This is a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true, therefore: Please, remember
to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links
back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one
thrives on interaction.
For the last time this June the Words for Wednesday are given to us by River at Drifting Through Life. For June 30 we were given:
Boxy
Honey
Clock
Yearn
Erupted
Drift
and/or:
Goblin
Differences
Relax
Shimmer
Porch
Rainwater
I promised to continue Susan's story. But these words took me back to the
Unicorn Farm. I'll prolong my break from the depressing story of Susan's
comedown. Again I took up the additional challenge of using the words in
the order, they were given.
This is a bit crazy. The words led me. It's sill near midsummer. Well, no more excuses.
"Susan, did you see that movement? What is that? Over there, by that boxy boulder," Heidi whispered.
"It's
a swarm of honeybees," Susan said, draping her shawl over her hair.
"Lets leave before they come over here. If they get into your hair, they
sting you." Susan turned around and walked away from the boulder and
the swarming bees. Her steps turned into a run as the humming filled the
air around the two girls.
The clock in the belfry of the Unicorn
Farm struck the half-hour and Susan felt Heidi's hand on her arm.
"Susan, please stop. I think I sprained my ankle, and there are so many,
many bees up there. Can't you do something. You're a blue apprentice
for heaven's sake. You're supposed to be good with animals?" Heidi shook
and her eyes slowly filled with tears.
Susan suddenly remember what
she did to the police dog, she, and the others on the green team kept
him away by thinking "we're not interesting" thoughts at it. The
opposite of calling an animal to you. This might work for bees as well.
Susan drew her wand from inside her shirt. She pulled the shawl over
both of their heads and was about to try to repel the bees. "But what if
they go somewhere else, maybe to one of the summerhouses and sting the
people there? Thora told us repeatedly that we have to think of other
people, normal people before using our magic." She thought again - what
would a swarm of bees feel attracted or repelled by? A yearning for a
hidey-hole, a new place to build and grow, erupted in her brain. "The
hollow tree," she said. "Where was it, the one we explored yesterday?"
Heidi pointed, keeping mouth and eyes tightly shut and only extending
her hand as little as necessary from inside their shawl-tent.
Susan followed her finger with her eyes. "Yes. Now I remember."
Heidi pulled in her hand and tucked it under her tunic.
Susan
bean humming, telling the bees of the perfect living quarter in the
hollow tree. Soon a couple of the bees got the drift and began flying
towards the tree, returning, flying towards the tree again and pulling
more and more bees with them for each repeat.
After a little
while, there were only a few stragglers left behind. The buzzing of the
bees had changed from the overwhelming sound to a more peaceful, almost
humming tone. Susan inched closer to the tree and saw the bees standing
almost still in the air, scouting out the surroundings of their new
home.
Suddenly a small, stocky being stood in front of Susan. It
started scolding her in a thin reedy voice. "Stupid girl," the Goblin
began, "don't you know the difference between a hollow tree and a Goblin
house?" Now you've ruined near to a whole year's worth of work for me
and my kin. You ... you ..." It stammered, turning greener and greener.
Heidi came hobbling, the shawl trailing from one hand. "Oh, Master
Goblin," she said, curtseying. "We did not know that you and your folk
lived in that hollow tree. We were terribly frightened by all those
bees. They made so much noise, and... " She wiped her eyes and sat
heavily on a smaller boulder "... and I hurt my foot running, and Susan
here saved me from those ferocious bees." Heidi looked at the Goblin,
big tears rolling down her not quite clean cheeks, dropping to the
ground.
The Goblin visibly relaxed. " Bees are not ferocious, stupid
girls. Not when swarming at least. You know, they fill up their bellies
with honey before leaving the old hive. And to sting, thy have to bend
over. Do you like bending over with a stuffed tummy?" Heidi and Susan
both shook their heads vigorously; their hair flew around them,
shimmering in the sun. "Well, neither do the bees," the Goblin
continued, "as you would know were you not scared witless by the
buzzing. They do not sting unless you sit down on top of them." The
Goblin looked at them, his face became harder, greener again. " But now
the bees have taken over our home, they fly around on OUR porch. What
are we to do?"
"Couldn't you move into the abandoned shed near the
end of the island?" Heidi suggested. "The ornithologists built it some
years ago, but somebody forgot to close the door for the winter, and the
rainwater spoiled the floors. I don't know if it's better than a hollow
tree or worse, but at least nobody ever goes there any more."
"Let us go there, the Goblin said. By the way, I'm Gobblikek, give me your foot, foolish girl."
"I'm
Heidi," Heidi said, but extended her sprained ankle towards the Goblin.
He placed his grimy, green and four-fingered hand on her ankle and
tugged at his ear with the other hand. The swelling subsided, and Heidi
drew a sharp breath and let it out slowly. "Ouch! That hurt! But now,
now I feel fine! Thank you Gobblikek." He smiled broadly at Heidi,
pulled her to her feet with amazing strength and off they went, in
search of the abandoned hut.
Blogger putter stadig tilfældige kommentarer i spamfængsel. Jeg lover at slippe dem ud hurtigst muligt.
Blogger is still randomly putting comments in spam-jail. I promise to free them as fast as possible.
onsdag den 30. juni 2021
Words for Wednesday -- June 30
tirsdag den 29. juni 2021
Biodiversitet
Biodiversitet - at slippe haven fri - giftfri have - giv naturen plads. Kært barn har mange navne, og her i Ugleboet er haven blevet dyrket efter økologiske og naturnære principper i mange år. Ikke altid med stort held, ofte med sære resultater, men altid smukt.
Billedrigt og snakkende indlæg - det er jo sommer
-- 🌻 --
Biodiversity -- setting nature free -- no poison -- nature farming. Whatever you call it, it has been a part of how we do things in the Owlery for many years. We have used organic principles from day one, lack of knowledge, time and other resources have often hindered our gardening successes, but it has always been beautiful.
Picture heavy and rambling post - it is summer.
For mange år siden plantede vi et valnøddetræ. Det belv meget stort, og gav masser af valnødder, der alle var syge. Så vi spiste måske en eller to om året. Så købte vi et nyt træ fra Valnøddemanden, og har nu masser af valnødder til at spise og til at dele med de lokale egern.
Det gamle træ blev fældet - med håndkraft - og stubben står nu og forfalder.
Many years ago we bought a walnut tree. It grew big before it gave any nuts, lots of nuts, lots of inedible nuts, because it had some disease making the nuts black and inedible. Then we bought a new tree from a man specialized in walnut trees for Danish gardens. Now we eat lots of fresh ans delicious walnuts every autumn, and we share happily with the squirrels.
