Kontantbevægelsen "Kontanter eller Kontrol"

A Danish-only rant. Asking people to go on using cash as the banks and so on are trying to abolish those - in order to make payment, cheaper, safer and more controllable. Also a rant on forced digitalisation.

-- 👁 --

 Vi opfordres til at bruge kortbetaling af bankerne. Fordi der er billigere, sikrere og mindre udsat for tyveri. Men tænk på alle de ting, der er afhængige af kontanter, eller vel snarere af mangel på kontrol.

Vil vi fortsat have
- loppemarkeder?
- stalddørssalg?
- børn, der køber blandet slik?
- muligheden for at stikke naboen en tyver for en bakke jordbær?
- muligheden for at give penge til et formål, vi ikke nødvendigvis vil have alle ved, vi støtter?
- lov til at købe det, vi har lyst til i butikkerne?
- og mange andre ting.
Så er det nu, vi skal bruge vores kontanter.

-- 👁 --

    Det er nemlig sådan, at alle de penge, der går ud og ind af vores konti via et kort eller MobilePay kan spores. Man kan se, hvem vi har overført penge til, og hvem der har overført penge til os; man kan se ikke kun hvor og hvornår, vi har købt ind, men også hvad vi har købt.
    Det giver måske god mening med digitale bon'er til dyre ting, hvor den digitale bon også gælder som garantibevis, men hvad med de daglige indkøb?

Kan I se, butikken ved, præcis hvad, jeg har købt. Det ville de ikke vide, hvis jeg havde brugt kontanter.

Får vi mon snart en SMS med for eksempel: "Du har købt for meget sødmælk, slik, smør, tobak, sprut, kød  ... eller for lidt grønt, bønner, mejeriprodukter, kartofler,  Fair Trade, nøglehulsmærket, dansk  ... "
Ligesom vi får den der med: "Pas på oversvønmmelser og tjek dine tagrender, det bliver snart regnvejr!"

    Hvad med alle små-indtægter fra salg af ting på den blå avis, til naboen, på markedet ... tror I de bliver ved med at undslippe beskatning?
    Principielt er alt skattepligtigt fra den først tjente krone. og jeg ved 100 % at jeg ikke står på markedet med mine hjemmelavede ting, mine overskydende bær og så videre, i det øjeblik, det bliver beskattet. Så skal jeg til at bevise mine udgifter, føre regnskab osv. Det vil sige en mangedobling af bøvlet og en halvering af indtægten.
    Det er ikke en utopi. Banken har allerede en gang spurgt, om jeg ikke havde så mange små indtægter, at jeg burde overveje en erhvervs-MobilePay. Sådan én koster naturligvis penge - og giver nok også oplysningerne videre til skattefar ...

-- 👁 -- 🕵 -- 👁 --

Noget lidt andet er, at vi jo bliver overvåget. Vi behøver ikke microchips fra corona-vaccinen til at holde øje med os 😉 nææh, det klarer vi udmærket selv i forvejen.
    Her tænker jeg ikke på de overvågningskameraer, der bliver stadigt flere af, nej jeg tænker på vores mobiltelefoner, hvor vi logger ind på instagram, facebook, snapchat og så videre, lægger billeder op, deler vore oplevelser og fortæller hvor vi er. Jeg tænker på Rejsekortet, Dankortet, GPS'en i bilen ... 
    Hvis nogen vil vide hvor vi er, eller har været, er det superlet at finde ud af.

     Det minder mig pludselig om en novelle vi læste i skolen: Du fährst zu oft nach Heidelberg af Heirich Böll. (Handlingsreferat fra Wikipedia: Helten, der ellers er eksemplarisk i enhver henseende, ville være ustoppelig i sin professionelle karriere, hvis han ikke lige havde en svaghed. Han rejser for ofte til Heidelberg og tager sig af eksil-chilenere på universitetet der). 

     Så er der al tvangs-digitaliseringen, og det deraf følgende faldende serviceniveau i samfundet, for eksempel på den offentlige transport - men det er en helt anden historie ... eller er det?

-- 👁 --

Og nu jeg fik skrevet alt det her og endelig skulle til at trykke på "Udgiv" så fandt jeg både Bevar Kontanter og Analogiseringsstyrelsen  De siger det samme, bare bedre og mere velunderbygget!

Poetry Monday :: Monsters

If you want to read some more, and better  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 slowly returning to blogging after her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way. And dare we hope that she will join Poetry Monday again.

-- 👾 -- 👻 -- 👽 -- 👿 -- 

This Mondays topic is Monsters. Have you taken a peep under your bed recently?

Monsters big and monsters small
Live under my bed and scare us all!
A scull, an alien and an imp
Walks with a lisp, talks with a limp.

Monsters big and monsters small
At least you must admire their gall
Ogre, gremlin, screaming man
Run away while you still can!

Monsters small and monsters big
Bald one with a purple wig,
Masks from countries far away:
I wish at home that they'd stay.

Monsters small and monsters big
Winged kittens, snouted pig.
If an arm or toe stick out
They'll sniff it with their purple snout.

Monsters big and monsters small
They will prance and climb and crawl
From the shadows underneath
Armed with fang and claw and teeth

Monsters big and monsters small
Will devour me, bed and all
And when soon a new day dawns
Mum  regrets what she has done.

Monsters big and monsters small
Only light can scare them all.
Mummy made me turn it out
Soon I'll be no more about.


--  👺  --  👤  --  👹  --

Upcoming topics:
Shoes (September 6) From Mimi
Defy Superstition Day (September 13) Also from Mimi
Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another from Mimi

WfW August 25 -- The Second Set of Words.

I still have the last set of  five words left over form the Words for Wednesday. They are:

    Strident
    Copious
    Salient
    Temerity
    Euphemism

And I had an idea. How far do you have to read before you recognize this story?


Mom''s voice was turning strident: "Susan! How many times have I told you not to let that rabbit out of the cage?"

