Au poil

Ne faites pas cette tête ! Il ne sera pas question ici de pilosités gênantes en tout genre, non. Je vais vous épargner, même si le billet reste dans la catégorie Health&Wellness ou Santé et bien-être. La surprise est ailleurs, si j'ose dire. Oui parce qu'après tout je ne parle que de nous, les humains, je veux dire (il faudra bien évidemment faire exclusion du nouveau-né chez les V - voir précédent billet). Alors voilà, je recule pour mieux sauter l'obstacle et vous annonce ici qu'il sera question de nos amis, les chiens (brièvement, je suis magnanime aujourd'hui et rien qu'aujourd'hui).

Ah, j'entends tous les amateurs de ragondins, verres de terre, papillons de nuit et chats de toute espèce râler, taper des poings et faire la grimace en me pointant sans aucune indulgence du doigt, moi cette vulgaire passionnée de...chiens. Vive l'originalité ! Et si je vous dis en plus que mon animal préféré c'est le dada, vous allez fermer votre Navigateur. (Faites pas ça, vous passeriez à côté d'un moment de sublime lecture. Vive la modestie.)

Ceux qui me connaissent le savent : j'adore les animaux. Point. Et j'aime par-dessus tout mon chien. Point bis. Alors je me dis qu'il vaut mieux vous parler de ce que je connais, de ce polissons toujours fringant qui nous fait rire nuit et jour, les babines au vent et le fouet en perpétuel mouvement de bonheur, non ? Pour rester dans le thème de la beauté, mon loulou à quatre pattes vous livre brut de décoffrage canin son secret via une petite image qui en dira plus long que tous les aboiements du monde :

Franchement, j'ai failli vous coller la photo dans la rubrique "Image de la semaine", mais je tenais vraiment à vous dire à quel point la simplicité de certaines idées illuminées me fascine, ce qui impliquait d'entrée de jeu un bille un peu plus long, avec le mot de la fin à notre fin limier (vous n'avez plus le choix : face au suspense intenable, vous allez devoir lire chaque mot, jusqu'au point final de ce billet). 

Revenos à nos puces. Fallait y penser, non ? L'image du chien a été placée au sol d'un grand magasin en guise de lino., flanquée du nom de la marque Frontline, spécialisée dans les produits contre les puces, tiques et autres délices qui, au passage, vont goulûment attaquer nos chers et tendres chiens (et chats !) au printemps, une de leurs saisons préférées.

Au-delà du bien fondé de ces campagnes qui, une fois de plus, utilisent comme levier la peur, le cerveau derrière cette campagne publicitaire a parfaitement exploité l'espace à sa disposition pour illustrer la publicité et la rendre vivante, interactive pour employer un terme qui a le vent printanier en poupe. Le résultat est à mon humble avis parfait. Surtout vu d'en haut, cela va de soi. Les parasites indésirables sont autant de passants qui, peut-être aussi à leur insu, vont simplement marcher sur l'image géante de ce golden retriever au museau amical et plein de bonhomie, symbole tout trouvé de la bonté harcelée. 

Petit secret (qui n'en sera plus un) de mon chien au vôtre : les pipettes Frontline contre toutes sortes de bêbêtes marchent bien ; deux tiques récoltées au cours de 11 années d'une vie canine bien remplie, ce n'est pas si mal. Alors certes, c'est un produit chimique, probablement toxique, mais comme dit Marianne James, tout est toxique pour nous, l'environnement, l'univers et les petits bonshommes verts. 

Il faut bien vivre ("la vie, ça tue !") - et mieux vaut vivre sans parasites au milieu des poils, parole d'Owen chocolaté !

I am reading...

Comment vous dire...? Je suis totalement fascinée, le nez dans l'histoire et le coeur palpitant au rythme de chaque aventure. Je suis une fan. Une inconditionnelle. 

Je n'aurais jamais dû grandir, en fait. 

