Finding my "hygge" in the Polar Vortex...

It's currently 3 degrees in the Twin Cities, with a windchill of -18, and I just realized I left my lunch on the counter/have to venture out into this crap. I CAN'T DEAL. 

Seriously, this polar vortex coupled with a malingering cold/sinus infection has sapped me of any semblance of Christmas cheer. My nose is so chapped and irritated that it legit started bleeding at happy hour last night. I get home every night, and essentially say "screw it" to the half-decorated tree, noble intentions to get presents dealt with, and plans to go to the gym. It's pretty much straight-to-bed for me, to burrow under covers and ignore the chill coming off our picturesque-but-drafty 100-year-old windows. 

A Facebook friend shared this article this morning, about the Danish concept of "hygge," and I checked myself for a minute (as I sat sulking at my desk still wearing my Uggs and giant scarf). It's only December 14th. And we had the most unreasonably beautiful fall ever this year. If I'm already feeling this negative and bitchy, after just one cold snap, during the purported "most wonderful time of the year," what the heck is going to happen to me come January, February, and March when it's STILL sub-zero? 

"Hygge" roughly translates to "cozy," and the principle centers around reframing the negatives of this time of year to positives...filling a season of cold and darkness with warmth and light. Sounds right up my alley, as the usual resident Little Miss Sunshine...

So I'm searching for hygge in the daily grind, and finding it all over the place: 

Hot chocolate, cozy socks, my polar bear rug, and snuggling up for an afternoon (GOD I MISS THAT FIREPLACE!!! Ahhhh Chateau de Liz!!!!!)

Giant, woolly sweaters...and delicate pretty jewelry to offset the mammoth effect. 

Sipping a glass of red wine and admiring the Christmas tree, which I am bound and determined to actually finish decorating tonight.

Admiring Christmas cards from loved ones. 

Even better, spending some quality time with loved ones: cocktails NOT optional, festive environs strongly encouraged. 

Here's to kicking my bad-attitude approach to the season to the curb, and finding happiness and hygge and giggles all around. Meanwhile, Minnesota friends, stay warm!! And if you want to come over for wine and an ABC Family holiday original movie marathon, hit me up! 

Inventory: November 2016

Making: lists, plans, and also a second cup of coffee.

Cooking: this recipe for crockpot caramelized onions, soon to be crockpot French onion soup, and the whole apartment smells amazing as a result.

Reading: Ron Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton biography, along with “Gone with the Wind” for the umpteenth time, Joseph Kanon’s “Leaving Berlin,” and Noah Charney’s “The Art Thief.” I need to just commit to one and chill out – but I have a different book on every device plus a couple actual books going at all times.

Wanting: the Hamilton Mixtape omg omg (pre-order already in, naturally, and I've already listened to the two pre-release tracks three times each). 

Looking: for a scarf and mittens that will match my new green J.Crew Chateau parka, squeeee!

Playing: a lot of trivia lately with the boys – we utterly dominated at Inbound BrewCo on Monday!

Listening: and rapping along with “Hamilton,” which is a daily occurrence around these parts.

Wishing: as always, for more hours in the day. 

Enjoying: working from home…for the third Friday in a row, tee-hee!

Waiting: for tonight's champagne-and-orchestra fun with Jodester!

Liking: that this weekend is fall-back weekend aka I might actually catch up on some of my absurd sleep deficit. 

Wondering: what dessert to make for Tuesday’s Friendsgiving/election results party.

Hoping: that the Irish pull out a win tomorrow at Navy...yikes.

Marveling: at this truly absurd November weather - hello, 65 degrees, it's nice to still see you around here.

Needing: to figure out what to wear to the orchestra tonight.

Smelling: the aforementioned French onion action, and this Target candle which I adore beyond measure.

Wearing: the coziest gray gingham flannel old-man jammies...the kind with the button-up top and everything.

Following: Meghan Markle on Instagram hoping to find out if she is actually dating my future husband Prince Harry, that beeyotch.

Noticing: that I reallllly need to vacuum the apartment, as there is polar bear rug EVERYWHERE.