"I did not let him out, Mom," Susan answered. I think the lock is getting worn, he just escaped." Susan grasped a carrot and went down on both knees beside the sofa: "Come out here, Rabbity-dear," She sang softly. "I have copious amounts of carrots, but you're not getting any if you do not get out now."

Susan's dad came into the living room. "Lilly," he said, "it's time to leave, the two boys are already standing ready at the door, they can't get to my mother's new place soon enough."

"We can't leave now," Lilly answered, "Susan has let the rabbit loose, or maybe the lock was worn, anyhow. The salient point is, that the dastardly rabbit sits under the sofa, and we can't leave until Susan gets him back into his cage again." Lilly looked at Susan kneeling at the couch, "And she's trying to reason with the rabbit once again. It'll take all day I fear. May I have the temerity to suggest that you go ahead with Sam and Ben in your car, then I and Susan follow later, when the rabbit is once again behind bars?" Lilly continued.

"Saying that this is a splendid solution might be an euphemism," Henning said, "but given the circumstances it's probably the best we can do." He gave Lilly a sound hug and a kiss, and patted Susan's head. "Do catch that naughty rabbit fast, Susan. Grandmother wants to see all of us."

"I want to see her and her new house, and granddad too, Susan said, "But Rabbity has to be safe. I'd hate if something happened to him while we were away." Dad nodded and hurried out of the door, they could all hear Ben and Sam quarrelling in the hallway.

"OK, Susan, you have an hour. If Rabbitty is not inside the cage we'll just have to leave him be. Do you need my help, or can I go and have an extra cup of coffee?" Susan's Mom asked.
"I'll holler if I need your help, Mom. Right now I just want to make him understand that if he does not get out, he'll get no carrots for a very long time!"

"Susan," Lilly said while shaking her head. "Rabbitty is a smart and sweet rabbit, but he does not understand what you say, it's no use pretending. But I'll leave you to it. Good luck!" Susan's Mom left the door slightly ajar. Not enough for a rabbit to get through, but enough for her to hear Susan should she call for help.

"You do understand me, don't you, Rabbitty?" Susan asked softly. She could see the rabbit under the couch. Of course squarely in the middle, where even dad's long arms could not reach him. She opened the cage, and placed the biggest, crunchiest carrot inside it. "Now you listen, Rabbitty. Do you see that carrot in the cage? That's for you. And tomorrow you get another one, and the next day. Big, juicy crunchy carrots," she broke one with a sound to prove her promises, "but only if you get into that cage now. If I have to get the broom and make Mom sweep you out again, then no more carrots for a long, long time. Maybe forever." Susan held the carrot in her hand and extended her arm as far as it went under the couch. She felt the rabbit's resistance wavering. "Oh, come now ..." she said softly. " come Rabbitty, be a smart rabbit and have carrots, come into the cage, come now!" And slowly she pulled the carrot towards the cage, the rabbit's nose twitching and twisting at the tantalizing smell. Susan kept on moving the carrot and the rabbit followed along until it finally was inside the cage. "Good Rabbitty, sweet  boy, Here's the carrot I promised you. Thank you for listening."

Susan closed the door, and carried the cage into the kitchen. "Mom, I got him!" she said. "Would you mind looking at the lock?"
Lilly twisted and turned the lock, but could not make it catch. "You're right,Susan, it's broken. Hold onto it while I get some steel wire to tie it shut."

***

If you have not found out, it is this chapter from Birch Manor, but seen from Little Susan's point of view.

Words for Wednesday 25 August

Today is Wednesday, and this means that David M Gascoigne has thought out some new, challenging words for us to use, or not. And as always they are published at  Elephant's Child's blog.
  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 leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.

This week's prompts are:
    Formidable
    Reticent
    Naturalist
    Hoity-toity
    Ego
    Combination
          And/or     Exude
    Strident
    Copious
    Salient
    Temerity
    Euphemism

Back to the Unicorn Farm and its taciturn gardener, Tom.

Tom was a formidable gardener and naturalist, but he was reticent in the extreme, and this aroused their curiosity. He always ate alone, as did the Nisser and a few other of the more exotic teachers on the Unicorn Farm. Yet he was not hoity-toity or easily insulted like the Nisser or the fauns. He did not have an overlarge ego either, like some of the human teachers. In short he was a bit of a riddle, and Heidi, My, Rósa, and Susan took it upon themselves to spy on Tom.
The first thing they did was to go to the kitchen and find Katla, the nice, youngish Icelandic Nisselady whom they had befriended during the Christmas party last year.
First Rósa asked for some kleinur, she was a great fan, which the other three thought a bit strange, as kleinur for them was something eaten only at Christmas time. While eating the kleinur Rósa and My as planned, began talking about their lessons in botany and the gardener, Tom. They stayed and talked, while  Katla prepared the trays for the beings not coming to the Barn for lunch. They noticed that each of the trays held a glass and a carafe of some beverage, ale, juice, water or wine, only Tom's tray held nothing drinkable.
Some days later Rósa went alone down there to beg more kleinur, as she did not want to do it every day. Still Tom's tray held nothing to drink, and furthermore no soup. Rósa went spying for more days, not every day, but nw and then, and this only confirmed the missing wet substances on Tom's tray.
Heidi and My went past the Greenhouse every morning, and Heidi and Susan every day on their way home.
They never saw Tom drinking, and he was very careful when watering the plants.
Susan sought out a reason for visiting Tom in the greenhouse, she asked for help with a written essay on the magical properties on some fruits. After this visit she met with My, Rósa and Heidi in Heidi's room.
Lis cane in while they were discussing, and after listening to them for only a short while, she turned to them: "I dare bet he's an efreet!" she said. "That is the only way a combination of all this is meaningful."
"Of course," Rósa said. "His name even gives him off. Tom is not his real name, as you sure know. He is Reynir-Röskvi Raudslogason. That means something like 'lively rowan, son of red flame'. Son of red flame? clearly an efreet! Now what?"
"Do we have to do anything about it?" Susan asked. "I mean except for not pouring water over him or similar pranks. Are we obliged to tell on him? What with Nisser in the kitchen and a Kelpie in the lake, I do not think that a son of an efreet is that bad."
That's because you're not wizard-born," Lis said. "We're taught that efreets want nothing more than to burn down all human habitations, and this is why we're not allowed to play with matches and such. So as not to inadvertently call an efreet to our house."
"We - that is non-wizards - are also discouraged from playing with matches," Susan said. "Only we're told stories about how a single match burned down a whole town. Maybe these stories are only to keep children and young ones from playing with fire?"
"You might be right," Lis said, which was a big thing coming from her lips. "And he has done nothing fiery in the years we have been here, and he really is a nice person, reticent and shy, maybe, but not a bad sort."

