My mother’s best friend, the kindest woman on the planet. A lover of the sun. The famous head tilt in combination with those laughing eyes and gentle purr—often copied by us children but never done justice. Her husband was behind a gorgeous clothing brand in Stockholm and she was there by his side. Dutiful wife, caring mother, universally loved. An instinct for style. And always humble.
She didn’t really cook but to this day, hosted the most fabulous parties I’ve ever attended—glasses magically filled, joie de vivre permeated, and closing time a myth. Work hard, play hard was very much at work in this world and I loved it.
Their house was filled with the amassed bounty of well-traveled people–both the bounty and the travel filled my eyes with stars. A well-aged leather couch of danish breeding atop a perfectly warm and worn Kilim picked up in Istanbul. Cheap & cheerful Egyptian trinkets scattered alongside magazines on an antique Chinese table with dusty blue velvet covered stools surrounding. A moroccan inlaid chair sat beneath a crazy cool vivid modernist painting by a friend who happened to be a talent. I doubt she really cared how it all looked, but I think she loved being surrounded by reminders of the fun they’d had exploring the places from which these treasures came. To me, it was heaven. A little from here, a little from there, trophies of a full life and perfect in its imperfection.
My sisters & I would blissfully enter this world on our long summer trips to Sweden: boat trips in the archipelago, crayfish parties ’til the wee hours in August, sunny days by the Saltsjöbaden pool, saunas and swimming in Malma, driving her zippy Cabriolet convertible around Stockholm in later years armed with dozens of her krona to feed the meters.
Total love for this gorgeous, kind person and gratitude for her influence on me.