Sometimes gratitude in everyday life shows itself in the simplest of moments – a cold swim, the warmth of a fire, or a conversation that touches something deep inside. This weekend was filled with just that: chill, warmth, and quiet reminders of what truly matters.
I went for a swim today – cold, refreshing, and absolutely wonderful. The water temperature has started to drop, and the body quickly turns numb, so you can’t stay long. Yet that makes it even more beautiful. A deep calm spreads through every cell, and thoughts arrive one by one.
The warmth that comes afterward is indescribable – as is the feeling that I did it. Even though I do this often, every swim feels like a small victory. A moment that belongs only to me, for my own sake. It’s here that I often find gratitude in everyday life – in the stillness, in the water, in the present moment.
An Evening with the Young Ones and the Warmth of the Fire
Yesterday our boy from Gothenburg came home with his girlfriend. We had dinner together and spent the evening talking in the living room. She had some back pain and asked if I had a TENS device – which I did. She lay on the floor with the electrodes connected, receiving that little electric massage, and I lent her my heating belt as well. I don’t know if the pain eased, but at least the moment changed how her body felt.
Later that night, I lit a fire in the basement. We laid out mattresses and made a bed down there so they could fall asleep to the crackling of the flames. It’s such a soothing sound, that fire.
There’s so much gratitude in everyday life in those little moments – when people meet, share time, and warmth.
After today’s swim, the young ones got ready, and we went to church. For a long time, we’ve had an incredible priest and parish leader here in our community. Today was his farewell service before moving on to new assignments.
It felt like a quiet sadness in my heart, knowing he won’t be there for our school graduations or midnight masses at Christmas anymore. I’m not someone who goes to church often, but this priest has been something truly special.
Applause and gratitude filled the church – a living reminder of how deeply he has touched the hearts of many.
A Message About Humanity and Responsibility
His sermon today touched me deeply. He spoke about the state of the world, our country, and then about our own small village. When he got to that part, my eyes filled with tears.
He spoke of elderly people confined to their homes or lower floors, or couples forced apart because the municipality doesn’t offer joint housing for them. The thought hurt. If my husband and I grow old and struggle to manage on our own – should we then be separated?
His words reminded me of how, back in 2006, we spoke of compassion and understanding, while now we speak of punishment and blame – as if everything is “their fault.” But really, it’s about responsibility, empathy, and love. We must once again become we, not us and them. Division doesn’t nourish anyone – not us, not the world.
Our priest loves knitting, and since his new workplace will be a bit farther away, a kind soul gifted him yarn – so he can keep creating during his journeys to and from work.
When Words Reach an Entire Village
He also spoke about dictators, even mentioning Trump – and I could only agree. I may not be religious, but I’m grateful I went to church today for his last sermon. It gave so much. It was also heartwarming to see how many people came to thank him – from local politicians and staff to young people who’ve listened to his school speeches over the years.
A representative from the municipality thanked the priest for his dedication and presence in the community – a meeting filled with warmth and mutual respect. He also expressed gratitude that this farewell was one of life and presence. Usually, farewells in church are linked to final goodbyes, but this time it was a heartfelt thank you and see you again.
Gratitude in Everyday Life – In Every Moment
In all of this, in all the words, gratitude in everyday life finds its home. Gratitude for each moment, for the different shades of the day, and for our boy who drove 200 kilometers to be part of the farewell. That alone says a lot – about him, and about a priest who has meant so much to so many.
And within it all, I feel gratitude toward myself too – for giving myself both the swim and the visit to church. Gratitude for having witnessed this day, this priest, this quiet warmth that lingers even now.
Between the Lines – My Voice
Between the chill of the water and the warmth of the fire rests a simple truth: Gratitude grows when you allow yourself to feel, not just to think. To see, to listen, and to take part – that’s where the magic of ordinary life lives.
AHA – Between the Lines
It’s not always the big things that shape us, but the small, ordinary moments where the heart recognizes itself. A swim, a thank-you, a conversation. That’s where life happens.
