Koncentrisk flet - Concentric Colours

     Med samme metode som kuglerne kan der naturligvis også flettes kurve, det kræver bare at man stopper halvvejs.

-- ▩ --

When making baubles, I make two halves and sew them together. One half can be seen as a basket. I wanted to try.

     Her er alle materialerne samlet sammen, frugtdutte-poser fra mange dages madpakker. Røde og grønne er allerede flettet, de blå venter på deres tur. Den grimme tegning ude til venstre er mine noter. 

-- ▩ --

Here we have all the mats. Bags from fruit-thingies from many month's worth of lunchboxes. Red and green are already finished, the blue ones are patiently waiting their turn. The ugly drawing to the left are all my work-notes.

     Så er de allesammen flettet til femkanter. Nu skal der sys. Bemærk den underlige farvefordeling i femkanterne. 

-- ▩ --

All the faces are ready. Now for some sewing. The colours are placed differently on those faces from what I normally do.

     Den færdige kurv set oppefra, her ses de koncentriske ringe af farver tydeligt.

 -- ▩ --

The basket seen from above. The colours make up concentric rings.

     Og set fra siden, her er det nemmere at se, at det faktisk er en kurv.

-- ▩ --

From the side it's easier to see that it is indeed a basket.

     Og så var jeg ikke helt tilfreds med kurven alligevel. Her har den fået hjørnerne syet sammen. Ser det ikke bedre ud?

 -- ▩ --

The basket was not totally satisfactory, here I pinched the corners. Better? 

-- ▩ -- 🎨 -- ▩ --

     Det bliver ikke den sidste kurv af denne slags. 

-- ▩ --

This is not the last basket of its kind. 

Poetry Monday :: Hair

Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey is taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
Today's theme is hair. It is a theme everybody is sure to have a meaning of. And at least here in Denmark it is a rule, that women cut their hair short as it turns grey. A trend I'm not going to follow.

-- ✂ --

     Delores fra Mumblings og Jenny fra Procrastinating Donkey  skiftes til at opkaste et tema til et mandagsdigt. Dagens tema er hår. Et tema alle mener noget om. Jeg har altid ment at det var underligt at man skulle klippe sit hår kort, når det blev gråt. Stædige Uglemor vil ikke følge trop.

-- ✂ --

Mit hår bli'r gråt
jeg ved det godt.
Men jeg vil ikke klippe det,
og jeg vil ikke slippe det.

I må forstå
at alt det grå
det vokser jo alligevel
præcis som det bestemmer selv.

Så kort og godt
mit hår er gråt.
Men derfor bli'r det ikke kort.
Tag saksen frem - jeg løber bort.

-- ✂ --

My hair turns grey
Needless to say.
But still I will not cut it
It grows whatever way I put it.

Please understand
That every strand
is long as nature made it
So sorry, I won't trade it

For locks so short
Of any sort.
My hair unruly, although grey
For scissors never will fall prey.

Meget vand -- Much Water

     I går, da Uglemor atter engang cyklede en tur, og konstaterede at bakkerne kun var blevet en smule højere siden sidste år, konstaterede hun også, at der var noget andet der var blevet højere. Nemlig vandstande i åerne ude i skoven.
     Solen skinnede og fuglene sang, og Uglemor havde oven i købet husket kameraet. Derfor stoppede hun op og tog nogle billeder af en af bækkene. 

-- 💧 --

Yesterday, as MotherOwl went by bike to town, she found out that the hills had only grown slightly taller during this winter's disuse.She found another thing that had risen in the woods. The water levels in the brooks was much higher than usual.
As the sun shone and MotherOwl had remembered her camera, it was time to pause by a brook and snap a few photos.

Uglemors cykel ved bækken inde i skoven -- 💧 -- MotherOwl's bike by the brook in the woods.

Her kan man se den højere vandstand i bækken -- 💧 -- Here you can see how much the water level has risen

Jeg er ked af at der ikke er lyd på. Så ville man kunne høre bækkes stille pludren, spættens tøvende hakken, musvitterne kald, og den fjerne brummen af trafikken ude fra vejen.

-- 💧 --

MotherOwl regrets that there's no sound to accompany these photos. You would hear the quiet  babbling of the stream, the intermittent pecking of a newly awakened woodpecker, the calls of a great tit and the far off humming of a busy road.

Vejret igen - More Weather

     Uglemor var jo kæmpe-utilfreds med DMIs nye vejrmeldinger. Det var der også andre, der var. Karna Maj (min have-guru) har lige gjort mig opmærksom på Bedre vejr. Der kan man få en overskuelig vejrmelding - faktisk har de nuppet DMIs gamle udseende - herligt 💖
     Den side er straks bogmærket, så nu behøver Uglemor kun tre sider: Bedre vejr til vejrmeldingen! Her for at finde månefaserne og dagenslaenge til netop daglængden og solens op- og nedgangstider. Det er dog fantastisk at der skal hele tre sider til at erstatte det, der før var et enkelt og overskueligt opslag på DMI.

-- 🌥  --

Now MotherOwl has found all of three homepages to make up for the loss of  DMIs weather. One for a general forecast, one for moon phases - important for TUSAL, and one for the length of the day - important for MotherOwl's mental well-being.
It is amazing that an update creates a need for three homepages to get the same information that earlier you got in a nice, compact form with one click.

Modersmåldagen og omvendtdag

     I dag er det den Internationale modersmålsdag. Linket her er til Wikipedia. Der synes ikke at være mange, der fejrer dagen i Danmark. Modersmål-selskabet afholder et foredrag, og det er vist det.

-- Ł ऌ ؏ ⽔ --

Today is the International Mother Language Day.  In Denmark a very quiet affair with one speaker at an open evening. I hope it is celebrated more  in other countries.

.
     Uglemor vil slå et slag for en omvendtdag - en dag hvor man gør alting omvendt. Altså ikke sådan at man spiser aftensmad om morgenen eller tager trøjen på benene, men en dag, hvor man hver gang man udfører et rutinepræget arbejde tænker sig om, tager det andet bukseben først på, starter med den anden fod først på trappen, skærer med den anden hånd, tørrer sig i håndklædet, så det snor den anden vej.
     Der er tusindvis af den slags små, dagligdags rutiner, hvor det er sjovt at blive bevidst om, hvad det egenligt er, man gør og hvordan.

--  --

MotherOwl wants to celebrate  an upside down-day / reverse day. Not a day where you eat breakfast in the evening and vice versa, but a day where you are aware of all the myriad of daily routines and do those the other way round. Begin by putting the other leg first when putting on trousers,step out with the other foot at the stairs, eat with the spoon in the wrong hand, when using a towel make it twist itself the other way.
There's loads of tiny actions we do each day, several times a day. And it's quite fun and eye opening to become aware of how often you do something without thinking all day.

