My blogroll has not updated for three days now.
Sorry everybody, I'll try and visit, but visiting is a bit of a bother when I can't see if there's anything new anywhere!
Dear readers and co-bloggers.
Once again we're waiting for the blogrolls to update. If you think I'm slow in commenting this might be why.
fredag den 11. september 2026
Words for Wednesday September 9 (2) ::
June, the Solitary Hero ~ 3
I have written an inordinate amount of story - still not using anything but: My house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plant-stands and windowsills.
She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan pouffes were placed in a cosy group almost opposite the door.
Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 2
The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plant-stands and windowsills.
She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan pouffes were placed in a cosy group almost opposite the door.
Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.
... to be continued
I still have all the words left over:
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
And this is where I most of all miss Elephant's Child. Her enthusiasm and impatience for the next bit often spurred me on when nothing else could.
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
And this is where I most of all miss Elephant's Child. Her enthusiasm and impatience for the next bit often spurred me on when nothing else could.
onsdag den 9. september 2026
Words for Wednesday September 9 ::
June, the Solitary Hero - 2
The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.
No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
This month the words are given by River at Drifting through Life
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
And for today we were given:
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
and/or:
Her/My house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero from last week. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes, even the time-travelling Peter had allies almost from day one. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
And I can use the sentence: Her house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others as a motto for this tale. I used none of the other words, maybe later this week.
* * *
Next morning June woke up quite late. For the first time in years, she had slept through the night. After she had taped the shutters fast with the green tape, the night had been dark and silent. It was a whole new feeling. She felt rested and energetic. After a leisurely breakfast of freshly picked blackberries sprinkled upon the yoghurt-and-granola that was her staple, and a nice cup of steaming hot tea she was ready for anything.
First on the list were the gutters. The real estate agent had warned her that the house while totally healthy, was sorely neglected as it had not been tended to for almost three years.
Cleaning the windows, discarding dead plants, and scrubbing kitchen and bathroom had taken up the first day in her new house, and cleaning and rearranging the bedroom all of the second. But today the sun was out in splendour, it was time to do some outdoor works before autumn and the rains came.
She found the ladder on its hooks behind the shed. She had taken over practically everything from the former owner, a retired accountant with no known relatives. She had thrown out beddings, mattresses, personal items, and most of the clothes, but kept almost anything else. The retiree had obviously been a tidy person but gone quickly downhill before his demise. All the heavy stuff was where it was supposed to be, but lighter items like plates, pots and pans, kitchen and work utensils from the house were often misplaced.
She leaned the ladder against the wall and climbed up. The gutters sure needed a cleaning. She threw big flakes of blackish muck to the ground, and using a garden trowel she was scraping out the last of the debris from the sunwards sprout when she heard the gate to the road open ... it could do with an oiling. Dressed as she was in one of the former inhabitant's worn shirts and with her hair tied back under an old straw hat, she obviously looked enough like him to deceive the mail-man. He started and hailed her with the former occupant's name: "Hey Charles, I see that the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated."
She turned around, and the mail-man realised his blunder: "Sorry, Ma'am. Are you the new owner?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm June Cullen, How do you do?"
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cullen. I have a letter for you and some for Charles ... what'll I do with them, now?"
"I have the address of his lawyer if you want to take care of it. Or you can leave them in the big envelope on the dresser in the hall. Then I'll deliver them to him when I next go to town."
"You'd better take them and better take a look at some of them. There's bills too, and maybe you should do something about them. I'll put them into the big envelope for you."
"Thanks," June said, "I'm neither fit for company, nor letters today, I promise better next time."
The mail-man looked at her and sent her a lopsided smile: "You could have done better. See you in a week's time."
June finished her job by pouring a pail of water into the gutters. It cleaned away the last of the muck and drained nicely down the spout. Satisfied she climbed down.
Entering the house, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and had to laugh. The mail-man was right. She could surely have done better. Her face was striped and splotched with black muck from the gutters, same as her shirt and hands. The straw hat sat askew, and her trousers were wet and torn. She could do with a bath.