Looking for COS

A long time ago, someone was looking for Susan, the other day I was looking for my glasses and someone in the neighborhood was looking for a missing cat. Everyone is looking for something. Today, on our very prosaic and laid back Sunday, blessed by the return of the mighty sun (I may be overdoing it here, just a little...), we went looking for COS. Not desperately though, no.

Wazaaaaat?

COS, is H&M's little brother, a new Scandinavian brand, as sure to hit the headlines as H&M that has now even become the street style reference, invading our city centers with multiple shops - one would not be enough you see. COS is a little more expensive, a little less in the disposable fashion world, a small step further into colors, shapes and fabrics. Do not get me wrong, I buy T-shirts and stuff at H&M, have been doing so for ages. Even hubby managed to find a hat and a pair of wollen gloves this winter, so just imagine.

COS has had the briliant idea of opening its under the level of the sea store in The Hague, which matched perfectly our week-old craving for a bite of the administrative capital and its international atmosphere. A bite into the Dutch apple, if you want. The Hague, here we come!

After a lovely walk in the old city center, as charming and bustling as ever, we cross COS's doorstep. Hubby screams, blinded by the colorful hangers; me, I smile with happy anticipation of a color binge after years of grey, albeit soft, madness.

To be honest, the shop offers a bit of everything, from casual, to evening gowns, but generally speaking, the cut of the clothes looks very minimalistic, very to the point but almost always with a twist - a twist that may start with an acid yellow or green that is refreshingly new and more than welcome, all the more as the store itself is kind of boring, with a very plain layout and presentation of the goods.

However, and even though the shop is not exactly around the corner - hail to you, Meg Ryan, loved your bookstore in "You've got mail", loved it! - I will be back if in need of Scandinavia pieces, a little originality and affordable finds.

I found COS.

Let's fly away

"Let's fly down to Peru", as the great Frank would sing in his velvety voice! Well, right now, I feel more under a different influence, far from Peru, I am afraid; but still, I would like to "fly away" and based on the inspirational pages of India Hick's decoration book, I would love to change the way our apartment is dressed - a bit like they are used to doing in the US, you know? Home decoration changes with the seasons, with seasonal candle colors, fragrances, cushions, vases, flowers... The ideal destination would be the Caribbean islands, nothing less, nothing more. I am sure Frank would not mind and my collection of shells coming from almost all the beaches I have set foot on would not mind either. Back to the the roots, as it were. The sea has always been my favorite inspiration and environment, especially the warm seas, so this craving of mine is just as natural as it could be. No lunar influence here. 

Some could argue: "What are you doing living by the North Sea then?". Well, that was the opportunity that was given to me, and I certainly was not going to turn it down! A walk by the sea is always an enriching experience, north, south, east, west - whatever! So I'll take the North Sea too.

But, in my daydreaming moments, I head south, right where the sun and the soothing shades are. The latest source of inspiration is this book:

The soft colors, natural materials - wood is predominant - and delicate fabrics are all brought to the forefront with the help of the geometrical shapes of the picture frames (mostly black for some terrific optical effect, but also in natural wood colors for a subtler result) and carefully chosen objects scattered here and there by an innocent hand (as if!). The key to this serene and harmonious interior is the apparent lack of sophistication and the presence of items that belong to the surrounding land, its culture and the experiences it offered its inhabitants. 

Daydreaming is often just around the corner...

Happy week-end everyone and happy decorative moments!

i

If you think back in time, really hard if you are getting seriously over the hill (hum), you will remember V. As in "The Visitors". Already back then, a single letter would contain a whole world, a series of characters and adventures everyone knew and would more or less happily relate to. i, for one, did not relate at all to this cruel invasion that ended up in the horrifying scene of a human mother giving birth to a lizard. Wow. 

Today, i give you another all-engulfing letter that unleashes passionate debates, love raptures and puzzled looks while leaving aside the gore touch: i

As in iBook, iMac and...iPhone.

For the record, i am not on the payroll. 