Knowing: that I won't actually vacuum the apartment and will instead just pick up the tufts of polar bear rug by hand, alas. 

Thinking: about the logistics and timing of voting on Tuesday for the most efficient in-and-out possible. 

Bookmarking: Sonoma, CA champagne tours for our wine country Christmas!

Giggling: at mock-ups for the Schwegfam Christmas card of 2016, which, if I may say so myself, is going to be BRILLIANT. 

Feeling: flipping Friday fantastic, friends! (also, apparently, alliterative) (that was unintentional)

Confessions of a Gallery Wall Addict

I've had a gallery wall in every apartment I've lived in, and I've converted my family and roommate into gallery wall-havers as well. I think it's safe to say I'm a little bit addicted. See, the problem is that I have too much art. I've been lucky to receive gorgeous original pieces from my sister, to inherit my mom's hand-me-downs (and she has excellent taste), and to stumble on purchases all over the world. Displaying them all jumbled together is my favorite...but I think a gallery wall is really an art, and doing one well is a science. 

My first apartment's gallery wall was a mishmash of frames from my college dorm room, and I sadly don't think I ever actually took a photo of that bedroom...it predates the blog by years! When Jon and I lived together, though, I had a schmoopy black-and-white collection above our bed. This is before I started using my foolproof gallery wall perfection method, so things were a bit haphazard...and in hindsight, I would've spaced everything out a bit more and probably added more, too. Why the heck not?! 

Then came the Chateau de Liz, and once I finally got around to actually putting everything up five months after I moved in, I fell in love. I spent so much time methodically hanging and arranging, using my genius, tried-and-true kraft paper cutout method, to get everything perfect. For more details and step-by-step photos, head here...it's one of my proudest accomplishments and I haven't done a gallery wall without it since.  

I also had a gallery of wood-mounted pieces above my kitchen table at the Chateau, which have been split up and scattered around my bedroom and living space in the new place. I love how the wood-mounting colors played so nicely together...not going to lie, will probably recreate this if I live alone again anytime in the single-girl future. 

Now, in the House of Hal and Lizzie, I have not one but TWO hardcore, huge gallery walls...life is an abundance of riches, friends! Hal has the most absurd collection of Notre Dame paraphernalia, so we have the Notre Dame-iest gallery wall ever in our front entryway. We were initially going to try to freehand it and just start hammering nails in...thank goodness we didn't. I'm so proud of how precise and geometric it looks after using the kraft paper method! 

And this is my bedroom gallery! Look familiar? It's already got a few new pieces since the Chateau de Liz; like I said, it absorbed a few of the kitchen gallery wall pieces. I also have a BUNCH of art from my Paris and Scandinavia trips at our framer, which will be getting added in the next few weeks...stay tuned! 

Why all the gallery wall chatter? I went down to Lakeville last night and hung one there with my parents! They're working their way through the house room by room and completely renovating, and it's been so much fun to watch. My mom and I were shooting the breeze a few weeks back while I was playing on Pinterest, and I threw out the idea of replacing this truly hideous, outdated 90s mother-and-child painting in our second-floor foyer with a gallery wall. Jodester and Papa Bear buy at least one piece of art on every trip they take, and as a result, our house is a treasure trove of gorgeous prints, lithographs, watercolors, and paintings. Combining a bunch of them in one place, though? Maximum impact, and such a great conversation starter. Here's the finished (for now) product: 

I love it. Especially the fact that there's room to add more to it. It's at the top of our stairs, right between the doors to the master bedroom and my bedroom, and it's one of the first things a person would see when entering the house and looking up. In my mind, we'll eventually add art going over the master bedroom French doors and down the wall on the other side to create something like this, via Pinterest (duh, I'm basic!): 

Cool, huh? Now to plan the next big European adventure! 

Seriously, though, I'm a bit unhealthily obsessed. God save me the day gallery walls go out of style, because I'm doomed to become tragically uncool. 

Quick Fact Sunday: Volume 7

My biggest phobia is the sensation of falling. 

