Månedens farve for oktober 2023 er -- The colour of the month for October 2023 is
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.
fredag den 29. september 2023
onsdag den 27. september 2023
Words for Wednesday ~ September 27
Today is Wednesday. And this means Words for Wednesday!
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
Today's Words:
Frozen
Dollop
Crazy
Bazaar
Bizarre
Belt
and/or:
Boomerang
Gallon
Running
Newspaper
Calendar
Cakes
I used almost all from the first set (not Bazaar) in the order they were given. And I just continue my story of Susan and the burning Ghost house.
Susan was almost frozen long before the officer returned. She actually considered using her snow magic, as the officer in the driver's seat just sat dozing, But she decided against it. When the first officer finally retuned back the one behind the wheel sat up and asked for Susan's address and turned on the car. The flames were already dying down as they drove past the Ghost House.
At home Susan's parents had dinner ready for her. Cousin Anne had had her parents phone Susan's parents, so no scolding happened. And the praise from the policeman made Susan's cheeks fluster.
A big dollop of ice cream rounded off the dinner nicely.
Next morning Susan slept in. When finally she woke from her crazy dreams of ghosts, fires and labyrinthine houses, the weather had changed. It was cold no more and the fog pressed against the windows. She had been right yesterday had been the last skating day that winter.
She savoured her breakfast, steaming hot tea and honeyed toast. She had no plans for this Saturday, except cleaning and wiping down the skates and hanging them on their hook ready for next year. "Or rather," she thought, "ready to go to the used skate-shop in Helsingborg. My feet will have grown again, and I'll have to accept that I can no longer have a pair of nice, white figure skates, but will have to make do with a pair of black hockey ones. It's a bugger being this big." She cleared the table and then spread papers and brought materials for cleaning and polishing the skates. First she pulled out the long, white laces and gave them a good beating and shaking outside. After cleaning and polishing the blades, she tackled the protectors and put then into place and finally the boots proper. "Tomorrow," she said, as much to the skates as to herself, "Tomorrow the skates will have dried out, and I'll rethread the laces, and tie them into a nice, tight knot. And then, into the cellar you go until next winter," she said. "Thanks for the fun times."
Saturdays meant market, and Susan went there with her mother. It was not big today, and Mum met some of her lady friends and began exchanging news about friends and family. "Mom?" Mom looked at Susan, "I'll go down to the newspaper office and see if there's anything about the fire in today's paper." Mom nodded, and Susan left.
She walked quickly down to the newspaper office. Next to the steps and door leading into the office was a big window. Behind this, today's paper hung like so much laundry on strings fastened with pegs and Susan looked at the pages until she found the story at the bottom of page 13. No photos, only a short mentioning, which did not tell Susan anything she did not know, except for the street number of the Ghost house.
Susan had a bizarre itch to go and see the Ghost house once again.
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
-- 🇦 -- ⛸ -- 🇧 -- 📰 -- 🇨 --
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
Today's Words:
Frozen
Dollop
Crazy
Bazaar
Bizarre
Belt
and/or:
Boomerang
Gallon
Running
Newspaper
Calendar
Cakes
I used almost all from the first set (not Bazaar) in the order they were given. And I just continue my story of Susan and the burning Ghost house.
Susan was almost frozen long before the officer returned. She actually considered using her snow magic, as the officer in the driver's seat just sat dozing, But she decided against it. When the first officer finally retuned back the one behind the wheel sat up and asked for Susan's address and turned on the car. The flames were already dying down as they drove past the Ghost House.
At home Susan's parents had dinner ready for her. Cousin Anne had had her parents phone Susan's parents, so no scolding happened. And the praise from the policeman made Susan's cheeks fluster.
A big dollop of ice cream rounded off the dinner nicely.
Next morning Susan slept in. When finally she woke from her crazy dreams of ghosts, fires and labyrinthine houses, the weather had changed. It was cold no more and the fog pressed against the windows. She had been right yesterday had been the last skating day that winter.
She savoured her breakfast, steaming hot tea and honeyed toast. She had no plans for this Saturday, except cleaning and wiping down the skates and hanging them on their hook ready for next year. "Or rather," she thought, "ready to go to the used skate-shop in Helsingborg. My feet will have grown again, and I'll have to accept that I can no longer have a pair of nice, white figure skates, but will have to make do with a pair of black hockey ones. It's a bugger being this big." She cleared the table and then spread papers and brought materials for cleaning and polishing the skates. First she pulled out the long, white laces and gave them a good beating and shaking outside. After cleaning and polishing the blades, she tackled the protectors and put then into place and finally the boots proper. "Tomorrow," she said, as much to the skates as to herself, "Tomorrow the skates will have dried out, and I'll rethread the laces, and tie them into a nice, tight knot. And then, into the cellar you go until next winter," she said. "Thanks for the fun times."
Saturdays meant market, and Susan went there with her mother. It was not big today, and Mum met some of her lady friends and began exchanging news about friends and family. "Mom?" Mom looked at Susan, "I'll go down to the newspaper office and see if there's anything about the fire in today's paper." Mom nodded, and Susan left.
She walked quickly down to the newspaper office. Next to the steps and door leading into the office was a big window. Behind this, today's paper hung like so much laundry on strings fastened with pegs and Susan looked at the pages until she found the story at the bottom of page 13. No photos, only a short mentioning, which did not tell Susan anything she did not know, except for the street number of the Ghost house.
Susan had a bizarre itch to go and see the Ghost house once again.
... to be continued
mandag den 25. september 2023
Poetry Monday :: No Poetry Edition.
Poetry Monday er en udfordring, hvor Diane fra On the Border er vores vært.
Nok engang spænder mit elendige helbred ben for min deltagelse.
Men i hvert fald kan jeg da slå de konmmende stikord op.
Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border. And once again stupid health issues makes me unable to play.
I just post the Prompts for the coming Mondays:
Birthdays . . . . . October 2
Family . . . . . . October 9
Dictionary . . . . . October 16
Talk Shows . . . . . October 23
Mischief . . . . . October 30
Watermelon . . . . . November 6
Grandma's Kitchen . . . . . November 13
The Bus . . . . . November 20
A Pet's Life . . . . . November 27
Nok engang spænder mit elendige helbred ben for min deltagelse.
Men i hvert fald kan jeg da slå de konmmende stikord op.
-- 🖋 -- 😔 -- ✍ --
Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border. And once again stupid health issues makes me unable to play.
I just post the Prompts for the coming Mondays:
Birthdays . . . . . October 2
Family . . . . . . October 9
Dictionary . . . . . October 16
Talk Shows . . . . . October 23
Mischief . . . . . October 30
Watermelon . . . . . November 6
Grandma's Kitchen . . . . . November 13
The Bus . . . . . November 20
A Pet's Life . . . . . November 27
søndag den 24. september 2023
An Error! - Updated
This is happening a lot lately:
Elephant's Child's blog, but it happens everywhere. Sometimes I can solve it by copying my comment, refreshing the page (F5), pasting the comment and then publishing. But not always.
I have not disappeared, or turned away from commenting. Blogger simply won't let me!
Answering Jenny_o' and EC's comments with following words:
Stupid, stupid Blogger!
And then, after editing this post, I tried again, and bam, it published! I'm now pushing my luck, tryng to reply to all comments - which I have found is the cure against them being marked as spam.
Elephant's Child's blog, but it happens everywhere. Sometimes I can solve it by copying my comment, refreshing the page (F5), pasting the comment and then publishing. But not always.
I have not disappeared, or turned away from commenting. Blogger simply won't let me!
Answering Jenny_o' and EC's comments with following words:
"You're right. Changing browsers sometimes help If only it was the same browser doing the trick, I could just use that one, but it seems like it's the changing doing it :)"I tried following River's advice of just clicking until it published. Leading to a new error: You have reached the maximum number of comments allowed for one day - try again tomorrow.
Stupid, stupid Blogger!
And then, after editing this post, I tried again, and bam, it published! I'm now pushing my luck, tryng to reply to all comments - which I have found is the cure against them being marked as spam.
torsdag den 21. september 2023
Words for Wednesday ~ September 20
Yesterday was Wednesday. And this means Words for Wednesday!
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
Today we had either the sentences:
"That's not a good idea."
"I know, but it's the best bad idea I've got."
and/or these words:
Fire
Rose
Time
Coins
Peanut butter
Shouting
I continue the story from last Wednesday, still no ,magic, and not totally autobiographic either. I am mixing up things happening in different years and places ... Peanut butter just did not fit in. And I did for once not use the Words in their given order.
Cousin Anne and Susan placed their bikes at the end of the long row of bikes.
"By Golly," Anne said. "My lock is broken? Do you think it will be stolen, if I do not lock it?"
"I hope not," Susan said, "what about placing my bike on top of yours? That way a thief at least have to lift off my bike to purloin yours?"
"Purloin? Steal you mean. Where do you get all those fancy words?"
"Sorry. It's a craze on that 4H school at my aunt's place. Just like tongue twisters and exotic languages."
"Right up your street, then!" Anne said, "but back to my bike. Do you think it works?"
"It's not a good idea, but it's the best bad idea I've got!" Susan answered with a straight face. Anne broke down laughing, and Susan lost it too.
When they finally stopped laughing, which was hard, as they began again every time they happened to look at one another, they pulled off their skate guards and joined the other skaters on the ice.
A good time was had by all, Cousin Anne was a nimble skater, able to skate backwards and make figure eights on the ice. And she did not fall on her behind every time a dog came a bit too close, which some of Susan's classmates were prone to do. Soon the girls and boys from their classes had made a circle around her, egging her on to always more daredevilish stunts. Cousin Anne ended her impropmtu show with a pirouette and going down in a split.
When Anne rose again the lamps turned on and the skaters began an intricate play of chain-tag on the ice. Susan never really grasped the rules, but as she was not very fast either, she was caught too fast for it to matter much anyhow.
Suddenly a small red glow was seen through the trees.
"Fire!" someone yelled.
A lot of the skaters started shouting. "Fire, Fire!" "It's burning." "Call the fire department!"
"It's the Ghost house! It's burning!" Jens yelled. He was one of Susan's classmates.
"Ghost house?" Susan asked, "I did not know we had a ghost house near here."
"Oh yes," Jens answered, "I has been empty for years and years. The windows have been broken, and nobody lives there but old ghosts."
"What now!" Anna said. "None of us live nearby, and we cannot run around to the neighbouring houses in our skates."
