filled with dresses + overstuffed carry on that includes the essentials (just in case my 25″ silver bullet gets lost): two bikinis, a pair of heels for the wedding, a cashmere sweater, and snacks…. oh, and 2 loafs of spice bread I baked at 6am this morning.

And viola. I’m off. Sans the Prince, unfortunately.

Hope I make it thru security without trouble because rather than my usual go-to American Airlines, I am flying Finnair en route to Helsinki, Finland for a wedding and then popping over to Stockholm for a week to visit my Swedish friends.

Will send (post-holiday) massive update and pictures galore from 2 countries that have no idea what’s about to touch down.

xxx

I lift my eyes and thank You for
This life You’ve granted me
I pray that every day I live
Your heart will be pleased

I pray for hands that hold You higher than anything else
And a heart that loves You more than life itself
This is all I’ve ever wanted, this is all I want to be
All I’ve ever wanted is to love You faithfully

From where I stand I can see the dreams
That You have fulfilled
Such kindness I did not deserve
But You gave it still

What do I have that You did not give?
There’s nothing that I can see
So all I have to give to You
Is what You’ve given me

I know I don’t have the power to love You like I should
But every day with everything I have I wish I could
I’m standing here now, these words I pray
I wanna love You better, whatever it takes

- Margaret Becker

Daisy is the daughter of Britt and Kate Merrick, Britt was my Bible Study teacher in Santa Barbara and now is head pastor of Reality Carpinteria.

My heart skipped a beat today when I read Britt’s most recent post on facebook:
“Just found out that my daughter’s (Daisy-6) cancer is back. The tumor is huge. We are still in the ER and devastated, but trusting Jesus.”
For updates on Daisy’s second battle with cancer, go to prayfordaisy.tumblr.com

Tonight, I am home packing. At least I am thinking about packing, it’s still a bit warm to actually do any packing so I decide to replace the batteries in the carbon monoxide detectors as 2 of the detectors were currently unplugged because they would not stop beeping. I assumed they were simply in need of a battery switcharoo.

New batteries installed, I plugged in the detectors and they made a few small beeps which seemed ordinary. Five minutes later one of them started buzzing and grew progressively louder while the other one began beeping every 10 seconds and read “GAS” in red. The phone rang. It was my mother. I explained I was in the middle of trying to change the batteries but they detectors will not stop beeping. She encouraged me to call the non-emergency fire department. Moments later, I’m listening to the recording of the NY trash pick up schedule while waiting to speak to a representative… finally I’m connected to a live person and she said she had to send someone out to test the room because CM has no scent and is deadly.

Two minutes later I can hear the fire truck coming down the street. Ten seconds later the front door buzzer rings and I am greeted by not one, but six firemen to test my system. I kept apologizing as I realize this is not exactly an emergency but they were happy to help. Turns out, the reading was at zero. Thank goodness. One of the detectors was almost expired and the other just hadn’t registered the new batteries yet. Whoopsidaisy!

I wish I had told them that my cousin was the one who was proposed to recently while dining outside at Pastis when her boyfriend pulled up in a NYFD firetruck with the sirens on (they live in California – she was here on business and he flew in to surprise her) … I’m sure they would have known the story as strangers were talking about it the next morning at Starbucks. Perhaps they might have known her fiancé! Such an awesome proposal. Ok, back to packing now that I can breathe easy.. regardless of the temp. Love the NYFD!

This is a great sign. The message sounds so much more polite in French and the cow adds a nice touch, don’t you agree?

This sign pretty much sums up how I feel while enduring rush hour public transportation in NYC. I am not a fan of strangers invading my personal space. Yes, I will squeeze as much as possible to accommodate other travelers but the subway in general grosses me out and I do not touch or hold the railings; I’d rather lean on a door or just balance for dear life whilst the entire time realizing if I was a surfer, I could ride the trains hands free with no problem.

I always walk along the platform until I reach the beginning of the train as the first car seems to be less crowded – and it’s so hot in the city already … the platforms feel like a sauna and I’m just dying of a heat stroke after only one minute underground.

Needless to say, the days when we are piled in a train car like a bunch of sardines, I really really don’t want to rub against another person. Yesterday there was insane subway traffic “due to an earlier incident at Union Square” according to the loud speaker and I was squished so tight between 2 men and the train moved in slow motion and the entire time I thought, why why why do I live in this city.. moments like these that Texan voice inside reminds me that I need space lots of space and am not loving this NY moment.

