Living in the Pacific Northwest, we get way too much plenty of opportunity for hygge in the winter months.  If you are not familiar with the term hygge, then you have probably been living under a rock the last few years.  Hygge is a Danish word that describes coziness and a feeling of contentment. 

Several things come to mind when I think of hygge:  curling up under a comfy throw by the fire as the snow falls gently outside or drinking a cup of hot cocoa and reading a good book while a pot of soup simmers on the stove all afternoon.   Add in some homemade rolls rising on the counter and you have the perfect hygge day.   

One of the beauties of retirement is that we are not limited to trying to fit a hygge afternoon into a weekend between errands and household chores.  Hygge needs to flow easily and comfortably and not be pushed into a box of limited time. It is the antithesis of rushed and stressed.

When I was little, my mom made bread every week. Every week. It was the only bread we ever ate. While she was busy, she would still give me some dough to shape my own little loaf to put in the small, child size bread pan she gave me. Is there anything better than warm bread, fresh out of the oven with butter slathered all over it?

I loved that little loaf pan. I also love old cookbooks that were created before white flour and butter were considered the enemy. The kind with stains that identify favorite recipes. I still have a homemade cookbook that was given to us as a wedding present over 42 years ago. (I know, it is hard to believe we have been married over 42 years, when I am only 39.) I have made the roll recipe for years, as you can tell from the stains and rips on that page. I am not sure if it is those warm memories of making bread with my mom, or the fact that making bread has to happen in an unhurried afternoon, but nothing says hygge to me quite like homemade bread.

Add a pot of homemade soup to simmer on the stove all afternoon and you have a perfect hygge kind of day. So, take a break now that the holidays are over, put on some music and make a recipe that says hygge to you. Preferably with loads of butter.

No matter how you celebrate this holiday season, I hope it includes precious time with family and friends. Stay warm!

In an effort to save our marriage, we are about ready to break down and get a fake artificial Christmas tree. I realize that most people get an artificial tree every year. They have a perfectly shaped tree with symmetrical lights and no arguments. However, we live in the Northwest where fir trees are abundant. Matter of fact, we have several on our property, just outside our back door. And they are free for the taking.

You need to understand that cutting our own Christmas tree is engrained in my DNA. And no, a tree farm does not count. When I was growing up my dad carefully trimmed trees on his property so that they would be ready to cut for Christmas. They were beautiful. Fast forward a few years (quite a few) and somehow, my husband and I forget to trim our outdoor trees when the weather is warm and we are thinking about boating instead of Christmas.

Then Christmas rolls around and we slog into on our boots and heavy coats to make the trek out on our property to look for the perfect Christmas tree that will magically have grown up to be symmetrical and full without any intervention on our part. Here is where the problems start. Mr. U is perfectly happy taking one of the first trees we see. After all, he logically contends, it is only going to be up a couple of weeks. I, on the other hand, need to continue to search for the elusive flawless tree. The one that will turn our house into a perfect, magical Christmas. It is getting late so we finally settle on one that is sparse and lumpy in all the wrong places and would give Charlie Brown’s tree a run for his money.

Hauling it home is no easy task, perhaps because I made us go so far to find it; I don’t know. Mr. U goes in front carrying the tree trunk and I try to keep up from behind, holding the top and falling several times in the snow. It is just easier to let him pull it, says me. He does not think this is funny.

Once we get it home, the tree has to sit in the back entry for a couple days to get the snow and water all over the place off of it. By this time we are not speaking to each other.

A couple days later that special evening comes when the tree is dry and ready to be decorated. I put on the Christmas music and we try to get the tree straight in the stand. Mr. U on the floor moving it back and forth as I shout directions from my comfy spot on the couch. Then we step back and see which way to twist it to hide the spots that don’t have branches and should. Mr. U usually ends up drilling a few holes in the trunk and inserting some branches. This is not ideal. Then it is time to string the lights. I am pretty new to this because the kids always helped with it. Apparently, my novice efforts are not appreciated because Mr. U says I am doing it all wrong and he wishes the boys still lived at home to help him. Me too.

Frustrations slowly melt away as we pull out the mismatched tree ornaments that we have collected over the years. We reminisce about when we got each one, and that is where the magic happens. We don’t need the perfect tree or even the perfect Christmas. I remind myself that it is about time together, carrying on family traditions, building memories, and remembering the reason for the season.

Maybe next year we will get a beautiful artificial tree. Or maybe we will continue this tradition until we are just too old to do it. Whether you are an artificial or a real Christmas tree person, or celebrate in other ways, forget perfection and take time to enjoy this week.