"But won't people see the fire and phone the Fire department?" Anne asked.
"I do not think so, no," Jens said. Right now there's sports in the TV, and all fathers sit watching this to see if their team won, or to see if they won a fortune in the pools. The mothers are all cooking, and I guess reading some drivel while waiting for the taters to boil."
Anne began laughing: "Spot on. That's how it looks at home right now."
Susan suddenly remembered her boots: "I brought my boots, I can bike off and run to the nearest house!"
"Do it," Anne, Jens and all the other children said.
Susan skated to where the bikes lay, quickly found her boots in her bag. She changed into the boots and jumped on her bike. As fast as possible, without caring about the bike lamps, she biked around the ice on the slippery paths, down another path and then right. She could not see the fire any more over the trees, but she could still smell it. She turned into the road with the burning ghost house and slowed down a bit. The first two houses just opposite the park were dark, but the next one had light streaming out of the door and the blue glow from a TV set in one of the windows. Susan let her bike fall on the pavement and ran up the long drive to the house. She banged the door knocker, and not long after a man stood in the door. He looked grumpy, dressed in a white A-shirt and his suspenders hanging down.
Susan said: "Sorry to disturb, but the Ghost house is on fire, could you please call the Fire department!"
"Can't do, no phone. Try next door," the man said and almost slammed the door in Susan's face.
Susan left in a hurry, and then she remembered the phone boot. She pedalled as fast as possible past the burning house, where only some smoke could be seen, to the next intersection. The phone booth was unoccupied and Susan jumped inside and closed the door.
Argh! she thought to herself. I have no coins. Then her eye fell on the instructions saying that the Emergency service was free of charge. She lifted the receiver and upon hearing the carrier wave dialled 0 - 0 - 0. She never felt that the dial had been so slow returning all the way back from the zeroes.
"Emergency service, Alan speaking. How can we help," a calm, male voice sounded from the receiver.
"Hello," Susan said. "The ghost house is on fire."
"The Ghost house? Sorry I need an address."
Susan did not know the number of the ghost house, but she knew the name of the street it was in. This she told the man. "And I'm calling from the telephone booth nearby."
"What is its phone number. It's written in the small window near where you place the coins. Susan looked and told him the number. "Fine. Can I have your name please?"
"Susan Olsen. Will you come, I can see much more smoke now."
"I'll send the fire brigade, don't you worry. But stay in the booth. I'll call back in a few minutes. And the police would like a word with you as well."
"Oh bother!" Susan said. What's the time?"
"A quarter to seven." Alan answered.
"My parents will ground me if I'm home too late." Susan said, almost crying. "I promised."
"My gyess is that the police will take you home, so I guess you won't have any problems. I'll call back in a few minutes. You can start listening for the fire engines soon."
Susan hung up and went outside, and sure enough, soon she heard the fire engines from the city. The distance to the fire station was very short as the crows fly, but much longer by the roads, Susan heard the sirens getting further away and then much nearer and then very near. She saw the blue lights through the trees, and went inside the telephone booth to get away from the sound.
The phone rang.
She picked it up and said: "Susan Olsen speaking."
"Hello Susan, It's Alan from the Emergency service once again. I can tell you that the fire engines are already on their way."
"They sure are, I can hear them," Susan said. "Thank you!"
"It's us thanking you," Alan said. "Just stay put, the police will be right over. Bye and good luck."
Susan placed the receiver back on the hook, and shortly she saw a police car pulling up next to the booth and went outside.
"Susan Olsen?" the officer said.
"Yes that's me." Susan said trembling. "Are you going to arrest me?"
The police officer laughed. "No, I'm not. That is unless you put a match to that old ghost house. Tell me what happened," he said and pulled out notebook and ball pen.
"I was out skating with my classmates and my cousin and some of her classmates too." Susan began, "After it was dark, we played Chain tag, and suddenly someone yelled Fire. We discussed what to do, and Jens - he's my classmate - guessed that none of the neighbours would see the fire, as they were probably watching TV or cooking. I was the only one that had brought my boots, running in skates is difficult, so I biked over here. The first house, I knocked on, they had no phone, but then I remembered seeing this here payphone and went here. And from here I could see no flames, only more and more smoke," Susan ended her story.
The officer asked for and got names and addresses of the class mates. Susan did not know where all of them lived. "I can call the school and ask, if I need it," the officer said, "I have more than enough to check your story should this be necessary."
"Of course there were also some children I do not know on the ice," Susan said despondently.
"No worries. You're not in any way in trouble or going to be arrested or anything. If we were to arrest people for calling 000 don't you think people would quickly stop calling, and accidents would become much worse?" the officer said. "You're doing us, and the city a favour by calling, so please, no need to worry. And I can tell you it's not the house proper burning, but an outhouse behind it. Get into the police car and stay there, we'll drive you home in a short while, and bring your bike too."
Susan got in, and said hello to the officer behind the wheel. Then she sat in the back seat, trying to be inconspicuous. The other officer took her bike, and placed it in a holder at the rear end of the car, then walked over to the ghost house.
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
-- 🇦 -- ⛸ -- 🇧 -- 🚲 -- 🇨 --
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
Today we had either the sentences:
"That's not a good idea."
"I know, but it's the best bad idea I've got."
and/or these words:
Fire
Rose
Time
Coins
Peanut butter
Shouting
I continue the story from last Wednesday, still no ,magic, and not totally autobiographic either. I am mixing up things happening in different years and places ... Peanut butter just did not fit in. And I did for once not use the Words in their given order.
Cousin Anne and Susan placed their bikes at the end of the long row of bikes.
"By Golly," Anne said. "My lock is broken? Do you think it will be stolen, if I do not lock it?"
"I hope not," Susan said, "what about placing my bike on top of yours? That way a thief at least have to lift off my bike to purloin yours?"
"Purloin? Steal you mean. Where do you get all those fancy words?"
"Sorry. It's a craze on that 4H school at my aunt's place. Just like tongue twisters and exotic languages."
"Right up your street, then!" Anne said, "but back to my bike. Do you think it works?"
"It's not a good idea, but it's the best bad idea I've got!" Susan answered with a straight face. Anne broke down laughing, and Susan lost it too.
When they finally stopped laughing, which was hard, as they began again every time they happened to look at one another, they pulled off their skate guards and joined the other skaters on the ice.
A good time was had by all, Cousin Anne was a nimble skater, able to skate backwards and make figure eights on the ice. And she did not fall on her behind every time a dog came a bit too close, which some of Susan's classmates were prone to do. Soon the girls and boys from their classes had made a circle around her, egging her on to always more daredevilish stunts. Cousin Anne ended her impropmtu show with a pirouette and going down in a split.
When Anne rose again the lamps turned on and the skaters began an intricate play of chain-tag on the ice. Susan never really grasped the rules, but as she was not very fast either, she was caught too fast for it to matter much anyhow.
Suddenly a small red glow was seen through the trees.
"Fire!" someone yelled.
A lot of the skaters started shouting. "Fire, Fire!" "It's burning." "Call the fire department!"
"It's the Ghost house! It's burning!" Jens yelled. He was one of Susan's classmates.
"Ghost house?" Susan asked, "I did not know we had a ghost house near here."
"Oh yes," Jens answered, "I has been empty for years and years. The windows have been broken, and nobody lives there but old ghosts."
"What now!" Anna said. "None of us live nearby, and we cannot run around to the neighbouring houses in our skates."
"But won't people see the fire and phone the Fire department?" Anne asked.
"I do not think so, no," Jens said. Right now there's sports in the TV, and all fathers sit watching this to see if their team won, or to see if they won a fortune in the pools. The mothers are all cooking, and I guess reading some drivel while waiting for the taters to boil."
Anne began laughing: "Spot on. That's how it looks at home right now."
Susan suddenly remembered her boots: "I brought my boots, I can bike off and run to the nearest house!"
"Do it," Anne, Jens and all the other children said.
Susan skated to where the bikes lay, quickly found her boots in her bag. She changed into the boots and jumped on her bike. As fast as possible, without caring about the bike lamps, she biked around the ice on the slippery paths, down another path and then right. She could not see the fire any more over the trees, but she could still smell it. She turned into the road with the burning ghost house and slowed down a bit. The first two houses just opposite the park were dark, but the next one had light streaming out of the door and the blue glow from a TV set in one of the windows. Susan let her bike fall on the pavement and ran up the long drive to the house. She banged the door knocker, and not long after a man stood in the door. He looked grumpy, dressed in a white A-shirt and his suspenders hanging down.
Susan said: "Sorry to disturb, but the Ghost house is on fire, could you please call the Fire department!"
"Can't do, no phone. Try next door," the man said and almost slammed the door in Susan's face.
Susan left in a hurry, and then she remembered the phone boot. She pedalled as fast as possible past the burning house, where only some smoke could be seen, to the next intersection. The phone booth was unoccupied and Susan jumped inside and closed the door.
Argh! she thought to herself. I have no coins. Then her eye fell on the instructions saying that the Emergency service was free of charge. She lifted the receiver and upon hearing the carrier wave dialled 0 - 0 - 0. She never felt that the dial had been so slow returning all the way back from the zeroes.
"Emergency service, Alan speaking. How can we help," a calm, male voice sounded from the receiver.
"Hello," Susan said. "The ghost house is on fire."
"The Ghost house? Sorry I need an address."
Susan did not know the number of the ghost house, but she knew the name of the street it was in. This she told the man. "And I'm calling from the telephone booth nearby."
"What is its phone number. It's written in the small window near where you place the coins. Susan looked and told him the number. "Fine. Can I have your name please?"
"Susan Olsen. Will you come, I can see much more smoke now."
"I'll send the fire brigade, don't you worry. But stay in the booth. I'll call back in a few minutes. And the police would like a word with you as well."
"Oh bother!" Susan said. What's the time?"
"A quarter to seven." Alan answered.
"My parents will ground me if I'm home too late." Susan said, almost crying. "I promised."
"My gyess is that the police will take you home, so I guess you won't have any problems. I'll call back in a few minutes. You can start listening for the fire engines soon."
Susan hung up and went outside, and sure enough, soon she heard the fire engines from the city. The distance to the fire station was very short as the crows fly, but much longer by the roads, Susan heard the sirens getting further away and then much nearer and then very near. She saw the blue lights through the trees, and went inside the telephone booth to get away from the sound.
The phone rang.
She picked it up and said: "Susan Olsen speaking."
"Hello Susan, It's Alan from the Emergency service once again. I can tell you that the fire engines are already on their way."