Here I ran out of steam ... and I only used the first half of the words. I hope for more inspiration.

Poetry Monday :: Wind

If you want to read some more, and better  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 leaves a nice verse in the comments over at Diane's place.

  Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is slowly returning to blogging after her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way. And dare we hope that she will join Poetry Monday again.

-- 🌬 -- 🍃 -- 🌬 --

This Mondays topic is Wind. In Danish we have a children's song about us not being able to see the wind, only what it does. I tried re-writing it in English.

Nobody can ever see the wind.
You can't see it, neither can your friend
But... when the mills are turning
And the leaves are churning
Everybody knows the wind is blowing.

Nobody can ever see the wind
Nobody can even get a glint.
But ... when the waves are foamy
And the sea is stormy
Everybody knows the wind is blowing.

Nobody can ever see the wind
No matter where you are or were or been.
But ... when the eaves are sighing
And the pennants flying,
Everybody knows the wind is blowing.

Nobody can ever see the wind
Noone can, not even your best friend
but when kites are flying
and the clothes are drying
Everybody knows the wind is blowing.


-- 🌬 -- 🍃 -- 🌬 --

Upcoming topics:
Monsters (August 30)
Shoes (September 6) From Mimi
Defy Superstition Day (September 13) Also from Mimi
Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another from Mimi

Søndagsbilleder - Sunday Selections

I went for a trip to the woods. There I found these two, and some of their family. They were kindly asked home for dinner.

Cep, Boletus edulis

Terracotta hedgehog, Hydnum rufescens. 

Last Sunday we celebrated the Assumption of Virgin Mary. It was the right day for the benediction of a new statue in the rosary garden adjacent to the church.

World Photography Day

Today is World Photography Day. I cite from their site:

World Photography Day is an annual, worldwide celebration of the art, craft, science and history of photography. The next World Photography Day will take place on Thursday, August 19th, 2021. Be sure to share your best photos on social media and tag using #WorldPhotographyDay.

  I do not know if this is my "best" photo, but I like it.
  There's blue flowers, there's a bumble bee -- and I finally got a non blurry shot of those -- there's my home in the background.

Words for Wednesday - August 18

  Yes I know that I published a story of Susan and the adventures yesterday. But that was as a part of the Write - Edit - Publish Challenge. Today is Wednesday, and this means that David M Gascoigne has thought out some new, challenging words for us to use, or not. And as always they are published at  Elephant's Child's blog.
  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 leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.

This week's prompts are:
Blurry
Fig
Leading
Oversexed
Intolerable
Glacial
     And/or
Romantic
Dogmatic
Nebulous
Gum
Fodder
Deprecate

     I dropped oversexed as a word I did not want to use, Call me prudish if you like, but it does not belong at Unicorn Farm in my opinion.
  As is my wont, I took up the additional challenge of using them in the order they were given. 

Just before the bell tolled Gilvi came into the room. "Susan," he said, tuning to her. "You know how to get into the greenhouse, and you know how to talk to Tom. Would you mind running an errand for me?"
"I'll be pleased to," Susan said, remembering her former adventures with the taciturn Tom in the wondrous greenhouse.

The windows of the greenhouse were moist with water, and Susan could se blurry figures moving inside. She went to the door and knocked. She waited. Finally Tom opened the door.
"Yes?" he said.
And Susan stated her errand. "Gilvi sent me here. He needs a fig."
"A fig?" Tom said in an enquiring tone.
"Yes," Susan said. "Gilvi told me that you had told him that the figs were ripe, and he has need of one."
"Ahh!" Tom said. "Follow me!" and with Tom leading the way, they entered the greenhouse.
The heat hit Susan like a wave, rolling over her, and making sweat instantly spring from her skin. It was almost intolerable. "Why is it so hot in here?" Susan asked.
""It's not." Tom said, then he looked at the big thermometers on the wall showing the temperature in Celsius, Fahrenheit and Kelvin. "It is!" he said, looking worried. "The glacial blooms ..." he began to move quickly between the beds. "Come help me!"
Susan followed him. They stopped at the tiny cubicle where Tom slept, ate and lived, Behind the cubicle was a hatch in the floor, Tom opened it and climbed down the steaming, black hole Susan felt the heat rising from the open hatch and was afraid she was going to melt like a snowman if she got any hotter. Tom looked at her. "Use the spell, Susan!" he said.
'The spell' Susan thought to herself. She knew many spells. Ah of course, the fire-protecting one from the Easter fire. It would protect her from the heat of the furnace here as well. Quickly she drew her wand and cast the spell. In a second she felt wonderfully cool, comfortable even. She heard Tom's urgent voice raising in an inarticulate yell from the black maw and ran. She climbed down the steep ladder, thankful that the bottom was hidden in the mists below. When she reached the bottom, she ducked through a small arch and stopped.