The old tree was cut down - using a hand saw - and is slowly falling to pieces.
I år grod der Susan med det sorte øje rundt om træet. Det var vist ikke nogen god idé. en selvsået solsikke gror der også.
This year I planted Black-eyed Susans around the three. It seems not to have been a good idea, they do not thrive. A self sowed sunflower grows there as well.
Plads til insekter. Oregano er fantastisk til insektfoder, ligesom timian og salvie. Denne mørktblomstrende oregano er også smuk og smager godt på pizzaen. En win-win situation.
-- 🌻 --
Room for insects. Marjoram is good food for bees, butterflies and so on. This dark flowering one is also pretty and tasty in pizzas. A win-win situation.
Der er både gode sider, dårlige sider og uventede sider ved biodiversitet
There's much to say about biodiversity. Something good, something bad, and something in between.
De gode ting -- Something good:
Skovjordbær som bunddække er godt. De er smukke, humlebierne kan lide blomsterne, vi kan lide bærrene, de er forholdsvis gode til at holde mine "fjernder" - skvalderkål, svaleurt og burresnerre i skak, de er ikke så gode mod snerler, men man kan ikke få alt.
-- 🌻 --
Wild strawberries are good. They are pretty, the bumblebees love the flowers, we love the berries and they are moderately good at fighting off my "enemies" ground elder, celandine and cleavers. Bindweed not so good, but you can't have everything.
-- 🌻 --
Skovløg. Uglemor bragte et hejm engang og plantede det. Det jhar bredt sig over hele haven, men det er jo smukt, og let at fjerne på uønskede steder.
-- 🌻 --
Sand leek. MotherOwl once brought home one from a nearby field. It has multiplied ever since, but it is pretty (edible) and easy to pull up if not wanted right there.
Valmuer. De er bare smukke og forsyner os med birkes hvert år.
-- 🌻 --
Poppy. Well, pretty and we are never out of poppy seeds for buns.
Hvad mon der spirer frem her? Det er en af fordelene ved ikke at luge hele tiden og i bund. Der dukker ofte nye, spændende ting op ad jorden.
Wonder what this is? One of the pluses of not weeding too much and too often. We're often given strange, new inhabitants.
Minikiwien er fuld af blomster i år. VI glæder os over dette - og over at den hun-mini-kiwi, Uglemor købte sidste sommer faktis også gror.
The mini-kiwi is abundant in buds. We're happy, and maybe even happier that the female mini-kiwi we planted last summer has grown much bigger in the past year.
De dårlige ting -- Something bad:
Både og -- Both:
Dette her er en sørgelig undskyldning for et radise- og salatbed. Jeg har ikke luget i dag! og det kan ses.
This is our sad radish and salad bed. I have not been weeding today! as can be seen.
Dette er radisen, der gror i bedet. Den er sikkert hul og bitter - og den rækker ikke langt til 6 personer.
This is the radish, growing in the bed. I'm sure it's hollow and bitter, And even if not, it's not much for 6 persons.
Men der er hjælp at hente inde i domen. Der står altid noget, for at lokke bestøverne indenfor. Tidsler, blomstrende dild - og en blomstrende radise. Hvordan kan det nu hjælpe? Lad os gå tættere på.
But in the greenhouse help is on its way. For in the greenhouse flowers are left to attract the pollinators. We have thistles, flowering dill and a flowering radish. How can this help me out? Let's have a closer look.
Tættere på kan man se radisernes frø - skulper. De smager fint af radise, bliver aldrig bitre (men nok træede), og er perfekte til min elskede dild-og-radisedressing sammen med dilden.
Up close the seed pods of the radish can be seen (siliques if you want to be correct). They can be eaten, tastes like radish, do not turn bitter (only hard) and are very tasty in a dill-radish-dip.
Billedrigt og snakkende indlæg - det er jo sommer
-- 🌻 --
Biodiversity -- setting nature free -- no poison -- nature farming. Whatever you call it, it has been a part of how we do things in the Owlery for many years. We have used organic principles from day one, lack of knowledge, time and other resources have often hindered our gardening successes, but it has always been beautiful.
Picture heavy and rambling post - it is summer.
Det gamle træ blev fældet - med håndkraft - og stubben står nu og forfalder.
-- 🌻 --
Many years ago we bought a walnut tree. It grew big before it gave any nuts, lots of nuts, lots of inedible nuts, because it had some disease making the nuts black and inedible. Then we bought a new tree from a man specialized in walnut trees for Danish gardens. Now we eat lots of fresh ans delicious walnuts every autumn, and we share happily with the squirrels.
The old tree was cut down - using a hand saw - and is slowly falling to pieces.
-- 🌻 --
This year I planted Black-eyed Susans around the three. It seems not to have been a good idea, they do not thrive. A self sowed sunflower grows there as well.
-- 🌻 --
Room for insects. Marjoram is good food for bees, butterflies and so on. This dark flowering one is also pretty and tasty in pizzas. A win-win situation.
-- 👍 😲 👎 --
Der er både gode sider, dårlige sider og uventede sider ved biodiversitet
-- 🌻 --
There's much to say about biodiversity. Something good, something bad, and something in between.
De gode ting -- Something good:
-- 🌻 --
-- 🌻 --
-- 🌻 --
-- 🌻 --
Poppy. Well, pretty and we are never out of poppy seeds for buns.
-- 🌻 --
Wonder what this is? One of the pluses of not weeding too much and too often. We're often given strange, new inhabitants.
-- 🌻 --
The mini-kiwi is abundant in buds. We're happy, and maybe even happier that the female mini-kiwi we planted last summer has grown much bigger in the past year.
Fin nælde, desværre hankøn, så ingen frø. -- Pretty nettle, unfortunately male, so no seeds from this one.
De dårlige ting -- Something bad:
Der er nogen, der spiser mine humleblade. -- Someone is eating the leaves of my hops.
Der er nogen, der spiser bladene på mine stikkelsbærbuske. -- Someone is eating the leaves of my gooseberries.
Der er nogen, der spiser mine æbleblade. -- Someone is eating the leaves of my apple-tree.
Både og -- Both:
-- 🌻 --
This is our sad radish and salad bed. I have not been weeding today! as can be seen.
-- 🌻 --
This is the radish, growing in the bed. I'm sure it's hollow and bitter, And even if not, it's not much for 6 persons.
-- 🌻 --
But in the greenhouse help is on its way. For in the greenhouse flowers are left to attract the pollinators. We have thistles, flowering dill and a flowering radish. How can this help me out? Let's have a closer look.