"They sure are, I can hear them," Susan said. "Thank you!"
"It's us thanking you," Alan said. "Just stay put, the police will be right over. Bye and good luck."
Susan placed the receiver back on the hook, and shortly she saw a police car pulling up next to the booth and went outside.
"Susan Olsen?" the officer said.
"Yes that's me." Susan said trembling. "Are you going to arrest me?"
The police officer laughed. "No, I'm not. That is unless you put a match to that old ghost house. Tell me what happened," he said and pulled out notebook and ball pen.
"I was out skating with my classmates and my cousin and some of her classmates too." Susan began, "After it was dark, we played Chain tag, and suddenly someone yelled Fire. We discussed what to do, and Jens - he's my classmate - guessed that none of the neighbours would see the fire, as they were probably watching TV or cooking. I was the only one that had brought my boots, running in skates is difficult, so I biked over here. The first house, I knocked on, they had no phone, but then I remembered seeing this here payphone and went here. And from here I could see no flames, only more and more smoke," Susan ended her story.
The officer asked for and got names and addresses of the class mates. Susan did not know where all of them lived. "I can call the school and ask, if I need it," the officer said, "I have more than enough to check your story should this be necessary."
"Of course there were also some children I do not know on the ice," Susan said despondently.
"No worries. You're not in any way in trouble or going to be arrested or anything. If we were to arrest people for calling 000 don't you think people would quickly stop calling, and accidents would become much worse?" the officer said. "You're doing us, and the city a favour by calling, so please, no need to worry. And I can tell you it's not the house proper burning, but an outhouse behind it. Get into the police car and stay there, we'll drive you home in a short while, and bring your bike too."
Susan got in, and said hello to the officer behind the wheel. Then she sat in the back seat, trying to be inconspicuous. The other officer took her bike, and placed it in a holder at the rear end of the car, then walked over to the ghost house.
... to be continued
tirsdag den 19. september 2023
Talk Like a Pirate day
I forgot Talk Like a Pirate day! We usually celebrate.
Just to honour the day, a picture of the oldest hardtack in the world. Exhibited of all places in Elsinore. Mine and Susan's home town!
Jeg har glemt at det var Tal som en pirat-dag i dag. Suk. Vi plejer at fejre den
med pirat-snak, pirat-mad, pirat-slik, pirattøj og så videre. Nu får I bare et billede af verdens
ældste beskøjt, der befinder sig på søfartsmusset i Helsingør af alle steder. Min - og
Susans - hjemby!
Just to honour the day, a picture of the oldest hardtack in the world. Exhibited of all places in Elsinore. Mine and Susan's home town!
 |
| Foto: Paul A. Cziko |
Catch up ~ Indhente mig selv
Oops. I promised photos of pink flowers. Instead noting happened. Sorry. I was just too busy yesterday to whip up a post, and when I remembered, I was too tired and bed was calling.
Also I never made a poem on Cheeseburgers. I made the classic mistake of reading the poems on other blogs, and then my brain of course and expectedly went empty!
At least now I post my flowers. It's from the "save a flower" racks outside my local supermarket, where hopeless cases are marked down, or even free, They survived, but none of them are frost hardy, so I have to think where to place them for easy bringing inside when the frost arrives.
Det er en upsi! I søndags lovede jeg gammelrosa blomster i går. I stedet kom der ... ingenting. Heller ikke noget digt om Cheeseburgere, der var emnet for mandagsdigtet. Jeg begik den klassiske brøler at læse digtene hos de andre deltagende bloggere først - og så gik den sorte klap selvfølgelig ned.
Nu kan jeg da i det mindste vise blomsterne frem. Billederne blev taget i går, mens jeg fløj forvirret rundt som en anden skruk Uglemor. Da jeg endelig nåede til bloggen, var jeg ærligt talt for træt.
Billederne kommer fra "red en blomst"-reolen inde i Helsinge. Der stiller de de mishandlede, halvdøde blomster ud til en billig penge, nogen gange endda gratis. De her tre har ligget i vand siden de kom hjem, og de er da også overlevet.
The ones having the -- at least close to -- Antique Pink flowers are Cuphea hyssopifolia, the false heather, Mexican heather, Hawaiian heather or elfin herb. The last one is Oxalis vulcanicola, volcanic sorrel. It should be edible -- we'll have to try it in the salad tonight.
På dansk hedder dem med de gammelrosa blomster japansk myrtle - ikke nær så imponerende som de engelske navne. Den sidste i rækken er vulkansk surrkløver, det lyder da af noget. Den er spiselig, og det skal da prøves i salaten i aften.
En af de ting, jeg havde travlt med i går, var at høste og vaske og snitte og fryse alle vores rabarber inde de blev "efterårskedelige". Der var næsten 6 kg. Det, der mangler, endte i en rabarbertærte. Det havde vi da fortjent.
One of yesterdays busy things could be photographed. I pulled and washed and sliced and diced all our rhubarbs and put them in the freezer, as they were turning "autumn stale". All in al 6 kg. The missing amount ended up in a rhubarb pie yesterday evening. It was good!
- - - - - - - - - -
Next Monday: Dreams
Also I never made a poem on Cheeseburgers. I made the classic mistake of reading the poems on other blogs, and then my brain of course and expectedly went empty!
At least now I post my flowers. It's from the "save a flower" racks outside my local supermarket, where hopeless cases are marked down, or even free, They survived, but none of them are frost hardy, so I have to think where to place them for easy bringing inside when the frost arrives.
-- 🌸 --
Det er en upsi! I søndags lovede jeg gammelrosa blomster i går. I stedet kom der ... ingenting. Heller ikke noget digt om Cheeseburgere, der var emnet for mandagsdigtet. Jeg begik den klassiske brøler at læse digtene hos de andre deltagende bloggere først - og så gik den sorte klap selvfølgelig ned.
Nu kan jeg da i det mindste vise blomsterne frem. Billederne blev taget i går, mens jeg fløj forvirret rundt som en anden skruk Uglemor. Da jeg endelig nåede til bloggen, var jeg ærligt talt for træt.
Billederne kommer fra "red en blomst"-reolen inde i Helsinge. Der stiller de de mishandlede, halvdøde blomster ud til en billig penge, nogen gange endda gratis. De her tre har ligget i vand siden de kom hjem, og de er da også overlevet.
-- 🌸 --
På dansk hedder dem med de gammelrosa blomster japansk myrtle - ikke nær så imponerende som de engelske navne. Den sidste i rækken er vulkansk surrkløver, det lyder da af noget. Den er spiselig, og det skal da prøves i salaten i aften.
En af de ting, jeg havde travlt med i går, var at høste og vaske og snitte og fryse alle vores rabarber inde de blev "efterårskedelige". Der var næsten 6 kg. Det, der mangler, endte i en rabarbertærte. Det havde vi da fortjent.
- - - - - - - - - -
Next Monday: Dreams
søndag den 17. september 2023
Sunday Selections :: Søndagsbilleder
| Date | Time | From | To | Height |
| 17. September | 20:49 - 20:53 | SSW | SE | 24° |
We saw the ISS -- the International Space Shuttle -- with Danish astronaut Andreas Mortensen aboard. It looked just like a very fast plane.
-- 🚀 --
Vi så ISS - den internationale rumstation - med den danske astronaut Andreas Mortensen ombord. Det lignede mest af alt et superhurtigt fly højt oppe.
-- 🌶 --
My jalapeños all looked like this on one plant. It seems this is the normal, or maybe just the most coveted look. I never had one look like this before, so I saved some seeds from it for planting next spring.
-- 🍒 --
I was out in the sunshine picking haws, rosehips and sloe
-- 💠 --
And I rippled my flax and put the straw bundles in the water barrel for retting.
The yellow text says:
Felice Lisette
5 bundles and 139 g. seeds 2 bundles and 81 g. seeds
-- ⛅ --
And this morning on our way to church we saw these beautiful sunrays.
-- 🎨 --
Ugen bød også på gammelrosa blomster, men jeg har forsømt at tage et billede, det må komme senere.
-- 🌸 --
This week also included some Antique Pink flowers, but I forgot to snap a photo, It'll come later.
onsdag den 13. september 2023
Words for Wednesday ~ September 13
Today is Wednesday. And this means Words for Wednesday!
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
Today we had these Words:
Threadbare
Season
Disconnected
Everybody
Unusually
Mysteriously
and/or:
Excrutiating (I took this to mean Excruciating)
Public
Safe
Gained
Roof
Lucky
A winter scenery in Susan's home town, Elsinore, from the first winter Susan is an apprentice witch. Not much magic in here, but if the words are right next Wednesday, something is sure going to happen.
As always the not-magical parts are autobiographical.
The threadbare fabric in Susan's trousers were almost at the breaking point. It was always like this at the end of the winter season. She had been skating and sledding in the great park almost every day. In the short winter days she was in a hurry to make the most of it. As soon as she came home from school, she put on her skates, sweater, mittens and muffler, and then biked to the part of the great park-like area that was flooded each winter. There she just threw her bike next to the lots of other bikes on the brink, pulled off the skate guards and put them on the rack of her bike and had fun on the ice. But soon, far too soon, the lamps turned on, and it was time to bike home. As usual, Susan's bike lamps were not very good, and in the slippery snow her dynamo was of no use,. She disconnected it for faster speed. But as she biked solely along lit up roads and her reflectors were in place, she did not care. At home she ate a few slices of bread with a hot mug of cocoa and did some homework until Mom returned and it was time to clear the table for dinner.
At dinner everybody told of their day. Susan asked Mom and Dad if tomorrow when it was Friday and all her friends were going skating in the park until later, she could be allowed to return home later that four o'clock,
"Oh please, Mom," she said, "all my friends are allowed to stay after the lights have come on tomorrow, most of them have a curfew of seven. And I think it is one of the last skating days this winter. Cousin Anna is also coming. May I stay out too?"
"You may," Mom said, "but if you're not home by seven, you'll be grounded for the rest of the month."
"Thank you!" Susan said. "I will be home at seven at the very latest."
"Remember to take along a couple of battery lamps with new batteries in them. Your dynamo is no good in the mash along the roads," Mom said, "and you can take the thermos with hot cocoa along."
"Oh, thank you. I will do. I'll go and find some batteries and lamps immediately, so as not to waste my time on that tomorrow."
"Clever thinking," Dad said, a big praise from him.