Words for Wednesday -- 20 February -- Unicorn Farm 23

 The prompts for February are provided by River at Drifting through Life.
 
1. bathroom 
2. parasol 
3. furniture 
 4. duck
5. phone 
6. puzzle

and/or:

1. wade 
2. grim 
3. barge 
4. sporadic 
5. pizza 
6. burial


Once again I wrote a small chapter from my magical autobiography; and once again I took up the additional challenge of using the prompts in the order they were given (except for one little slip).

The story continues where it left off last. 

Susan hurried towards the old Lumber yard. The rain was letting off, but still the inclemency of the weather kept people indoors, helped by the fact that it was dinnertime or just after. Everybody were busy in their homes, and Susan only met one young man hurrying townwards on his bike.
She was more than a bit nervous, she needed to go to the bathroom, but now there was no turning back. She had arrived at the lumber yard and after a quick glance behind her, she turned right and was soon swallowed in the shadows. The enormous walnut tree was a massive presence on her right, and she happily let her fingers caress its wet bark. The thick branches stretched skywards over her head, like a gigantic windswept parasol. She wove between bushes and lesser trees, and found the portal with practised ease.
But still she hesitated. It was the first time she was going through it alone.

In the end she closed her eyes, clutched her bag and jumped. She felt the familiar, yet frightening sensation of vertigo.
When the world stopped spinning, she opened her eyes again and was relieved to see the old, crude furniture at the Unicorn Farm. For a moment she just stood there, happy that she had arrived in one piece, attentively listening and smelling her surroundings.
Noting happened. She went to the window and looked out. The rain had stopped, it had not rained as much here as  at home, but everything was still dripping wet. Suddenly she felt the loneliness of the place like a physical presence. It was dark, she was far away from home, nobody knew just where she was. Anything could happen ... she felt an urge to get up and run, and quickly she opened the little door. The door to the outside was really low, like in Grandma's kitchen she had to duck to get through without banging her head on the top frame. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest. The Farm did not even have a phone, There was just no way she could call for help if anything happened ....

Susan closed the door silently and stood with the back to the building. "Take it easy, now!" she said to herself, "there's no reason to panic. If nobody knows you're here, nobody will come for you. And somebody knows you're here, Susan!" she chided herself. Heidi knew she was coming tonight, as did Tue and  Lis, and their parents Sandra and Kai. They were waiting for her at the Magician's Home. She pulled out her wand and made a small ball of greenish light. It soared up over her head and shed its light on the surroundings. Susan drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I'm at the Unicorn Farm," she thought, "I'm an apprentice witch, actually a quite good apprentice witch, Nothing bad can happen here."
Susan slowly began to puzzle out why he was so panicky. These last few weeks had been extraordinarily taxing. After all the drama with Torben and David in the Christmas holidays, there had been the stress of an new term at school, where the other pupils and even a few of the teachers had been relentlessly bullying her. Not that she minded as much any more, but to be at the receiving end of all that crap every day at school was hard. The weekends had not been relaxing either. Linda's birthday party had not been a total success, but no major mishaps had happened, and Persephone had stayed happy and invisible all through the party. There had been more boring visits with beer drinking friends, and then Stellan's dying friend, although it was nobody close to Susan, Stellan's sadness had still rubbed off on her.

She began walking, letting the green light hover a bit behind her, lighting the way, She had to wade through a small stream that had not been here before. All the rain, an the smelting snow must have made it. It ran towards the beach, and Susan made a mental note on exploring where it went, A small waterfall almost had to be at the end, where it met the cliffs. Susan had never seen a real waterfall, so even a small one would be exiting.
She crossed the line of trees separating the Unicorn Farm from the rest of the peninsula and extinguished her light. She did not put the wand back in the bottom of her bag, but kept it handy, she was still not quite at ease in the dark, mostly deserted place. The moon had risen. And even though there was not much left of it, it gave off just enough light to let her find the paths through the stubble fields. This time a year the peninsula had an almost grim air to it. The summerhouses were mostly uninhabited, and the houses where people lived around the year were few and far between.
As she walked on towards the Magician's House she could hear the foghorns in the harbour at the root of the peninsula. Now and then a sporadic answering hoot from a barge rose shrilly over the deeper fog horn notes. This was a sound Susan was used to, coming from a coastal town. It felt reassuringly homelike.
Finally, but in reality only ten minutes after stepping through the portal, she stood in the inviting light falling thorough the many small windows of the door to the low, yellow house that was the target of her journey. She rang the bell and Sandra and Heidi opened the door. A warm, welcoming chaos overtook her.
"We're having pizza tonight," Heidi said jubilantly, "Father just left to get them at the place near the bridge. It's open all year finally. Not just in summer. And you're going to sleep in my room. Come!"
Susan smiled, and let Heidi lead her to her room where a cot had been placed. She put down her bag at a chair and sat on the cot. She felt hungry and happy. It was a wonderful house, and Susan felt at home here.

Kai returned, slamming the door,  and they ran down the stairs to greet him. Kai was for once dressed in inconspicuous clothes, nothing of the magician about him now, just a normal father.
While they ate the pizzas and drank a lot of coke and orange juice they just talked and talked.
"We even were at a burial," Tue said. "Our old aunt Margit, I think you met her last summer, Susan. She died at the first day of the new year. And she was buried at the old cemetery on the mainland." Susan remembered an old, no an ancient lady, with sky blue eyes and wrinkles all over. She had had warm, dry hands and a charming smile as she said hello to Susan, but that was all she remembered.
"She always told us she was going to die on the first day of the new year, but only Mom believed her," Lis added. Susan did not know what to say, and the talk turned to newly plastered streets off the mainland, street lights and schoolwork. Susan just sat and listened, more than half asleep.
 "It's time for bed," Sandra said. "You're getting up early tomorrow, and it has been a long day for all of us." Susan was grateful, that Sandra did not mention her, and more than pleased to slip between the crisp, white covers in Heidi's room.
"Tomorrow," she said sleepily.
"Yes, tomorrow," Heidi answered and put out the light.

Februar-feber

     I lørdags lugede Uglemor gårdsplads og fik ondt i bagdelen.  I dag skinnede solen, og Uglemor lugede videre. Det drejer sig jo om at være på forkant med ukrudtet, og de seneste mange år, har vores gårdsplads været nydelig grøn fra ret tidligt på sommeren. Derfor leger Uglemor nu "menneskelig round-up" og fjerner alt grønt på hele gårdspladsen. Projektet fortsætter næste gang solen skinner. Gårdspladsen er stor, og perlegrus er ikke rart at knæle på i længere perioder. 