Question for You
When did you last feel gratitude in everyday life for something you did just for yourself? What small moment recently reminded you that you’re alive?
Yesterday has settled into rest. From your choices yesterday, gratitude may already live within today – gratitude that you can keep nurturing, and that will return to you tomorrow. It’s in the present we find it – where we live and breathe, and here, we can cultivate our gratitude endlessly.
– Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Church Under the Stars
The church beneath the stars – a quiet reminder of gratitude, presence, and life’s infinity.
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A frosty morning by the lake, a cold morning dip and thoughts resting in gratitude. Here I share how the body actually responds when we practice gratitude – and how simple moments can fill an entire day with joy and calm.
Yesterday I went for a swim with my wonderful swimming sisters. It was below freezing when I sat down in the car to drive the ten kilometers to the paradise by the lake. When I arrived, the water was steaming more than usual, and the sun had not yet climbed above the treetops.
Each step down to the water felt like a small tribute to life. The grass was white with frost, and the cold stung my fingers in that strangely pleasant way – like pressing a tender spot and not being able to resist.
I was the first to arrive and sat for a while in the silence. A fish broke the surface. The swim itself was quiet, without strokes. I simply floated and absorbed everything around me.
Warmth, Everyday Life and Rest
When I came home, the feeling remained. I felt deep gratitude for giving myself that moment. After breakfast I went down to the basement and ironed my shirts. I love the warmth of the iron and the thought of how wonderful it will feel to put on a freshly ironed shirt.
The day continued in stillness. I brought in the small pots and irrigation system – now everything is ready for next spring. This week I might plant some garlic. Just the thought of harvesting my own garlic next year makes me happy.
Gratitude as the Body’s Own Medicine
In the evening, while frying meatballs, I let my gratitude grow. I thought about having legs to stand on, a stove, a family who appreciates the food. It may sound simple, but research shows that gratitude releases dopamine and serotonin – the brain’s own feel-good chemicals.
When we consciously practice grateful thoughts, the stress hormone cortisol decreases, blood pressure can drop, and sleep deepens. It’s like giving the body an inner massage of calm.
Small Steps for a Big Difference
Would you like to try? Start small. Feel gratitude for a cup of coffee, for your breath, for a message from a friend. That’s where the everyday magic begins.
AHA – Between the Lines
I realize that I don’t only swim for physical well-being. I swim to remind myself that life is right here and now – in frosty steps toward the lake and in the warm steam of an iron. My days become whole when I choose to see that.
Reflection
It is in these small movements that I find myself. A silent dip, the scent of ironed fabric, a dinner of meatballs – all become a path back home to me. Here lives my happiness: simple yet strong.
Yesterday has already settled into history. Tomorrow waits further ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. In this very moment I can plant seeds that will grow into something in the future. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
My Voice – Between the Lines
It is in the small moments that I come home to myself. In the steps down to the lake as the frost crunches under my feet, in the water’s mist, and in the warmth of the iron. I see how life reminds me that joy lives right here and now.
It takes no more than a silent swim, the scent of a freshly ironed shirt, or the sound of a fish breaking the surface. In that simplicity lies all the happiness I can carry. I choose to see it, I choose to live in it.
The morning is still dark as the smell of coffee fills the living room. At first, I felt the words had dried up, but as the candles flicker, thoughts begin to move again. In this post I share a quiet autumn morning, the final garden chores, and reflections on how feelings and thoughts sometimes play tricks on us.
It is still dark outside, the clock barely past dawn. Coffee steams in my cup while one lamp and two small candles light the room. I’ve been up for a while, but only now opened my laptop. It feels as if the words have run out, as if I am writing the last lines here for a while. Autumn has sighed its first breath, and I imagine its yellow leaves drifting even onto this blog.
But maybe that’s only a feeling. As if time has paused and the air itself stands still.
Thoughts Moving at a Slow Pace
The days go by. I do ordinary things. The ambitions I had before autumn quietly slid into a slower rhythm of not-doing. I feel stuck at home. Morning swims have paused, evening walks happen only on nights when I have the strength to join my husband – and not even every time. Perhaps illness is slowing me down, or maybe it’s simply time for rest.