Linda finished her last bit and said: "I'll have Bente and Karin over tomorrow, if that's OK. The new magazines are out, and there's some make up ideas we want to try out."
"That's fine too," Mom said. I'll be home at around half past four tomorrow. Don't make too much of a mess in the bathroom."
"We'll mostly stay in my room, I think," Linda replied. "Can I take the hallway mirror into my room?"
"Yes you can, and you could ask Dad to bring it up for you tonight, then it's safe."
"Will you, dad, please?" Linda asked.
Dad nodded and rose. "I can do it now, wile your Mom brews the coffee."
The crate with battery lamps was unusually messy, it took a long time for Susan to find a white and a red cover, bulbs and lamps that fit together.
"If you can't find any red lamps you can take some of the red paper from the sardine tins to wrap around one of the white ones," Mom said.
"Is that even legal?" Susan asked.
"I doubt it," Mom answered, "but better than two white lights confusing the cars."
Mysteriously this made Susan and Mom both laugh out loud.
The lessons next day passed excruciatingly slow. But finally the last bell rung. Susan hurried home and put the milk to boil while dressing with an eye on the pot. Milk always boils over when you're not watching. As soon as it boiled, she poured a bit over the cocoa drink powder in the thermos and shook it to dissolve the powder, then she filled up the thermos. She debated with herself whether to bring her magic wand or not. On one side she was not allowed to wear it in public places, and she was not sure she could keep it safe, but on the other side it was not safe at home with her curious sister and her friends either. In the end she decided that taking it along was the better course of action.
She then cleared out her school-bag, put in the thermos, the battery lamps, a spare pair of mittens and her wand. She hung it on the bag hook on the rack and secured it with an end of twine. Then as an afterthought she put her winter boots in the bag as well.
Biking along the long road leading off the main road to the park she spied a girl biking in front of her.
That top hat, Susan thought to herself, and those long braids. It just has to be cousin Anna.
Susan pedalled faster and gained on the girl. Soon she was within hollering distance and called: "Anna, please wait for me!"
It was Anna, who slowed down waiting for Susan. The two girls biked together the last half kilometre. Anna told that her curfew was at seven, same as Susan's.
"Oh, your mom did allow it," Susan said. "Then I did not lie when I said that you were allowed ..."
"I said the same to my mom," Anna said laughing.
Then the roof of the girl scouts' place could be seen over the treetops, Anna and Susan turned right into the park, feeling very lucky to be allowed to stay out for so long this evening.
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
-- 🇦 -- ⛸ -- 🇧 -- 🚲 -- 🇨 --
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
Today we had these Words:
Threadbare
Season
Disconnected
Everybody
Unusually
Mysteriously
and/or:
Excrutiating (I took this to mean Excruciating)
Public
Safe
Gained
Roof
Lucky
A winter scenery in Susan's home town, Elsinore, from the first winter Susan is an apprentice witch. Not much magic in here, but if the words are right next Wednesday, something is sure going to happen.
As always the not-magical parts are autobiographical.
The threadbare fabric in Susan's trousers were almost at the breaking point. It was always like this at the end of the winter season. She had been skating and sledding in the great park almost every day. In the short winter days she was in a hurry to make the most of it. As soon as she came home from school, she put on her skates, sweater, mittens and muffler, and then biked to the part of the great park-like area that was flooded each winter. There she just threw her bike next to the lots of other bikes on the brink, pulled off the skate guards and put them on the rack of her bike and had fun on the ice. But soon, far too soon, the lamps turned on, and it was time to bike home. As usual, Susan's bike lamps were not very good, and in the slippery snow her dynamo was of no use,. She disconnected it for faster speed. But as she biked solely along lit up roads and her reflectors were in place, she did not care. At home she ate a few slices of bread with a hot mug of cocoa and did some homework until Mom returned and it was time to clear the table for dinner.
At dinner everybody told of their day. Susan asked Mom and Dad if tomorrow when it was Friday and all her friends were going skating in the park until later, she could be allowed to return home later that four o'clock,
"Oh please, Mom," she said, "all my friends are allowed to stay after the lights have come on tomorrow, most of them have a curfew of seven. And I think it is one of the last skating days this winter. Cousin Anna is also coming. May I stay out too?"
"You may," Mom said, "but if you're not home by seven, you'll be grounded for the rest of the month."
"Thank you!" Susan said. "I will be home at seven at the very latest."
"Remember to take along a couple of battery lamps with new batteries in them. Your dynamo is no good in the mash along the roads," Mom said, "and you can take the thermos with hot cocoa along."
"Oh, thank you. I will do. I'll go and find some batteries and lamps immediately, so as not to waste my time on that tomorrow."
"Clever thinking," Dad said, a big praise from him.
Linda finished her last bit and said: "I'll have Bente and Karin over tomorrow, if that's OK. The new magazines are out, and there's some make up ideas we want to try out."
"That's fine too," Mom said. I'll be home at around half past four tomorrow. Don't make too much of a mess in the bathroom."
"We'll mostly stay in my room, I think," Linda replied. "Can I take the hallway mirror into my room?"
"Yes you can, and you could ask Dad to bring it up for you tonight, then it's safe."
"Will you, dad, please?" Linda asked.
Dad nodded and rose. "I can do it now, wile your Mom brews the coffee."
The crate with battery lamps was unusually messy, it took a long time for Susan to find a white and a red cover, bulbs and lamps that fit together.
"If you can't find any red lamps you can take some of the red paper from the sardine tins to wrap around one of the white ones," Mom said.
"Is that even legal?" Susan asked.
"I doubt it," Mom answered, "but better than two white lights confusing the cars."
Mysteriously this made Susan and Mom both laugh out loud.
The lessons next day passed excruciatingly slow. But finally the last bell rung. Susan hurried home and put the milk to boil while dressing with an eye on the pot. Milk always boils over when you're not watching. As soon as it boiled, she poured a bit over the cocoa drink powder in the thermos and shook it to dissolve the powder, then she filled up the thermos. She debated with herself whether to bring her magic wand or not. On one side she was not allowed to wear it in public places, and she was not sure she could keep it safe, but on the other side it was not safe at home with her curious sister and her friends either. In the end she decided that taking it along was the better course of action.
She then cleared out her school-bag, put in the thermos, the battery lamps, a spare pair of mittens and her wand. She hung it on the bag hook on the rack and secured it with an end of twine. Then as an afterthought she put her winter boots in the bag as well.
Biking along the long road leading off the main road to the park she spied a girl biking in front of her.
That top hat, Susan thought to herself, and those long braids. It just has to be cousin Anna.
Susan pedalled faster and gained on the girl. Soon she was within hollering distance and called: "Anna, please wait for me!"
It was Anna, who slowed down waiting for Susan. The two girls biked together the last half kilometre. Anna told that her curfew was at seven, same as Susan's.
"Oh, your mom did allow it," Susan said. "Then I did not lie when I said that you were allowed ..."
"I said the same to my mom," Anna said laughing.
Then the roof of the girl scouts' place could be seen over the treetops, Anna and Susan turned right into the park, feeling very lucky to be allowed to stay out for so long this evening.
Drawing of a battery lamp -- Nefa-lamp -- from here.
All the bottom part is just a battery case with a fixture for a holder on the bike.
All the bottom part is just a battery case with a fixture for a holder on the bike.
And the red and translucent tops (the white one is more opaque than the ones I remember) from here. Tightening the tops turned on the lamps.
tirsdag den 12. september 2023
"Spam" der ikke kan befries! ~ Tirsdagstips
"Spam" I cannot set free!
Der er stadigvæk kommentarer, der bliver markeret som spam selvom de ikke er det. Det er gamle nyheder.
Men Blogger finder jo hele tiden på nye trick. Nu puttes kommentarer i spamfængselet, og når jeg trykker på ✔ for at sige: Ikke-spam - udgiv alligevel forbliver skærmen bare grå og fryser, og jeg må genindlæse siden for at komme videre.
Men jeg har fundet ud af, hvordan man kan befri kommentarerne alligevel. Det er let som 1 -2 - 3
Blogger has for a long time now randomly put comments -- my own as well -- into spam prison. Nothing new here. But Blogger would not be Blogger if it was not up to new tricks now and then.
Now suddenly when I click the ✔ meaning Not spam, please publish, nothing happens. The screen turns grey and freezes, and I have to reload the page to continue.
I found a workaround. It is as easy as 1 -2 - 3
Der er stadigvæk kommentarer, der bliver markeret som spam selvom de ikke er det. Det er gamle nyheder.
Men Blogger finder jo hele tiden på nye trick. Nu puttes kommentarer i spamfængselet, og når jeg trykker på ✔ for at sige: Ikke-spam - udgiv alligevel forbliver skærmen bare grå og fryser, og jeg må genindlæse siden for at komme videre.
Men jeg har fundet ud af, hvordan man kan befri kommentarerne alligevel. Det er let som 1 -2 - 3
Blogger has for a long time now randomly put comments -- my own as well -- into spam prison. Nothing new here. But Blogger would not be Blogger if it was not up to new tricks now and then.
Now suddenly when I click the ✔ meaning Not spam, please publish, nothing happens. The screen turns grey and freezes, and I have to reload the page to continue.
I found a workaround. It is as easy as 1 -2 - 3
Bedre Pflaumenmus
Better Pflaumenmus (Plum Spread)
Efter nu at have kogt resten af træets blommer til Pflaumenmus, er jeg klar med en bedre opskrift.
Pflaumenmus (blommemos):
2,5 kg blommer
½ tsk nelliker
½ tsk kanel
½ tsk vanille
½ tsk ingefær
sukker efter smag
¼ tsk revet muskatnød
saften fra ½ citron
Vask blommerne og udsten dem. Hak dem groft og kog dem til en grød tilsæt sukker, nelliker, kanel, vanille og ingefær (pas på - ikke for meget kanel). Herfra kan man fortsætte på to måder, den "rigtige" og en lidt nemmere. Til den rigtige måde hældes blommemosen i bradepanden, der sættes i ovnen ved 150° - lågen skal stå en anelse på klem - i ca 4 timer eller til mosen er blevet smukt mørkerød og tyktflydende, der skal røres af og til.
Høld massen tilage i gryden, kog den op, sluk og tilsæt muskatnød og citronsaft. Høld mosen på skoldede glas, der lukkes til med det samme.
Den nemmere måde, er der konserveringsmiddel i: Mosen koges noget mere ind i gryden, og der tilsættes et geleringsmiddel efter opskriften på posen, sluk og tilsæt muskatnød og citronsaft. Mosen hældes i varme, atamonskyllede glas, der lukkes til med det samme.