-- 🌻 --
Up close the seed pods of the radish can be seen (siliques if you want to be correct). They can be eaten, tastes like radish, do not turn bitter (only hard) and are very tasty in a dill-radish-dip.
mandag den 28. juni 2021
Poetry Monday :: Bubbles
If you want to read some good poetry, Diane - who has taken over the hosting of this challenge - and Mimi of
Messymimi's Meanderings - who also supplies us with topics - are writing wonderful, funny,
thought-provoking, ingenious and honestly well written verse. Go and
read.
Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month - may we hope for more!
SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is taking a break due to her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way.
- - - - -
Today, according to Mimi is the Festival of Terrible Poetry. Fine with me, as my brain feels like it has turned to mush.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
What can we put in a bubble?
A lot of sorrow and trouble,
A pinch of powder and rubble,
A measure of hay and stubble?
And if we have more than one bubble
Will we try to make it all double?
The sorrow, and trouble
The rubble and stubble?
Wherever we go, we want bubbles
But nobody wants that much troubles.
Next Mondays topic: Bikinis.
Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month - may we hope for more!
SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is taking a break due to her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way.
- - - - -
Today, according to Mimi is the Festival of Terrible Poetry. Fine with me, as my brain feels like it has turned to mush.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
What can we put in a bubble?
A lot of sorrow and trouble,
A pinch of powder and rubble,
A measure of hay and stubble?
And if we have more than one bubble
Will we try to make it all double?
The sorrow, and trouble
The rubble and stubble?
Wherever we go, we want bubbles
But nobody wants that much troubles.
Next Mondays topic: Bikinis.
fredag den 25. juni 2021
Hvide stakitter - mange billeder - Updated in English
Uglemor har være i haven igen. Denne gang er der blevet lavet en ny frøsø. Den gamle var blevet utæt, men den var også 25 år gammel
--- 🐸 ---
MotherOwl has been at work in the garden once again. This time she has been renovating the 25 years old pond that had become leaky and turned into a swamp.
Den gamle, overgroede frøsump.
The old overgrown pond turned swamp
Så er den blevet luget, hegnet er blevet taget væk, men mjødurt og iris, som skal bevares, gror stadig i søen.
Weeds and fence removed. Iris and meadowsweet, to be kept, are still growing
Der var nok en kubikmeter jord i hullet. Det var tungt.
Pond emptied of earth - there were loads, and it was heavy!
Hullet blev udvidet og drysset med sand - det er lerjord, mere ler end jord i den dybde.
Hole enlarged and covered with sand. More clay than sand down there.
Ugleungerne blev sat til at hente vand. Både regnvand og fra hanen. En kande ad gangen.
The Owlets were put to work, one at a time cans of rain and tap water were poured into the pond.
Regnvejret klarede de sidste mange liter, og så blev mjødurt og iris sat tilbage på plads.
And the rain delivered the many last litres. Iris and meadowsweet were planted again.
For 2 år siden lavede Uglemor en havelåge. Den er nu blevet renoveret. Pælen var knækket, så der skulle en ny pæl til.
Two years ago, MotherOwl made a new gate. Now the post had broken, and MotherOwl went shopping for a replacement.
Den blev fragtet hjem på cykel, naturligvis, og viste, hvad et mundbind også kan bruges til.
New pole brought home by bike - showing off an alternate use of a facemask
Frøsøen skulle også have et nyt hegn. Det kom til at se sådan her ud. Ugleungerne er utilfredse; de synes, det skal være bølgeformet, når nu det ikke skal være lige. Måske bliver det lavet om ...
Fence in front of the new pond. The Owlets grumble. It should be wavy, not chaotic! Well ... MotherOwl might re-make the fence.
--- 😠 ---
Og så lidt brok.
Til lågen skulle Uglemor købe et glipfald - se billedet. Men det var altså svært. Hun endte med at tage det gamle fra hønsegården og sætte hen på lågen. For kig lige engang:
More grumbling.
MotherOwl had to buy a new thingie to close the gate. She ended up replacing the one to the chicken yard with a new one, and use the old one for the gate. Look here to see why.
Gammelt glipfald fra hønsegården - rart at røre ved og med fine former og detaljer.
Old "closing-thingie" (can't find the English name for it) nice to the touch and pleasing to look at.
Nyt glipfald - ikke spor pænt, og med grater og kanter, der er hårde ved sarte fingre. Det kan godt være at det nye i absolutte tal kostede det samme som det gamle gjorde for 25 år siden, men jeg ville altså hellere betale mere for et fint et som det gamle.
New "closing-thingie" with raw edges and burrs. Not nice to our fingers, and not nice to look at either. Maybe that the new thingie was cheaper than the old one was 25 years ago, but MotherOwl would like to pay more for a nice one.
The old overgrown pond turned swamp
Weeds and fence removed. Iris and meadowsweet, to be kept, are still growing
Pond emptied of earth - there were loads, and it was heavy!
Hole enlarged and covered with sand. More clay than sand down there.
The Owlets were put to work, one at a time cans of rain and tap water were poured into the pond.
And the rain delivered the many last litres. Iris and meadowsweet were planted again.
Two years ago, MotherOwl made a new gate. Now the post had broken, and MotherOwl went shopping for a replacement.
New pole brought home by bike - showing off an alternate use of a facemask
Fence in front of the new pond. The Owlets grumble. It should be wavy, not chaotic! Well ... MotherOwl might re-make the fence.
--- 😠 ---
Og så lidt brok.
Til lågen skulle Uglemor købe et glipfald - se billedet. Men det var altså svært. Hun endte med at tage det gamle fra hønsegården og sætte hen på lågen. For kig lige engang:
More grumbling.
MotherOwl had to buy a new thingie to close the gate. She ended up replacing the one to the chicken yard with a new one, and use the old one for the gate. Look here to see why.
Old "closing-thingie" (can't find the English name for it) nice to the touch and pleasing to look at.
New "closing-thingie" with raw edges and burrs. Not nice to our fingers, and not nice to look at either. Maybe that the new thingie was cheaper than the old one was 25 years ago, but MotherOwl would like to pay more for a nice one.
onsdag den 23. juni 2021
Words for Wednesday - June 23
This June the Words for Wednesday are at River's blog Drifting Through Life. For June 16 we were given:
Thundering hooves
Shuffled
Velvet
Appropriate
Comforting
Returned
And/or:
Milkshakes
Hat
Green
Knitting
Drawn
Choice
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue Susan's story. But these words belong back on the Unicorn Farm. I'll take a break from the depressing story of Susan's comedown. Again I took up the additional challenge of using the words in the order, they were given.
It's not good this time around. But I could not do better. I'm sorry. If I get a better idea, I'll write more.