     Derefter tog hun sig årets første cykeltur. Skribenten cykler flere gange om ugen, i sne, regn og blæst. Uglemor er mere sart, og ønsker sig temperaturer på den luen side af frysepunktet, ingen voldsom nedbør eller stiv kuling før hun springer op på jernhesten - og så er hun heller ikke så glad for at cykle i mørke. Så det er først her et godt stykke ind i februar, at det bliver relevant igen.
     Så i dag måtte Uglemor ud og tjekke om det nu også forholdt sig som vores nabo siger, at bakkerne gror om vinteren, når vi ikke slider på dem ved at cykle på dem. De var faktisk ikke vokset så slemt denne gang.
     På cykelturen så Uglemor noget meget forbløffende. Gule krokus!
     Det er meget tidligt, og som Piet Hein engang skrev:
 "... At muldjord
bli'r til gule krokus,
det er det rene
hokuspokus."

Saturday MotherOwl weeded, and had sore tail-feathers as a result. Today the sun was shining, and MotherOwl continued weeding. The yard in front of the house has been quite overgrown these last years, but this year, MotherOwl has decided to play "Human Round-up" and remove all greenery from the front  of the house.  A project to be continue, the front yard is big, and covered in gravel, not a comfortable thing to be kneeling in while weeding.

Then MotherOwl  took out her bike and went for the first ride of the year. The Writer goes by bike several times a week, be it rain, hail, sleet storm or even snow. Only not ice. MotherOwl is more soft. She wants degrees above 5 centigrades, no precipitation and not that much wind to go by bike. And furthermore she does not like riding her bike in the dark. That's one of the reasons she takes a winter-break.
Today she had to test what one of our neighbours say, namely that the hills grow during winter, when we do not wear them down by biking. They had not grown as much this winter as the last.
On the ride MotherOwl saw yellow crocuses. That's early.
And as Piet Hein once wrote:
"... Black earth turned into
yellow crocus
is undiluted
hocus-pocus."

Poetry Monday - Mandagsdigte :: Updated

Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
I am unable to participate - writing poems in a foreign language is far harder than prose. But I have put up a photo of my winter window to support your cause.

-- ❅ --

     Delores fra Mumblings og Jenny fra Procrastinating Donkey  skiftes til at opkaste et tema til et mandagsdigt. Jeg kan ikke deltage, for det er sværere at skrive digte på fremmedsprog end prosa.
Men dagens tema - Vintervindue - kan da få et billede med på vejen. Skulle der dukke et digt op fra min forvirrede hjerne i dagens løb, vil det blive tilføjet.

February 4.

Oh well, if I can't rhyme or make the syllables fit, I can always write an ELFJE:

White!
Winter's window
Water no more.
Window with white hoarfrost.
Wonder!

          -- ❅ -- 

Et mini-digt, et ELFJE, kunne det da blive til.

Hvidt!
Vinterens vindue
Vandet er frosset.
Vinduer med hvid rimfrost.
Vidunder.

Vinterferie -- 5 -- Winter Holidays

     Haveuglen kan ikke tåle frost. Derfor går han hvert forår glip af dette vidunderlige syn. Hele vejen rundt om Haveuglens tomme rede myldrer det frem med erantis.
     Solen skinnede lystigt i går, og Uglemor lugede gårdspladsen, til stor glæde for os o vores 7 høner. I dag har Uglemor ømme muskler et meget uventet sted. 

-- 🌼 --

GardenOwl cannot stand frost. That is why he never ever get to see this wonderful sight. Every year in the early spring GardenOwl's nest is surrounded by lots and lots of yellow eranthis. Our earliest spring flower.
The Sun was shining as MotherOwl took this photo. She spent the rest of the day weeding, much to the pleasure of our 7 chicken, and today MotherOwl is sore in unexpected places. 

Vinterferie -- 4 -- Winter Holidays

     I dag for præcis 6 år siden var det også fredag i vinterferien. Og lige som på den fredag for snart længe siden, spillede vi også Dungeons & Dragons, men i modsætning til den fredag, spiste vi ikke scones. Vi fik en galopkringle, som Skribenten havde bagt. Den smagte godt, Billedet her er ikke det bedste. Brun kage på brunt bræt, men kagen var spist inden Uglemor fik kigget på billederne, og en halvkedelig kage er meget bedre end ingen kage.

-- 🎂🍰🍩 --

Today exactly 6 years ago it was, as today, Friday in the winter holidays. And just like on that long ago Friday we played Dungeons & Dragons, but we did not eat scones with strawberry jam. We had "Galopkringle" (Gallop cake - because it's awful quick to make). The Writer made it, and we ate it before MotherOwl got to look at her photos. They're quite drab, brown cake on a brown board. But well drab cake is better than no cake at all.

Noget farligt indeni

Denne sang blev sunget af Lily Broberg i Cirkusrevyen1976. Teksten er skrevet af Preben Kaas, men den er vist lige så aktuel i dag.

Sorry all nice English spaking people. There's just no way I can do these rambling ironic lyrics justice in translation.

 

Der er så meget man ikke må
Og der er meget at passe på.
Et blødkogt æg om dagen
Er gift som bare fa’en
Fordi der er noget farligt indeni.

Drik aldrig sødmælk, du bli’r til kalk
Kom smør på brødet og ring til Falck!
En enkelt kaffetår
Kan koste dig år
Fordi der er noget farligt indeni.

Altså lige fra morgenmaden
Så er du ude i balladen.

Du har brugt sukker, du har rørt rundt.
Og du har nydt det et svinsk sekund.
Din marmelademad
Den gjorde dig glad
Fordi du ved, den er farlig indeni.

Der er så meget man ikke må
Og frokostbordet skal man la’ stå.
Et stykke steg med svær
Gi’r overlagte tæer
Fordi der er noget farligt indeni.

Ja – det er grufuldt og noget skidt.
At drikke øl til og akvavit.
Hold dig fra røget ål
Lad være at sige ”skål”
Fordi der er noget farligt indeni.

Næ hold fast ved livets glød.
Og hold dig væk fra wienerbrød!
Likør til kaffen gi’r dig et knæk.
Næ tag en cognac Og hæld den væk!
Et stykke fyldt konfekt
kan gøre dig defekt
Fordi det ka’ væ’r farligt indeni.

Der er så meget man ikke må.
Og der er meget at passe på.
Se bort fra middagsmaden
beslut dig til at hade den
Fordi der er noget farligt indeni.