After having picked all my plums and made a load of Plum spread I have an improved recipe.
Pflaumenmus (plum spread):
2.5 kg plums
½ tsp cloves
½ tsp cinnamon
½ tsp vanilla
sugar to taste
¼ tsp grated nutmeg
the juice from half a lemon
Wash the plums and stone them. Chop them coarsely and boil them into a mush, add sugar, cloves, cinnamon and vanilla (be careful - not too much cinnamon). From here you can proceed in two ways, the origianl way and a slightly easier one.
For the original Pflaumenmus, pour the plum mash into the roasting tin, place it in the oven at 150° - the door should be slightly ajar - for about 4 hours or until the mash has turned a beautiful dark red colour and is not runny any more, stirring occasionally- Pour the mash back into the pot, bring to a boil, turn off the heat and stir in nutmeg and lemon juice, pour it into scalding hot jars and place them in the oven for 2 minutes.
The less messy way is to let it stayin the pot: boil the mash for 2 hours more, stirring regularly, turn off the heat and stir in nutmeg and lemon juice, pour the mash into scalding hot jars and seal immediately.
Efter nu at have kogt resten af træets blommer til Pflaumenmus, er jeg klar med en bedre opskrift.
Pflaumenmus (blommemos):
2,5 kg blommer
½ tsk nelliker
½ tsk kanel
½ tsk vanille
½ tsk ingefær
sukker efter smag
¼ tsk revet muskatnød
saften fra ½ citron
Vask blommerne og udsten dem. Hak dem groft og kog dem til en grød tilsæt sukker, nelliker, kanel, vanille og ingefær (pas på - ikke for meget kanel). Herfra kan man fortsætte på to måder, den "rigtige" og en lidt nemmere. Til den rigtige måde hældes blommemosen i bradepanden, der sættes i ovnen ved 150° - lågen skal stå en anelse på klem - i ca 4 timer eller til mosen er blevet smukt mørkerød og tyktflydende, der skal røres af og til.
Høld massen tilage i gryden, kog den op, sluk og tilsæt muskatnød og citronsaft. Høld mosen på skoldede glas, der lukkes til med det samme.
Den nemmere måde, er der konserveringsmiddel i: Mosen koges noget mere ind i gryden, og der tilsættes et geleringsmiddel efter opskriften på posen, sluk og tilsæt muskatnød og citronsaft. Mosen hældes i varme, atamonskyllede glas, der lukkes til med det samme.
After having picked all my plums and made a load of Plum spread I have an improved recipe.
Pflaumenmus (plum spread):
2.5 kg plums
½ tsp cloves
½ tsp cinnamon
½ tsp vanilla
sugar to taste
¼ tsp grated nutmeg
the juice from half a lemon
Wash the plums and stone them. Chop them coarsely and boil them into a mush, add sugar, cloves, cinnamon and vanilla (be careful - not too much cinnamon). From here you can proceed in two ways, the origianl way and a slightly easier one.
For the original Pflaumenmus, pour the plum mash into the roasting tin, place it in the oven at 150° - the door should be slightly ajar - for about 4 hours or until the mash has turned a beautiful dark red colour and is not runny any more, stirring occasionally- Pour the mash back into the pot, bring to a boil, turn off the heat and stir in nutmeg and lemon juice, pour it into scalding hot jars and place them in the oven for 2 minutes.
The less messy way is to let it stayin the pot: boil the mash for 2 hours more, stirring regularly, turn off the heat and stir in nutmeg and lemon juice, pour the mash into scalding hot jars and seal immediately.
mandag den 11. september 2023
Poetry Monday :: Remembering
Poetry Monday er en udfordring, hvor Diane fra On the Border er vores vært.
Dagens stikord er Huske, og jeg føler mig gammel og gnaven. Nu er du advaret!
Remembering is the theme for today. Remembering earlier days makes me feel old and grumpy. I think I need to apologise, Read at your own risk!
Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border.
I remember being tiny all years were so fun
I remember good things happen, justice being done
I remember snowy winters, summers balmy hot
I remember angry people, thieves that all got caught
I remember being places where you did not aught
I remember it was funny until it was not.
I remember biking through my town and all the land
I remember swimming, then relaxing in the sand.
I remember sailing in a storm with mighty waves
I remember nature's wonders in the dripstone caves
I remember when adventure always ended well
I remember being helped if you dared to yell.
I remember being tiny, grown ups were so tall
I remember asking them, they seemed to know it all.
I remember getting wiser being in the know,
I remember disappointment not so long ago.
I remember realizing grown ups were not gods
I remember they and truth were often-times at odds.
I remember when you were allowed to take a pause
I remember when the monster was a thing from "Jaws"
I remember being young, and pain a passing thing
I remember when the world turned new with every spring.
I remember when the world was big and beautiful
I remember everybody feeling dutiful.
I remember real people answering the phone
I remember when the good things seemed like set in stone
I remember when the papers told of things to come
I remember Sunday's candy, always storing some
I remember picnic fires, bread on sticks and jam
I remember fishing, catching garfish and a clam.
I remember far too much and far to little now
I remember lukewarm winters, not a trace of snow,
I remember lousy summers, rain and fires reign
I remember rotting apples, mouldy, sprouting grain.
I remember insects swarming on the windscreens smeared
I remember empty flowers and I'm feeling weird.
I remember kids not playing glaring at a screen
I remember grown ups scramming, nowhere to be seen
-- -- -- --
Next Monday: Cheeseburgers!
Dagens stikord er Huske, og jeg føler mig gammel og gnaven. Nu er du advaret!
-- 💡 -- 🕯 -- 🪔 --
Remembering is the theme for today. Remembering earlier days makes me feel old and grumpy. I think I need to apologise, Read at your own risk!
Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border.
I remember being tiny all years were so fun
I remember good things happen, justice being done
I remember snowy winters, summers balmy hot
I remember angry people, thieves that all got caught
I remember being places where you did not aught
I remember it was funny until it was not.
I remember biking through my town and all the land
I remember swimming, then relaxing in the sand.
I remember sailing in a storm with mighty waves
I remember nature's wonders in the dripstone caves
I remember when adventure always ended well
I remember being helped if you dared to yell.
I remember being tiny, grown ups were so tall
I remember asking them, they seemed to know it all.
I remember getting wiser being in the know,
I remember disappointment not so long ago.
I remember realizing grown ups were not gods
I remember they and truth were often-times at odds.
I remember when you were allowed to take a pause
I remember when the monster was a thing from "Jaws"
I remember being young, and pain a passing thing
I remember when the world turned new with every spring.
I remember when the world was big and beautiful
I remember everybody feeling dutiful.
I remember real people answering the phone
I remember when the good things seemed like set in stone
I remember when the papers told of things to come
I remember Sunday's candy, always storing some
I remember picnic fires, bread on sticks and jam
I remember fishing, catching garfish and a clam.
I remember far too much and far to little now
I remember lukewarm winters, not a trace of snow,
I remember lousy summers, rain and fires reign
I remember rotting apples, mouldy, sprouting grain.
I remember insects swarming on the windscreens smeared
I remember empty flowers and I'm feeling weird.
I remember kids not playing glaring at a screen
I remember grown ups scramming, nowhere to be seen
-- -- -- --
Next Monday: Cheeseburgers!
søndag den 10. september 2023
Sunday Selections ~ Colour 23 :: Antique Pink
Månedens farve for september 2023 er -- The colour of the month for September 2023 is
Det bliver en udfordring, jeg er ikke særlig pink.
This'll be a challenge, pink is not me.
-- --
Jeg prøver med et par blomster fra haven
I'll just try a few flowers from my garden, maybe one of them fits.
onsdag den 6. september 2023
6 September :: Words for Wednesday & IWSG
Today is Wednesday. And this means Words for Wednesday!
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
For today we were given:
Random
Haphazardly
Fixation
Vendetta
Christmas
Hugs
and/or:
Coastguard
Middle
Basil
Carnation
Junk
Ladder
The weather in Denmark has been very random this summer. The spring was somewhat ordinary, but cool. Then Summer began with a hot, dry period in June and the first days of July -- please note that hot in Denmark means around 20 C.
I say hot, but please note that spring in Denmark is not really hot, the ground and just about the whole worlds is cold from the long winter. This means that for instance a barbecue is a day-time thing, because when the sun sets, or some time before actually, it's just too cold to stay outside without several layers of clothes on.
Dry: It rained all in all less than 20 mm from the middle of May to July 1st. The farmers complained, watering with a hose was forbidden, the filing of pools, and washing of cars likewise.
Then in the rest of July and all of August we were treated to sullen weather: Haphazardly violent showers passed by, flooding fields and tunnels and cellars. The farmers who had been bemoaning the lack of rain in the beginning of the growing season, now shared our misgivings as the the rain fell every day, and the cold, autumn-like winds that blew steadily and the in general far too little sunlight to do any good. The grains just never dried in time for harvest, and the EU regulations' fixations on dates made it necessary for the farmers to harvest their grains wet, sometimes even sprouting in he fields and pay for the drying afterwards. Because only when we had passed the deadline for harvesting and re-sowing of the fields, August 20, the weather became somewhat dry. Still it was cold. The only happy ones were the mushroom hunters, who dressed in sweaters and tophats and went hunting the abundance of mushrooms growing in the woods.
It almost felt as if the weather was having it out for us, an old vendetta, making as many people as miserable as possible. The media foresaw a wave of depressions in the coming winter, topping in the weeks after Christmas.
Strangely the coastguards have not had an easy summer. People has been drowning or in mortal danger much more than usual. Maybe it's the winds, maybe it's the lack of sunshine making people longing for the hugs of the gentle waves diving in even though yellow flags spelled danger for swimmers.
I tell this as a background for my happy dance.
For now it is September, but the weather is behaving as if it's summertime. The Basil is finally growing - even thriving - the carnations and many more summer flowers are flowering. Yesterday I picked some ripe strawberries together with the abundance of blackberries. The blackberries grow behind our junk filled garage, they grow high and tall and thorny, and I have to stand on the top of a ladder to pick some of them.
The last two days I have finally biked to or from the town where I go shopping, finally I have shed my woollen slipover, and finally I do not feel cold when I leave my house.
We are many soaking up the Sun's rays during these days of grace, stocking our larders as it is with sunshine to withstand the coming dark winter.