And I'm sorry for taking the post down again. I don't know what happened. It seems sometimes, when you have two tabs with two different posts in them, DNB will merge them into one when you press Publish. This is the right one.
"we're looking for the unicorns!" Thora said. The apprentices murmured and dragged their feet. Nobody but Susan had ever seen a unicorn around.
"Don't you trust me?" Thora asked, but nobody was bold enough to say so to her face, even if not a few actually doubted her words.
First came the ominous sound of thundering hooves in the distance, then a shuffling of unshod hooves. The velvet green and blue eyes and the slick white skin shone in the still morning air.
"Yes" Thora said, "these are real, true unicorns. Why did you think we called this place Unicorn Farm. Of course we have unicorns here, it would not be appropriate else. It's a comforting thought that they have returned. And I'm happy to be able to introduce you to them - and the other way around."
Later in the day they sat on the fence, watching the unicorns graze and drank milkshakes. It was unicorn milkshakes, white, with a silvery sparkle and blue and green dots inside. The Nisser really did those things well. It was hot, the sun shone from a clear blue sky, and Thora surprised them all by wearing a hat. And old green sun helmet. "It belonged to my grandfather," she said proudly. Nobody dared to laugh, but the apprentices sure found the helmet funny. Seeing Thora in that contraption was like seeing Torben knitting, or Susan turning a somersault on a broomstick. At the same time unthinkable and a bit ridiculous. During the break their eyes were drawn to poor Thora's head more often because of her peculiar choice of headgear. A straw-hat, or even a sun bonnet would have been more her style than that old thing smelling of wars and jungles.
Thundering hooves
Shuffled
Velvet
Appropriate
Comforting
Returned
And/or:
Milkshakes
Hat
Green
Knitting
Drawn
Choice
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue Susan's story. But these words belong back on the Unicorn Farm. I'll take a break from the depressing story of Susan's comedown. Again I took up the additional challenge of using the words in the order, they were given.
It's not good this time around. But I could not do better. I'm sorry. If I get a better idea, I'll write more.
And I'm sorry for taking the post down again. I don't know what happened. It seems sometimes, when you have two tabs with two different posts in them, DNB will merge them into one when you press Publish. This is the right one.
"we're looking for the unicorns!" Thora said. The apprentices murmured and dragged their feet. Nobody but Susan had ever seen a unicorn around.
"Don't you trust me?" Thora asked, but nobody was bold enough to say so to her face, even if not a few actually doubted her words.
First came the ominous sound of thundering hooves in the distance, then a shuffling of unshod hooves. The velvet green and blue eyes and the slick white skin shone in the still morning air.
"Yes" Thora said, "these are real, true unicorns. Why did you think we called this place Unicorn Farm. Of course we have unicorns here, it would not be appropriate else. It's a comforting thought that they have returned. And I'm happy to be able to introduce you to them - and the other way around."
Later in the day they sat on the fence, watching the unicorns graze and drank milkshakes. It was unicorn milkshakes, white, with a silvery sparkle and blue and green dots inside. The Nisser really did those things well. It was hot, the sun shone from a clear blue sky, and Thora surprised them all by wearing a hat. And old green sun helmet. "It belonged to my grandfather," she said proudly. Nobody dared to laugh, but the apprentices sure found the helmet funny. Seeing Thora in that contraption was like seeing Torben knitting, or Susan turning a somersault on a broomstick. At the same time unthinkable and a bit ridiculous. During the break their eyes were drawn to poor Thora's head more often because of her peculiar choice of headgear. A straw-hat, or even a sun bonnet would have been more her style than that old thing smelling of wars and jungles.
mandag den 21. juni 2021
Poetry Monday :: Father :: Not My Words
Today I'm cheating. The Father I want to honour today is the spiritual father - our priests, and what better poem than this (Irish, I think) prayer/poem?
The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.
We need them in life's early morning,
We need them again at its close;
We feel their warm clasp of true friendship,
We seek them while tasting life's woes.
When we come to this world we are sinful,
The greatest as well as the least.
And the hands that make us pure as angels
Are the beautiful hands of a priest.
At the altar each day we behold them,
And the hands of a king on his throne
Are not equal to them in their greatness
Their dignity stands alone.
For there in the stillness of morning
Ere the sun has emerged from the east,
There God rests between the pure fingers
Of the beautiful hands of a priest.
When we are tempted and wander
To pathways of shame and sin
'Tis the hand of a priest that will absolve us.
Not once but again and again.
And when we are taking life's partner
Other hands may prepare us a feast
But the hands that will bless and unite us,
Are the beautiful hands of a priest.
God bless them and keep them all holy,
For the Host which their fingers caress,
What can a poor sinner do better
But to praise Thee who chose thee to bless
When the death dews on our eyes are falling,
May our courage and strength be increased
To see, raised above us in blessing
The beautiful hands of a priest.
- - - - -
Next Mondays Topic: Bubbles.
The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.
We need them in life's early morning,
We need them again at its close;
We feel their warm clasp of true friendship,
We seek them while tasting life's woes.
When we come to this world we are sinful,
The greatest as well as the least.
And the hands that make us pure as angels
Are the beautiful hands of a priest.
At the altar each day we behold them,
And the hands of a king on his throne
Are not equal to them in their greatness
Their dignity stands alone.
For there in the stillness of morning
Ere the sun has emerged from the east,
There God rests between the pure fingers
Of the beautiful hands of a priest.
When we are tempted and wander
To pathways of shame and sin
'Tis the hand of a priest that will absolve us.
Not once but again and again.
And when we are taking life's partner
Other hands may prepare us a feast
But the hands that will bless and unite us,
Are the beautiful hands of a priest.
God bless them and keep them all holy,
For the Host which their fingers caress,
What can a poor sinner do better
But to praise Thee who chose thee to bless
When the death dews on our eyes are falling,
May our courage and strength be increased
To see, raised above us in blessing
The beautiful hands of a priest.
- - - - -
Next Mondays Topic: Bubbles.
fredag den 18. juni 2021
WEP - A New Challenge with an Old Protagonist
Back to the Unicorn Farm we go ...
Back to the Christmas holidays, where Susan gets an inkling of Torben and Tristan's sombre plans. The link is to the last episode in this chapter. The chapter in one go can be read here.
The Christmas party had been a mixed blessing. Susan had seen and talked to the Lion Dancers, Kensuke and Teiko once again. She already missed them even if they left only two days ago. And Ella. That girl was something special. She could do no magic, but she now lived with her grandmother who was the best witch Susan had ever met, maybe apart from Thora. She had of course also left two days ago same as all the other guests. Scheduled teaching in magic had taken over, and Susan was at the same time relieved and sad. Relieved because studying magic was fun, it was what she most loved to do, and as she was an introvert, she had had a hard time when the Farm was filled up with strangers everywhere. But still she missed Kensuke, Teiko and gentle Ella.