But I am definitely among the ones that have fallen in love. To the point that for this post, i will give away grammatical correctness and drop the "I" to honor the "i" of the Apple world. Yes, i like their world that bad. Let's turn this around actually and say that i like using their products in my world, they are fitting perfectly to a very intuitive usage - no fuss, no stress. One touch and everything boots, one touch and you get the info you wanted. Visitors invaded the earth, the i products are invading my space and they are most welcome, up to the last one of the series, brilliantly offered to me by hubby for my B-day:

For someone who is totally insensitive to gatgets of all kinds, this is a revolutionary step; and for someone who has had the same little chunky black and white screen phone for the past 6 years (yeah, and the same provider contract too, just imagine how on top of things i can be...) this is a new era.

So, i am learning and have dutifully printed out the 180 something pages of the user's guide. Dutifully, but also foolishly because from the moment i switched this black beauty on, i found my way around so easily i could not believe my i-fascinated eyes.

To celebrate one of the zillion functions of this phone, i started taking pictures while going around town - easy peasy. You have to understand me, I come from a prehistoric phone that served its purpose beautifully: making calls and receiving calls. Having the opportunity of taking pics here and there without carrying - as I have done up to now - the phone AND the camera is something new that I may start appreciating. Obviously, I do not expect fantastic pics to come out of a phone, that is not the point in any way. But it is handy and it is the first function I started using given that I cannot call yet due to contract reasons (boring, boring, boring details I will spare you).

The pics are all posted here. i hope you enjoy my first iPhone steps (not yet modified in iPhoto, but that should come soon enough!).

Today

Check this out for more poster inspiration.

A friendly people

Harlemmerstraat in Amsterdam - don't trust the name itself, see? - is a great little street a stone's throw from central station, in the north. It is one of those lively streets so typical of Amsterdam, with that mix of vintage, boho and touristy atmosphere, between a church converted into an office building, a cheese shop and a tea bar you won't forget. It is in one of its avant-garde shops full of useless little things that I first spotted them: the Kimmidolls. The great thing about these sweet dolls - you can trust the name this time - is that, unlike Gremlins, they do not bite and do not grow ugly and sharp-as-a-knife little teeth. Much more the peace and love kind of toys that will bring you luck if you dot them around you house, for example.

What are they? 

The modern take of traditional Kokeshi dolls that were made out of cherry or pear tree wood and were given as wish well gifts in the northern areas of Japan. These hand-made tokens were unique pieces symbolizing specific values.

Today's version of tradition features little girls, with a minimalistic, chunky shape, delicately painted and bearing a name like "Kokoro" that means "heart". Offering Kokoro means you wish love and warmth. Just pronounce its name out loud: you will see, it sounds already like a protective embrace. 

Kokoro.

Kokoro

By now, you probably agree with  me that these little beauties (they do come in several sizes, but as everyone knows, small is beautiful) are totally useless and serve a purely decorative purpose. To me, we should still be able to say "love" or "warmth" instead of enclosing it in an industrialized doll. But that is only part of me thinking this: as someone who loves symbols of all kinds and who gets lost in endless daydreaming with the help of life's "little things", I do love these dolls. There, I said it. And as a present they are thoughtful and cute (and useless, yes) and will crowd our material world with friendly thoughts, or so I like to fool myself into believing.

Tomomi

I can only too easily imagine two or three of them half-hidden around the house, as little elves or gnomes who would keep their watchful eye on us and spread their positive values silently and harmoniously. They would even be kinder than gnomes, known to be good and bad, whimsical little creatures you should not trust - ask Nils Holgersson... The little guy knows what I am talking about.

What you need to do now is just look around your place and spot where Kokoro would fit best, feel comfortable and send you its positive vibes all year long.

Un mercredi à la campagne

C'était inévitable : les journées rallongent, à 16 heures déjà on s'imagine à des lieues du bureau, sur une terrasse bien orientée plein soleil aux doux rayons, un verre de thé glacé et ambré posé sur la table en marbre blanc. C'était inévitable. Et pour une fois, l'inévitable nous ravi. Pour une fois ! Les premiers battements printaniers m'inspirent d'emblée quelques pensées bucoliques, ce qui est assez étonnant puisque les belles journées riment pour moi avec plage, bikini et pour être en vogue (ou Vogue, à vous de voir), croisière. Là, c'est pousser la rêverie un peu trop loin si j'en crois la vue qui s'offre à moi pendant la journée ; nous n'en sommes pas encore aux grosses chaleurs et l'écharpe fait encore partie du voyage, matin midi et soir. Mais les lunettes de soleil, elles, commencent à s'imposer dans le sac du jour, les arrogantes !