There Tom stood, and in front of him was a nest full of creatures. Susan saw tails, claws, tiny and not so tiny maws spewing forth flames, golden bellies with orange and red splotches. Then it all fell into place. Fire-salamanders! Tom had been using fire-salamanders to heat the greenhouse, and had left them alone for too long. Given their romantic tendencies they had of course multiplied. And Tom, under the fire-proofing spell had not discovered until now.
He must be one mighty wizard, Susan realized. she could now, after long practise, barely keep up that spell for half an hour. Weeks, if not months must have passed for the salamanders to become that many. Tom grasped a bunch of the smaller salamanders and Susan did the same. They clawed and snapped after her fingers, but as their true defence was their fiery breath, they were quite harmless.
"Where do we put them?" Susan asked.
"Tom grasped a sack from a nearby peg. "Fill up this one. It's fireproofed. But as I'm not dogmatic in my readings, I'm rather nebulous as to the wherewithal of salamanders." Tom spoke.
Susan knew that when he spoke like this, in long sentences with fancy words, he felt at his depth. Susan felt the same. "What do they eat?" she asked, a ghost of a plan forming in her brain.
"They eat fire, and grow. If you feed them gum from the gum trees they shrink .. YES! That's it! That was the question to pose! Let's cut the problem down to size."
Susan and Tom hurriedly filled the sac with the smaller salamanders, leaving only the original two in the furnace.
"I'll bring your kids somewhere safe!" Tom said to the large Salamanders.  And with Susan trailing after him, he climbed the steep ladder with the squirming, smoking bag on his back. Susan hurried to the gum tree as soon as she was up again, and picked the oozing gum from the stem.
Tom sat on a boulder and using the gum blobs as fodder, he shrank all the salamanders down to normal lizard size.
"Normally I deplore harming these wondrous creatures," he said. "But the welfare of my plants must take priority." He had totally forgotten his normally taciturn behaviour. Tom tied the sac and proceeded to open the windows near a bed of greenish plants. Susan offered her help, but Tom waved her off. "Now you go and pick that fig, the tree is in the Southwest corner of the greenhouse. I'll go for a little trip to Vesuvius with those small ones now that they are shrunk to a more manageable size."
Susan saw all the thermometers sinking to normal temperature, and as her spell dropped, she wondered how Tom could have stood that heat for so long.

WEP - August 2021

This is my entry to the WEP challenge. The prompt this time was Freedom of Speech as in the badge

I continue a chapter of my never-ending fantasy story of Susan and her friends on the Nordic school of Magic, called The Unicorn Farm.

Gobblikek and Susan followed Heidi along a hedge of lovely smelling wild roses, Gobblikek turned his head to the water, and sniffed the salty spray as soon as the hedge ended. "Phew!" he said, "What a luck that this hedge does not extend all the way down to the hut. I surmise it is that hut situated down there you're thinking of, girl." Gobblikek pointed to a house between two low dunes.
"Yes, Gobblikek," Heidi said. "As far as I know nobody uses the hut any more. The ornithologists told us that it would be cheaper to build a new hut than to renovate this one. My father helped them empty the hut of their bits and pieces when they returned in the Spring and saw what had happened. They're building a new one near where the road is blocked now, and Daddy's helping them again."
"Ah! Them's what's clopping and sawing, scaring wildlife and Goblins alike!" Gobblikek said, once again turning a dark green.
"They'll be done soon,"  Heidi said. "Dad says. Monday or Tuesday at the latest."
Gobblikek drew a deep breath and turned his normal green again.
"Well," Heidi said, "if you move here, you will be out of earshot of the builders - and of most of the summerhouses on the island too."
Gobblikek looked sharply at her: "Smart girl you are. Let's have a look at that hut."
Inside the hut was sound. Walls and roof and windows looked good, the door could close all the way, and the windows could open. Only the floorboards that had soaked up the rainwater all winter, were twisted and warped.
"This I can live with," Gobblikek said with a smile. "But I have to bring the whole family here. Everyone from toddler to man and wife and even our parents have to agree. We Goblins are fierce in our stance for freedom of speech."
"Do you extend that freedom to human girls?" Susan asked, then put a hand over her mouth, scared by her own audacity.
"You are not so stupid, after all," Gobblikek eyed her sharply, turning a bit greener and then back to normal. "Actually we do. Humans, deer, merfolk, fairies, Nisser, unicorns, and of course we Goblins all have the same freedom."
Susan looked round in the hut: "Then I have to say that I'd love to live in this little hut, unfortunately I can't. And in this case I'd love to know that a Goblin family lived here. The hut feels so lonely."

Gobblikek turned his back, scratched his left ear and pulled his right in a twisting motion. A loud POOF! resounded from the walls and the hut was filled with Goblins.
"Listen!" Gobblikek said and continued in Gobbledegook. Susan and Heidi looked at one another. It was not nice to listen in. On the other hand they were afraid to stop the conversation, and they were curious too. For of course they understood Gobbledegook as well as Swedish, Finnish, Icelandic, Littoral and any other language under the sun as long as they were on Unicorn Island and under Gilvi's spell.
The smallest Goblin children soon became bored with the speaking of moving, noisy neighbours, mermaids, floorboards and so on, and began eyeing Heidi and Susan with curiosity. They sneaked closer and dared one another to touch the girls. The two girls smiled hesitantly at Goblinettes in varying states  of dishabille, and in the end a daring, small boy, if Goblins were endowed like humans, dared to touch Heidi's knee. She kept still, smiling at the brave little one, and soon enough Goblinettes swarmed the two girls while Gobblikek, his wife, and her parents and the older children all had had their say on the hut, its assets and the opposite.
The Goblinettes poked their knees, pulled gently at their hair and twisted and turned their dresses to inspect the fabric. Susan and Heidi had a hard time not smiling over all the stupid things the small ones said to one another. Susan took courage herself and patted one of the larger, and cleaner, of the children on his straggly head. Goblin hair was tough and springy to the touch, of a colour somewhere between jet black and deep green. Also their eyes were green, in all shades imaginable, from Gobblikek's seagreen eyes to his wife's emerald coloured, to the washed-out spring green of one of the girls, to the almost black of the brave boy that first touched Heidi.