Heidi and the twins, Lis and Tage tried to lift up her spirits by telling awful jokes and generally making her laugh. Of course it was nice to have them as friends. Heidi was the very best friend, and a genius when it came to transformation, the only subject apart from broomstick flying where Susan did not excel. She hated flying, she thought. No, that was not true. She did not really hate it, she just found it tedious, a chore, and a scary chore at that.
The next morning Heidi woke Susan up with her yells: "Susan, Susan, there's a letter for you! It was on my pillow. It must have come by magical mail, but it looks just like a normal letter."
"Please let me have it," Susan said. Heidi handed her the letter and pretended not to be interested in the contents, combing her hair and putting it in pigtails while Susan looked at the letter.
"It's from Japan!" Susan said in surprise.
"How do you know?" Heidi asked. She stopped pretending she was absorbed in doing her hair, and sat next to Susan on the rollaway bed.
"Look at the stamp. It's my favourite Japanese woodcut, the Great Wave off Kanagawa, I'm sure it's Teiko or Kensuke writing."
"Open it already!" Heidi said, bouncing on the bed.
"Yes, yes, will do." Susan turned over the letter. "There's no sender," she said mystified. Then she threw caution to the winds, and ripped open the letter. Inside was a folded sheet of paper, written in Kensuke's crabbed handwriting. Susan read through it quickly. "It seems they, that is Kensuke, Teiko and Ella, met with some sort of accident on their way home. They are all at Ella's Grandma's place now. And they will return here."
Heidi smiled, then turned serious. "I hope they were not hurt," she said.
"No, not that kind of accident," Susan said. "I've got to read the letter one more time or two, but it seems like something happened to the portal and dumped them in Ella's woods. You remember I told about the werewolves and the gargoyles?" Heidi nodded. "Well it seems that one of the former werewolves has some kind of problems. They'll come here to get help from the teachers. Oh, I hope they'll stay for a while."
"You hope who is going to stay?" Lis asked as she opened the door. "You'd better come down, breakfast is ready. If we're having guests, I hope Mum is not going to explode."
***
Word count: 561 ~ Full critique acceptable.
Typos will be corrected as commenters tell me about my mistakes. Thanks in advance.
onsdag den 16. juni 2021
Words for Wednesday - June 16
This June the Words for Wednesday are at River's blog Drifting Through Life. For June 16 we were given:
1. lustrum *
2. purification
3. provide
4. lullaby
5. manorhouse
6. salvage
and/or:
1. draconian
2. boreal
3. eggs
4. rubbed
5. pans
6. smoothed
* in ancient Rome the quinqiennial purification of the people
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue Susan's story. Here's part 4 (Part 3 - Part 2 - Part 1). It's still quite depressing ... and as usual it just stops. I'll have to continue the sad story of Susan's comedown, if I can. I took up the additional challenge of using the words in the order, they were given.
Susan was not listening. The teacher was so boring today. He kept talking of this Lustrum, the purification of the people and how this could provide them with a new start, or a sense of security. She was not sure which. The drone of this voice turned into a lullaby, and Susan dozed off. It had been a late night again yesterday. Hilde from the manor house turned collective outside of town had been at The Dipper.
There had been a happening, A couple of drunk Swedes had overturned the bar, smashing some bottles and generally creating havoc. Most of the bottles were not broken, and they had even been able to salvage the glasses that normally stood on the bar. But the owner had been quite draconian in his measures and had expelled everybody from the top room, even Susan and her friends, who had had nothing to do with the drunken Swedes, only playing pool and minding their own business.
As the night air was rater Boreal, Susan and several of the other young ones had followed Hilde to her manor house, where they had had eggnogs. Some of the happy go lucky ways of the collective had rubbed off to the youngsters and they had eaten all the eggs and used most of the sugar and spiced Rhum with no thoughts for the consequences.
Later one of the grown ups from the manor house came and told them off for not scrubbing the pans they had used. When Hilde had smoothed over the hurt feelings of everyone, Susan had begun the long, cold walk home.
1. lustrum *
2. purification
3. provide
4. lullaby
5. manorhouse
6. salvage
and/or:
1. draconian
2. boreal
3. eggs
4. rubbed
5. pans
6. smoothed
* in ancient Rome the quinqiennial purification of the people
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue Susan's story. Here's part 4 (Part 3 - Part 2 - Part 1). It's still quite depressing ... and as usual it just stops. I'll have to continue the sad story of Susan's comedown, if I can. I took up the additional challenge of using the words in the order, they were given.
Susan was not listening. The teacher was so boring today. He kept talking of this Lustrum, the purification of the people and how this could provide them with a new start, or a sense of security. She was not sure which. The drone of this voice turned into a lullaby, and Susan dozed off. It had been a late night again yesterday. Hilde from the manor house turned collective outside of town had been at The Dipper.
There had been a happening, A couple of drunk Swedes had overturned the bar, smashing some bottles and generally creating havoc. Most of the bottles were not broken, and they had even been able to salvage the glasses that normally stood on the bar. But the owner had been quite draconian in his measures and had expelled everybody from the top room, even Susan and her friends, who had had nothing to do with the drunken Swedes, only playing pool and minding their own business.
As the night air was rater Boreal, Susan and several of the other young ones had followed Hilde to her manor house, where they had had eggnogs. Some of the happy go lucky ways of the collective had rubbed off to the youngsters and they had eaten all the eggs and used most of the sugar and spiced Rhum with no thoughts for the consequences.
Later one of the grown ups from the manor house came and told them off for not scrubbing the pans they had used. When Hilde had smoothed over the hurt feelings of everyone, Susan had begun the long, cold walk home.
... to be continued.
mandag den 14. juni 2021
Poetry Monday :: Monkeying Around
If you want to read some good poetry, Diane - who has taken over the hosting of this challenge - and Mimi of
Messymimi's Meanderings - who also supplies us with topics - are writing wonderful, funny,
thought-provoking, ingenious and honestly well written verse. Go and
read.
Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month - may we hope for more!
SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is taking a break due to her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
As today is my birthday, and I'm monkeying around celebrating, I'll repeat an old poem from Monday 25th of March 2019.
25 March 2019
Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
Today's theme is Monkeys. (courtesy of Jenny).
What to do with such a theme?
I had to monkey around, monkeying an old counting rhyme.
Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month - may we hope for more!
SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is taking a break due to her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
🙈 🙉 🙊
As today is my birthday, and I'm monkeying around celebrating, I'll repeat an old poem from Monday 25th of March 2019.
-- 🐒 --
25 March 2019
Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
Today's theme is Monkeys. (courtesy of Jenny).
What to do with such a theme?
I had to monkey around, monkeying an old counting rhyme.
-- 🐵 --
Sock monkey, Brass monkey, Grease monkey, Thief.
Desk monkey, Code monkey, Funky monkey, Chief.
onsdag den 9. juni 2021
Words for Wednesday June 9
This June the Words for Wednesday are at River's blog Drifting Through Life. For June 9 we were given:
1.amber
2. alabaster
3. bow-legged
4. extensive
5. seesaw
6. kill
and/or:
1. lighthouse
2.market
3. cloudy
4.pigeonhole
5. goldmine
6. mute
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue Susan's story. Here's part 3. It's quite depressing ... and as usually it just stops. I'll have to continue the sad story of Susan's comedown, if I can.
After a month the work in the shop and school had settled into a routine. Even carrying the huge amount of money to the post office every night had lost its thrill.
Susan began playing with Laurids and his crew again, but a bow-legged man playing violin and saw-blades had taken over her place in the band, and he was better, even if Susan hated to admit it. The summer spent at Unicorn Farm (even if she remembered it as a 4H summer course), her accident with following bed rest, and then work with and in the new shop had not left her much time for practise, and her play was rusty and not fluent. Lady Marion of course was a darling, as were Stellan and Jasper, the two brothers from abroad, but Susan felt ill at ease.
One evening after the shop had closed, Susan sat on a bench in the market square. Just sitting, not wanting to go home, eat dinner, do homework and go to bed. The early summer night was warm, the pearly sky beautiful, and she just sat there.
A bunch of people, she knew a little from school passed by and sat themselves down on the neighbouring benches. They talked a bit, agonizing over school, work and life in general.
The others rose to go somewhere, and Mike said: "Come with us, Susan., We're going to have a beer and play some pool at The Dipper."
"I'm not very good at pool," Susan protested, "and I don't like beer."
"You do not have to drink any, if you don't like it. They serve soft drinks as well, and we're not better at pool than you are, I'm sure," he insisted.
Susan rose from the bench and went with them to The Dipper. It was one of the more dingy places in town; an arched gateway led from the street through the house to a cobbled yard where rickety tables and flowers in old oil cans stood invitingly in the dusk. Quite a few customers sat by the tables, hugging glass mugs with amber contents. Susan followed in the wake of the others and was met by the overwhelming, but somehow comforting smell of stale smoke, beer and human bodies.
They placed their orders at a bar, Susan went for a chocolate milk, and earned no strange stares, which pleased her immensely. The bottles of liquor were neatly stacked in pigeon holes behind the counter, where you would expect a mirror.
They paid and continued up the stairs and tackled the pool table. To her own surprise, Susan was not bad at it. She had of course had some practise at the pool table in the attic, but this bunch used to play almost every night. As the evening wore on, and the others drank more beer, Susan became better and better in comparison, and actually had fun beating them at the game.
When she returned home, her parents had gone to bed and put a note on the door. "Please be quiet!" She tiptoed in, brushed her teeth and slept from her alarm clock next morning.
Mum came in and woke her up: "Where did you spend last night, young lady?" she asked sternly.
Susan answered truthfully that she had been playing pool with a bunch of her schoolmates.
"Did you drink?" Mum asked, sniffing suspiciously.
"Nope," Susan said. "You know, I don't like beer, and I'm not allowed to buy liquor, and even if I was, it's too expensive. I drank chocolate milk, lots of them actually, as all the others drank beer, and kept on losing. I only paid for two of them myself."
Mum smiled. "You're a smart girl, Susan. Keep it that way, but don't come home this late every evening."
"I won't," Susan promised. "It's not nice being this tired in the morning."
1.
2. alabaster
3.
4. extensive
5. seesaw
6. kill
and/or:
1. lighthouse
2.
3. cloudy
4.
5. goldmine
6. mute
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue Susan's story. Here's part 3. It's quite depressing ... and as usually it just stops. I'll have to continue the sad story of Susan's comedown, if I can.
After a month the work in the shop and school had settled into a routine. Even carrying the huge amount of money to the post office every night had lost its thrill.
Susan began playing with Laurids and his crew again, but a bow-legged man playing violin and saw-blades had taken over her place in the band, and he was better, even if Susan hated to admit it. The summer spent at Unicorn Farm (even if she remembered it as a 4H summer course), her accident with following bed rest, and then work with and in the new shop had not left her much time for practise, and her play was rusty and not fluent. Lady Marion of course was a darling, as were Stellan and Jasper, the two brothers from abroad, but Susan felt ill at ease.
One evening after the shop had closed, Susan sat on a bench in the market square. Just sitting, not wanting to go home, eat dinner, do homework and go to bed. The early summer night was warm, the pearly sky beautiful, and she just sat there.
A bunch of people, she knew a little from school passed by and sat themselves down on the neighbouring benches. They talked a bit, agonizing over school, work and life in general.
The others rose to go somewhere, and Mike said: "Come with us, Susan., We're going to have a beer and play some pool at The Dipper."
"I'm not very good at pool," Susan protested, "and I don't like beer."
"You do not have to drink any, if you don't like it. They serve soft drinks as well, and we're not better at pool than you are, I'm sure," he insisted.
Susan rose from the bench and went with them to The Dipper. It was one of the more dingy places in town; an arched gateway led from the street through the house to a cobbled yard where rickety tables and flowers in old oil cans stood invitingly in the dusk. Quite a few customers sat by the tables, hugging glass mugs with amber contents. Susan followed in the wake of the others and was met by the overwhelming, but somehow comforting smell of stale smoke, beer and human bodies.
They placed their orders at a bar, Susan went for a chocolate milk, and earned no strange stares, which pleased her immensely. The bottles of liquor were neatly stacked in pigeon holes behind the counter, where you would expect a mirror.
They paid and continued up the stairs and tackled the pool table. To her own surprise, Susan was not bad at it. She had of course had some practise at the pool table in the attic, but this bunch used to play almost every night. As the evening wore on, and the others drank more beer, Susan became better and better in comparison, and actually had fun beating them at the game.
When she returned home, her parents had gone to bed and put a note on the door. "Please be quiet!" She tiptoed in, brushed her teeth and slept from her alarm clock next morning.
Mum came in and woke her up: "Where did you spend last night, young lady?" she asked sternly.
Susan answered truthfully that she had been playing pool with a bunch of her schoolmates.