Toute cette inspiration campagnarde, je la dois à quelques images et trouvailles qui m'ont donné envie de m'étaler (toujours au soleil, sinon ça ne compte pas) dans une belle clairière au milieu de hautes herbes ondoyantes. Ah, je vois bien aussi les doigts de pied en éventail et du coton, rien que du coton sur la peau. Vive le Net et vive le printemps !

Voici donc, quelques perles du bout du pré, en attendant quelques degrés de plus et de voir les poules prendre d'assaut mon petit patio encore assoupi :

En regardant ces photos, je me dis que le patio est assoupi, c'est un fait, et que ma penderie l'est aussi. C'est bête, hein ?!

Vive le printemps !

Pictures: Saltwater, Toast

Poetry and reliability

Poetry belongs to the universe of the senses and emotions, to that sphere of the intangible so difficult to penetrate and grasp, to that fleeting sphere that feeds you deeply (and so fits the daydreaming lifestyle, may I add). Descartes would probably so not approve, but I do find that reason is the main rule from the morning when we lift our heavy eyelids to the evening when we shut the lights out and start zzzzzing... So, a little space for poetry, is all I ask for.

It is then lovely to stumble via the supreme hi-tech tool of Internet across a poetic creation that tries to serve a practical purpose... Let's say to announce the weather forecast for the day, for example. There is such a magical tool and I serve it to you, hoping that you will like the idea just as much as my wandering spirit did - take a peak to today's forecast for our beloved Amsterdam:

Amsterdam today: partly cloudy!

If you visit their site, you will see that the you can select a city and check out the fairy weather for today and tomorrow...the forecast is offered to you in a different way, in a poetic way that will be a refreshing change from the boring weatherman/lady wearing garish dresses and ending their presentation by the latest ecological catastrophe, just when you are swalling your dinner's dessert. Right now may be just the perfect timing for you to wander through this site - at least if you live in Western Europe: the sun is making more frequent shows and temperatures are steadily rising just as the little colorful buds that now line the banks of the canals in The Netherlands. Perfect timing, I tell you.

The design is the offspring of a poetic mind that sees in utter simplicity what the common mind cannot see. The visitor gets (for free) a bit of fresh air and and an original view that may just not be that reliable though...

Who cares? 

I am watching...

This is what I call a movie. A real movie. A joy. Thank you, Clint. I have been a fan since I was a kid, applauding your deeds in the spaghetti westerns. 

Casual

While chit chatting with a friend, it turned out that we had different dress codes during the week: she dresses casually during the working week and likes to "make an effort" during the week-end. 

For me, the dessing closet works the other way around: I need to plan the evening before what I will wear to the office, and some items are obviously off-limits for week/office life. It is with overt nostalgia that I look back at the 8 years of freelancing when I could also pick up my favorite sweater from the closet, knowing full well that there was no specific code to follow except my own comfort and concentration. This was until I entered the corporate world (aka slavery), a big shock in many ways (ok, and a big improvement in many others).

Preparing the evening before what you will be wearing when passing the office front door is not a must, unless you already know that in the morning you will be moving around with eyes and brain shut - in total darkness and with sleep still holding you tight. There is no way I could pick up a pair of trousers and proper (matching) socks at 7am. The advantage of this evening tour de force is also the time gain in the morning, when every minute counts and I hop around the house, quite frantically and in a robot-like succession of very calculated moves.

The week-end defines itself as the long hoped for opportunity for taking things down a notch, without any tedious planning. A space for inspiration, last-minute decisions and for just taking off the hanger whatever you feel like putting on...