Lad væ’r at ryge, lad væ’r at drik.
Løb lange ture, gør gymnastik.
Og hvis din mand bli’r hed,
lad væ’r at læg dig ned
Fordi der er noget farligt indeni.

Hold dig godt, lad væ’r med noget
Det er den eneste rigtige måde

Husk alt er farligt. Pas på dig selv
Og følg parolen: Ked dig ihjel.
Jeg er en svag natur
Mig kan de ikke lure
Fordi jeg vil være farlig indeni!

Vinterferie -- 3 -- Winter Holidays

     Her er faktisk ikke særligt vinterligt for øjeblikket, ca. 5 grader, overskyet og småfugtigt. Lige den slags vejr, Uglemor ikke kan fordrage. Så er det jo godt at der er en undskyldning for at bage en kage. Valentinsdag.

 -- 💙 💕 💚 --

Although this is our winter holidays, the weather is rather Novemberish. cool, cloudy, windy and moist. Exactly the kind of weather, or lack of weather, that is MotherOwl's lest favourite weather. What a good thing it is Valentine's day today. A good excuse to bake a cake.

Smørkage med hjerteglasur og hjertekonfetti. -- Heart shaped sprinkles on icing hearts.

Words for Wednesday -- 13 February -- Unicorn Farm 22

  The prompts for February are provided by River at Drifting through Life.
 
1. shutdown
2. wreck
3. hairclip
4. marked
5. old school
6. brewery

and/or:

1. release
2. hell-no!
3. cherries
4. insignificant
5. coffee
6. almost


Once again I wrote a small chapter from my magical autobiography, but this time I used the prompts in the order I needed them.

The story continues a bit more than a week later. It's Friday, last day of school before the Winter Holidays (Winter Holidays in Denmark are not the Christmas Holidays, but a week in early February - actually this very week ). 

The shutdown of the old brewery in town was the reason for much gnashing of teeth. Parents went unemployed. Children came late to school, the workers in the shipyard had lost their spirit, in short disorder reigned everywhere.
Susan felt the damp spirit permeating the town as something almost physical. She waited impatiently for release. But of course the teachers were affected by the dismal spirit as well and given them a test. Today when the Winter holidays began! Susan felt almost defiant as she marked the wrong words in the text with ease. These old school test were so easy.

She was going to the Unicorn Farm tonight. She could hardly wait. Her parents had reluctantly allowed her to go alone by train to the Farm, little did they know that Susan had no intention of ever using the train ticket in her purse. She was going to use her portal, of course. Her mind wandered. Heidi and the twins had had something to say about the evil man and the folder from that Belgian tourist resort. But their letter had been short, almost insultingly so. But then, she was going to meet them tonight.
The teacher came in, carrying a mug of steaming coffee. This brought Susan back from her musings. Hurriedly she gathered her stray hairs back in the hairclip, and filled out the missing words in the second half of the test.

Susan felt like a wreck. The school work felt so insignificant compared to the evil man, and the chaos that threatened her magical world. She was lucky that she was good at the ordinary school subjects, else her notes would have suffered this semester, earning her a solid scolding and maybe even a week of grounding, a worse punishment than a solid beating in Susan's opinion.

The teacher rated their test during the long break, and Susan was as usually in the top five of the class. Now she could relax on that account at least.
She said good bye to her class mates, wishing them a happy holiday and ran home. She ate lunch all alone, and packed her gear in a small bag. She did not know if the portal could handle her bike, but did not dare leave it in the old lumber yard for a week in case it could not, so she decided on walking.
Her parents returned home, and Dad bade her go to the grocer's at the end of the street for a crate of beer before she left for Heidi's place. "Might be they closed the brewery in town," Dad said, "but they still make the best beer."
"I'm going to lug a crate of beer all that way," Susan asked.
"Well yes," Dad said, "Those plastic crates are not that heavy. When I was your age the crates were made of wood, and one crate was 50 bottles of beer. Now it's only 30, and you're a big girl, off you go."
Actually Susan did remember the wooden crates, she even remembered carrying one of them for a few steps, they were heavy as lead. They had gotten some empty ones from the beer depot down the street when they went out of use. Susan of course used hers for books and stuff. Linda's were home to an ever expanding collection of horse magazines.
Susan took the money, dressed in her winter clothes, and put her wand in a pocket. She did not want to try and carry one of those heavy buggers all the way without a little bit of magic. She had not forgotten about the DO-NOT rule, but she was not going far, she was not going to use magic on or in front of people. Hell-no! she was not going to ruin her only joy.
At the grocer's she bought the beer, and also some sherbet powder, mostly lemon and strawberry flavoured, and then one of the new ones. It was supposed to taste like cherries. Susan liked the fizzy, popping feel of sherbet powders, but suspected she would not like the cherry variation.
Then she carried the crate a little way from the grocer's. Pausing between two street lamps, she tasted the sherbet powder, confirming her suspicion that cherry sherbet tasted nasty. Then, after a quick look around her, she cast a spell to make the crate lighter to carry.
She took care not to show that she could carry the crate with ease now, but walked as fast as she deemed wise in the thickening darkness. She dumped the crate in the back yard, cancelled the spell, and went inside again.
She carefully placed her wand inside the bag again. then she slung the bag over her shoulder. She went into Linda's room, and gave her the rest of the cherry flavoured sherbet, and said goodbye. She quickly hugged her father. She hugged her mother for a longer time, listened to her admonishing, and promised once again to take care, look closely at the time tables before boarding the trains at the central station, eat her sandwiches, mind her manners at Heidi's place, and not speak to strangers (she was not going to obey this one). And yes, she was totally able to walk all alone to the train station. After all it was not even six o'clock, and she knew the way.
She waved goodbye and headed for the railway station. But when she reached the end of the road and was out of sight, she turned left and doubled back via a parallel street. It was only a short detour on her way to the old lumber yard.

Vinterferie -- 2 -- Winter Holidays -- Opdateret

I dag, tirsdag var himlen ekstra interessant her til morgen.  Jeg har aldrig set skyer, der så sådan ud før, og undrer mig over, hvad der mon får dem til at gøre sådan.

-- 🌤 --

 
The sky looked very interesting this morning. I never saw clouds just like these before, and wonder what caused this.  

     Det var ikke så koldt, som de forrige dage, og solen skinnede. I går købte jeg frø til tidlig salat og radiser, med den skumle bagtanke at få ryddet op i domen og så frøene der. Oprydning i domen er tiltrængt. Der har jeg vist ikke været siden jeg hentede de sidste chilier tilbage i oktober.