"I did not even ask him his name," June thought to herself. "Next Wednesday I'll have a cup of coffee and a cake ready for him. I really was impolite today. I have much to learn."
When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.
No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
This month the words are given by River at Drifting through Life
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
Please,
remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories.
And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one
thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need
encouragement.
And for today we were given:
Klutz
Cream cheese
Twilight/gloaming
Buzzing
Trouble
Dominoes
and/or:
Her/My house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others.
I had to continue the story about June, my solitary hero from last week. I do not know yet if anything will ever come off it, but it's fun trying to write about a hero relying only on her own powers. I never did that before, there's always been friends, family an allies for even my most "alone" heroes, even the time-travelling Peter had allies almost from day one. I have to continually stop myself from letting her befriend somebody, find an unexpected ally and so on ... I suppose this exercise will do me good, but will it make for a good story? Only time will tell.
I continue from here:
June, the Solitary Hero ~ Part 1
And I can use the sentence: Her house has many rooms, some are less immaculate than others as a motto for this tale. I used none of the other words, maybe later this week.
* * *
Next morning June woke up quite late. For the first time in years, she had slept through the night. After she had taped the shutters fast with the green tape, the night had been dark and silent. It was a whole new feeling. She felt rested and energetic. After a leisurely breakfast of freshly picked blackberries sprinkled upon the yoghurt-and-granola that was her staple, and a nice cup of steaming hot tea she was ready for anything.
First on the list were the gutters. The real estate agent had warned her that the house while totally healthy, was sorely neglected as it had not been tended to for almost three years.
Cleaning the windows, discarding dead plants, and scrubbing kitchen and bathroom had taken up the first day in her new house, and cleaning and rearranging the bedroom all of the second. But today the sun was out in splendour, it was time to do some outdoor works before autumn and the rains came.
She found the ladder on its hooks behind the shed. She had taken over practically everything from the former owner, a retired accountant with no known relatives. She had thrown out beddings, mattresses, personal items, and most of the clothes, but kept almost anything else. The retiree had obviously been a tidy person but gone quickly downhill before his demise. All the heavy stuff was where it was supposed to be, but lighter items like plates, pots and pans, kitchen and work utensils from the house were often misplaced.
She leaned the ladder against the wall and climbed up. The gutters sure needed a cleaning. She threw big flakes of blackish muck to the ground, and using a garden trowel she was scraping out the last of the debris from the sunwards sprout when she heard the gate to the road open ... it could do with an oiling. Dressed as she was in one of the former inhabitant's worn shirts and with her hair tied back under an old straw hat, she obviously looked enough like him to deceive the mail-man. He started and hailed her with the former occupant's name: "Hey Charles, I see that the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated."
She turned around, and the mail-man realised his blunder: "Sorry, Ma'am. Are you the new owner?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm June Cullen, How do you do?"
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cullen. I have a letter for you and some for Charles ... what'll I do with them, now?"
"I have the address of his lawyer if you want to take care of it. Or you can leave them in the big envelope on the dresser in the hall. Then I'll deliver them to him when I next go to town."
"You'd better take them and better take a look at some of them. There's bills too, and maybe you should do something about them. I'll put them into the big envelope for you."
"Thanks," June said, "I'm neither fit for company, nor letters today, I promise better next time."
The mail-man looked at her and sent her a lopsided smile: "You could have done better. See you in a week's time."
June finished her job by pouring a pail of water into the gutters. It cleaned away the last of the muck and drained nicely down the spout. Satisfied she climbed down.
Entering the house, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and had to laugh. The mail-man was right. She could surely have done better. Her face was striped and splotched with black muck from the gutters, same as her shirt and hands. The straw hat sat askew, and her trousers were wet and torn. She could do with a bath.
"I did not even ask him his name," June thought to herself. "Next Wednesday I'll have a cup of coffee and a cake ready for him. I really was impolite today. I have much to learn."
