Words for Wednesday August 27Cykelture med forhindringer ~ Biking Challenges

Word for Wednesday is a challenge that was started a long time ago. Now it has turned into a movable event with Elephant's Child as our coordinator; and the Words 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.

In August, Mimi of MessyMimi's Meanderings will supply us with prompts.

 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.

- - A - - B - - C - - 

Word for Wednesday er en udfordring, der startede for længe siden. Nu er det blevet en bevægelig begivenhed med Elephant's Child som vores koordinator og ordene bliver leveret af en række personer.

Meningen med denne udfordring er at få os til at skrive. Digte, historier, fortællinger, vittigheder, haiku, krydsord, ordspil, ... du bestemmer.
Brug alle ordene, nogle af dem eller kun et enkelt, eller måske endda ingen af dem, hvis det får din kreativitet til at blomstre. Alt er tilladt, men helst ikke noget vulgært eller fornærmende.

I august er det Mimi fra MessyMimi's Meanderings der giver os ordene.

Det er også en udfordring, hvor det gamle ordsprog »Jo flere, jo bedre« holder stik.

Så husk at følge linkene, gå tilbage og læse andres historier. Og skriv gerne en kommentar, når du har læst. Udfordringer som denne holdes i live af interaktion, kommentarer og opmuntring. Og vi har ALLE brug for opmuntring.

- - A - - B - - C - - 

Ordene den 27. august - The Words for August 27:
Horizon
Consciousness
Theorist
Great
Enhance
Enter
          and/or the following sentence
It took him a while to realize that everything he decided not to change, he was actually choosing.


I had some trouble unravelling the sentence to mean that not choosing is also a choice. I did not use it, neither all of the words.

- - A - - B - - C - - 

The past seven days my bike has been on the horizon of my consciousness most of my waking hours. Last Wednesday I wrote about my broken bike and ended with this optimistic statement: "Tomorrow I will hopefully pick up my bike again – and I hope that will be my last visit to the bike repair shop for a while."

"Tomorrow" - Thursday - nothing happened, and not Friday either. I was in town again for PE and shopping, and phoned the bike shop just before going home, hoping they just forgot to send me an SMS. No such luck. They needed a spare part, and although the delivery van had not been at their place yet, the chance of them finishing the bike that same day was not great even should the spare part arrive. Else Monday hopefully.

I waited patiently, getting around by bus and by walking which my stupid leg - the reason fro Friday's PE and quite another woeful tale - did not like at all. Tuesday I phoned once again. nope, no such luck, but Wednesday for sure. Wednesday I was once again in town, PE and shopping, 'running' from place to place, checking my mobile phone between each shop - nothing. I took the bus home, against all wont holding my mobile in my hand, so as to be able to hear any possible notifications. None came. The grandkids stayed at our place for a couple of days, so the rest of the day was spent learning, teaching and doing family things. In the late afternoon, I checked my 'phone once again. You do not need to be a great theorist to figure out when the SMS telling that my bike was ready had arrived - yup. half an hour after I arrived home.

     Today, I finally went to pick up my bike. It had been fitted with new, shiny pedals and was as good as new – now we just have to get used to each other again!

- - 🚲  - - 

Den sidste uges tid har min cykel været øverst i mine tanker meget af tiden. Sidste onsdag skrev jeg om min ødelagte cykel og sluttede med denne optimistiske bemærkning: »I morgen skulle jeg gerne kunne hente cyklen igen - og så håber jeg at det var det sidste besøg hos cykelsmeden i et stykke tid.«

