Home is where the heart is

First published in the Irish Times February 2023

I have lived out of Ireland for more time than I have lived in it yet, even with my own family and Swedish husband living in Stockholm, I still call Dublin home.

Someone said to me recently, when you find a place to get coffee just how you like it; find a hairdresser you can trust and find your new local for a drink, then you will feel at home. It’s the little daily things that fill your heart up and home is where the heart is, right? Hmmm, tricky. I don’t drink coffee but the bakery on my corner sells a lovely green tea. I have been getting my haircut with Christian on South William Street since I was 19, no one, and I mean no one gives me new cut confidence like that man with his scissors. As for drinks in a local, the Irish pub culture is something I have truly come to miss. So much so that last spring, my husband and I attempted to set up a pub in our greenhouse in the back garden. In a flash of genius we named it The Greenhouse, bought a beautiful old wooden bar from the equivalent of adverts and stocked it with wine, beer and tequila (a personal drink of choice for various reasons that I do not feel obliged to justify).

However, as the summer went by we realised spontaneous pub visits just don’t coexist well with the meticulous planning of Swedes. Freed from winter cocoons, summer is a time to make the most of. Every weekend is a chance for life to be lived and so must be planned out well in advance. 

So, The Greenhouse became an outdoor dining space in the summer come bikes and scooters storage in the winter and I was left looking for those heart filler uppers. Moments throughout my day in a new country and culture that would make me feel at home.

I realised that for me, these moments would come from people. From old friends who have gone out of their way time and time again because they know we don’t have family close by and from new friends who have become old friends so quickly. I even managed to get my needed dose of daily interaction from neighbours who gradually indulged me in my advances to chat when every fibre of natural instinct in their bodies was quietly and politely pleading with them to avert their eyes and distract themselves with the path ahead rather than embark upon brief human interaction. 

One man, originally from the very North of Sweden has three springer spaniels who he walks separately throughout the day. He wears the same waxed vest with multiple pockets in summer and winter, choosing only to put on an old trapper hat and gloves when it falls below zero. He carries a dog whistle in his mouth and when we stop for a chat, he is unsure how long the meeting will last so keeps it there, dangling, with some of his words coming out in a whistle while the dog, waiting at his feet is in near panic at the thought of missing an instruction. Both man and dog are slightly on edge during our interaction but one morning, as I said “Enjoy your walk” and was continuing on home, he said, “I really enjoyed that small encounter.” It made my day.

Friends for dinner in The Greenhouse

A mother, who I had always believed to be so reserved I almost felt bad breaking her state of calm, quiet reverence with a smile of acknowledgement at morning dropoffs, filled me with surprise when waiting for our kids to sledge down a snowy hill one Saturday afternoon. Venturing bravely beyond niceties after remarking on my Irishness she released to the skies, “I don’t want to be just mellan mjolk!” Meaning middle milk literally, not full fat, not skimmed but safely in the middle. Swedes are conditioned to stay in a safe middle milk zone, not wanting for full fat or skimped of it either. Here was this unsuspecting insurgent throwing her desires to be more than middle milk out to the world in a total act of rebellion.

These are the moments that make me feel at home. On the days I don’t feel much like talking, the man and his dog waving to me or my now knowing smile to Mrs mellan mjolk, fill my heart up with more warmth than any cup of coffee would. I might still say that I am going home when I need a good haircut but my whole heart doesn’t remain there now, a tiny piece of it firmly resides in Edsviken, where it might be tricky to drop into the pub for a pint but I don’t drink beer anyway, I prefer tequila.