The Greenhouse and the Garden’s Rest
Today promises sunshine, and I plan to tidy the greenhouse. I’ll pick the last ripe tomatoes, cut down the plants and spread the soil from the pots onto my garden beds as preparation for next year. Pots will be washed, the rain barrel emptied, and the greenhouse allowed to rest through winter.
young cucumbers sprouting in the greenhouse
I wonder if I am starting too soon. When do seasoned gardeners do this? Still, I want it done now, to avoid standing in January realizing something was left undone.
Tips: Autumn Tasks for Your Garden
As autumn settles in, a few small steps help your garden thrive next year:
Harvest the last crops – tomatoes, beans, apples, and root vegetables.
Cut back and clean – remove old plants and weeds so the soil can rest.
Cover with leaves or compost – to nourish and protect the soil.
Plant garlic and spring bulbs – garlic planted in September or October will reward you next summer.
Protect sensitive plants – cover roses, dahlias and others with leaves or spruce branches.
Empty rain barrels – so they don’t freeze and crack.
This summer brought the quiet joy of growing things. Tomatoes tasted of pure summer, cucumbers were a delight to pick, and lettuce grew in abundance – maybe too much. Next year I’ll plan better and start seedlings at the right time. Soon I’ll plant garlic and pre-sprout onions. Our potatoes weren’t many, but they were delicious.
We also planted two apple trees: Ingrid Marie for its wonderful flavor, and Astrakan, which carries memories from the film The Emigrants. I hope both trees survive the winter.
Thoughts and Feelings That Play Tricks
Quite a lot of words for someone who just felt empty of them. Maybe it was only one of those fleeting feelings that sneak in when darkness still rests outside the window. Thoughts can be tricky. They whisper that everything has stopped and that the air stands still. But it isn’t always true.
Often they are just shadows of worry or tiredness, echoes of a restless night. Sometimes they play pranks, mixing up a quiet pause with an ending. Perhaps the real strength lies in seeing that not every thought has to become a truth. In that space—where you breathe and let the thought pass—new words, new steps and new days can quietly begin.
Reflection
This morning reminds me that stillness is not an end. Even a slow start can hold seeds of something new. Maybe it is in the pause that the next chapter quietly forms.
Between the Lines – My Voice
Beneath the words lives a longing for balance. A rest that is not escape but preparation. A reminder that nature knows when it’s time to gather strength.
AHA – Between the Lines
Perhaps this is really a story about more than greenhouses and autumn. When I thought my words had gone silent, they were still breathing inside me like a quiet rhythm. It’s as if nature and writing remind me that everything can move at its own pace. Pauses are not endings; they too are part of creation.
A rainy autumn day with oven-baked salmon and hollandaise sauce turned into a story of morning writing peace, candle shopping, and a long walk that brought both strength and inspiration. Here is the whole day in words – and the recipe that adds flavor to the evening.
Rainy autumn day with oven-baked salmon and hollandaise sauce – from morning calm to evening meal
Saturday morning. The aroma of coffee met the quiet while my keyboard clicked away. My morning writing time is sacred – a private bubble before the house wakes.
My husband appeared, camera ready. He wanted to head out right away, but I was deep in my words. He went alone. Ten minutes later the sky broke open. Rain poured down. I listened to the drumming on the window and smiled – sometimes the sofa wins. He returned soaked, laughing, with no pictures in the camera.
Flavors that prepare a rainy autumn day with oven-baked salmon and hollandaise sauce
After a shower I set the table with crayfish and shrimp – Friday’s untouched plan turned into Saturday luxury. The cat stayed outside, so we ate in peace.
I saved the shells. They sizzled in a pot with onion, garlic and carrot until the kitchen filled with the scent of sea and spice. Water went in, then a slow simmer – creating a deep, rich stock. Not everyone loves the smell, but the taste is worth keeping.