Finally it seemed that the Goblins all agreed on moving into the hut. The argument that won the day was that the hut was so much larger then the hollow tree, that the grandparents could have their own room.
Gobblikek's wife hurriedly, if belatedly, called the small ones to order and gracefully bowed to the girls. "I'm Gallina! Please to meet you. And how says you two?" she asked in broken Danish.
Susan and Heidi looked at one another. Would their secret be betrayed? Susan drew a breath, clenched her hands and answered slowly: "Pleased to meet you Gallina, I'm Susan. And as I told Gobblikek before you came, I'd love to know that a Goblin family lived here. The hut feels so lonely." As Susan would have known, had she had just a few moments to herself, the words left her lips as normal Danish words. The Goblins had not been to the Farm this morning and received the spell. She sighed, relieved that their, well not a lie exactly, but deviousness, had not been unveiled.
Gallina said: "You're generous girls. This hut is good for Goblins. We would like to live here."

As the girls departed, Gobblikek looked sharply at them: "Later we will cast a spell on this hut," he said, "not unlike the one you have on the Unicorn Farm, to make it unattractive to anyone else. But I think you two will always see the hut as it is. At least I'll try."


Word count 995. Full critique applicable. And as I'm not a native speaker, corrections to my spelling and word usage are more than welcome.

D... New Blogger up to Tricks.

It is bad enough that Blogger -- permanently? -- removed the quick-edit shortcuts from our blogs.

Some also has had their reading lists wandering off. Some has to eternally click Show all or Expand to see the whole list.

💔

Now Blogger has found a new, ingenious way of making blogging harder, requiring more clicks, nerves of steel, and loads of patience.

Whether I edit an existing post, or create a new post, it now opens in HTML mode.

And furthermore, When I --  of course using TWO clicks -- want to switch to Text mode, I get a warning that there's something wrong with my codes and I might loose part of my post - this is not happening, it's a false warning.

Why are you doing all this to us, D... New Blogger?


And still bloggers under 18 years of age will have their blogs taken down as of September 1st.

Blogger? ... Hello? ... What's happening?

Share and Warn - Blogger at it again!

If you know any bloggers under 18, this is relevant. Please share with communities, friends and family.

Det betyder på dansk, at alle bloggere under 18 mister blogadresse og blogindhold den 1. september. Del, fortæl om det og tag en back-up af jeres blog!

Poetry Monday :: Tell a Joke

 If you want to read some more, and better  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 slowly returning to blogging after her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way. And dare we hope that she will join Poetry Monday again.


This Mondays topic is Tell a Joke. That's a tall order, telling a joke and rhyming. But you've all got to bear with me while I fumble through this one.

By night you hear coyotes howl,
But never during days.
Why is it? Ask the wise old owl,
And hear well what it says.

By day the sun is shining bright,
The coyotes beware.
But coyotes, by weak moon light,
Don't see the cacti, dear.

That's all folks!

-- ·· -- ·· -- ·· -- ·· --

Upcoming topics:
Wind (August 23)
Monsters (August 30)
Shoes (September 6) From Mimi
Defy Superstition Day (September 13) Also from Mimi
Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another Mimi

Using Wednesdays Words

David M Gascoigne had given us the following 10 words (published at Elephant's Child):

Aghast
Snivel
Beautiful
Magnanimous
Frogmarch
Spoonfeed
     And/or
Shoulder
Knot
Frenzy
Wicket
Wriggle
Visible

Finally a story surfaced in my brain. Pretty sure it's happening a winter's day at the Unicorn Farm, but also pretty sure it won't make its way into my book.

With a knot in her stomach Susan pushed at the wicket gate. Nothing happened, it would not budge. She set her shoulder to the top of it, and gave it another shove. Nothing. In her frenzy she had forgotten to turn the key. now it gave a wriggle and screamed at her with its tiny voice. Susan relaxed visibly, drew a short, but calming breath, turned the key and opened the gate. She was aghast  at the contrast as she closed the door behind her, no more devastation, no more snow, but a landscape so beautiful it seemed like a magnanimous god had poured all his joy over this small corner of the world. She locked the gate after her, still hearing the ghasts snivel on the other side of it. But she had escaped. And soon, soon she would find Thora and Gilvi. And together they would return and frogmarsh those dreadful things back to the darkness from whence they came.
Missing "spoonfed" which did not fit in

Words for Wednesday - No Story

  Once again Wednesday has come and gone without me writing a story. It's not because I do not know what I want to write, the story is inside my head. It's not because the words are uninspiring - this week  David M Gascoigne has given us the following 10 words (published at Elephant's Child):

Aghast
Snivel
Beautiful
Magnanimous
Frogmarch
Spoonfeed
     And/or
Shoulder
Knot
Frenzy
Wicket
Wriggle
Visible

If those words are not inspiring, I don't know what is.
  But still - every time I begin writing, I can't find the words to describe what I want to say. I keep on hoping that tomorrow ...
  I am still hoping, and maybe tomorrow will be the day. Until then, go to Elephant's Child's blog and read all the good stories everybody else have written.

Hunting for red -- Jagten på Rødt

Når man plantefarver, er der nogen farver det er sværere at få end andre. Underligt nok er det svært at farve grønt og rødt. For flere år siden fandt jeg en kilde til lysende grønt, tagrørsblomster, og senere også stokroser og røde hasselblade til de mørkere grønne. Men rødt? Rødt var stadig et problem. Mit bedte bud var hestekastanjeskaller, men det lykkedes kun ind i mellem. Så fandt jeg skønhedsøjer, der rent faktisk gav rødt, Der er bare det problem, at dræbersneglene æder de nye planter. Og så forleden dag på indkøb, fandt jeg en staude-coreopsis. En stor flot én. Og den farvede nydeligt orange. Her har jeg brugt 30 blomster til en ottendedel fed garn (et helt fed er 100 g). Hvis jeg nu bruger lidt flere blomster bliver det nok rødt. Herligt

-- 🌸 --

When plant dyeing some colours are easier to get than other. Strangely two of the most difficultly obtained colours are green and red. Some years ago, I found a source of bright green. Reed flowers. And more recently Hollyhocks for dark, deep green. But red? My best try so far was chestnut husks, but it only worked sometimes. Now, some days ago I went shopping, and I found  a plant, a tickseed (Coreopsis), and not one I have to grow from seed every year like these, which the slugs unfortunately love to eat.  But a perennial tickseed. I used 30 flowers for one eighth of a skein (100 g). If I use more flowers, I think I'll get a decent red.