"Did you drink?" Mum asked, sniffing suspiciously.
"Nope," Susan said. "You know, I don't like beer, and I'm not allowed to buy liquor, and even if I was, it's too expensive. I drank chocolate milk, lots of them actually, as all the others drank beer, and kept on losing. I only paid for two of them myself."
Mum smiled. "You're a smart girl, Susan. Keep it that way, but don't come home this late every evening."
"I won't," Susan promised. "It's not nice being this tired in the morning."
Do you think Susan is going to keep her promise?
To be continued ...
mandag den 7. juni 2021
Poetry Monday :: Best Friends
If you want to read some good poetry today you got to head elsewhere. To
- Diane - who has taken over the hosting of this challenge
- and Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings (who also supplies us with topics)
They are both writing wonderful, funny, thought-provoking, ingenious and honestly well written verse. Go and read.
- Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises to join in at least once a month - maybe that's today!
- SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
- Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is taking a break due to her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read the poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
So many good rhymes about friends, best friends and forever. I do not think I can add something to this. But I'll just have to give it a try. It's Monday, Poetry Monday, so here we go:
We're friends, best friends for evermore
When we're together, life's no bore.
Together we do every chore,
And then we frolic on the shore.
We're friends, best friends just you and me
Together we climb hills and tree.
And if it's drunk with you. The tea
Goes down with utmost, perfect glee.
We're friends best friends, we'll never part,
Without you -- oh don't let me start.
Without you life's a tasteless tart,
I fear I'd lose my strength of heart.
We're friends best friends, will always be
I'm there for you and you for me.
In time we migth be more -- first three.
Together we will find the key.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Topics coming up:
Monkey Around Day (June 14)
Fathers (June 21)
Bubbles (June 28)
- Diane - who has taken over the hosting of this challenge
- and Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings (who also supplies us with topics)
They are both writing wonderful, funny, thought-provoking, ingenious and honestly well written verse. Go and read.
- Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises to join in at least once a month - maybe that's today!
- SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
- Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is taking a break due to her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way.
I have something more to ask of you: If you read the poetry of others, would you please leave a comment. Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.
So many good rhymes about friends, best friends and forever. I do not think I can add something to this. But I'll just have to give it a try. It's Monday, Poetry Monday, so here we go:
We're friends, best friends for evermore
When we're together, life's no bore.
Together we do every chore,
And then we frolic on the shore.
We're friends, best friends just you and me
Together we climb hills and tree.
And if it's drunk with you. The tea
Goes down with utmost, perfect glee.
We're friends best friends, we'll never part,
Without you -- oh don't let me start.
Without you life's a tasteless tart,
I fear I'd lose my strength of heart.
We're friends best friends, will always be
I'm there for you and you for me.
In time we migth be more -- first three.
Together we will find the key.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Topics coming up:
Monkey Around Day (June 14)
Fathers (June 21)
Bubbles (June 28)
søndag den 6. juni 2021
Sunday Selections - Trees and Flowers
This Sunday I want to show photos from my garden. This is a meme, but I'll let River do the presentation:
Long, long ago, in days of yore...Kim of Frog ponds Rock, (who no longer blogs), dreamed up a meme called Sunday Selections. A place where those who were willing could put up photos they wanted to share, new, old, good, bad or indifferent, any photos you please. Nothing rude or vulgar though. And we don't mind at all if overseas bloggers care to join us. The meme is now continued by Elephant's Child and I occasionally join in as do a few others. Andrew is one. Messymimi is another. Drop in to Elephant's Child and have a look.For today - and yes it is still Sunday here in my little corner of the world - I have two series. The first one is trees with other things growing on or inside them:
Old apple tree with an ash tree growing from a hole in a branch - I suspect the woodpecker of leaving a seed up there.
Plum tree with a dandelion growing where two brances meet. It needed no help getting there.
Old walnut tree (felled because of a disease) now home to a sunflower. This time the prime suspect is a tit or a blue tit bringing a seed here from our bird feeder.
The second series is: White, or almost white, flowers. Linking up with Life in Colour. This months colour is white/silver
Sloe flowers - not in my garden, but very close to where I live.
Rhododendron from my front garden
Ramsons growing in my herbal bed.
Columbines. I grow them for dye, but I never tried the white ones.
Some kind of daisy with inhabitant.
lørdag den 5. juni 2021
Words for Wednesday - June 2 - 2 part
This June the Words for Wednesday are at River's blog Drifting Through Life. For June 2 we were given:
1.shindig
2.hootenanny
3.shemozzle
4.heiress
5.banana
6.barricade
and/or:
1.light
2. tough
3.coffee
4.nightmare
5. curved
6.Christmas
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue my story. Here's the next part. It is a bit rough, but well .. and it ends abruptly. I promise more, maybe with the new prompts, maybe using the last two.
After almost a month of hard work, the shop was nearly finished. The Saturday before the opening, they worked hard to finish everything, and in the evening they had a meeting with people from similar shops all over Zealand. The meeting consisted of a pep-talk, practical instructions, showing of a new movie and a general discussion. It took place in Copenhagen. Susan slept through the most of the movie, and over the coffee during the break she realized that the cookies and coffee she was eating, was the first she had been eating since breakfast. No wonder she felt weak. Cookies was a sad excuse for dinner.
Friday they held a grand parade through the pedestrian streets of the town. The parade was duly announced to, and approved by the local police, but halfway through, they found their way barricaded by the girls' marching band. Of course they retreated, plastering themselves to the walls and stopped playing and singing.
The opening next day turned into somewhat of a schemozzle. Costumers came in great numbers, flooding the small shop, almost fighting over the clothes and bric-a-brac for sale.
Susan was not old enough to be behind the counter, legal age of 18 was a requirement to handle money, but she showed people around, filled the shelves and prevented shop lifting. This was a necessary job, as middle aged women circulated in organized groups, distracting the personnel and pilfering small, but expensive objects.
After the first day, the shop had netted about the sum, they had expected from the first month. It had been one of the subjects on the meeting in Copenhagen whether to register to pay some kind of tax, but as none of the existing shops were compelled to register, their shop had not registered either. This registration required sales for a rather large amount of money, and was a nightmare of paperwork, so nobody wanted to do it unless forced to it. But nonetheless their shop was forced to do so within 3 months.
Susan was in the shop almost every afternoon. She hung dresses on hangers, placed shoes in the window, nicely lined up, and almost every day after closing time she went to the post office with the day's income. She was not old enough to receive money and give back change to the customers, but nobody had second thoughts trusting her with lots of money in the half-empty streets. She sometimes pretended all the money was her own, that she was the heiress to a fortune, but those dreams never lasted long.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
and/or:
1.