I'm not afraid of heights per se - I'm fine with flying, I love overlooks and the top floor of skyscrapers and the kind of views you can only get from on high. That said, I am an utter and complete chicken-shit when that view/height/whatever isn't protected and enclosed somehow by a fence or guard rail or, ideally, a wall with a window. 

Examples: 

Referenced here, going in the lighting rigs of the Chicago Lyric Opera. 

Putting a brave face on it at the Cliffs of Moher. I say no thank you to the idea of plunging 700 feet from a muddy path into an ocean of certain death, thanks. 

Also, Grand Canyon. David's ability to just sit and hang over the edge? Not for me, not at all. 

This was the closest I got to the edge...and you can honestly see the terror in my rictus grin and clenchy fingers. 

The worst for me is when I have the kind of dream, or in-between sleeping and wakefulness moment, when I actually feel the sensation of falling without ever moving. The sick swoop of my stomach, the moment of impact seconds away, and jerking awake with a flood of adrenaline to every nerve...I inevitably never really get back to sleep after that. 

I can handle spiders, can deal with the dark, but falling in general...not so much. Make of that what you will...maybe I'm a control freak? Maybe I can't let myself just go? Who knows...per Freud, these dreams can symbolize anything from "a traumatic experience in childhood" to "a fear of the loss of self-control" or "a decline of the accepted moral standard." 

At any rate, don't ask me to go skydiving, and if you're headed to Splash Mountain, I'll happily take pictures from the sidelines. 

Quick Fact Sunday, Volume 6

I am obsessed with the Olympics. 

I mean, who isn't? My love for them dates all the way back to the Magnificent Seven in the 1996 Summer Olympics. The team included Dominique Dawes and Dominique Moceanu, and I remember thinking that "Dominique" must just be the honorific for an elite gymnast, much like you call a doctor a doctor. Ha! Plus, I wanted one of those American flag warm-up jackets in the WORST way. Such a 90's child. 

My passion for the Olympics only grew as I fell in love with Tara Lipinski and Michelle Kwan during the 1998 Winter Olympics, which inspired a brief, ill-starred flirtation with figure skating. I was terrible, and gave it up pretty much instantaneously after I realized that I wasn't going to get to wear sparkly costumes and have people throwing bouquets and teddy bears at me every practice...narcissist from the start, huh? 

So many great memories...watching the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics (I still have my own copy of the Roots official team beret!), falling madly for Michael Phelps in the 2004 Athens games, tuning into Vancouver in 2010 from London and fighting the time difference the whole way through. And of course, this totally made my life during the London 2012 games...oh my gosh, that entire Olympics made my life, let's be real. 

Also from the London Olympics, the best thing to ever hit the Internet, Go Fug Yourself's "Olympic Abs" slideshow. Ladies, do yourselves a favor and please go admire. It will start your entire week off on the right note. 

My senior year, I even took a class on the Olympics...Dr. Ken Dye, Director of Bands, arranged and composed music for the Sydney Olympic games. His class, "Music and the Olympics," explored the intersection of music and sport and dove into deep detail on each of the modern Olympic games. While the class was a true senior "slacker class," composed primarily of marching band kids who worshiped Dye and athletes who needed a fine art credit, I absolutely adored it and loved his firsthand accounts of directing the recording of the music for the opening ceremonies. 

These Olympics are extra-exciting for me, as, like London, I've actually been to Rio! Ken Dye took the Concert Band down right after I graduated college, and we spent two weeks touring beautiful Brazil. I've sunbathed on Copacabana Beach, hiked to Christ the Redeemer, and viewed some of the Olympic venues from the top of Corcovado!

These days, my Olympic dreams are confined to the annual Beer Olympics over Labor Day at Greg's cabin, and I missed the bulk of the last few days as I was at Kelsie's cabin drinking like a gold medalist. That said, if you need me in the next few weeks, I'm almost sure to be glued to NBC watching the games...Citius, Altius, Fortius, and here's to many, many gold medals for the USA!