Linking to Jude's Life in Colour.

Blomstrer alligevel, igen -- More Defiant Flowerings

     Nogen gange gror blomster bare de særeste steder. Se nu her, hvad jeg så på hovedgaden i Helsinge:

-- 💪🌸 --

  Some times flowers choose the strangest places to grow. Look what I fould while shopping in Helsinge.

Defiantly flowering!

Words for Wednesday -- Finally

As I wrote in my "Still Alive" post it is David M. Gascoigne, who's supplying the words, but they are  posted on Elephant's Child's blog. For Wednesday the 4th, we were given:

Plumage
Sleek
Peripatetic
Agony
Permissive
Pray
     And/or
 Duty
Colourful
Absent
Mastery
Prey

I only used the first set, but took up the additional challenge to use them in the order they were given.


It was New Year's morning. Susan got up and walked with soft, silent steps to the window. She enjoyed the sight of the still almost new curtains. They were made of unbleached linen and sewn with sewing thread that shimmered in all the colours of the rainbow like a peacock's plumage. Susan called it her magic sewing thread, but unlike Susan herself, there was nothing magical about the sewing thread. She pulled back the curtains and looked out. The weather was in its very worst winter mood, grey, with heavy, low-hanging clouds and not a hint of sunshine. She faintly heard the bells tolling from the church in the nearby village and gave a small start. Knud!" she called softly. "It's time to get up. They're all coming today!"
    Knud opened his eyes and looked at her, blinking his eyes, "What time is it? Is it morning already, it's pitch dark."
    "It's seven o'clock, the bells are still tolling if you care to listen." She paused so Knud could listen. "And today is the first of January. They're all coming! Oh, it's so exciting. Who do you think will be the first to arrive?"
    Knud sat on the edge of the bed and put on his glasses. "Probably Fiona. Or maybe Frank and Freya. I wonder how little Thora is doing. It was great of them to name the little one after our old teacher.  I'm looking forward to seeing them all again, too."
    After they had eaten a hearty breakfast, Susan started the car to pick up Martine, who had moved into the village in a nice little house right next to the church actually.
    "Happy New Year, Martine, are you ready?" Susan said as Martine opened the door.
    "Happy New Year to you as well, Susan," Martine said, "Yes, I'm ready, more than ready!" she said, her normally sleek hair frizzy from exitement and her cheeks reddish.

 Back at Birch Manor, Knud had brewed several pints of coffee and set the cakes on the tables. Susan helped him bring the last chairs in from  the outhouse, while Martine filled many jugs with fresh, cold water.
     It was a good thing that they had decided to leave the old dining hall unchanged. Today was just what they needed.  Although it was still half dark outside, the room was bright and friendly. Light floorboards, white walls and bright linen curtains at the windows. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting an indirect but bright light over the tables. There were no tablecloths on the two long tables, but they were set with white, faintly patterned plates, steel knives and forks with a twisting pattern that was actually birch leaves, and polished, solid glasses. Clear glass water jugs and coffee pots of some whitish material with blue, yellow, red, green and black flowers on their thick stomachs completed the decor. The long tables had room for 50 each, and Susan just hoped that was enough.   
  Let me see," said Knud, whose thoughts had been wandering the same paths. "Eighteen apprentices minus Sarah makes seventeen. Six of us are married to each other, two are unmarried or widowed, that makes nine spouses, and then Martine and Ella. Seventeen plus nine plus two; 28 in all."
  Susan nodded, "Yes, and then a bit more than 40 children and their spouses and even more grandchildren. There's no way these two tables will suffice ..."
  "No, I don't think they will, and what's more I don't see what we can do about it. Apart from getting another long table, that is."
  "Well, let's see about that," Susan replied.
  "I'll get it - and use some magic," Knud said. "A table for 28 people. I think we can just put it on the second row down by the kitchen and we'll make a V.I.P. section," Knud said teasingly.
  "Oh, Knud, you know I hate that sort of thing," Susan said with a smile that showed she loved and knew her husband. "But just today it actually makes a lot of sense. I'll get the two tables to move over a bit."
Susan turned toward the tables, and slowly the two long tables moved farther toward the end. They walked quite carefully, not a drop of vant spilling from the pitchers and not a single glass or cup tipping over.
  "Oh, that's why you don't have tablecloths on the tables," said Martine, coming in with the very last of the pitchers.
  "Yes, the peripatetic magic is easier when there are no tablecloths to keep track of too. And Knud and I thought there wouldn't be enough room. Stay in the kitchen with those pitchers, the last table will be along shortly."

The wait was pure agony, but then they heard a car approaching. It wasn't Freja and Frank or Fiona who were the first to arrive, it was actually My who came driving up in front of the house with her three children and their spouses and a total of 5 grandchildren. One of the children had hired a minibus, and Knud laughed out loud at the sight of it: "Look, Susan, it's just like us, in the good old days. Good thing we fenced a large section of meadow off into a parking lot!" Still grinning, he went out to greet them and show the way.
  Fiona arrived a few seconds later, teleporting into the empty area behind the house that Susan and Knud had fenced off for that purpose. "My kids are coming along in their cars a bit later," she said when she had landed. "But I just had to try this. I'm a permissive witch, no need to tell me."
  "I've been wanting to try a teleport since I got my wand, but I  haven't dared trying yet!" Susan said, "you're not permissive, you're brave."

  The phone rang. It was Lis calling from Tage's house. Their car had broken down.
  "Do you think we can ask My's daughter to go and get them all in that minibus? It's not far," Knud said.
  "Pray do," Susan said. "The worst they can do is to say 'no'."

Poetry Monday :: Cats again

     I mandags skrev jeg om katte, hvor temaet faktisk var isbåde eller is-sandwiches. Jeg skriver ikke om is-sandwiches i dag heller, hvor temaet faktisk er katte. Ikke mindst fordi jeg aldrig har brudt mig om kikse-ting, hverken som slik eller i is.
     Til gengæld har jeg skrevet et ret deprimerende. men sandfærdigt digt om den eneste kat, jeg nogensinde har ejet.
     Jeg siger på forhånd undskyld til mine hårdtprøvede læsere.