»I morgen« - torsdag - skete der ingenting, og heller ikke fredag. Jeg var i byen igen, til fysioterapi og for at gå på indkøb. Da jeg var helt færdig, ringede jeg til cykelsmeden, i håbet om at han bare havde glemt at sende mig en SMS om at cyklen var færdig. Sådan var det desværre ikke. Der manglede en reservedel, og selvom fragtmanden ikke havde været der endnu, var chancen for at de kunne blive færdige med cyklen samme dag ikke stor, selv hvis reservedelen altså skulle ankomme. Forhåbentlig mandag.
     Jeg ventede tålmodigt og bøvlede rundt med bus og til fods, hvilket mit dumme ben – årsagen til fredagens fysioterapi og en helt anden sørgelig historie – slet ikke brød sig om. Tirsdag ringede jeg igen. Nej, den var ikke færdig, men onsdag ville den helt sikkert være færdig.
     Onsdag var jeg igen i byen, til mere træning og flere indkøb, og "løb" fra sted til sted og tjekkede min mobiltelefon mellem hver butik – intet. Jeg tog bussen hjem og ganske usædvanligt sad jeg med mobilen i hånden hele vejen hjem, så jeg kunne høre eventuelle beskeder. Der kom ingen. Børnebørnene var hos os i et par dage, så resten af dagen gik med at lære, undervise og familie. Sent på eftermiddagen tjekkede jeg min telefon igen. Man behøver ikke være geni for at regne ud, hvornår SMS'en om, at min cykel var færdig, var ankommet - naturligvis en halv time efter jeg kom hjem.
     I dag var jeg så endelig inde og hente min cykel. Den havde fået nye, fine pedaler og var god som ny - nu skal vi lige vænne os til hinanden igen!

Den fortabte cykel er hjemme igen  -- The lost bike is home again

Og den skal overnatte i vores nye skur for første gang i nat.

- - 🚲  - -

And it's going to 'sleep' in our new shed for the first time ever tonight.

Onsdagsord ~ 22. marts ~ Words for Wednesday

Denne gang er den danske version længere nede på siden.

-- 🐸 -- 🐸 -- Yesterday was International Frog Day -- 🐸 -- 🐸 --

In March, the Wednesday's Words are on River's blog. They were chosen by Susan Kane, but her family is having medical issues. Ergo, if you want to play along, hop over to River's blog.

For today we had these words:

1. mine
2. child
3.foundation
4. careful
5. bird
6. dig
     and/or:
1. hate
2. sadness
3. lemon
4. attach
5. breakfast
6. time

Thank you Susan Kane for good Words, and to River for posting them. I continue last week's story of Susan and the frogs.

"Yes they are mine," Susan said.

Thora looked sternly at her. "My child, those are ordinary frog eggs, aren't they?"

"Commonplace, green frog eggs, yes." Susan replied. "They are the foundation of a new frog tribe in the swamps. So please be careful when touching their terrarium."

Susan's visit to the minister had been quite the disaster. He was nice enough, and served tea and scones, but no way was he going to give up fertilizing his roses. He used to win the prize at the annual flower show with them. And on the way home a bird, a big one, had hit her from above. She had had to dig out bird poop from between the strands of her best straw hat.

Some days later she had visited the frogs, and what she saw made her hate the minister even more. All the frogs were dead or dying from the strange fertilizer in the water. A sadness stole over her, but then she found a strand of unharmed frog eggs and had an idea. She brought the eggs with her to The Unicorn Farm where she put into a lemon coloured terrarium. She had the idea of teaching the tadpoles and later young frogs, that a yellow smell did not mean something bad.

"Well," Thora said, "you are nothing if not resourceful, that small amount of fertilizer should not kill off the frogs. It sure must be something they have learned. Just take care not to become attached to those tiny jumpers."

"I won't!" Susan said. Their brains are so strange, I keep describing tastes with words meant for colours or sounds when I have been teaching them. It's quite confusing when I describe my favourite breakfast cereal as that waltzing, purplish one. This is a one time exercise. But I hope the tadpoles will give on their knowledge to coming generations,"

-- 🐸 -- 🐸 -- I går var det den Internationale frø-dag -- 🐸 -- 🐸 --

På dansk
Lige som sidste uge er det Susan Kane der har givet os ordene og ligeledes er de at finde på Rivers blog. Vi har fået de her ord:

1. mine
2. barn
3.fundament/grundlag
4. forsigtig
5. fugl
6. grave
      og/eller:
1. hade
2. sorg /tristhed
3. citron
4. knytte
5. morgenmad
6. tid / gang

      "Ja, de er mine," sagde Susan.
      Thora kiggede alvorligt på hende. "Mit barn, det er helt almindelige frøæg, ikke sandt?"
      "Ja, det er æg fra grønne frøer, helt almindelige," svarede Susan. "De skal forhåbentlig danne grundlag for en ny frø-stamme ude i sumpen. Så vær forsigtig, når du rører ved deres terrarie."