Despite the fact that I know more Swedish words than French – thanks to a dear friend who teaches me new words, including phonetic pronunciation and meaning via BBM..

Despite the fact that I am blessed with the most amazing Swedish friends..

Despite the fact that I love Swedish music, I wear WESC headphones while deejaying, and play a lot of songs and remixes by Swedish producers..

Despite the fact that I love the gathering of friends, love to dance and love any excuse to combine the two..

Despite the fact that I studied the art of pole dancing..

To this day..

I sadly admit that the extent of my Midsummer experience is attending Hugh Hefner’s annual Midsummer Night’s Dream Party at the Playboy Mansion a few years back while I was living in LA.

It’s not hard to believe that Hef’s party is quite different than the Swedish tradition of dressing in folkdrakt and dancing around a maypole while wearing wreaths made of fresh flowers.

Yes, the Mansion was great fun and I frolicked with the flamingos and fed the monkeys and I was fortunate enough to experience the Mansion a few other times and regardless of the party’s theme the attire remained relatively the same.

I do hope to experience a proper Swedish style of celebrating Midsummer – with traditional food of potatoes and smoked fish and snaps and frolicking around barefoot with my wreath of fresh flowers adorned on my head and dancing around a maypole. Sounds much more like my cup of tea. So in honor of the longest day of the year, I toast to great friends, family and many moments of sunshine and joy – and of course great food, drinks and dancing are the extra cherries on this cake.. skaal.

I love bread.
I love bread with butter, bread with jam, bread with jam and cheese, bread with jam and peanut butter, bread with peanut butter and honey, bread with honey and cheese (my latest obsession), bread with coconut butter, bread with almond butter… I could go on.
I love baking bread almost as much as I love breaking bread and eating it!

I must share with you my favorite basic bread recipe made in your bread machine – it’s the perfect blank canvas for whatever toppings one pleases. Just toast and spread. Et voilá!

BUTTERMILK BREAD

1 1/8 cups buttermilk
3 T. honey
3 cups bread flour
1 tsp. salt
1 T. butter, room temperature
2 1/2 tsp. active dry yeast

Starting with the yeast, place all ingredients in the bread pan. Select light crust setting and press start. Allow bread to cool before slicing.

Happy toasting!

The other morning on Fox News, Former Pittsburgh Steeler Jerome Bettis talked about a new book titled NFL Dads Dedicated to Daughters: Inspiring Personal Accounts on Fatherhood … Now, regardless of the 8-pack abs my father is no former NFL player, but my ears perked up when Bettis began talking about how his relationship with his daughter is much different than his relationship with his son. He said “having a daughter softens you” as they have a “caring gene” and are compassionate; the fatherly role is not instinctual with a daughter as it is with a son; and fathers want to “protect and teach” their daughters.

My favorite thing Bettis said he learned thru having a daughter is “how valuable it is to show love and respect to their mother as it will affect their own relationship with men for the rest of her life.”

I believe it is absolutely true.

My father and I are both Aries and strong willed and I know him better than he realizes. We argue over silly things, like how to brew the perfect cup of joe.. We both are super independent and he and I have that “take charge” initiative when something needs to get done. But his sister (my aunt) mentioned to me last night as we were chatting on the phone that she feels I am more like my mother. I love that Dad has the protective gene over all 4 of us children, not just his 2 daughters. He is unselfish and loves his family more than anything .. but in the same sentence … he can be a tad difficult at times as life is not a bowl of peaches and whipped cream with butterflies and birds chirping. Although my mother does love birds and wouldn’t mind having birds in the house again..

You fight the hardest with your family, and you fight the hardest for your family.

My parents are in St Tropez at the moment. Yes, I am a tad extremely jealous as I wish I could be at The Byblos with them now sipping on a cold glass of Rosé. C’est magnifique!
I miss traveling as a family. I miss Dad getting upset with us me because I’ve overpacked. Before they left for France, my father sent us children a note – it was honest and straight from the heart. Sometimes actions speak louder than words, and sometimes words are sharper than a sword. He loves taking my mother to her 2 favorite places in the world and wants to bring us children next year so we can celebrate Father’s Day with him. Thankfully, we talked him out of the banana hammock years ago and to this very day he pretty much still looks like that, just + Vilebrequin.
Love you Pops!!