... to be continued, maybe
mandag den 7. september 2026
Poetry Monday :: My Culture ~ Not my Poem
Poetry Monday is a
blogging challenge started by Diane @ On the Border in February 2017; later it was picked up by Delores @ Mumblings and Jenny @
Procrastinating Donkey.
Then Dolores took over the hosting duties; but when Dolores left the internet, Diane returned and took over hosting duty again with her and Jenny taking turns suggesting a topic.
Now Mimi @ Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over, as Diane seems disinclined to take up Poetry Monday again.
The prompts are now taken from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a (drawing) prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog. And they mostly lend themselves perfectly for poeming as well.
I have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
Today the prompt is My Culture which by I do not know which strange byways made me think of My Conviction from Hair. This is at least a big part of my cultural background. Even if the lyrics were hard to understand, the messages in this musical crept under our skin.
As we're allowed to post other people'e poetry as well here we go - I do excuse for the earworm
I would just like to say that it is my conviction
That longer hair and other flamboyant affectations
Of appearance are nothing more
Than the male's emergence from his drab camoflage
Into the gaudy plumage
Which is the birthright of his sex
There is a peculiar notion that elegant plumage
And fine feathers are not proper for the man
When ac---tually
That is the way things are
In most species
I still can add and imbed YouTube videos, I hope this plays.
Then Dolores took over the hosting duties; but when Dolores left the internet, Diane returned and took over hosting duty again with her and Jenny taking turns suggesting a topic.
Now Mimi @ Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over, as Diane seems disinclined to take up Poetry Monday again.
The prompts are now taken from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a (drawing) prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog. And they mostly lend themselves perfectly for poeming as well.
I have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
Today the prompt is My Culture which by I do not know which strange byways made me think of My Conviction from Hair. This is at least a big part of my cultural background. Even if the lyrics were hard to understand, the messages in this musical crept under our skin.
As we're allowed to post other people'e poetry as well here we go - I do excuse for the earworm
I would just like to say that it is my conviction
That longer hair and other flamboyant affectations
Of appearance are nothing more
Than the male's emergence from his drab camoflage
Into the gaudy plumage
Which is the birthright of his sex
There is a peculiar notion that elegant plumage
And fine feathers are not proper for the man
When ac---tually
That is the way things are
In most species
I still can add and imbed YouTube videos, I hope this plays.
søndag den 6. september 2026
Sunday Selection :: Colour26
Taknemmelig ~ Thankful
Her er månedens farve. Det er ikke en farve, jeg holder af, og derfor der der ikke mange ting omkring mig, der har den farve. Jeg var barn og ung i 1970erne, hvor alt jo skulle være orange eller brunt. Jeg afskyede de farver dengang, med tiden er jeg blevet mere tolerant, men det bliver aldrig en farve, jeg vælger frivilligt.
Jeg har dog én elsket ting, der har netop denne farve. Det er praktisk, for så er den nemmere at finde, når jeg forlægger den, hvilket sker hyppigt.
-- 🔸🔶🔸 --
That's the colour of the Month. It is so not my colour. I was a child in the 1970es, where everything was either orange or brown. I detested orange back then. Since then I've become a bit more tolerant. But it's still very far from a colour I ever would buy.
I have however one beloved item in this exact colour. It's practical and it makes it far easier to me to find this item when I misplace it. A frequently happening thing.
Den der hobbykniv. Jeg har haft den i mindst 30 år. Af og til har den været væk i lange perioder, men jeg har altid fundet den igen. Den er meget solid og god. Jeg tror, den holder mit liv ud hvis jeg ikke får smidt den helt væk.
-- 🔸🔶🔸 --
This here utility knife. I've had for around 30 years. Now and then I've misplaced it. Often for long periods, but it has always returned. It's handy and durable. I think it'll last as long as I do - if I don't seriously misplace it.
-- 🔸🔶🔸 --
Og så er jeg mega-taknemmelig. Skribenten blev væltet af et æsel, da han var på vej hjem på cykel. Han slap med en brækket arm!
-- 🔸🔶🔸 --
And a HUGE thankful. Hubby was run down by a donkey while biking home today. Luckily he only broke an arm.
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