Susans besøg hos præsten havde været noget af en katastrofe. Han var flink nok og serverede te og scones, men han ville på ingen måde opgive at gøde sine roser. Han plejede at vinde præmier ved det årlige blomsterudstilling med dem. Og på vejen hjem havde en stor fugl ramt hende med en ordentlig klat. Hun havde måttet grave fuglelort ud af fletværket i sin bedste stråhat.

Nogle dage senere havde hun besøgt frøerne igen, og det, hun så, fik hende til at hade præsten endnu mere. Alle frøerne var døde eller døende af gødningen i vandet. En tristhed stjal sig ind over hende, men så fandt hun en hob uskadte frøæg og fik en idé. Hun tog æggene med sig til Enhjørningegården, hvor hun satte dem i et citrongult terrarie. Hun fik en idé om at lære haletudserne og senere de unge frøer, at en gul lugt ikke var ensbetydende med noget dårligt.
     "Jamen," sagde Thora, "det er da smart! Den lille mængde gødning burde ikke slå frøerne ihjel. Det må helt sikkert være noget, de har lært. Bare pas på, at du ikke bliver knyttet til de små springfyre."
    "Bare rolig, det er der ikke nogen fare for!" sagde Susan. Deres hjerner er så sære, og det smitter. Jeg bliver ved med at beskrive smag med ord, der normalt beskriver farver eller lyde, når jeg har undervist dem. Det er ret forvirrende, når jeg til morgenmaden beskriver min yndlingsmüsli som den der lilla i valsetakt. Det er absolut en engangsfornøjelse. Men jeg håber, at haletudserne vil give deres viden videre til de kommende generationer."

Onsdagsord ~ 15. marts ~ Words for Wednesday

In March, the Wednesday topics are on River's blog. They were chosen by Susan Kane, but her family is having medical issues. Ergo, if you want to play along, hop over to River's blog.

For today we had these words:

Field
Frog
Smell
Check
Visit
Gate
     and/or:
Abandon
Immune
Temple
Hand
Minister
Habit

But first, the words and a story in Danish - for English, scroll down.

- - - - - 🐸 - - - - -

     I marts er onsdagsodene leveret af Susan Kane, men da hendes familie har helbredsmæssige problemer, er ordene at finde på River's blog.
     Til i dag har vi fået de her 12 ord:

Mark
Frø
Lugt
Bremse
Besøg
Barriere/spærring/låge
     og/eller:
Opgive
Immun
Tinding
Hånd
Præst
Vane

Jeg har skrevet endnu et lille afsnit af min uendelige historie om Susan på Enhjørningegården. Kronologisk er det et stykke ind i første år, efter at Susan har lært at lytte til andre dyr, end den mus, vi hørte om her.
     Det lader til at bare det, at jeg besluttede ikke at skulle deltage i alle de her udfordringer, har fået ordene til at strømme igen :D