--

  Last Monday I wrote about Cats instead of  Icecream sandwiches which was actually the theme.
  I am not going to write of ice cream sandwiches for several reasons. The last, but not least of these being my intense dislike for everything biscuity in my candy or icecream.
  The prompt for today is Cats, and I apologise in advance and ask my poor, strained readers to bear with me for a depressing, but truthful poem of the only cat, I ever owned.


I once had a cat
It was stupid as that,
It was inbred, and half blind and dumb,
It got caught between things
It got caught up in strings,
And its fur once was filled up with gum.

Oh but we loved that cat,
even stupid and that.
It had kittens alas with it's dad.
They were dumber than dumb
Even worse than their mum.
In the end they were put down as bad.

- - - - - - - - - -

Now let's hope for more positive and lighthearted poems next Monday as we tackle Tell a Joke

Upcoming topics:
Wind (August 23)
Monsters (August 30)
Shoes (September 6) From Mimi
Defy Superstition Day (September 13) Also from Mimi
Remembering 8-Tracks (September 20) Another Mimi

Still alive.

Hello! No, MotherOwl has not left the blogosphere, neither has she totally succumbed to the "man-flu" attacking the Owlery.
Thank you Elephants Child for shaking me awake.
But to try to forget the effects of said flu, MotherOwl has been burying herself in another world, the World of Warcraft. This guy, her in game persona did very much want the halo you see him proudly wearing here:

I Photoshopped the screenshot to hide his name, badly done, I know.

And to do this, he had to do some quite difficult things in the game, and get his butt to level 50 (of 70) to be able to get the halo from the ones handing it out. He was only level 44 when it all began, and I'm normally a very slow player. And he had to do all this before the end of today, when the Midsummer festival ends in game. Yes, I know, as do you, that midsummer was long ago, but in 2008, when this event went live for the first time, it coincided with the Olympics. And as they cannot be moved, the Midsummer celebrations were moved to once again coincide with the Olympics.

-- 🔥 --

And now to the Words for Wednesday. By David M. Gascoigne, but posted on Elephant's Child's blog, we were given:
Plumage
Sleek
Peripatetic
Agony
Permissive
Pray
     And/or
 Duty
Colourful
Absent
Mastery
Prey
Orchid

I was once again hit by a writer's blog, but this morning, I awoke with the ghost of an idea in my brain. Writing will happen.

Plantefarvning -- Plant Dye

På vejen hjem i fredags fandt jeg en sjov busk, som jeg ville prøve at plantefarve med. Jeg fandt gryde frem, plukkede stokroser i haven, ribbede 3 syreplanter for deres frø og fandt et par nedfaldne valnødder på græsplænen. Uglemor og Skribenten var inderligt enige om at de skulle i farvegryden og IKKE blive til valnøddesnaps, som vi synes smager som der lugter hos en tandlæge. Bare nej tak.

-- 🍂 --

  On my way home this Friday I found a funny bush. I wanted to try some of the leaves for plant dyeing. Sunday I found glasses, wool, my wonderful pot, and went for a walk in the garden where I picked hollyhocks, red and white, I found some walnuts that had fallen in the storm, and the Writer and I agreed that they were so not going to be made into walnut gin, as we find it tastes like a visit to the dentists. Into the dyepot they went. And then three stalks of sorrel seeds, nice and ripe. They were put into glasses with 0, 2 or 4 teaspoons of washing soda, to alter the pH of the dye bath. 

   Her er et billede af de tre glas syrefrø: fire teskefulde soda, to teskefulde soda og ingen soda. Forskellen er tydelig.

--

4 teaspoons, 3 teaspoons and 0 teaspoons of baking soda. The difference is clearly visible.

Gryden efter en time. Glasset i midten indeholder valnødder. Det sker ofte, at garn, farvet med friske valnødder, har en grønlig farve eller skær, når det lige tages op af gryden. Det forsvinder senere, og jeg gætter på det skyldes at garnet iltes.

--

The pot after one hour - clockwise from bottom left: Dark hollyhocks, white hollyhocks, sorrel with 4 tspn soda, sorrel with 2 tspn soda, and sorrel without soda. In the middle walnuts.
It happens often, mostly with fresh walnuts, that the yarn takes on a greenish tinge when taken from the pot. This colour always turns brow or black later - I guess oxidation.

-- 🌱 🍂 --

     Kan I se, hvad jeg har glemt?
     Ja, de blade, jeg ville teste, de ligger stadig på mit skrivebord - Øv, sådan går det, når man er forkølet (og nej, det er ikke Corona, børnene fik det af nogen, de var sammen med, og alle er testet negative. Og vi er alle færdigvaccinerede, undtagen Piraten, der får sidste skud på lørdag).  Vi farver igen i morgen.

  Do you see, what I forgot? 
  Yes, the red leaves, I was going to try out. This is what happens, when you're having a cold (and no, it's not Corona. My children who gave it to me, and their friends who gave it to them, have all been tested negative. And we're all done with our vaccinations except the youngest). We dye again tomorrow.

De fine, røde blade.
--
The pretty, red leaves.

Og næste morgen hev jeg garnet op af gryden. Det så sådan her ud:

--

And next morning I pulled the yarn from the pot. It looked like this:

De grønne områder vil langsomt blive brune ligesom resten af det valnøddefarvede. De to syrefrø-portioner med 0 or 2 teskefulde soda er ikke blevet særligt spændende, og det med 4 teskefulde er blevet citrongult. Jeg havde forventet orange. De to kedelige partier bliver nok overfarvet.

---

The green parts will slowly turn brown like the rest of the walnut dyed yarn. And the two glasses with sorrel seeds and none or 2 teaspoons of soda yielded a very drab colour. The one with four teaspoons soda gave the lemon yellow, I expected orange. Some kind of over dyeing will happen.