How I make the seafood stock
Sauté the shrimp and crayfish shells with coarsely chopped onion, carrots and garlic until lightly browned.
Add enough water to cover.
Simmer for at least 30 minutes, skimming off any foam.
Strain and use the stock right away – or freeze for soups and sauces.
Searching for a bike – and candles for the dark season
With the stock on low heat we headed to town. Lillkillen and my niece joined us. The goal was a bike at Biltema, but no luck – they had stopped selling bikes.
A rainy autumn day
We continued to Ikea, where we happily stocked up on candles. After spending about five hundred kronor, the car smelled of vanilla and cinnamon – autumn evenings secured. At Citygross I thought of a pizza party, but my niece declined and didn’t want anything else. She probably ate well when she got home, because she didn’t eat a thing here. My brother picked her up later.
A little tech help and local news
Before they left, my younger brother and I chatted about life. He helped adjust the TV so I can now watch Västnytt, the regional news, instead of Stockholm news. For half a year I hadn’t realized that was possible, so I kept watching the wrong region and feeling slightly annoyed. He also set up several movies on Netflix for cozy autumn evenings.
Long walk with cows as our audience
When the house grew quiet, my husband and I put on our shoes again. Only a few drops of rain fell as we walked. The paths here are like a map of possibilities: a village turning into open fields, cows chewing thoughtfully, small streams glittering. Woodpeckers and buzzards sailed above us, but none landed in my husband’s camera lens.
An hour later my hip began to protest, warning me that tonight and tomorrow I might feel it more than I’d like. Sometimes the body reminds me to listen.
Tips for perfect oven-baked salmon with a kick – rainy autumn day with hollandaise sauce
Toward evening I sank into the sofa again. I watched a film with just enough suspense to keep me hooked, even if it was a little more thrilling than I usually prefer.
And tonight, as Sunday settles like a soft blanket over the house, I’ll cook oven-baked salmon with hollandaise sauce. Just the thought makes me hungry.
Oven-baked salmon with a little heat
Place a whole salmon fillet in an ovenproof dish. Season with salt, pepper, fresh dill and a pinch of chili.
Bake at 175 °C (about 350 °F) for around 20 minutes, until the fish is just done and still juicy.
Temperature tip: Use a thermometer for perfect results. The ideal core temperature for oven-baked salmon is 52–56 °C (125–133 °F):
52 °C – slightly rosy and very juicy.
54–56 °C – fully cooked but still moist. Remove the fish at about 52 °C; the temperature will rise a few degrees as it rests.
Quick hollandaise sauce for a rainy autumn day
Slowly melt 150 g (about 5 oz) butter.
Whisk together 3 egg yolks, 2 tbsp water, 1 tbsp lemon juice and 1 tsp white wine vinegar over a hot water bath until thick.
Add the butter in a thin stream while whisking. Taste with salt and more lemon if desired.
Shortcut: If you’re worried the sauce might split, put the egg yolks and seasoning in a food processor and let the melted butter drizzle in. Almost as luxurious, with less risk.
Questions for you, dear reader
What does your perfect rainy autumn day look like?
Do you have a favorite recipe for a cozy Sunday meal?
What motivates you to head out for a long walk, even when the rain is near?
Reflection
The rain offered calm, while the day filled with movement – in words, in steps, and in the scents of the kitchen. I see how these small moments carry an entire weekend and give it light.
Between the lines – my voice
I’m drawn to what truly nourishes me: writing, slow cooking, walking where nature opens wide. In these simple actions I find the real rhythm of my life.
AHA – between the lines
Simplicity is enough. A rainy autumn day can hold as much meaning as a long journey in our motorhome, if I only dare to stay inside it. In that quiet wisdom I feel fully alive.
Friday again. I’m sitting here with thoughts spinning – should we take the motorhome LVL² out this weekend, despite autumn storms, or not? I want to go. However, at the same time, I want to stay home. The season is drawing to a close. Nevertheless, there’s still time for several more trips before winter takes over.