Susan sad midt på marken. I dammen kvækkede en frø så Susan troede dens stakkels hjerte var ved at briste.
     "Hvad er der i vejen, lille frø-mand?" spurgte Susan. Hun forventede ikke noget svar, men pludselig kom lugten af svovl forbi, og hun måtte bremse en impuls til at rejse sig op og løbe sin vej. Hun spurgte frøen, denne gang lidt mere bevidst. "Frø-mand, hvad er der sket?"
     Frøen kvækkede igen, højlydt. I Susans hjerne dukkede et billede op. Frø-manden, der ønskede at besøge sin frø-kone, nu det var blevet forår. Men der var noget i vejen, en eller anden spærring.
     "En barriere?" udbrød Susan. "Kan du ikke bare krybe under den? Du er jo lille."
     Igen kvækkede frøen, igen så eller forstod Susan halvt hvad frøen mente. Det var ikke en barbarisere eller en afspærring, ikke en låge eller sådan noget, men et eller andet, der forhindrede hr. frø i at vende tilbage til sin dam og til fru frø.
     Med manglende tanke for følgerne lagde Susan sig fladt ned på jorden og stak hovedet helt hen til frøen og åbnede sit sind for hr. frø. Nogle ikke så rare episoder med dyr, der ikke var pattedyr havde vist hende, at hun ikke var helt immun over for deres mærkelige sind, men frøen lød så desperat. Hun så ham tage en dyb indånding, hans kvækkeposer svulmede, og en lille åre i hans tinding pulserede i takt med hans hjerteslag. Han udstødte et kæmpe-kvæk, hvilket fik Susan til at slå hænderne for ørerne, men samtidig "så" hun frøens problem. En bæk, der gik gennem sumpen, lidt fra Enhjørningegården, var blevet fyldt af noget, der lugtede svovlgult og skarpt - synæstesi var et af problemerne ved at have med padder at gøre.
     Susan lukkede sine øjne og sine tanker for frøen, og tænkte sig om. Der var en svovlfarvet lugt i vandet, som forhindrede frøen i at komme på besøg hos sin frø-kone - hun så stadig den lysende, iriserende boble, der var knyttet til dette begreb, og hørte de jublende triller. Hvad kunne den svovlgule lugt mon være ... 
     Hun rejste sig op, stadig usikker på benene efter den tætte kontakt med frøen. Hun vidste præcis hvor problemet var, nu skulle hun bare se om hun kunne finde ud af hvad det var.
     "Jeg kommer tilbage, frø-mand," lovede hun.
     Frøens lave, rumlende kvækken var et løfte om at blive.
     Gåturen og den friske luft klarede Susans hjerne og gjorde hendes ben mindre geléagtige. Snart stod hun ved den lille bæk. Hun kiggede på vandet, der så helt ud som det plejede, intet unormalt der, så vidt hun kunne se. Så lagde hun sig på knæ og rørte ved det kølige, klare vand. Det føltes også normalt, men hun vidste, at det var det ikke - i hvert fald ikke for en frø. Hun formede sine hænder til en skål og smagte, puha, det var ulækkert. Skarpt, bittert og med en gul smag - noget af frøen var stadig i hendes sind. Hvordan kunne det være? Susan fulgte den lille bæk mod strømmen. Kornmarker, skove og langt væk nogle sommerhuse. Selvfølgelig!  
     Nu vidste hun det! Hun vidste, at præsten boede i et stort hus lige bag sommerhusene ved udspringet af den lille bæk, og han havde for vane at gøde sine roser, lige inden det blev regnvejr. Det havde han sikkert også gjort i forgårs, og nu generede gødningen frøen.
     Hun kunne forestille sig to løsninger. Enten kunne hun bære frøen over det forurenede vand, eller også kunne hun neutralisere gødningen. Den første løsning er den nemmeste lige nu, tænkte Susan, mens hun vendte sig om og fortsatte i retning af frøen. Men jeg skal finde et antistof mod gødningen. I morgen vil jeg besøge præsten.

- - - - - 🐸 - - - - -

Back to Susan at Unicorn Farm. Somewhere in the first year, when Susan has been taught how to listen to more than the mouse we heard of here.
It seems that telling myself that I was free to join these challenges or not has made my brain work anew - the sunshine outside is not hampering me either.

Susan sat in the middle of the field. In the pond a frog was croaking his poor heart out.
"What's the matter, little Frog-man?" Susan asked. She did not expect an answer, but suddenly the smell of sulphur wafted by, and she had to check an impulse to get up and run. She asked the frog this time a bit more deliberate. "Frog-man, What happened."
The frog croaked again, loudly. In Susan's brain a picture surfaces. The frog-man wanting to visit mama frog now spring had come. But the road was barred, by something, looking like a gate.
"A gate?" Susan said, "could you not just go under it? You're small."
Again croaks, again Susan saw or understood in some way what the frog meant. It was not a gate, not a real one anyway, but some kind of thing preventing mister frog from returning to his pond and to mama frog. With total abandon Susan stretched on the ground, putting her head close to the frog and opened her mind for mister frog. Some not so nice episodes with non-mammals had shown her that she was totally not immune to the lure of their strange minds, but the frog sounded so desperate. She saw him draw a deep breath, his vocal sacs inflated and a small vein started jumping in his temple. He send out the grandfather of all croaks, making Susan clap her hands to her ears, but simultaneously she "saw" the frogs' problem. A stream crossing the marshes off the Unicorn farm had been polluted by something having a sulphur coloured smell - synaesthesia was one of the problems communicating with amphibians.