-- 🍅🍃 --

It was not as cold as it has been, and it hat stopped being so windy. I hate cold winds and rain. It makes my fingers hurt. The sun was shining and yesterday I bought seeds for early lettuce and radishes. I suspected this could motivate me to clean out the greenhouse. My last visit there was probably in late October, harvesting the very last chillies.

-- o0o --

     Så tog Uglemor en rekordhurtig tur på indkøb. 35 minutter fra hun gik, til hun kom hjem igen. Deri inkluderet gåtur til og fra busstoppestedet, bustur begge veje og indkøb i to forretninger. 💪
     Da indkøbene var på plads, gik Uglemor i krig med domen.  Tomatplanterne var lodne af skimmel, stadig med bløde, lodne frugter her og der. Der var masser af ukrudt, og alle de små haveredskaber lå bare, hvor jeg efterlod dem sidste år.
    Den øverste række er før-billeder. Den nederste er efter.
     Så gik der en sky for solen og Uglemor gik ind til en kop varm the. Måske kommer solen og Uglemor frem i eftermiddag igen. 

-- 🍅🍃 --

MotherOwl went for an ultra quick shopping trip - 35 minutes including walking to and from the bus-stop, bus ride both ways and two shops visited - a record ... maybe 💪
Then it was time for a visit to the dome. The tomato plants were musty; soft, mouldy fruits still hanging here and there, weeds growing wildly, and all garden implements just left where they were used last year.
Top row: Before, bottom row after. Then the sun went behind the clouds. Maybe this afternoon it'll come beck.

Udefra, venstre og højre side af domen. Gravlysene har stået der siden den første nattefrost, hvor de forgæves kæmpede for at holde tomaterne frostfri.

From outside, left and right side. The grave candles were my loosing battle against the frosty nights last autumn.

-- o0o --

     Så blev det søreme solskinsvejr. Domens anden side blev også ryddet. Her er 3. billedserie fra domen. På det midterste billede er alle de underlige ting, der var rundt omkring., blevet sorteret. Det kræver måske et billede for sig selv.
     Såning? Det må vente til i morgen.

-- 🍅🍃 --

The Sun came out this afternoon.  MotherOwl cleaned the dome, and took new photos for a new photo serial. Here's the dome once again. Mission complete. In the middle picture all the crap found in the dome is sorted. It might need a separate explanation.
No sowing was done. It'll wait until tomorrow.

     Al skramlet i fine bunker. Haveredskaber og genbrugelige skilte og vandingsdimser i de firkantede urtepotter. Den grønne flaske er et vandingsprojekt, boble- og anden plast er ligesom lysene til frostsikring. Vandkanden skal naturligvis genbruges, snor og urtepotter ligeså. Den runde potte fuld af hvidmalede træstykker stammer fra et eller andet længst glemt projekt.
     I posen, der hænger på vandbeholderen, er alle de knækkede plastikdimser, nylonsnor osv. samlet. Næste gang Uglemor tager på lyn-indkøb, kommer det med, og bliver smidt ud i en container til plast. Ugemor er lidt sur over, at der kun er genbrugsbøtter til aviser og glas i vores lille landsby. Genbrug skal gøres nemt, ellers virker det ikke.

-- 🍅🍃 --

All the crap nicely sorted. Gardening tools and reusable thingies for watering an marking in the two square pots. The green bottle, some sheets of plastic and the candles are all part of the frost fighting squad. The green bottle is for watering. The watering can is to be reused, and the same goes for the string and the pots.  The white painted pieces of wood in a round pot hail from a long forgotten project, don't ask.
On the water tank hangs a dirty plastic bag. It hides all the broken markers and  watering thingies, broken pots, scrapped nylon strings, in short all things plastic. The next time MotherOwl is going to the record breaking shopping place, she'll bring this bag and dispose of it in a communal recycle bin for plastics, simultaneously grumbling over the fact that she needs to take recyclable plastic for a bus ride. Recycling should be made easy, and even our little village should have bins for plastic and metal as a supplement to the existing paper and glass bins.

Bonusbillede. Så meget ukrudt var der til hønsene i den anden halvdel af domen. De blev glade!

-- 🍅🍃 --

Bonus photo of all the weeds for the chicken, gathered in the right hand half of the dome. The chicken were very pleased.

Vinterferie -- 1 -- Winter Holdays

      I dag fejrede vi vor Frue af Lourdes. Vi spiste kager, faktisk muffins og talte en smule om  Lourdes.
     Uglemor bagte muffins, men glemte helt at tage nogle billeder.
I  fredags, den 8. var det jo nåledag, og der fi vi også kage og dsendte nålene afsted. Vi må se billederne derfra i stedet.

-- 💙 --

Today we celebrated Our Lady of Lourdes. We had cake, muffins actually, and spoke shortly about our Lady's apparitions at Lourdes.

MotherOwl made muffins, but forgot to make photos.
But some days ago - February 8th, we also had cake, and sent off our broken needles in style. Pictures from that day will have to suffice.

-- 📍 --

Nålene i en lille træbåd  --  The needles in a small wooden boat.

Nålekage. De knækkede tandstikkere skal illudere nåle 

-- 📍  --

Needle cake. The broken toothpicks are symbolic needles.

Noderegn -- Rain of Notes

     Trolden spiller klaver, han spiller godt, og øver trofast. Lige for øjeblikket er han i gang med Impromptu i Ges-dur af Shubert. Den er meget smuk, næsten som en bøn, men der er frygteligt mange noder i den, og Uglemor følte sig lettere overvældet.
     Ligesom Blå på tegningen her.

-- 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝆕 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝅝 𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝆕 𝅘𝅥𝅮 --

Trolli plays the piano. He plays really well, and he's diligently practising. Just now he's doing Impromptu in G♭ major by Shubert. It is a very wonderful piece of music, almost like a prayer, but it contains an awful lot of notes. MotherOwl feels quite overwhelmed.
Like Blue in the drawing here.

Back to the Classics ... Musings.

It seems this is going to be a reading season of serendipity.

January 1st I rolled a 2, telling me to read a 20th Century Classic. I read The Trapp Family, not because it fit the category, but because I kept on being reminded about it.

Then - having read the book early, I rolled a 7 - a Very Long Classic. But hunting for a long book, I stumbled upon Seven years in Tibet, a book I always wanted to read. It was not super long, but fit category 10 - Classic From Africa, Asia, or Oceania (includes Australia).

I then followed my own rule of rolling the die whenever I had read a book, and written about it. The die showed me a 1, a 19th Century Classic. Hunting for such a book, I found instead Three Hearts and Three Lions by Paul Anderson. Once again not suitable for the chosen category,  but for another one. Classic From a Place You've Lived as parts of the book is placed in Elsinore.