A warm welcome to you who read my blog – malix.se. It brings me joy every time someone finds their way here and takes the time to read my words. Today, I offer a post that smells of autumn storms, tea, and motorhome thoughts.
The first storm of autumn
This motorhome weekend (if it turns out to be an LVL² weekend) might bring autumn storms and tea in the van. It has been very windy here this week – truly stormy. Even though the wind has calmed down a bit, the curtains on the porch still sway. Furthermore, the weather app says it might blow again this weekend.
When it was at its worst this Tuesday, the wind grabbed the roof of the porch, knocked over chairs, and gave me that anxious feeling in my stomach. I don’t like when nature’s forces grow so strong that I barely dare to go outside.
When you watch videos on TikTok from England – the storm is even worse there. Naturally, that doesn’t ease my worry at all. Now the wind has calmed. Still, I think the autumn storms arrived a bit early. They really could have waited a couple more weeks before dropping by.
Motorhome or cozy weekend at home?
I asked my husband what we should do this weekend. So far, I have no answer. Maybe he’s simply tired after his first workweek following the vacation. I can relate – sometimes it’s just nice to stay home.
But then the thought comes: soon the motorhome season is over for the year. Our motorhome LVL² and I aren’t quite finished with each other yet. We’re in the final stretch now. However, if the weather allows, there might still be many weekends left – perhaps even into October.
A trip to the sea would be lovely – to feel the wind, and maybe even take a swim as the waves roll in after the storm.
Tea, wool socks, and longing
Tea has always been my little everyday luxury. In the motorhome, it’s bagged tea. Nevertheless, it still tastes just as good – perhaps even better, when the cup steams in the small living space and I sit there, enjoying a cozy moment with a warm drink.
Soon we’ll be entering that season when tea, candles, and wool socks become part of everyday life. When the evenings are darker than bright and you can snuggle up with a fire in the basement and a pot of tea beside you. I almost long for that. At the same time, I want to hold on to the last bit of motorhome feeling just a little longer.
Friday feeling
So here I sit now. I want to go – I want to stay. I want to feel the wind by the sea, feel the old sea rolling – I want to sit at home with tea and glowing candles.
Lerkil in the wind
Maybe this is what life is. Longing, waiting, and the small moments of now.
We’ll see what the weekend brings. It could be motorhome LVL², or just a cozy weekend here in our little village. Perhaps the sea, perhaps home comforts. And you know what? Either way will probably be good.
Alfred is coming to visit
In a little while, little Alfred is coming to visit. He chose grandma over a day at after-school care. It warmed my heart that he wanted to come over. He’s chosen the day just the way he wants it to be. And that means a trip down to Grandpa’s stash of little candies.
When I told him Grandpa might only have cheese puffs and snus, Alfred thought that maybe Grandpa really ought to stop and buy some chocolate today.
Between the lines – my voice
I don’t always know what I want, but I know I want to feel. Sometimes it’s enough just to sit still in the in-between – between going and staying, between the wind and the tea, between dreams of the sea and the reality here at home. It’s not hesitation. Instead, it’s allowing life to be both.
I’m not in a hurry. I’m not trying to create a perfect weekend. Rather, I’m simply trying to be human – with longing, messy thoughts, and a cup of tea in my hand.
Reflection
It wasn’t the decision that mattered. Instead, it was the space before it. The breathing, the thoughts, the desire to both go and stay. That’s where life happened.
I realize that longing itself is a part of life. Waiting for something and feeling the anticipation is almost as lovely as when it actually happens.
Here comes a little Ozzy. Imagine that he got to experience this before he left for the other side. It’s so beautiful it’s almost impossible to describe – it just goes straight into the heart. It’s one of those moments you don’t just see, you feel.
What do you think?
Do you have a place you always long for in autumn?
What would you choose – a quiet weekend at home or a short motorhome trip?
Is there a song or an artist that makes you feel everything a little more, just like Ozzy does for me?
Yesterday rests in memories, and tomorrow lies ahead in the future. It’s here in the now where we experience, feel, and can actually do something. Problems waiting over there can’t be solved today – except perhaps by trying to prevent them from becoming problems in the first place.