With nothing else in mind but a lovely bike ride around town and a fragrant cup of afternoon tea or cappuccino, I went all blue:

Navy turtleneck: Wolford

Jeans: Levi's 

Scarf: Jackpot

Necklace: Byzance (The Christmas present I received from my parents! Anatolian hand-made necklace.)

Colors are also important, not because the color match needs by some supreme law to be an acceptable one, but rather because I have my less strict colors, the comfort hues that instantly diffuse warmth; as you may then have guessed, blue is no innocent choice here as for ages it has been my favorite color, a friendly reminder of the sea world. A cliché? Maybe so. I endorse it fully. If you take a look at the opening picture of this post, the colors there are also a fantastic casual choice: they are earthy, reassuring shades that I like to think underline the mellow character of the lady who is wearing them (credits: Garance Doré).

Shoes: Michael Kors

Raincoat: Philippa K

Gloves: Les Copains

Bag: Louis Vuitton

And speaking of color matches, blue and brown or blue and black have become safe choices for me. Just a touch of vibrant tomato red will then brighten up this subdued chromatic world, add a bit of much needed height...and I am ready to pedal happily down the street!

The pressie

March 7 was my birthday and I had the pleasure of receiving many presents on that occasion. I am a total sucker for celebrations, presents, symbols and suprises. So when a pressy falls on my doorstep, just imagine my one-year-older face. Just imagine. (You can leave the additional lifeline out of the imagined final picture though, thank you.)

In this case, the pressie did not exactly fall onto the doormat; you see, it was too big and chunky to find its way through the mail box! That is always a good start, he he he. A lovely neighbor brought it to me, while a handwritten note lay on the doormat instead. The crumbled piece of paper was kindy left behind by the mailman, one of the few creatures on this quill foresaken earth who is still using a pen, a piece of paper and his hand to actually communicate with the world.

Imagine then that it took me 2 split seconds to unwrap the present and meet the beautifully decorated tin box you see in the pic above. The drawing on the lid represents the fruit of the mother of all trees for me: the olive tree. I told you I liked symbols, didn't I? Even in our living room you will find a painting showing these century-old trees in their habitat, with their roots deep in red earth and their silvery branches standing out against a vibrant blue sky. More down to earth, we use olives in our kitchen and eagerly eat any variant or any byproduct. Come to think of it, we even use olive soap around this garden of Eden of ours.

Imagine then my happy smile when hidden under freshly picked herbs (laurel, thyme and rosemary from the garden) I find neatly stashed away three jars: crème d'anchoïade, tapenade verte et noire de Provence. Happiness in a delicately decorated tin box! The thyme already found its match in a home made soup bringing delicately together broccolis and carrots that were waiting for a little herbal kick. The rosemary sprig and its flowers will be next in line and will possibly compliment an apple compote in which the bland fruit will welcome the pungent smell and taste of the herb. 

Each and every detail of this thoughtful present shows me that my Sis knows me inside and out (is that a good thing?!) and in return makes me think about my Sis and her own world instantly. 

This is what I call a win-win situation from the bottom of my ever grateful heart.

Pour K.

Les titres cryptés, il n'y a que ça pour entretenir le mystère ! Et le mystère, c'est tout ce qu'il nous faut en ces temps de surmédiatisation où tout s'étale et s'atteint en deux secondes, sans une goutte d'effort. Je vous rassure, la personne concernée se reconnaîtra sans peine et trouvera quelques perles d'enfance dans lesquelles elle pourra puiser librement si le coeur lui en dit. 

K., ce billet est pour toi !

Remontons dans le temps pour revoir les lumière de l'autoroute depuis la banquette arrière de notre vieille Ford baptisée Katarina - ne me demandez pas pourquoi ; interprétez ce silence de ma part comme une autre dose bien distillée de mystère. Tout ce que je sais, c'est que lorsqu'elle est partie à la casse, à mon insu, forcément, on m'a remis en guise de relique son allume-cigare. 