Today, following my new rule, I rolled a 4 - Classic in Translation. Maybe the category it's easiest to find a book for. Now I'm off to search, I'm curious as to what I'm going to find this time.

-- 📚 -- updated list -- 📚 --

 1. 19th Century Classic:  Alice in Wonderland

 2. 20th Century Classic: READ - Trapp Family Singers.

 3. Classic by a Female Author: ?

 4. Classic in Translation: ?

 5. Classic Comedy: Don Quijote

 6. Classic Tragedy. The Odyssey or The Iliad.

  7. Very Long Classic: ?

  8. Classic Novella: ?

  9. Classic From the Americas: Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer.

10. Classic From Africa, Asia, or Oceania (includes Australia):  READ - 7 Years in Tibet

11. Classic From a Place You've Lived: READ - 3 Hearts and 3 Lions

12. Classic Play: Jedermann.

Nålenes mindedag - Harikuyo - Memorial for Needles

Mange tak til Messymimi's meanderings for at minde mig om harikuyo - nålefest. Det er på denne dag, man lægger årets knækkede og bukkede nåle til hvile med tak for deres tjeneste og under bønner om at blive en bedre syerske i det kommende år.
Jeg tager ikke til det nærmeste tempel, jeg ved ikke engang hvor jeg skulle tage hen - og præsten ville nok glo temmelig meget, hvis jeg mødte op til messen bevæbnet med knækkede og bukkede nåle og en kage.
Men jeg kan godt lige ideen med at sige pænt tak for tjenesten til de udtjente ting. Og en bøn om at forbedre sine evner i det kommende år? Kan vi ikke alle have behov for det.
Der vil nok foregå noget i Uglebo i dag, der kommer til at involvere udtjente nåle og kage.

I just want to thank Messymimi's meanderings for reminding me of harikuyo, feast of the broken needles. Today seamstresses and people sewing bring the needles, pins and so on broken or otherwise rendered useless since this date last year to a temple. There they lay them to rest in soft tofu or cake, meanwhile thanking them for their services and praying to become better in the coming year.
I'm not going to the nearest temple - I would not even know where to go - and the priest would surely eye me suspiciously if I brought my needles and pins along to mass, to bury them there.
That being said, I like the idea of saying a proper goodbye and thanks to broken needles and pins, and prayers for improving, I think we all could need that.
Some kind of ceremony, and a cake, is going to find its way to the Owlery today.

Back to the Classics -- Three Hearts and Three Lions

Well, I did roll a 1 - telling me to read a 19. century classic. But looking for such a book on the shelves I stumbled across Three Hearts and Three Lions written in 1961 by Poul Anderson. Well it is strictly speaking a science fiction book, but written in the 20 century.That category was taken by Sound of Music. Well then as crucial parts of the book takes place in Helsingør (Elsinore) where I lived for many years this could count as

11: Classic From a Place You've Lived. 


Link to the Back to the Classics Challenge.

The theme of the book is the eternal fight between Law and Chaos. Holger, a common dude from Elsinore is fighting in the resistance during the Nazi occupation of Denmark. One night, on the beach near Kronborg (Yes Hamlet's castle) he is with a group trying to secure the passage to Sweden for a boat with a supercargo refugee. Fighting for this end, Holger is hit by enemy bullets, and suddenly he's somewhere else. Transported through space and time, not knowing who or where he is, but with a great warhorse and equipment suitable for a knight of noble ilk, he tries to find his way back. His coat of arms Three Hearts and Three Lions, and his name, Holger, gives off to all but him, that he is Ogier le Danois, the Defender, the Holy knight sleeping in the dungeons of Kronborg to appear in times of peril.
He fights his way through realms fair and foul with unlikely allies and grim foes. In the end he discovers who and what he is in a rather unexpected way.
Wikipedia told me that "The novel influenced the role-playing game, Dungeons & Dragons, especially the original alignment system, which grouped all characters and creatures into "Law" and "Chaos". The game drew on the novel's depiction of the troll, which regenerated when wounded, the swanmay, and the nixie. The novel also inspired the paladin character class."
As I played Dungeons & Dragons for many year, always yearning to be a Paladin, and always twarted by my chaotic co-players, this spoke to me.
It is excellently written with many jokes and puns, and I think it is even funnier for me, because Poul Anderson knew Danish, had lived in Denmark for some years, and in this book he accurately describes a Dane seen from an American point of view. Also his use of Danish pronunciation and words makes this even better.

-- 📚 -- updated list -- 📚 --

 1. 19th Century Classic:  Alice in Wonderland

 2. 20th Century Classic: READ - Trapp Family Singers.

 3. Classic by a Female Author: ?

 4. Classic in Translation: ?

 5. Classic Comedy: Don Quijote

 6. Classic Tragedy. The Odyssey or The Iliad.

  7. Very Long Classic: ?

  8. Classic Novella: ?

  9. Classic From the Americas: Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer.

10. Classic From Africa, Asia, or Oceania (includes Australia):  READ - 7 Years in Tibet

11. Classic From a Place You've Lived: THIS ONE

12. Classic Play: Jedermann.

Words for Wednesday -- 6 February -- Unicorn Farm 21

 The prompts for February are provided by River at Drifting through Life.
 
1. consternation 
2. tourist 
3. attached 
4. fresh 
5. specific 
6. memory 

and/or:

1. advantages 
 2. amount 
3. spray 
4. reef 
5. ouch 
6. living



Once again I wrote a small chapter from my magical autobiography, and once again I took up the additional challenge of using the prompts in the order they were given.

The story continues where it left off last. 

Susan brought Cantrippes for every day use, blankets and pillows with her to the attic. She took the key from the door and hung it on the nail right next to the ovoid hole in the wall. Then she was sure no one came and disturbed her, without knocking. That way she could study Cantrippes ... - now bound in the most boring wrapping paper, she could find - and have time to put it into the stack and pick a regular school book before letting somebody in. No one bothered with old school books.