This post is a small journey through everyday life. It moves from a gray August morning with soft rain, to tidy drawers and a birthday celebration that warmed my heart. Most importantly, it is a reflection on how small actions – folding a sock, sipping coffee, or watching a child laugh – can become moments of stillness and happiness. Perhaps it reminds you, as it does me, that life truly lives in the simple things.
Autumn Makes Itself Known
Yesterday, autumn whispered its arrival, even though it was only August 2nd. The rain fell heavy and gray, as if the sky had pulled a blanket over summer for a while. Because of that, it was the perfect day for quiet tasks indoors – the kind that bring peace to both the home and the soul.
I pulled out the drawers and began folding clothes using the Marie Kondo method. Underwear, socks, sweaters, and pajamas all found their places. The clothes I no longer needed, I thanked for their time and set aside – some to donate, some to throw away.
Afterwards, when I opened the drawer, it felt almost magical. Everything lay in neat rows, the socks sorted by color. It was as if the drawer itself sighed in relief. And so did I.
Why Fold This Way?
I’ve come to realize that the KonMari method isn’t just about tidiness. Instead, it is about showing gratitude and creating calm in daily life. When every item has its place, the mind also feels a little clearer. No more searching, no more silent sighs at the mess – suddenly, home feels like a place where you can breathe.
There’s also something meditative about the folding itself. While standing in the quiet, I can feel the fabric in my hands, deciding what stays and what moves on. It’s like creating small islands of stillness in the stream of everyday tasks.
KonMari and everyday joy – yes, that’s how it felt as I stood there folding my clothes. Even if my husband only shook his head and said it took time, for me, it was precious time – harmony, self-care, and quiet respect for my belongings.
A Celebration with Simple Joys
In the afternoon, we went to a birthday celebration. We were served smashed potatoes with minced meat and melted cheese, with salad, red onion, and jalapeños on the side. After that, dessert was an ice cream buffet with plenty of toppings – simple, yet so good.
We met my daughter’s partner’s family and their two little boys. They were shy at first, as little boys often are with new people, but after a short while, the shyness melted into laughter and play. I smiled to myself, watching how quickly shyness can turn to mischief. Children are amazing that way – they always find their way to joy.
We had brought a coffee maker as a gift. It felt good to give something useful – finally, there will be brewed coffee in their home.
Tiny Animals and Quiet Greetings
On our last shopping trip, I couldn’t resist buying some small, cute stuffed animals. They each had names and even their own birthdays – completely irresistible.
We bought them for our grandchildren. One stayed at our daughter’s house, while the other two went on a little adventure. Eventually, we placed them in our son’s mailbox with a small note explaining that the animals had birthdays to celebrate. A quiet greeting – from us to them – with the hope of bringing small smiles to their day.
Evening Peace and a Gentle Reflection
When we came home, I settled onto the couch and watched a film about slavery in the US – about a woman who helped others to freedom. As usual, I dozed off for a while, but the evening still ended in peaceful calm.
Later that night, I reflected on how small acts can create deep well-being: A tidy drawer. A shy child daring to laugh. A cup of freshly brewed coffee. And the reminder that life truly happens in the little moments – here and now.
Between the Lines – My Voice
I seek calm in simple things: a tidy drawer, the scent of coffee, the sound of rain. I write to capture the small moments that bring me peace, never to point fingers at anyone. This is my space for reflection, gratitude, and the gentle glimmers of everyday life.
Have you ever tried the KonMari method? How do you create calm in your own daily life? And which small moments stay in your heart the longest?
A Tip – My Neighbor’s YouTube Channel
If you want a short moment of inspiration, take a look at my friend’s videos on YouTube. She shares small glimpses of life with her own gentle warmth – little educational videos for children about animals, nature, and all the small things they wonder about.
Live today, right now. Yesterday is among memories, and the future waits just beyond tomorrow. Right now is where we live and breathe, where life truly happens.
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