And in the coming days you'll find me in the hedges, picking haws and rose hips that are finally ripening, or in the trees and brambles, picking plum prunes or blackberries, or biking to town and back again, stopping here and there hoping for mushrooms. And at home you'll find me in the garden, having coffee with The Writer and The Walrus and those Owlets happening to be home, or weeding, or doing things to my flax, or planting, or gathering eggs, or harvesting squash, tomatoes, and rhubarb for dinner, all the time breathing lighter and freer in the balmy warm September sunlight.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Today is also the first Wednesday of the month. Time for the monthly Question from the Insecure Writers' Support Group
Question September 6: The IWSG celebrates 12 years today! When did you discover the IWSG, how do you connect, and how has it helped you?
My answer: Going back through my blog archives, I see that I simply began answering the monthly question on November 3, 2021 with not a word offered in explanation.
I must have met the IWSG some time before this, but when and where I do not remember.
In IWSG as in so many places I feel like the odd man out, the proverbial square peg in a round hole. Let me break this up, explaining what the parts of Insecure Writers Support Group means to me. Citing myself from past IWSG Q&A's.
Insecure - As I told before. I do not feel very insecure as long as I'm writing. I hate it when like now I suffer from Writer's block, but normally I do like this (August 22):
Support Group: Yes I need a support group. You all are not necessarily part of the Insecure Writers Support Group. but you sure as ... are my support group. When this (May 22) happens - as now - I can feel your good thoughts, prayers and support from all over the world.
As you see, I do not quite fit the concept. But then again. It is good fun, I like the monthly challenge - both answering it and reading other peoples' answers; often I cannot relate to what you all write, often I disagree, but always I learn something new.
Thanks for being there, for being who and what you are!
This challenge started a long time ago, and now it has become a movable feast with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words are provided by a number of people.
The general idea of this challenge is to make us write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.
It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.
So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.
-- 🇦 -- 🌱 -- 🇧 -- 🍋 -- 🇨 --
In September River at Drifting through Life is supplying the prompts for Words for Wednesday.
For today we were given:
Random
Haphazardly
Fixation
Vendetta
Christmas
Hugs
and/or:
Coastguard
Middle
Basil
Carnation
Junk
Ladder
The weather in Denmark has been very random this summer. The spring was somewhat ordinary, but cool. Then Summer began with a hot, dry period in June and the first days of July -- please note that hot in Denmark means around 20 C.
I say hot, but please note that spring in Denmark is not really hot, the ground and just about the whole worlds is cold from the long winter. This means that for instance a barbecue is a day-time thing, because when the sun sets, or some time before actually, it's just too cold to stay outside without several layers of clothes on.
Dry: It rained all in all less than 20 mm from the middle of May to July 1st. The farmers complained, watering with a hose was forbidden, the filing of pools, and washing of cars likewise.
Then in the rest of July and all of August we were treated to sullen weather: Haphazardly violent showers passed by, flooding fields and tunnels and cellars. The farmers who had been bemoaning the lack of rain in the beginning of the growing season, now shared our misgivings as the the rain fell every day, and the cold, autumn-like winds that blew steadily and the in general far too little sunlight to do any good. The grains just never dried in time for harvest, and the EU regulations' fixations on dates made it necessary for the farmers to harvest their grains wet, sometimes even sprouting in he fields and pay for the drying afterwards. Because only when we had passed the deadline for harvesting and re-sowing of the fields, August 20, the weather became somewhat dry. Still it was cold. The only happy ones were the mushroom hunters, who dressed in sweaters and tophats and went hunting the abundance of mushrooms growing in the woods.
It almost felt as if the weather was having it out for us, an old vendetta, making as many people as miserable as possible. The media foresaw a wave of depressions in the coming winter, topping in the weeks after Christmas.
Strangely the coastguards have not had an easy summer. People has been drowning or in mortal danger much more than usual. Maybe it's the winds, maybe it's the lack of sunshine making people longing for the hugs of the gentle waves diving in even though yellow flags spelled danger for swimmers.
I tell this as a background for my happy dance.
For now it is September, but the weather is behaving as if it's summertime. The Basil is finally growing - even thriving - the carnations and many more summer flowers are flowering. Yesterday I picked some ripe strawberries together with the abundance of blackberries. The blackberries grow behind our junk filled garage, they grow high and tall and thorny, and I have to stand on the top of a ladder to pick some of them.
The last two days I have finally biked to or from the town where I go shopping, finally I have shed my woollen slipover, and finally I do not feel cold when I leave my house.
We are many soaking up the Sun's rays during these days of grace, stocking our larders as it is with sunshine to withstand the coming dark winter.
And in the coming days you'll find me in the hedges, picking haws and rose hips that are finally ripening, or in the trees and brambles, picking plum prunes or blackberries, or biking to town and back again, stopping here and there hoping for mushrooms. And at home you'll find me in the garden, having coffee with The Writer and The Walrus and those Owlets happening to be home, or weeding, or doing things to my flax, or planting, or gathering eggs, or harvesting squash, tomatoes, and rhubarb for dinner, all the time breathing lighter and freer in the balmy warm September sunlight.
Wonderful forecast part two!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Today is also the first Wednesday of the month. Time for the monthly Question from the Insecure Writers' Support Group
Question September 6: The IWSG celebrates 12 years today! When did you discover the IWSG, how do you connect, and how has it helped you?
My answer: Going back through my blog archives, I see that I simply began answering the monthly question on November 3, 2021 with not a word offered in explanation.
I must have met the IWSG some time before this, but when and where I do not remember.
In IWSG as in so many places I feel like the odd man out, the proverbial square peg in a round hole. Let me break this up, explaining what the parts of Insecure Writers Support Group means to me. Citing myself from past IWSG Q&A's.
Insecure - As I told before. I do not feel very insecure as long as I'm writing. I hate it when like now I suffer from Writer's block, but normally I do like this (August 22):
"I tell the story, I want to tell. I sit myself down and write the story
down - often after composing it in my head while walking, biking or
taking a bath.
Then I wait for some time,and read it again to see if I still like to read the story. If yes, I go on correcting, expanding and so on this story. And when I like to read it, all of it, I consider it finished.
I might never publish anything at all this way, but then I hope you, my readers here in the interwebs, and whom else in real life reading my story has had just half as much fun reading my story as I have had telling and writing it.
This suddenly does not sound like it belongs in a The Insecure Writer's Support Group post, but I promise you that I am still insecure while writing. Trying to find that one word catching the atmosphere in just the right way, trying to give that timbre, recreate this peculiarity and so on."
Writer - a writer, who never published a "real" book. Many articles and
poems, translations and editing jobs to my name, even a manual, but no
real books. And I began writing even before I started school and I have never stopped (only paused) ever since ... but (January 23)Then I wait for some time,and read it again to see if I still like to read the story. If yes, I go on correcting, expanding and so on this story. And when I like to read it, all of it, I consider it finished.
I might never publish anything at all this way, but then I hope you, my readers here in the interwebs, and whom else in real life reading my story has had just half as much fun reading my story as I have had telling and writing it.
This suddenly does not sound like it belongs in a The Insecure Writer's Support Group post, but I promise you that I am still insecure while writing. Trying to find that one word catching the atmosphere in just the right way, trying to give that timbre, recreate this peculiarity and so on."
"Do I want to become a writer? The answer to this question is a definitive maybe!
I want to write, I cannot keep away from writing even if I try. But do I want to become a writer? Not if it interferes too much with family life. Not if I have to do too many inconvenient things, like meetings book promotions and so on. In short, I want to write, but all the parts that come after having written a book ... I do not want those.
I want to write, I cannot keep away from writing even if I try. But do I want to become a writer? Not if it interferes too much with family life. Not if I have to do too many inconvenient things, like meetings book promotions and so on. In short, I want to write, but all the parts that come after having written a book ... I do not want those.
Support Group: Yes I need a support group. You all are not necessarily part of the Insecure Writers Support Group. but you sure as ... are my support group. When this (May 22) happens - as now - I can feel your good thoughts, prayers and support from all over the world.
Worst of times: I know how my story should unfold from here, I know
what I want to write, the Words are just what I wanted, but the words
just won't come. I sit staring at the monitor, at the blank paper in
Word, and plain nothing happens. Nothing helps, not just writing
anything including shopping lists, not gardening, not thinking of
someone who would like a story; my old trick, as most of my stories in
the beginning were told to The Owlets before bedtime. I just have to
wait ... and I hate it!
As you see, I do not quite fit the concept. But then again. It is good fun, I like the monthly challenge - both answering it and reading other peoples' answers; often I cannot relate to what you all write, often I disagree, but always I learn something new.
Thanks for being there, for being who and what you are!
tirsdag den 5. september 2023
At smelte fedt ~ Rendering Fat
En gang, knapt hvert andet år løber jeg tør for fedt til at lave sæbe af. Straks jeg kan se bunden af posen, skriver jeg en mail til Kødsnedkeren, en fantastisk slagter i nærheden, og ca. en uge senere cykler jeg så fem kilometer hver vej og kommer hjem med tre kilo prima svineflomme lige til at smelte af.
Men altså, det er et slid. Det er fedtet, det er anstrengende, og så alligevel. Jeg har en stor kødhakkemaskine - sådan én hedder en Fleischwolf (kød-ulv) på tysk, sjovt navn synes jeg. De er nummererede. Nummer 8 er den normale størrelse til en husholdning, den vi alle kender, nummer 5 er en lille én, og nummer 10 er en virkelig stor én. Jeg har en af hver størrelse, og jeg valgte nummer 10 til at hakke fedtet.
Det tog vel en times tid at hakke al fedtet, så skulle det op i en gryde og smeltes, og så skulle der gøres rent. Kødhakker, knive, bræt og skeer skulle vaskes op. Og så kom jeg - måske i anledning af alt det der slægtsforskning - til at tænke på mine forfædre. Jeg er altså totalt privilegeret. For godt nok er det hårdt at hakke noget mere end tre kilo fedt i en hakkemaskine, men det går altså både hurtigere og nemmere end at skulle skære det i bittesmå tern i hånden. Og jeg skulle hverken hente vand ved pumpen, hugge brænde til at varme vandet og smelte fedtet eller skrubbe al fedtet af med sand og håndkraft. Der er varmt vand i hanen, kogende vand i elkedlen, og gasblussene klarer smeltningen uden anden af min energi end den der går til at slæbe flasken ind i køkkenet.
