My favourite part of a blanket would have to be the satin along the edges. These cushions celebrate blanket ribbon in all it's hues and leave the satin edge free for little hands to explore.

Growing up, we only slept with blankets when were at my grandparents. There is a certain security in going to sleep with the satin edges clutched between fingers.  For me, it means that, even though I'm away from home, I've been tucked in by someone who cares.

These cushions are made out of a collection of blanket samples for Onehunga Woollen Mills.  Each came with its name written on a small adhesive label.  In stops and starts I have been sewing the name of each colour onto it's respective sample since 2010.  We have everything from the blues of  seascape and navy, to the very pale whites of natural and eggshell.

And as an added bonus, they are nice to snuggle up with too.

This weeks thrifty find isn't mine.  It's my daughter's.  She spotted the little pirate toby mug and exclaimed "just like Mum's!".

The shopkeeper carefully wrapped it for her and added "It's always good to have collections," before handing it to my beaming 6 year old.

Their providence is nothing exceptional.  A simple "Japan" back stamp. They both have little chips.  However, they make me smile and they make my daughter beam.

*Linking in with Op Shop Show Off

Spring comes at the other end of the year in New Zealand, but it is celebrated just the same.  We could lay claim to fields of Wordsworth's daffodils.  But we often forget have our own poetry too.  What better way to celebrate a spring in full flight, than with a little Baxter, wrapped around a teacup.

Blow Wind of Fruitfulness

Blow, wind of fruitfulness,
 Blow from the buried sun:
Blow from the buried kingdom
 Where heart and mind are one.

Blow, wind of fruitfulness,
 The murmuring leavers remember;
For the deep in doorless rock
 Awaits their green September .


Blow from the wells of night:
 The blind flower breathes thy coming
Birds that are silent now
 And buds of barren springing.

Blow from beyond our day.
 The hill-borne streams complain:
Hear from their stony courses
 The great sea rise again.

Blow on the mouth of morning
 Renew the single eye:
And from remembered darkness
 our immortality.

James K. Baxter

After a week in Oslo, we parted ways.  My sister and Dad traveling to Sweden and me heading home to  a very patient family. 

Dad enjoyed every minute of showing his girls around the land that so captured his imagination.  A land with a history of exploration, both ancient vikings and pioneering polar races.

Vikings, polar ships and symbols

It is also home to many people who are dear to my father's heart.  It was a privilege to spend time with them. 

Detail from Oslo Town Hall mural series

Someone asked what took him to Norway in the first place.  The reasons are as complex as they are deeply personal.  Their meaning shifts over the years.  In spending the time with Dad, I sometimes feel we only got a glimpse of his version of history.  Yes, it offered adventure, and yes there was a woman involved.  But at a time when Dad was feeling most broken, in every sense, this distant land also offered the time and space that he needed to learn to walk again.

The Hytt, the car and the adventure

Sometimes the best places are the ones you find by accident. My sister and I loved Tronheim and cannot rave highly enough about Antikvariatet, the little bar we sought refuge in.  We arrived on a very sunny afternoon, so sunny that the parks were full of sunbathers.  In the evening we headed out and found some where for dinner only to be caught in a series of heavy sunshowers.  Looking at the blue sky above, you can see why we were so well and truly caught out.  Not wishing to be part of an impromtu wet t-shirt competition, we took refuge in the first place we could find.  Dad wisely left the choice of place over to us.  This is how we ended up soaking wet, in the most darling little hippie student bar.

Antikvariatet is in the historic Bakklandet area of Tronheim and if you look closely, it is the red building to the left of the bridge post in the photos above.  It has two bars, Musikkafe and Bokbar.  The walls of musikkafe are lined with music manuscripts and there are stacks of board games to entertain waiting diners.  As we dined, the bokbar was still preparing for that evening live music and not yet open.  We caught a glance of the book lined bar, kitted out like a vintage reading room, only with better beer.  The barman thoughtfully retrieved some for us to try too.




There was so much about Tronheim that intrigued us.  There's the Cathedral, Niadros that has been in a permanent state of rebuild since 1328. The face of archangel Michael was based on Bob Dylan as the sculptor was moved by his pacifist lyrics.  The way the city pours into the working harbour felt very much like Dunedin. 

We left with a lot unexplored and just waiting for us to return next time.

A little south of Roros, a little north of Tynset, there is Tolga.  We stayed here as we caught up with friends and enjoyed spring in Norway. I will let the pictures say it all.

