I read the American Girl books when I was younger, repeatedly. One of my favorites was the Christmas story about Kirsten, who had yellow braids. For Christmas she got to dress up as St Lucia and walk through the house with a crown of candles, delivering warm saffron buns to family members in bed. It was magical to my 8 year old self. Kirsten was Swedish.
Later, I went on a kick of needing to go to Iceland, because I was convinced it was awesome. Admittedly, this feeling hasn’t died down much. Waterfalls, active lava and outdoor saunas? Yes, please. Iceland was colonized by Norway and Denmark.
Currently, I am a huge fan of dill, and I like to think of excuses to sprinkle the green flakes on too many things. It’s popular in Scandinavian dishes.
You know how something can go unnoticed in your life forever, but once it is brought to your attention you suddenly see it everywhere? For example, you realize you really like the name “Roland,” and then in the next two weeks you meet five guys named Roland. It seems like this is just an awareness issue, but sometimes I wonder if the universe just likes to mess with us. Coincidence, my foot.
With that fact in mind, I’ve lately come to realize that I am addicted to all things Scandinavian. It’s been a gradual process, but I’m beginning to think I should in fact be Scandinavian. Could some horrible twist of fate have landed me in Denver instead of Uppsala, Trondheim, or Reykjavik? Maybe I was a Swedish milkmaid in a past life, or a Norwegian fisherman. Who knows.
Whatever the cause, I’ve been noticing Scandinavian things everywhere, and they are fantastic. In beginning this post, I was going to summarize all my feelings into one diatribe. But, see, I have too much love. There are too many things to point out. So instead of making you read one huge post covering everything, I’m going to break it down. It’ll be like a recurring column. Scandinavian Love, we’ll call it.
Make no mistake–I am not Scandinavian, I’ve never been to any of the countries, and I offer no actual insight or education on any of these things. But when you trip over yourself for aebleskivers, seek out Iceland’s Nobel prize winner at the library, and ooo over Danish design blogs, something has to done.
And this is it. Please stay tuned, and let me show you I’m not crazy.