Susan closed her eyes and mind to the frog, thinking. A sulphur coloured smell was in the water, preventing the frogs from visiting - she still saw the luminous, iridescent bubble attached to that concept and heard the jubilant trills. What could that strange smell be ...  
She rose, still wobbly after the violent communications from the frog, she knew exactly where the problem was, now to see if she could discover what it was.
"I'll be back, frog-man," she promised.
"The frog's low, rumbling croak was a promise that he would stay.
The movements and fresh air cleared Susan's brain, and made her legs less wobbly. Soon she stood at the small stream in question. She looked at the water, nothing could be seen. She kneeled down and touched the cool, clear water, it felt normal as well, but she knew that it was not - at least to a frog. She cupped her hands and tasted, phew! it was nasty. Sharp, bitter and yellow-tasting - some of the frog was still in her mind. How come? Susan followed the tiny brook against the flow. Fields of grain, woods and far away some summerhouses. Of course!   
Susan knew. She knew that the minister lived in a big house upstreams of the small swamp where the frogs lived, had a habit of fertilizing his garden just before the rain came down. She was sure he had done so the day before yesterday, and now the fertilizer bothered mister frog.
She saw two solutions. Either carry the frog over the polluted waters, or neutralize the fertilizer. The first might just be the easiest right now, Susan thought, turning around and continuing direction frog. But I am going to find an anti-potion to that fertilizer. Tomorrow I will visit the minister.

"Words" for Wednesday ~ 8. februar 2023

Ondags"ordene" denne gang er tal. Lissa har givet os de her seks tal at skrive om:

Seventeen (17)
Seven (7)
Six (6)
Ten (10)
Nine (9)
Thirteen (13)
Twenty-five (25)

Efter at have vredet min stakkels hjerne - Uglemor og tal er virkelig ikke gode venner - fandt jeg ud af at der var faktisk et sted, hvor jeg brugte tal, mange tal endda. Når jeg strikkede.

Jeg brugte ikke helt 25 gram af det første blå nøgle til det første ærme, så der er til et mere. Men med 13 striber i mønsteret, der skal gentages i bunden af trøjen, må jeg vist købe et par nøgler mere, før der er nok.
     Jeg strikker på pinde nummer 6, for at få ærmerne brede nok, selv om mønsteret siden 5½. Men nu har jeg trævlet op og strikke om igen 7 gange, så det gider jeg ikke længere, nu bliver det rigtigt!
     I dag er det den 9. februar, og jeg har strikket på den trøje siden den 10. måned sidste år.
     Så lad os håbe jeg bliver færdig inden det bliver for varmt til at have den på.

-- ⑰ -- ㉕ -- ⑬ --

Lissa gave us these Words Numerals for Wednesday:
Seventeen (17)
Seven (7)
Six (6)
Ten (10)
Nine (9)
Thirteen (13)
Twenty-five (25)

After raking my poor brain - MotherOwl and numbers are mostly incompatible - I found out that I do actually use numbers a lot ... when knitting. So here goes:

I did not quite use 25 grams, which would be half of the first dark blue ball, for the first sleeve. I have enough yarn for one more. But with the 13 dark blue rows in the pattern to be repeated at the bottom of the sweater as well, I think I'll have to buy a few more balls of dark blue before I have enough.

I'm knitting on needle size 6 to get the sleeves wide enough, even though the pattern says 5½. But now I've frogged it and re-knit it 7 times, so I just hope this time it will be right! Today is February 9th, and I began knitting this sweater in October - the 10th month - last year. Hopefully I'll be done before it's too hot to wear it.

Åh, og ville I se et billede af det færdige ærme -- Oh you want a picture of the sleeve.

Onsdagsord ~ 1 februar ~ Words for Wednesday

I februar er ordene til onsdagsord at finde hos Lissa. Og til onsdag 1. februar har vi fået disse 7 ord:
Missing - Savne/mangle
Pillow - Pude
Rattle - Rangle/raslen/skræmme
Flight - Fly/flugt
Beginning - Begyndelse
Shabby - Nedslidt/ussel
Time - Tid/klokken

Og så må jeg da indrømme, at lukningen af Irma ikke rigtig lader mig tænke på andet, jeg har ikke lyst til at skrive om Enhjørningegården, eller Italien, eller Island eller Birkegården, eller nogle af alle de andre steder, hvor min Susan plejer at slå sine folder ... så:

Vi kommer til at savne nogle ting, når den supermarkedskæde lukker ned. Deres forsikring om, at nogle af tingene vil blive solgt i den restrukturerede kæde, er blot en sovepude for deres samvittighed, søde ord for at lokke os ind og købe deres billige ting.
Alle deres forsikringer skræmmer mig. Deres fantasifulde ords flugt skjuler deres hule indre. Og jeg har en mistanke om, at det kun er en begyndelse på den forarmelse, der ender med at vore dagligvarebutikker alle sammen er usle discountbutikker. Kun tiden vil vise det, men jeg er dybt pessimistisk.