2. tough
3.
4.
5. curved
6.
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
I promised to continue my story. Here's the next part. It is a bit rough, but well .. and it ends abruptly. I promise more, maybe with the new prompts, maybe using the last two.
After almost a month of hard work, the shop was nearly finished. The Saturday before the opening, they worked hard to finish everything, and in the evening they had a meeting with people from similar shops all over Zealand. The meeting consisted of a pep-talk, practical instructions, showing of a new movie and a general discussion. It took place in Copenhagen. Susan slept through the most of the movie, and over the coffee during the break she realized that the cookies and coffee she was eating, was the first she had been eating since breakfast. No wonder she felt weak. Cookies was a sad excuse for dinner.
Friday they held a grand parade through the pedestrian streets of the town. The parade was duly announced to, and approved by the local police, but halfway through, they found their way barricaded by the girls' marching band. Of course they retreated, plastering themselves to the walls and stopped playing and singing.
The opening next day turned into somewhat of a schemozzle. Costumers came in great numbers, flooding the small shop, almost fighting over the clothes and bric-a-brac for sale.
Susan was not old enough to be behind the counter, legal age of 18 was a requirement to handle money, but she showed people around, filled the shelves and prevented shop lifting. This was a necessary job, as middle aged women circulated in organized groups, distracting the personnel and pilfering small, but expensive objects.
After the first day, the shop had netted about the sum, they had expected from the first month. It had been one of the subjects on the meeting in Copenhagen whether to register to pay some kind of tax, but as none of the existing shops were compelled to register, their shop had not registered either. This registration required sales for a rather large amount of money, and was a nightmare of paperwork, so nobody wanted to do it unless forced to it. But nonetheless their shop was forced to do so within 3 months.
Susan was in the shop almost every afternoon. She hung dresses on hangers, placed shoes in the window, nicely lined up, and almost every day after closing time she went to the post office with the day's income. She was not old enough to receive money and give back change to the customers, but nobody had second thoughts trusting her with lots of money in the half-empty streets. She sometimes pretended all the money was her own, that she was the heiress to a fortune, but those dreams never lasted long.
to be continued ...
onsdag den 2. juni 2021
Words for Wednesday - June 2
This June the Words for Wednesday are at River's blog Drifting Through Life. For today we were given:
1. shindig
2.hootenanny
3. shemozzle
4. heiress
5.banana
6. barricade
and/or:
1.light
2. tough
3. coffee
4. nightmare
5. curved
6.Christmas
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
Did you ever wonder what became of Susan after the magic had ended? It's not a very uplifting or even nice story. But today's prompts compels me to tell a bit of it.
This is a loose continuation of The End.
It is a short text only, the sun is shining the weeds are over GardenOwl's ears. And as I have used only a couple of the prompts, I promise to continue the tale ... or would you prefer a long story later in the week?
"Mom," Susan asked one morning in late Autumn. "After that accident of mine, did you ever call the summer school and tell what happened?"
"I was afraid you would ask. On the other hand it is a sign that your memory is returning. I tried. But I could not find the papers, they were probably left behind in the summerhouse, and aunt Dina has thrown them away in one of her cleaning fits. But wasn't it almost over?"
"I don't remember when it was supposed to end or when that would have been in relation to my accident. I just remember looking forward to going there again."
"I'll try some more searching," Mum promised, "it would be nicd if you could contact some of your friends from that course, as you can't go there any more. We do not have a place to stay down there any more, now Dina and Kurt sold their summerhouse."
"I'll look in my hideouts as well," Susan said. "Maybe this afternoon, when I've had a nap."
After Christmas Susan began feeling herself again. January was an unusually dreary month, rain, cloudy and murky. Susan began playing her guitar again, she even took an extracurricular course in guitar music. The teacher was a guy who said he had been playing with the musicians from the Hootenanny Singers back in the 60es. Susan did not quite believe him.
Last Summer's too busy days had taught her not to become involved with playing at shindigs, openings or anything of that sort. But soon she became involved in a group aiming to open a second hand shop. Playing and working hard for a good cause was something Susan could get involved in ... and she did.
In Spring the group found the right place. An old green grocer's off the main street of the city. It had been unoccupied for quite a while, and was in need of much work to be useable again.
Every morning Susan dragged herself from sleep, swallowed a cup of tea and bread with honey, biked to school, and from there down to the shop, where she painted, drilled, swept, polished, hung up lights, and so on. Many days she biked home, grabbed a banana and some tools, they were missing, and went back to the shop to work until darkness fell. Homework were made by night or not at all.
2.
3. shemozzle
4. heiress
5.
6. barricade
and/or:
1.
2. tough
3. coffee
4. nightmare
5. curved
6.
Remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please place a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.
Did you ever wonder what became of Susan after the magic had ended? It's not a very uplifting or even nice story. But today's prompts compels me to tell a bit of it.
This is a loose continuation of The End.
"Mom," Susan asked one morning in late Autumn. "After that accident of mine, did you ever call the summer school and tell what happened?"
"I was afraid you would ask. On the other hand it is a sign that your memory is returning. I tried. But I could not find the papers, they were probably left behind in the summerhouse, and aunt Dina has thrown them away in one of her cleaning fits. But wasn't it almost over?"
"I don't remember when it was supposed to end or when that would have been in relation to my accident. I just remember looking forward to going there again."
"I'll try some more searching," Mum promised, "it would be nicd if you could contact some of your friends from that course, as you can't go there any more. We do not have a place to stay down there any more, now Dina and Kurt sold their summerhouse."
"I'll look in my hideouts as well," Susan said. "Maybe this afternoon, when I've had a nap."
After Christmas Susan began feeling herself again. January was an unusually dreary month, rain, cloudy and murky. Susan began playing her guitar again, she even took an extracurricular course in guitar music. The teacher was a guy who said he had been playing with the musicians from the Hootenanny Singers back in the 60es. Susan did not quite believe him.
Last Summer's too busy days had taught her not to become involved with playing at shindigs, openings or anything of that sort. But soon she became involved in a group aiming to open a second hand shop. Playing and working hard for a good cause was something Susan could get involved in ... and she did.
In Spring the group found the right place. An old green grocer's off the main street of the city. It had been unoccupied for quite a while, and was in need of much work to be useable again.
Every morning Susan dragged herself from sleep, swallowed a cup of tea and bread with honey, biked to school, and from there down to the shop, where she painted, drilled, swept, polished, hung up lights, and so on. Many days she biked home, grabbed a banana and some tools, they were missing, and went back to the shop to work until darkness fell. Homework were made by night or not at all.
to be continued ...