Once every two years or so, I run out of lard to make soap. As soon as I see bottoms in the bag, I write an email to Kødsnedkeren, a good! butcher nearby, and about a week later I go by bike five kilometres there and five home again caryying three kilos of prime pork visceral fat ready to render.
But really, it's hard work. It's greasy, it's exhausting, but... . I have a big meat grinder, the kind called Fleischwolf (meat wolf) in German - a funny name, I think.
They are numbered. Number 8 is the normal household size, number 5 is a small one, and number 10 is a really big one. I have one of each, and I used the big number 10 to grind the fat.
It took me about an hour to grind all the fat, it went into a pot to melt and then it was time to clean. Grinder, knives, board and spoons had to be washed.
And then - perhaps because of all the genealogy research - I started thinking about my ancestors. I am totally privileged. Sure, it's hard to grind three kilos of fat by hand in a grinder, but it's faster and easier than cutting it into tiny cubes by hand. And I didn't have to fetch water from the pump, chop wood to heat the water and melt the fat, or scrub off all the fat with sand and manual labour. There's hot water in the tap, boiling water in the kettle, and the gas burners do the melting without any of my energy other than what it takes to drag the bottle into the kitchen.
Men altså, det er et slid. Det er fedtet, det er anstrengende, og så alligevel. Jeg har en stor kødhakkemaskine - sådan én hedder en Fleischwolf (kød-ulv) på tysk, sjovt navn synes jeg. De er nummererede. Nummer 8 er den normale størrelse til en husholdning, den vi alle kender, nummer 5 er en lille én, og nummer 10 er en virkelig stor én. Jeg har en af hver størrelse, og jeg valgte nummer 10 til at hakke fedtet.
Det tog vel en times tid at hakke al fedtet, så skulle det op i en gryde og smeltes, og så skulle der gøres rent. Kødhakker, knive, bræt og skeer skulle vaskes op. Og så kom jeg - måske i anledning af alt det der slægtsforskning - til at tænke på mine forfædre. Jeg er altså totalt privilegeret. For godt nok er det hårdt at hakke noget mere end tre kilo fedt i en hakkemaskine, men det går altså både hurtigere og nemmere end at skulle skære det i bittesmå tern i hånden. Og jeg skulle hverken hente vand ved pumpen, hugge brænde til at varme vandet og smelte fedtet eller skrubbe al fedtet af med sand og håndkraft. Der er varmt vand i hanen, kogende vand i elkedlen, og gasblussene klarer smeltningen uden anden af min energi end den der går til at slæbe flasken ind i køkkenet.
Once every two years or so, I run out of lard to make soap. As soon as I see bottoms in the bag, I write an email to Kødsnedkeren, a good! butcher nearby, and about a week later I go by bike five kilometres there and five home again caryying three kilos of prime pork visceral fat ready to render.
But really, it's hard work. It's greasy, it's exhausting, but... . I have a big meat grinder, the kind called Fleischwolf (meat wolf) in German - a funny name, I think.
They are numbered. Number 8 is the normal household size, number 5 is a small one, and number 10 is a really big one. I have one of each, and I used the big number 10 to grind the fat.
It took me about an hour to grind all the fat, it went into a pot to melt and then it was time to clean. Grinder, knives, board and spoons had to be washed.
And then - perhaps because of all the genealogy research - I started thinking about my ancestors. I am totally privileged. Sure, it's hard to grind three kilos of fat by hand in a grinder, but it's faster and easier than cutting it into tiny cubes by hand. And I didn't have to fetch water from the pump, chop wood to heat the water and melt the fat, or scrub off all the fat with sand and manual labour. There's hot water in the tap, boiling water in the kettle, and the gas burners do the melting without any of my energy other than what it takes to drag the bottle into the kitchen.
mandag den 4. september 2023
Poetry Monday :: Newspapers
Poetry Monday er en udfordring, hvor Diane fra On the Border er vores vært.
Dagens stikord er Aviser, jeg kan vældig godt lide aviser, så længe jeg ikke skal læse dem.
Newspapers, is the theme for today. Newspapers are ubiquitous, we all have them in our homes, I like Newspapers very much ... as long as do not have to read them!
Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border.
Newspapers
Newspapers are for playing, making paper planes
Paper hats and paper boats, sailing with the swans.
Newspapers are for patterns, tracing my new dress
and for putting under when doggie made a mess.
Newspapers are for painting, spread out on the floor,
and for having fish in what we pull ashore.
Newspapers are for folding, watching baskets grow
nothing really beats them for collecting sloe.
Newspapers are for spreading, when the children play
colouring and messing all the livelong day.
Newspapers are for making seedling pots in spring
Rolling my pot maker again and once again.
Newspapers are for using more than once or twice
versatile the word is - don't read them's my advice.
- - - - - - - - - -
Next Monday's topic is: Remembering
Dagens stikord er Aviser, jeg kan vældig godt lide aviser, så længe jeg ikke skal læse dem.
-- 📰 -- 🗞 --
Newspapers, is the theme for today. Newspapers are ubiquitous, we all have them in our homes, I like Newspapers very much ... as long as do not have to read them!
Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border.
Newspapers
Newspapers are for playing, making paper planes
Paper hats and paper boats, sailing with the swans.
Newspapers are for patterns, tracing my new dress
and for putting under when doggie made a mess.
Newspapers are for painting, spread out on the floor,
and for having fish in what we pull ashore.
Newspapers are for folding, watching baskets grow
nothing really beats them for collecting sloe.
Newspapers are for spreading, when the children play
colouring and messing all the livelong day.
Newspapers are for making seedling pots in spring
Rolling my pot maker again and once again.
Newspapers are for using more than once or twice
versatile the word is - don't read them's my advice.
- - - - - - - - - -
Next Monday's topic is: Remembering
søndag den 3. september 2023
Vi får vores sommer!
We'll have our Summer!
Der er mange mennesker her i landet - heriblandt mig - der har påstået at vi har mindst 14 dages sommer til gode.
Det lader så til at de højere magter har lyttet til vores klager, for se bare den vejrmelding!
-- ⛅ -- 🌞 -- 🌤 --
We're a lot of people in Denmark - me among them - that think that somebody somewhere owe us at least two weeks of summer.
It actually seems that the powers that be have listened. Look at this weather forecast!
Wal•Mart & Döner
Hvis vi skulle have store plastikting til husholdningen, snavsetøjskurve, babybadekar, opvaskebaljer, al den slags plastik-gejl uden hvilken en husholdning ikke rigtig kan køre - kørte vi over på den anden side af Lebenstedt. Der lå Wal•Mart. Vi var overbeviste om, at det var en tysk kæde, og udtalte det på tysk, ligesom de lokale også gjorde. Det var en enorm butik, og den delte parkeringsplads med et stort havecenter, hvor vi købte en tysk top-ting til vores juletræ.
På den fælles parkeringsplads stod det en lilla eller lyserød vogn, hvorfra venlige, tyrkiske mænd solgte Döner Kebab.
På den fælles parkeringsplads stod det en lilla eller lyserød vogn, hvorfra venlige, tyrkiske mænd solgte Döner Kebab.
-⋅- -⋅-
If we needed large plastic household items - laundry baskets, baby bathtubs, dishwashing tubs, all that plastic stuff that a household can't really do without - we drove to the other side of Lebenstedt. There was Wal•Mart. We were convinced it was a German chain and pronounced it in German, as did the locals. It was a huge store, and it shared a car park with a large garden centre where we bought a German top-thingie for our Christmas tree.
In the shared car park was a purple or pink trolley from which friendly Turkish men sold Döner Kebab.
Billede fra Google maps. Döner-vognen findes stadig, nu er den bare rykket over til plantecenteret.
Picture from Google Maps. The Döner-mobile is still there, only now next to the Garden centre
Picture from Google Maps. The Döner-mobile is still there, only now next to the Garden centre
Vi laver aldrig Döner selv - det kræøver roterende spid og sådan en sjov "barbermaskine" til kød. Men vi steger selv pulled pork og bager ofte pitabrød. Så det må være en god erstatning, og i dag vil jeg prøve det med blommesovsen fra i fredags, vi har virkelig mange blommer i år.
-⋅- -⋅-
We never make Döner kebeab at home, but pita bread is a staple in our household, and I often bake them myself.
Tonight I'm going to try homemade Pulled pork with the Plum sauce from Friday, as we really do have many plums this year.
-⋅- -⋅- -⋅- -⋅-
Pulled Pork
1 nakkesteg på ca. 2 kg (Økologisk, eller lagt i saltlage fra dagen før)
50 g brun farin
Paprika
Friskkværnet peber
Salt
2 spsk whisky (kan udelades eller erstattes efter smag)
Syvpeber
1 laurbærblad
En buket blandede krydderurter fra haven, fintklippet (timian, løvstikke, salvie, oregano ...)
3 enebær
Bland alt undtagen kødet i en ildfast fad med låg
Skyl nakkestegen i koldt vand og tør den grundigt. Læg den i fadet og masser sukker/krydderblandingen rundt på kødet med fingrene.
Læg låg på fadet og stil det i ovnen ved 110 gradet i lang tid mindst 6 timer. Vend den efter tre timer.
Hiv kødet i trævler med to gafler - det er det, der gør det til Pulled Pork - og lad det ligge lidt i stegevandet.
Server med varme pitabrød, hvidløgsdressing eller blommesovs.
-⋅- -⋅- -⋅- -⋅-
Pulled Pork
1 neck roast of approx. 2kg Organic, else it's too squishy and needs salting overnight.
50 g brown sugar
Paprika
Freshly ground pepper
Salt
A spoonful or two of smoked whisky (can be omitted or substituted after taste)
Seven pepper - Japanese Nanami togarashi (else a little chilli)
1 bay leaf
A bouquet of mixed herbs from the garden, finely chopped
3 juniper berries
Mix everything except the meat in an ovenproof dish with a lid
Rinse the neck roast in cold water and dry it thoroughly.
Place it in the dish and distribute the sugar/spice mixture on the outside of the meat with your fingers.
Cover the dish and place it in the oven at 110 degrees centigrade for at least 6 hours. Turn it over after three hours.
Shred the meat with two forks - this is the Pulled part - and leave it in the cooking water for a while.
Serve with warm pita bread, garlic dressing or plum sauce.
-⋅- -⋅- -⋅- -⋅-
Så håber jeg Dönervognens farve rammer månedens farve godt nok.