Poetry Monday :: Cats - Halfdan Rasmussen

Ups jeg har taget fejl, Tak til Messymimi for at gøre mig opmærksom på det. Dagens tema er faktisk isbåde eller is-sadwiches. Jeg laver altså ikke om på dette her; ikke mindst fordi jeg aldrig har brudt mig om kikse-ting, hverken som slik eller i is.

--

Oops. Today's theme was not cats, but Icecream sandwiches. Thanks to MessyMimi for telling me.
I am not going to make a new post for several reasons. The last, but not least of these being my intense dislike for everything biscuity in my candy or icecream.

-- 🍦 --

I torsdags fyldte Halfdan Rasmussen 106½ år. Er det nu noget at fejre? Måske ikke, man mandagens stikord er Cats - Katte, og de absolut eneste poetiske katte, der falder mig ind, er Halfdans Katte med kutter fra Halfdans børnerim, 1967.

Sikke et hus!
Mus i mit krus!
Rotter i potter
og katte med kutter
og fem hottentotter
der sidder og prutter!

  Det er et af de censurerede digte, som jeg har lovet mig selv at udgive ét af hvert år på hans  fødselsdag, 29. januar. Men i dag er jeg forkølet, sur og gnaven, og det regner, så og jeg trænger til lidt ordekvilibrisme til at fornøje og varme mig på.
  Han er i min optik en af de bedste, modigste og velskrivende digtere det danske sprog nogensinde har haft. Hvis du har lyst til at se mine gamle indlæg om ham og hans digte, er her et link: Halfdan Rasmussen  Og så skriver jeg nok så kategorisk, at jeg ikke vil oversætte hans digte til engelsk, men jeg har altså gjort det alligevel og vil fortsætte med at gøre det, dels fordi Google oversæt laver et makværk ud af hans ord, og dels fordi jeg skammede mig over at censurere mig selv, for som jeg skrev:

Denne censur gør mig ondt, dels fordi de ord, han brugte, dengang var neutrale ord for folk og folkeslag og det derfor burde være muligt at bringe dem - eventuelt med fodnoter eller et forklarende forord. Dels fordi slags amerikanske tilstande med fornærmelses-parathed og følsomheds-censur på andres vegne ikke burde forekomme - og da slet ikke ramme Halfdan Rasmussen, der faktisk var en stor og modig forkæmper for folk, frihed og menneskerettigheder og imod censur. Hans vers om Bødlen for eksempel burde være tvungen læsning for alle mennesker i hele verden.

-- 😼 --

Last Thursday marked the 106½ anniversary of the birth of Halfdan Rasmussen, my idol wherever poetry, word-smithing and so on is concerned. He was the greatest Dane ever! Maybe a past half years birthday is not a reason to celebrate, But this Monday's topic is Cats, and the absolutely only poetic cats entering my brain are some of his dressed in cowls (remade to hats for reason of rhyme) in the following poem.

Halfdan Rasmussen, børnerim (Rhymes for Children 1967)

Oh what a house!
In my mug there's a mouse!
Rats in pots
And cats in Hats.
And five Hottentots
who are farting a lot!

  This is actually one of his censored poems, I have promised to bring one of  on every birthday of his until I run out of poems. But today I'm having a cold, I'm feeling old and grumpy and it's raining. I need one of his equilibristic, light-hearted, yet serious verses to keep up my spirits.
  If you want to read my old post on this genius, please go here: Halfdan Rasmussen  In these posts, I declare never to translate any of the censored poems: I did so anyway, because I felt ashamed of being afraid!
  I'll cite myself from a birthday post:

  This censorship grieves me as Halfdan Rasmussen is truly a great fighter for freedom and equality, his pen wrote the Danish verse that was turned into Each Small Candle.
  The words he used, were the at that time neutral demonyms, and the verses should be included, maybe with a footnote or a preamble.

Actually I made a second version of this poem. Is it better or worse?

Oh what a house!
In my mug there's a mouse!
Rats in pots
And cats in cowls.
And five Hottentots
who sit and scowl!

Now shoot ◎←←↙

Sunday Selection -- Red Edition

     Dagens søndagsbilleder - som Elephant's Child heldigvis stadig lægger blog til på trods af blogger-bøvl og som også linker til Judes Colour21-udfordring - er et gensyn med en sjov funktion på mit kamera. Som jeg sagde da jeg bragte billedet første gang: "Hver gang jeg har set et billede som nedenstående, har jeg undret mig såre, hvordan er det dog lavet, har de møjsommeligt redigeret alt andet end den relevante farve væk ... sikke et slid, og et præcisionsarbejde. Så legede jeg med mit nye kamera, Se! der var en funktion, hvor man kunne nøjes med at have en farve "i farver"." 

- o 🔴 o -

Todays Sunday Selection -- luckily still hosted by Elephant's Child despite Blogger trouble, and also linking up with Jude's Colour21 challenge -- is a revisit of a fun setting on my kamera. As I wrote when first I discovered this setting: "Every time I have seen a photo like the one further down, I have been wondering (oh yes I wonder a lot). How is it done? Do people really sit down and remove all colour but the wanted one. Manually. What a time sink, and what extreme dexterity.
Then as I was fooling around with my new camera, I found a "3 colour setting". Aha! That's how it's done."

Se, man kan kun se de røde farver på det her billede, hvor sjovt!

-- 🔴 --

Look at this! Only the red things are in colour, what fun!

Billeder fra en vinterdag, hvor den røde hat på billedet blev brugt af en meget flygtig gæst:
-- 🔴 --
Photos from a winter's day, where the red hat was worn by a transient guest:

Og en smuk, rød kvædeblomst fra vores have:
-- 🔴 --
And a pretty red branch of quince flowers in our garden:

En smule mere leg, min uglekop set helt tæt på og kun med rødt.
-- 🔴 --
A bit more playing, my owl mug seen up close, and only in red.

Og en opstilling med vores yndlingskrydderi, shichimi tougarashi (japansk syvpeber)
-- 🔴 --
And a 'nature morte' with our favourite spice, shichimi tougarashi (Japanese seven peppers/spices).