Spending a few nights in the hut my father restored, was one of the great privileges of our trip.  While the restoration was a summer well spent for Dad, it's upkeep has been a labour of love for Dorotea.

Dorotea is the granddaughter of the original builder of this 1923 summer house.  Over the years the walls have been warmed with weaving by both her mother and grandmother.  The shelves are filled with favorite china.  The pile of guest books is a testament to her hospitality as there is an entry for almost every summer weekend for the last 30 years.


The house remains resolutely off the grid.  A gas stove, a reluctant nod to technology while the fridge remains a hole in the stone floor.  I thought this would mean early nights but hadn't counted on the long dusks of a Nordic June.  I found myself walking without a torch in the middle of the night.   The colors of daylight leached away each night, only to return in the morning.

 Much of my family history is rooted in the adventures my parents had before they met.  For various reasons, my father, Bob, kept returning to Norway. 

One such trip was in the summer of 1975.  Dad had a little British car that was made for driving on the other side of the road. I can attest to just how unnerving it would be as it took me days to adjust to driving on the other side of the road, when I was in the right sort of car.

With car, dad took off to a small lake and proceeded to help rebuild a dilapidated hyutt (hut, a Norwegian summer house). The hyutt was made in 1923 and ready for some care.  It was a little out of town, a fair day trip to get to by foot or bike.

The Sun shone a lot that summer.  There were lakeside parties, picnics and feasts.  With a set of wheels, it also meant that if there was a party anywhere in the vicinity, Dad and his friends were there.
As my sister and I traveled through Norway with Dad we were able to meet many of these friends.  We heard that tales of the summer my Dad spent by the lake.  A summer that the sun shone brighter and the parties were bigger.  It has gone down in history as "The Bob Summer".

Given a chance my sister would sell her soul to be a professional foodie.  There was no way we were going to Paris without eating ourselves silly. We were duly sent of food adventure with a few tips from our amazing hosts, Grannie Annie and Stuart.

If you are planning on similar adventure there are three things to remember

1 - One block back.  Try not to eat at the restaurants right next to the tourist attractions.  Walk around a little, start looking for somewhere at least one block back from the attractions and look for where the locals are eating.  This is how we found Mad' Cafe, one block back from La Madelaine.  To call this place a hole in the wall might be exaggerating its size.  To be seated, the waiters have to lift the table to let you past, to the wall mounted bench seat.  But what it lacks in size, it makes up for in style and taste.  The duck confit was to die for.  The place was packed and buzzing with people making the most of their leisurely lunch breaks. I would have gladly returned there day after day.

2- Un pichet s'il vous plais - a pichet is a small carafe of house wine just the right size to go with lunch for two. The classy way to know when to say when.  If the pichet is empty, it must be time for coffee.
3 - Coffee Gourmand - A selection of minature desserts served with coffee, or the (tea) gourmand if you prefer.  It is not like each dessert is scooped onto your plate with a little spoon,  instead it is made in a small size.  Think of miniature creme brulee and tiny chocolate mousse.  We are still trying to identify the divine white fluffy dessert that came on our plate at Mad' Cafe.  The closest I can find is something called snow pudding.

I had read up, I knew where to go and then threw the book away.  I had a simple mission in mind - I wanted a pair of embroidery scissors for my mother.  If you plan to go accidentally craft shopping, stumbling upon these places might just make your day.  I know they certainly made mine.

Le Rouvray 
Le Rouvray is a little quilt store is tucked away on the left bank, a mere stone's throw from the Notre Dame.

I tried so hard to speak french, but beyond the pleasantries, I couldn't talk fabric and blurted out "Je'ne parle pas francais, but I quilt." Little did I know that this is the catch phrase of this darling store.

We were away, looking for something quintessentially french to buy and discussing how incredibly bright Australasian quilts in comparison with traditions from elsewhere.

The stock is an interesting mix of french provincial prints, american civil war prints, a selection of kona cottons and patterns for all.  As I was travelling light, I limited myself to a small cicada kitset.  In hindsight I'm sure I could have snuck the Mona Lisa in my suitcase too - the pixeallated one in the window that is.

Entree Des Fournisseurs


So many of the treasures are hidden away in little courtyards.  If a gate of door was opened, we carefully peered inside, never for one moment expecting to see a craft shop. This one is in the centre of The Marais.