She looked around in the attic. It was really a boring room after her father's makeover. Well, the fireplace was of course a good thing, but the old, worn out pool table? Then there were some chairs and small tables standing around. Between the rafters were raw plates and big, top-hung windows. How did it look earlier? Susan closed her eyes and thought back. Small windows with a round upper part, the raw underside of red, roof tiles between the rafters, mortar seeping through here and there like icing on a cake, and a naked chimney with an old cleaning hatch. Percy's small, narrow room she could only just remember. It had to be torn down earlier than the rest had been renovated. Maybe when the roof tiles were relaid? The wall at the end towards the neighbour had been raw, red bricks. She remembered her father's pride at the fun waves and curls he had made in the plaster, they were fun to look at, yes; but they were very scratchy if you came up too close. The floor had been weathered boards, differing in length, width and colour, and almost covered in dust. The room had seemed much bigger, home to weird things and stuff, old crates, a dress form, an old cupboard, swings and sleds and skis, and it was only lit by candles.
It was the smell she remembered best. A special attic smell, a smell of adventure, treasures, alien lands and explorations. Now all the treasures Susan had been able to find around the house stood inside the little room. The corals, all the milk bottles, shiny and sorted after size, Susan's own large sea shell, old pearl necklaces, and bright glass ones too, hung on hooks, and small, almost translucent mocha cups stood on the table. Susan didn't go into the little room, she went left to the fireplace. Methodically, she tore the birch bark off the wood pieces, built up a small bonfire with bark and kindling and put on larger and larger pieces until three pieces of firewood burned with gentle, even flames.
She pulled forth Cantrippes ... Much to her consternation a tourist folder had attached to the book.  She laid it aside, it did look brand new, fresh from the press. She wondered how it had gotten there, It was a very specific folder, and Susan was sure she had never seen it before. "Oh, well, memory is unpredictable,"  she thought to herself as she placed the folder underneath the photo of Torben and the stranger on top of her normal schoolbooks.

She was reading about the use of onions in healing spells. Absorbed she just moved closer to the fire for light and warmth as the sun set.
Suddenly she felt like someone watched her. A cold breeze chilled her, and she pulled the blankets closer.
"Why are you having a photo of that evil man ?" Percy - of course, she was a ghost, she would make her feel cold and watched.
"Which evil man do you mean, Percy?" Susan asked carefully.
"Him!"
"Him?"
"Oh!" Percy exclaimed, "I forgot how immaterial I have become. That's one of the advantages of being a ghost. Or do I mean disadvantages? I can not point any more. Mama always told me it was very impolite to point."
"I see," Susan said, even if she did not. "But if you cannot point, how can you tell me which man, you mean?"
"I can draw," Percy said. Susan's pencil rose from the floor and drew a nice circle around Torben's guest in the photo.
"Him!" Susan exclaimed, "bur who is he?" The man shaking his hand, is one of my teachers, but I don't know who he is. It's a friend of mine that took this picture."
"He is bad," Percy said in a quiet voice, "a very bad man. Mama hated him, he did bad things. I always wanted to know what he did, but no amount of asking ever got me anywhere."
"Do you remember his name?" Susan asked, then maybe I could find out something about him.
"No!" Percy said. "I don't remember. "He was French, or maybe Belgian, he had a funny name, but I can't remember it."
"Can you tell me anything at all about him," Susan asked.
"He makes me think of surfing, sea spray suntan, rubber ducks and a reef," Percy said.

"Ouch!" Susan exclaimed, busying herself with putting out one of the blankets, that had caught fire.
"Oh, the joys of living," Percy remarked in an acetic voice before disappearing again. "I'll write you a note, if I remember more. Just take care not to burn it."

Susan went downstairs again. She put the books in place, and looked once again at the tourist folder. It was trying to make the onlooker go to some tourist resort, featuring surfing, fake shark lagunas and reefs, She opened it, and inside were reefs with sun tanned surfers riding waves with lots of artificial looking spray. I  was not a place, Susan would ever like to go, she loved the real stuff way too much. She looked at the address, then she looked once more. It was from a place in Belgium, Fontein der Jeugd/Fontaine de Jouvence, almost at the French border. Did Percy see this folder, did she put it there or was it mere coincidence. Susan did not believe in coincidence. She sat down at her table to write a letter to Heidi and her family.

Ikke mere vejr -- No more Weather

(English verion at the bottom, beneath an angry cloud).

Nu har DMI endegyldigt udfaset deres gamle, trofaste vejrmeldinger. I stedet for denne her dejligt kompakte og overskuelige vejrmelding:

kommer vi til at mødes af dette forvirrende syn:

     Det betyder at Uglemor ikke længere kommer til at berette om solopgange og solnedgange på sin blog, der bliver ikke mere jubel over at dagen er tiltaget så og så mange minutter, eller sorg over det modsatte. Det kan man nemlig ikke se længere.
     Der kommer heller aldrig mere SneUgleJubel. Verden er kort sagt nok engang blevet et tristere og mere begrænset sted at være Uglemor.

 - ⛈ - 

Now that the Danish Meteorological Institute has updated the graphics on their pages, MotherOwl is no longer going to bring jubilant notices that the days have grown half an hour or more longer, or despondent news about the opposite. MotherOwl at least is unable to find this info in the new info-jungle.
The new graphics, as shown on the second screenshot are messy, interactive (= small unreadable squares pop up whenever you mouse over something, and won't go away). Compared to the old infographich in the first screenshot they are way less informative, more unwieldy. In short, more bling, less information.
There'll be no more SnowOwl Happines. The world has in short become a sadder, more limited space for Owls of all kinds.

TUSAL -- Februar 2019

     Årets stumper hidtil. I trådfangeren ligger resterne fra vantestrikningen og to strimler fra en turkisgrøn T-shirt. Bøtten, fra julens pebernødder, er fuld af stumper fra fletningen af den fine kugle.

- 💚 -

All this year's ORTs so far. The threadcatcher contained ends from the knitting of the mittens of to strips from a turquoise T-shirt. The big jar, once containing Christmas cookies, now holds all the leftovers from the making of the tea bag bauble.

     Lysende ugler pynter på hylden, nu julepynten endegyldigt er fjernet.

  - 💛 -

Golden owls with ligth brightens the shelf now that all Christmas ornaments have been removed.





  Hvis TUSAL er et nyt og spændende begreb, så læs mere her på engelsk og her på dansk.

- 💙 -

If you've never heard about TUSAL and ORTs before, go HERE to become wiser. Here is the link to this month's TUSAL post with link up.

Back to the Classics -- 7 Jahre in Tibet.

Seven Years in Tibet

Well, I did roll a 7 - marking me for a very long classic, but looking for this book in the shelves I stumbled across Seven Years in Tibet written in 1953 by Heinrich Harrer. Translated into Danish by Lars Rosenkvist. That is a book I have wanted to read for many years, but I just never got to reading it before now.
I tentatively put this book in category
10: A Classic form Africa, Asia or Oceania. 


Link to the Back to the Classics Challenge.

I think what happens in the book is not new for very many people, but it was to me.

