Shady business

As winter comes crawling towards us and we are heading for the darker side of the year the business of shades light up my mind. I could perhaps ponder the bigger issues in life and the world, like riots, economic madness and the uneven distribution of means. But as my gaze wonders upwards towards that special gazing place I feel gives me a certain air of deep contemplation, I can’t help but fix my stare on a naked light bulb swinging in all its nakedness from the ceiling. Oh dear, saving the world just has to wait a day or two while I address the more urgent matters at hand, give that bulb a shade!

An easy way to perk up any kind of space is with a lampshade mit personality.
You can get away with a lot of ‘beyond ordinary’ if there is a shade in the space that steals all the attention. But I’m not talking about the dreary hand-me-downers your might get conned into receiving just because you find it hard to say to your spouse’s aunt that the shade in question shouldn’t have made it into this side of 1960’s. I’m not talking about the kind of shady shades that remind you of a bamboo forest with nicotine stains. I’m talking about the kind of shades where you decide the size, design and fabric. The shade that oozes style and je ne sais quoi. I’m talking about the wagu beef fillet of lampshades.

You might think, ‘Hold your horses O’ shade blaster! Such a shade costs a fortune, it can’t be within the reach of mere mortals!’ Well, yes. That is the most wonderful, under explored little ‘unsecret’ of the shade world. It doesn’t cost an arm or a leg; you don’t have to sell the kids to the white slave trade or shave your head in a fundraiser at the local school. The cost of your lampshade is perfectly affordable. You just have to decide what you want, because there is a smörgåsbord (I know, crazy, but that is the correct spelling!) of options. And as my ‘Scandi’ genes leads the way of style and class, I head to Miljö or funkis for some shady advice on my perfectly perfect lampshades. And I might just solve the world’s problems once my shade shines that special light on me.

The Mother of all Swedish mothers

In these celebratory times of the female ability to reproduce and mother a little critter or two, let’s not hold back in praising these uber-women. Let’s join the gush-party of all mothers and their significance to each and every living homo sapien skipping around this blue-green globe. And let’s, for the hell of it, lift the Swedish mother up above all others for a paragraph or two.

A Swedish mother is like no other. Not only does she work up to, and including, the actual day of giving birth. Not only does she hang around at home until contractions are 10 seconds apart before driving to the hospital, after the popping out, she has a cup of tea, with a bit of toast, before packing her belongings and driving back home within 12 hours of giving birth. With the waving hospital staff quickly disappearing in the rearview mirror. And she’s most likely to cook dinner for the family that very evening. A trooper in plain anglais.

A Swedish mother is also a bit of a unisex mother; she’s capable of most things. Breastfeeding? Sure. Changing a car tire? No problems. Homemade Christmas cards? You bet. Pruning the fruit trees? Goes without saying. You would be hard pressed to find something the Swedish mother isn’t capable of. And this includes pole dancing and yodeling. She is a regular domestic goddess, on top of pulling her weight in the workforce. Further, a Swedish mother can still catch public transport with her child. I know, crazy but true!

Also, a Swedish mother isn’t too precious. Following a fairly no-fuss delivery, she goes on to treat her child with respect and care, but is in general rather matter-of-fact about the whole mothering deal. For example, even though it’s minus 24 degrees Celsius, you will see lots of little babies sleeping rugged up in their prams outside, while the mothers are sitting inside drinking hot chocolate. Why? It’s the attitude that ‘fresh air never hurt anyone’. And guess what, it’s true. A Swedish mother also trust her motherly instinct that a sore throat and a temperature does not need the blessing of a doctor and treated with antibiotics. And yet these children survive. Unheard-of approach in many countries.


So hail to all Swedish mothers and all other mothers out there! Don’t despair though if you haven’t been blessed with a Swedish mother. You can always pick up a surrogate Swedish mother and buy her a present for Mother’s Day; she’ll love you for it. Or buy your non-Swedish mother something Swedish, it might rub off!

And in regards to presents, please spend a lot. We are worth it. If you have a little voice inside you saying, ‘it’s the thought that counts’, don’t listen. Spend big, go that extra mile. Tie yourself in a knot, bend over backwards, shower your mum with presents and flowers because she will LOVE IT.