Entree Des Fournisseurs is a veritable candy shop of handcraft.  When you enter the door, you will be in the heart of the knitting, with sublime wools and gorgeous patterns.  Then making your way through the ribbons to the fabric and patterns at the end.  I spent a good while flicking through Citronille patterns and drooling over reels of liberty trims.  Behind the counter there was a selection of fine embroidery scissors and sweet french labels.  If ever the term small but perfectly formed was to applied to a craft shop, this would be it.

I came away with metres of trim for me, the coveted scissors for my mother and little labels simply stating "Je suis une PRINCESSE' simply because every girl needs reminding once in a while.

Tapisseries de la Bucherie

We first saw this store with a very french sign taped to the door "Closed for lunch, open again at 2". Given it's proximity to Notre Dame, this is the perfect opportunity to pick up your own lunch from the nearest bakery and head to the park at the back of Notre Dame to eat.  The re-opening at 2 was taken a little liberally and finally the door opened sometime later in the afternoon.  Talking to the ladies in another store, it appears the woman who runs this store opens when she want to and doesn't when she doesn't.

Tapestries are more my mother's style than mine, but I know enough, to recognise that these ones are divine.  You can get a kitset for a whole chair or just a little miniature.  I was totally smitten with the miniatures celebrating 850 years of Notre Dame Cathedral.  The prices made my eyes water and secretly give thanks for the Wellington institution that is Nancys.

Finding these three gems made my trip just a little sweeter.  I would love to have made it La Drougerie or some of the great Ateliers, but for me, these were enough.  My luggage was supplemented with delicate embroidery scissors, ribbons, tiny kitsets and memories. 

Grannie Annie leads the way

 It's one of Grannie Annie's favorite haunts.  She smiles and greets the stall holders, shows us where to get glitzy bling for little girls and leads us through the melee.

I hear that Sunday is the day for flowers and brocante*.  We were there on a Wednesday, and Wednesday is food day.  Wednesday is the day you can do your shopping, fill a bag and take home dinner for the evening.  If I could add scratch and sniff photos I would. Perhaps, not for the fish stalls but definitely for the swirling dishes of paella, roasted pousin and fresh pastries.

The flowers were pretty stunning too.  Banks and banks of peonies.  I have never seen lace cap hydrangeas look as lovely as when banked up en masse, accompanied by a sign in french.  If I wasn't travelling, I swear I would have walked the streets, my arms laden with glorious flowers.


*Vintage Goodness

By far my favorite is the one below.  I saw it on my last day.

As I was trying to frame the picture, I saw the couple below.   I love that the bride's dress matches the writing perfectly. The photographer and couple are so busy getting the right shot with the Eiffel tower behind them, that they haven't stopped to look at what is written above them.

Every good journey starts with an excellent travel companion, a book and fantastic hosts.  Our trip would not have been nearly as much fun without the hospitality, time and generosity of our many hosts as we made our way through Amsterdam, Paris, Oslo, Tronheim and Tolga*.

You have your Lonely Planet and other travel guides telling you where to go, but I prefer to read something that makes me want to go.

My sister and I both made our way through "Paris to the Past", E before we left and and me in transit lounges and while combating early morning jet lag.  It is the history of Paris told through monuments, building and the events surrounding them.

Over the last year I had been reading with a Parisian flavour - "The House That I Loved"  and "A Family in Paris" even before a trip was on the cards. On the other hand, my sister was deep in the French Revolution with Hilary Mantel's "A Place of Greater Saftey".  This came in particularly handy as we played spot the book character in amongst the paintings in Musee Carnavalet.

There are however, books and movies to be avoided pre-travel.  Liam Neeson's "Taken" is one.  Do not let your mum watch a movie about abducted daughters on an OE!  Douglas Kennedy's "The Woman in the Ninth" is equally enthralling and haunting. As a gritty, mysterious underbelly or Paris is explored, booking tickets should be the last thing on your mind.

As for the Norwegian leg, I recommend Roald Dahl's "Boy" over Jo Nesbo any day.

Then again, if you haven't the time to read there is always music videos, especially this trip through early morning Paris from Snow Patrol.


Over the next few days I'll be sharing my travel tales.  There will be tales of markets, food, craft, adventures and thrifting.  The same as always, but just in foreign locations.

*This brilliant little town doesn't usually feature along with these other  leading lights, but really it should.