It is an autobiography written by the Austrian mountaineer Heinrich Harrer, it covers the years from 1939, the beginning of WWII to 1961, Harrer is not a writer, but he has a story to tell, and he knows how to write after all.
He begins by being on a mountaineering expedition then being interned in India. He tries to get away more times, but only succeeds on his 3rd try together with 2 other  prisoners. Those three walks all the way from India to Tibet by foot, an exhausting and cold journey in the wintertime. Tibet is not welcoming strangers of any kind, and all the time they're told to return to India or go on to Nepal. But they stubbornly continues further into Tibet. One of his followers are not as physically fit as Heinrich and Aufschnaiter, and goes to Nepal, where he's welcome.
Heinrich and Aufschnaiter now tries their luck. They want to visit Lhasa, the forbidden city and capital of Tibet. That journey, in the winterlocked mountainous land, is a trial of strength unlike anything I've ever read before. They finally succeed and stay in Lhasa, first as unwelcome strangers, then as tolerated mysteries, then as trusted workers and teachers. In the end Heinrich meets the young Dalai Lama and makes friend with him. The story ends with them fleeing Tibet as the Chinese red army takes over the country.

It is a truly amazing book and a totally immersing read. Read the book, don't bother watching the movie.
With this said what strikes me - apart from the wonder of it all - is the disarming naivete with which it is written, Heinrich stayed for over 7 years in Tibet, learned to speak the language almost to perfection, and got a feeling for and understanding of Tibetan culture and life that is totally amazing. Yet his sentimentality, or what you may call it, is amazing. It is not the "white man's burden"-stuff, he's too wise for this. It is a reluctance to accept that Christmas is not celebrated in Tibet, and that the monks do not go somewhere private to relieve themselves. A funny lack to accept foreignnes, just as a small child, believing that deep inside everybody thinks in his (or her) own language. Also his political musings and thoughts on the roles of women and men in society are so bound to his own time and culture to be unwillingly comical. Luckily the edition, I read, had removed many of these passages.
And somewhere towards the ending he says that Dalai Lama number 14 was prophesied to be the last. In my ignorance I wondered how the next one had been chosen - until the truth dawned on me. He is the same one! His young Dalai Lama is the same as "my" old one.

-- 📚 -- updated list -- 📚 --

 1. 19th Century Classic:  Alice in Wonderland

 2. 20th Century Classic: READ - Trapp Family Singers.

 3. Classic by a Female Author: ?

 4. Classic in Translation: ?

 5. Classic Comedy: Don Quijote

 6. Classic Tragedy. The Odyssey or The Iliad.

  7. Very Long Classic: ?

  8. Classic Novella: ?

  9. Classic From the Americas: Huckleberry Finn or Tom Sawyer.

10. Classic From Africa, Asia, or Oceania (includes Australia):  THIS ONE

11. Classic From a Place You've Lived: Maybe Hamlet or Glasperlenspiel by Hermann Hesse. (I lived a year in Germany)

12. Classic Play: Jedermann.

Words for Wednesday - 3rd Instalment -- Unicorn Farm 20

As she finally returned home Susan felt frozen solid. She wanted one thing only. A roaring fire. She did not turn on any lights, she just crept up the stairs, opened the door to the attic and went into the big room. There she lit a fire in the open fireplace and plopped down in front of it. She had a stack of back issues of readers Digest laying up there. The railman living around the corner subscribed, and when he and his wife had read them, Susan got the old issues. She also sometimes got other books from them. This one was a book called Kitchen physics, Household chemistry or something like it. She was reading about the physical properties of honey, two forces, adherence and coherence played specific roles in the way honey behaved. Susan tried to make the strange words sound right and stick to their meaning, but she was tired after her long march through the snowstorm, and the fire was warm and cosy.

She was just beginning to drift off as a tiny voice reached her ears: "What have you done to my bottles?"
"Your bottles?" Susan answered, not yet quite awake. "What bottles are you talking about!" She sat up. Who was talking? Susan was all alone in the house.
"My bottles, they were so shiny and pretty. You took them away. Just as your mother took all the pretty things from my room and then she tore down my room." Susan saw a foggy, white figure floating next to the fireplace.
Susan shook her head violently: "Pretty thing? Your room? Sorry. Who are you, and what are you talking about?" Susan slowly realized she was all alone in the house, speaking with a ghost.
"Do you remember the attic when you were very little? There was one more room back then, between the chimney and the small room you made pretty the other day? In that room were pretty things. My pretty things!"
"Oh, now I remember. Yes the very narrow room with the shelves. I best remember the smell, a musty, not unpleasant attic smell; it always reminded me about adventures, travels and far away places. There was shelves, as I said, and a big cupboard, wonder where that went. There were some corals, big sea shells, things like that. My father once told me they were from when he sailed the seven seas." Susan looked at the wavering shape and added in a distrustful voice: "Was that your room?"
"Yes," the girl-ghost said and began crying. "And now you've taken away even the shiny bottles." Susan's pile of books began shaking and the topmost ones fell to the floor.

"No!" Susan said, "please don't cry. My Mother only took the bottles away to clean them, they were dusty, full of old cobwebs. I'll put them back tomorrow, when I find them, and hang pretty things in the smallish room. Promise."
"Can I move in there?" the girl-ghost asked. "I like it very much in there, and you've taken all my pretty things away." She began crying once more, and this time the pool cues came to life, and began shaking in their holders.
"Stop that!" Susan said sharply.
"Stop what?" the transparent girl asked. She stopped crying and looked questioning at Susan who was kneeling on the floor holding on to the cues for dear life.
"Every time you start crying, you break something." Susan said. If you promise to stop, I'll put all the pretty things I can find, into that little room tomorrow. Then you can move in there ...Only not when Granny comes visiting, I don't think she likes company, but she only comes two or three times a year for some days. And I'll come as well, I like the small room. It's so neat, and Linda don't often come here any more."
 "Irritating sisters, I understand. By the way, I'm Persephone, you can call me Percy if you like."
Susan got up and smiled. "Hello Percy, nice to meet you!" she said.

A loud noise from downstairs made Susan jump. When she opened her eyes once again, Percy was gone and she heard her mother's voice calling from downstairs.
Susan quickly threw mattress and blankets away from the fireplace and ran downstairs

Susan returned to the here and now and realized that her legs were cramped from sitting for too long in  the same position. She stretched, and felt an almost irresistible urge to go and sit in front of the fireplace in the attic again.

"Well why not!" she thought, "even if I'm not as cold as I was then, a fire would maybe take my mind off this dripping rain. She slowly gathered her books, hiding all the magic things, you newer knew just when Linda returned and started nosing around, or Mom wanted to tidy. She would take no risks with the magic books or worse, her wand.   When the needles and pins had left her legs, she unlocked the door to the attic - not that anything secret was up there, the door was old, the latch worn, and it was an unpleasant task to get up in the middle of the night to stop it from banging.