Bref, couchée sur la banquette arrière qui me servait de cabane secrète, je voyais défiler les lumières qui annonçaient la fin du voyage qui de Vicence allait nous emmener dans la capitale, Rome. C'est là que vivait mon grand père, dans ce bel appartement aux bruits et odeurs si particuliers, restés vifs dans ma mémoire, au moins autant que le plaisir que j'éprouvais à séjourner chez lui. Comme souvent, l'arrivée triomphale (et le début des vacances d'été par la même occasion) allait être célébrée par une de ces concoctions d'enfance, simple et indélébile : la ricotta au cacao et au sucre. Bon, le nom de cette "recette" n'est certes pas très élégant et accrocheur, mais franchement, voilà deux critères qui ne rentrent pas du tout en ligne de compte lorsque vous avez 7 ans et des étoiles plein la tête. Voici, du fond de ma mémoire, les trois ingrédients (!) à se procurer pour faire frémir les jeunes papilles :

-Ricotta : alors là (c'est l'adulte qui vous parle) évitez par pitié cette fausse ricotta pâle et fade dont raffolent les supermarchés. Si possible, trouvez de la vraie ricotta, bien fraîche, douce et légèrement salée à la fois. Si vous ne savez pas où donner de la tête, demandez à votre fromager, il saura peut-être vous vous orienter. Je vous assure, c'est la nuit et le jour.

-Sucre en poudre : les quantités sont laissées au goût de chacun. Très gourmande dès mon plus jeune âge, j'aimais sentir les grains de sucres crisser sous la dent. A ce point là, oui.

-Cacao en poudre : là encore, on ne parle pas de Nesquick mais de vrai cacao, amer et au goût fort. Encore une fois, tout dépend des goûts, alors à vous de voir si vous voulez plus ou moins forcer la main sur cette sombre poudre fascinante pour le palais.

Il s'agit en suite simplement de tout mélanger à la force du poignet, bien énergiquement afin d'obtenir une sorte de pâte onctueuse, à mi-chemin entre le yaourt et le fromage. La couleur finale dépendra de la dose de cacao, mais elle devrait être alléchante de douceur, flatteuse pour l'oeil.

Il ne vous reste plus qu'à appeler les enfants un par un autour de la table !

I am reading...

This book is supposed to be my very own rehab after an overdose of Harry Potter magic potion. Obélix fell into the cauldron and I am next in line, it seems. So, just to take my mind off the Ministry of Magic, the dementors and old wizard's tricks, I made a big literary jump into the kitchen of a writer. To tell the truth and nothing but the truth, the first pages did not convince me because of the very self assured tone. Possibly the change in style from the previous books was too blunt and I had trouble focusing on this new style, universe and topic. I am now enjoying this book more and more: it is funny and offers a very personal take on recipes and all things food-related, from guests to tableware. A very pleasant read even if I do not share all the writer's points of view...

Destination: Dreamland

The place itself looks a bit unkept, dark, outdated and untidy. Harry's Bar is not really the ideal cocktail bar my imagination is expecting. There are the predictable bottle covered walls and shiny mirrors all bathed in dim lights, but the bar looks more like a brown café - where beer would definitely be more appropriate, along with a few cauldrons of brewing potions.

And then, the magic kicks in. I open the cocktail list, cautiously, and my eyes start wandering from one name to the other, fast, faster. The magic starts carrying me away from the dark walls and my imagination finds new wood to fuel itself on: Seabreeze, Harry's spoon, Moscow mule, Tequila sunrise, Blue lagoon, Bay breeze, Cosmopolitan, Red Lotus, Blue Hawaii, Paradise, Pink Lady, Tom and Jerry, Bellini...

The latter, has me buying a one way ticket to Rome: a year ago, after a full day at the Vatican, we ended up in a beautiful wine and cocktail bar in a small Roman street. Fair weather, lively people, typical street, cobblestones, heady perfume of lilac and my first Bellini ever, with a smile glued on my face and all over my heart. The Bellini I drink in Amsterdam brings this all back with full strenght. 

The rest of the cocktail names has me on the Hogwarts Express, on the way to Dreamland, for good.