I hope the pink of the Döner-mobile is close enough to the colour of the month.
lørdag den 2. september 2023
Sveskeblommer ~ 3 Plum Prunes
Vores foretrukne indkøbssted i Lebenstedt var markedet, der skiftevis var i Blumentriften, foran Maximiliankirken og et tredje sted, jeg har glemt. Der købte vi Fladenbrot, tyrkiske specialiteter, grøntsager fra omegnen, pølser, honning ... alt den slags. Jeg drømmer ofte om at have sådan et marked i nærheden.
For de mere kedelige ting, var der Rewe Markt, der også hed MiniMal. Der købte vi mel, mælk, sukker osv. De havde deres eget mærke, der hed Ja! I den serie havde de også Pflaumenmus - blommemos. Vi elskede det, og jeg har stadig en masse glas, som jeg bruger til syltetøj.
Deres look har ikke ændret sig meget på de 20 år siden. Lågene er blevet lilla i stedet for hvide, og der er kommet et blommefotografi som baggrund.
Pflaumenmus (blommemos):
2,5 kg blommer
1/2 tsk nelliker
1/2 tsk kanel
1/4 tsk revet muskatnød
sukker efter smag
Vask blommerne og udsten dem. Hak dem groft og kog dem til en grød tilsæt sukker og krydderier (pas på - ikke for meget kanel). Herfra kan man fortsætte på to måder, den "rigtige" og en lidt nemmere. Til den rigtige måde hældes blommemosen i bradepanden, der sættes i ovnen ved 150° - lågen skal stå en anelse på klem - i ca 4 timer eller til mosen er blevet smukt mørkerød og tyktflydende, der skal røres af og til, den hældes på henkogningsglas, der stilles i ovnen i 2 min.
Den nemmere måde, er der konserveringsmiddel i: Mosen koges noget mere ind i gryden, og der tilsættes et geleringsmiddel efter opskriften på posen, mosen hældes i varme, atamonskyllede glas, der lukkes til med det samme.
For de mere kedelige ting, var der Rewe Markt, der også hed MiniMal. Der købte vi mel, mælk, sukker osv. De havde deres eget mærke, der hed Ja! I den serie havde de også Pflaumenmus - blommemos. Vi elskede det, og jeg har stadig en masse glas, som jeg bruger til syltetøj.
Deres look har ikke ændret sig meget på de 20 år siden. Lågene er blevet lilla i stedet for hvide, og der er kommet et blommefotografi som baggrund.
Pflaumenmus (blommemos):
2,5 kg blommer
1/2 tsk nelliker
1/2 tsk kanel
1/4 tsk revet muskatnød
sukker efter smag
Vask blommerne og udsten dem. Hak dem groft og kog dem til en grød tilsæt sukker og krydderier (pas på - ikke for meget kanel). Herfra kan man fortsætte på to måder, den "rigtige" og en lidt nemmere. Til den rigtige måde hældes blommemosen i bradepanden, der sættes i ovnen ved 150° - lågen skal stå en anelse på klem - i ca 4 timer eller til mosen er blevet smukt mørkerød og tyktflydende, der skal røres af og til, den hældes på henkogningsglas, der stilles i ovnen i 2 min.
Den nemmere måde, er der konserveringsmiddel i: Mosen koges noget mere ind i gryden, og der tilsættes et geleringsmiddel efter opskriften på posen, mosen hældes i varme, atamonskyllede glas, der lukkes til med det samme.
Our favourite place to shop in Lebenstedt was the market, which was alternately in Blumentriften, in front of the St. Maximilian Church and a third place I've forgotten. There we bought Fladenbrot, Turkish specialities, local vegetables, sausages, honey... all that stuff. I often dream of having a market like that nearby.
For the more boring stuff, we went to Rewe-Markt, also called MiniMal. There we bought flour, milk, sugar, etc. They had their own brand called Ja! In that range they also had Pflaumenmus - plum spread. We loved it and I still have a lot of jars that I use for homemade jam.
The look hasn't changed much in the 20 years since. The lids are purple instead of white, and there's now a plum photograph as a background.
Pflaumenmus (plum spread):
2.5 kg plums
1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp grated nutmeg
sugar to taste
Wash the plums and stone them. Chop them coarsely and boil them into a mush, add sugar and spices (be careful - not too much cinnamon). From here you can proceed in two ways, the origianl way and a slightly easier one.
For the original Pflaumenmus, pour the plum mash into the roasting tin, place it in the oven at 150° - the door should be slightly ajar - for about 4 hours or until the mash has turned a beautiful dark red colour and is not runny any more, stirring occasionally, pour it into scalding hot jars and place them in the oven for 2 minutes.
The easier way is to use a gelling agent: boil the mash a little more in the pot and add a gelling agent according to the recipe on the bag, pour the mash into scalding hot jars and seal immediately.
fredag den 1. september 2023
Sveskeblommer ~ 2 ~ Plum Prunes
Vi fandt os ret hurtig til rette i Osterlinde og fandt vore foretrukne steder at gå på indkøb i Salzgitter. I vores lille by var der en købmand, hvor Frau Deich sørgede for os, men det helt store udvalg havde hun naturligvis ikke. Så for større indkøb tog vi til Salzgitters hovedby, Lebenstedt. Der gik Storesøster i skole, der gik vi til messe, på biblioteket og i biografen. Og der fandt vi også en øko-forretning (hvor vi senere købte vores julegås under meget forvirrende omstændigheder), de havde et lille blad, bare et sammenfoldet ark, der hed Schrot & Korn (Avner & Kerner), som indeholdt gode råd, opskrifter og plantetips til årstiden. I det blad fandt jeg opskriften på svinefilet med blommer og enebær.
Svinefilet med enebær-blommesovs
200 g svinefilet eller koteletter
1 spsk olie
150 g blommer
1 tsk smør
1 spsk vineddike
1 stor tsk honning
1 laurbærblad
2 enebær
fløde
salt, kanel, ingefær, cayennepeber
Man kan også bruge koteletter skåret i tynde skiver - det er billigere, men smager lige så godt.
Lav sovsen færdig, steg svinekødet, drys med salt og peber, og hæld sovsen over.
We quickly learned our way around in Salzgitter and found our favourite shopping places. In our small town Frau Deich had a grocery store where she looked after us, but of course she didn't have a huge selection. So for larger purchases we went to Salzgitter's main town, Lebenstedt. This is also where Big Sis went to school,, where we went to mass, to the movies, and to the library, and where we we also found an organic shop (in this shop we later bought our Christmas goose under very confusing circumstances). They handed out a little magazine, really just a folded sheet, called Schrot & Korn (Chaff & Grain), which contained advice, recipes and planting tips for the season. In it I found the recipe for pork fillet with plums and juniper berries.
Pork fillet with juniper plum sauce
200 g pork fillet or chops
1 tbsp oil
150 g plums
1 tsp butter
1 tbsp wine vinegar
1 large teaspoon honey
1 bay leaf
2 juniper berries
cream
salt, cinnamon, ginger, cayenne pepper
Brown the pork fillet in the oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and keep warm in tin foil.
Cut the plums into thin slices. Melt the butter, add the plums, wine vinegar, honey, bay leaf and juniper berries and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the cream and season to taste with salt, cinnamon, ginger and cayenne pepper.
Thinly slice the fillet and let it soak in the sauce for 1-2 minutes.
Serve with rice, couscous or pasta.
You can also use thinly sliced chops - it is cheaper, but tastes just as good.
Finish the sauce, fry the pork chops in thin slices, sprinkle with salt and pepper and pour the sauce over.
Note:
Butikken ligger der såmænd endnu. Der Vollkornladen, Am Schölkengraben 5, Salzgitter, og den ser fuldkommen ud, som jeg husker den.
The shop still exists, and even in the same place, Am Schölkengraben 5, Salzgitter, and in the photos it looks exactly as I remember it.
Svinefilet med enebær-blommesovs
200 g svinefilet eller koteletter
1 spsk olie
150 g blommer
1 tsk smør
1 spsk vineddike
1 stor tsk honning
1 laurbærblad
2 enebær
fløde
salt, kanel, ingefær, cayennepeber
- Brun svinefileten i olien. Drys den med salt og peber og hold den varm i sølvpapir.
- Skær blommerne i tynde skiver. Smelt smørret, tilsæt blommer, vineddike, honning, laurbærblad og enebær og lad det snurre i ti min. Tilsæt fløde og smag til med salt, kanel, ingefær og cayennepeber.
- Skær fileten i tynde skiver og lad den trække 1-2 min i sovsen.
- Server med ris, bulgur eller båndpasta.
Man kan også bruge koteletter skåret i tynde skiver - det er billigere, men smager lige så godt.
Lav sovsen færdig, steg svinekødet, drys med salt og peber, og hæld sovsen over.
-- 🐖 -- 🍑 -- 🍴 --
We quickly learned our way around in Salzgitter and found our favourite shopping places. In our small town Frau Deich had a grocery store where she looked after us, but of course she didn't have a huge selection. So for larger purchases we went to Salzgitter's main town, Lebenstedt. This is also where Big Sis went to school,, where we went to mass, to the movies, and to the library, and where we we also found an organic shop (in this shop we later bought our Christmas goose under very confusing circumstances). They handed out a little magazine, really just a folded sheet, called Schrot & Korn (Chaff & Grain), which contained advice, recipes and planting tips for the season. In it I found the recipe for pork fillet with plums and juniper berries.
Pork fillet with juniper plum sauce
200 g pork fillet or chops
1 tbsp oil
150 g plums
1 tsp butter
1 tbsp wine vinegar
1 large teaspoon honey
1 bay leaf
2 juniper berries
cream
salt, cinnamon, ginger, cayenne pepper
Brown the pork fillet in the oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and keep warm in tin foil.
Cut the plums into thin slices. Melt the butter, add the plums, wine vinegar, honey, bay leaf and juniper berries and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the cream and season to taste with salt, cinnamon, ginger and cayenne pepper.
Thinly slice the fillet and let it soak in the sauce for 1-2 minutes.
Serve with rice, couscous or pasta.
You can also use thinly sliced chops - it is cheaper, but tastes just as good.
Finish the sauce, fry the pork chops in thin slices, sprinkle with salt and pepper and pour the sauce over.
Note:
Butikken ligger der såmænd endnu. Der Vollkornladen, Am Schölkengraben 5, Salzgitter, og den ser fuldkommen ud, som jeg husker den.
The shop still exists, and even in the same place, Am Schölkengraben 5, Salzgitter, and in the photos it looks exactly as I remember it.