-- o 0 o --

All Wednesdays in February the Words for Wednesday are supplied by Lissa. For February 1, we've been given these 7 words:
Missing
Pillow
Rattle
Flight
Beginning
Shabby
Time

And I am rattled by the closing down of the only real quality supermarket-chain in Denmark. I am not in the mood for writing about Susan at Unicorn Farm, or in Italy, or  Iceland, or Birch Manor or indeed anywhere at all, so:

We will be missing stuff when that supermarket closes down. Their assurance that some of the things will be sold in the re-mastered chain is just a pillow to ease their conscience and make us go there and buy their cheap stuff. All their insurances rattle me. Their fanciful flight of words hides their hollow insides. And I suspect this is only the beginning of the impoverishment of our shops, ending up with them being shabby discount places one and all. Only time will tell, but I am deeply pessimistic.

Onsdagsord ~~ Words for Wednesday ~~ 25 januar

For snart længe siden skrev jeg en fortsat historie om en underlig test i Transformation på Enhjørningegården. Det var en lang, indviklet fortælling, og jeg blev aldrig rigtig tilfreds med det afsnit af min historie. Dagens ord blev til en lille knast på den lange fortælling.

Ordene til denne spøg kommer i dag for sidste gang fra Sandi, men udgives på Elephant's Childs blog.

Ordene er:
Cyrillic
Rogue
Perish
Paris
Parish
      And/or
A foolish waste of time
Overcome
Reading secret messages
New orders

Her er hvad jeg fik ud af dem - som sædvanlig har jeg taget den ekstra udfordring op, der ligger i at bruge ordene i den rækkefølge, de blev givet:
Kyrillisk
Slyngel
Forgå
Paris
Sogn
      Og/eller
Et tåbeligt spild af tid
Overvind
Læsning af hemmelige meddelelser
Nye ordrer
og et stykke musik: Mission Impossible, som jeg ikke kan stille noget op med - og så må man heldigvis springe over.

     "Susan, kan du læse kyrilliske bogstaver?" Det var My der spurgte. "Du er vores sidste håb. Ledetrådene til vores næste spor er skrevet med kyrilliske bogstaver, og det ser ud til, at Mál sameinast kun virker på talte sprog, og alle bøgerne om fremmede alfabeter er blevet fjernet fra biblioteket, og ..."
      "Ja," sagde Susan, og My kiggede overrasket på hende. "Ja," gentog Susan, "jeg kan læse kyrilliske bogstaver. Jeg lærte mig selv at læse og skrive dem sidste år efter at have set Dr. Zhivago. Jeg forstår ikke meget af det jeg læser, for jeg kan ikke forstå russisk. Men det burde Mál sameinast så kunne hjælpe os med."
      "Du er en skat!" sagde My og rakte hende en seddel med sært udseende bogstaver. Susan brugte en hel del tid på at læse bogstavernes lyde et ad gangen, så læste hun langsomt højt, og fortryllelsen oversatte virkelig hendes tøvende russiske til et nogenlunde forståeligt dansk: "Gå hen til stalden og led efter en slyngel. Gå derefter i retning af fortabt ... nej det ord skal være Paris, nej sognekirken," afbrød Susan sig selv. "Under en stor sten finder du den næste ledetråd."
      "Prøv at læse de første ord en gang til," spurgte My. "Jeg har ikke stor lyst til at lede efter slyngler ude i stalden."
     "Men en slyngel behøver ikke nødvendigvis at være en tyvagtig person, det kan også betyde et ensomt dyr der holdes væk fra flokken, ofte et dyr med et vanskeligt temperament." Det var selvfølgelig den alvidende Hilde, der havde en forklaring parat. "Jeg formoder, at der er en ensom ko eller hest på en afsidesliggende græsmark, som man kan se fra stalden."
      Susan smilede opmuntrende til My. "Af sted med dig, vi skal arbejde på vores egne spor," sagde Susan. "Du ved ikke tilfældigvis noget om pungdyr?"
      "Kun at en kænguru er et pungdyr, og at de kun findes i Australien, men det er indlysende, og det hjælper vel ikke meget." Susan rystede på hovedet, og My takkede hende endnu en gang, inden hun løb væk.
     "Det er tåbeligt spild af tid at gætte den her slags gåder," sagde Kalle. "Jeg ville hellere studere islandsk, eller transformation eller endda krypto-zoologi."
       "Men det gør du jo," protesterede Hilde. "Bare fordi det ikke hedder sådan, og vi ikke har skemalagte timer, men vi studerer skam! Du skal bare overvinde din fordom om, at indlæring altid foregår som i skolen. Vi er på Enhjørningegården. Der kan ske alt muligt her, og det gør der for det meste!"
      "At læse hemmelige beskeder er måske din opfattelse af sjov og læring," sagde Kalle surt. "Men det er ikke min."
      "Men Kalle altså," afbrød Susan, "Vidste du, før My kom ind med det stykke papir, at vores sprogfortryllelse ikke virker på ord, skrevet i et alfabet, du ikke kender? For det er helt nyt for mig. Vi har læst tyske, islandske og finske bøger på biblioteket - jeg har endda læst noget på ungarsk. Så hvis du havde spurgt mig i morges, ville jeg have sagt, at russisk også ville blive "oversat" af Mál sameinast. Men sådan er det ikke!"
     Kalle kiggede på Susan. "Du har ret. Det vidste jeg ikke. Jeg tror, at min hjerne har brug for nye ordrer. Lad os gå en tur for at få renset tankerne."

