29/05/2026
When my parents built this house about 45 years ago, they fully embraced the folklore-rustic aesthetic they felt suited a mountain home. They loved burgundies and yellows, traditional folk motifs, embroidered textiles, and walls that told stories.
(In another post I’ll show you my mother’s framed embroideries. In this photo, you can spot one of the six embroidered cushions that still decorate this room.)
After they died, the house remained untouched for years—everything exactly where they had left it. My father’s reading glasses still rest on a shelf next to the freezer, where he kept them so he could read his laminated inventory of frozen food. (Yes. I KNOW.)
And for years, I was afraid to change anything. Even though the house belonged to me, it didn’t feel like mine. Their presence was everywhere—in every room, in every embroidered cushion, in every doily covering everything but the toilet seat!
It felt somehow wrong to disturb it. Not only because changing things felt like erasing part of them, but because their ownership cast such a long shadow that I almost believed I had no right to challenge it with my own taste.
Renovating this house feels like a delicate dance between my love for clean, simple Scandinavian interiors and my parents’ love for tradition and folklore. How do I make this space my own while still honouring their presence—and their original claim to it? What do I keep, and what do I let go of? How do I allow their presence to remain without letting it overwhelm me or make me sad?
I don’t have the answers yet!
So I take it room by room, corner by corner— sorting through their presence in my mind as I rearrange their presence in the house. You can follow my progress as I post about it every week :)
--In this photo, you can see one small step: I changed the wall colour to a soft green to bring warmth into the room, and toned down the orange of the sofa bed with an easy wood effect.