-- XXX -- XXX -- XXX -- XXX -- XXX -- XXX -- XXX --

Some time ago I wrote a long, meandering chapter of a strange test in Transformation at the Unicorn Farm. Today's Words turned in to a small outcropping on this story. I'm still not happy with it, and it is in need of much revision before making it into my book.
Todays Words coutesy of Sandy, are published on Elephant's Child's blog.
The Words are:
Cyrillic
Rogue
Perish
Paris
Parish
      And/or
A foolish waste of time
Overcome
Reading secret messages
New orders"
And a piece of music: Mission Impossible. I do not know how to use this, I grasp the option of treating it with ignore.

I took up my usual challenge of using the Words in the order they were given:

"Susan, do you read Cyrilic letters?" My asked. "You're our last hope. The clues for our next part is written in cyrilic letters, and it seems the Mál sameinast only works for spoken languages, and all the boks on foreign alphabets have been removed from the library, and ..."
"Yes," Susan said and My looked at her in consternation. "Yes," Susan repeated, "I do read Cyrilic letters. I taught myself last year after having seen Dr. Zhivago. I do not understand much, if any of what I'm reading, because I do not understand any Russian. But Mál sameinast should help with this."
"You're a darling!" My said and handed her a slip of paper with strangely shaped letters on it. Susan spent quite a while sounding the letters one by one, then slowly she read aloud, and the spell really did translate her faltering Russian into halvways understandable Danish: "Go to the stable and look for a rogue. Then go direction of the perish ... no this word should be Paris, no parish," Susan interrupted her reading, "Under a big stone you'll find the next clue."
"Try reading the first words once again," My asked. "I'm not much into searching for rogues."
"But a rogue needs not be a thieving person, it can also mean a lonely animal away from the herd, often of a sourly disposition," Of course Hilde knew this obscure meaning of the word.
Then Susan added: "I suppose there's a lone cow or horse in a secluded pasture that you can see from the stables. Off you go, we have to be working on our own clues," she said. "You do not happen to know anything on marsupials?"
"Only that a kangaroo is a marsupial, and that they only are found in Australia, but this is obvious, and I suppose not much help." Susan nodded and My thanked her once again before she ran off.

"This riddling is a foolish waste of time," Kalle said. I'd rater be studying Icelandic, or transformation, or even crypto-zoology."
"But you are," Hilde protested. "Only it's not called thus, and we do not have set hours, but we do study! Ypu'll just have to overcome your prejudice that learning always happens like in school. We're at Unicorn Farm. Anything might happen, and sometimes do!"
"Reading secret messages might be your idea of fun and learning," Kalle said sourly. "But it's not mine."
"Do tell me," Susan interrupted, " Did you know before My came in with this piece of paper that our language spell do not work on words written in an alphabet you do not know? Because it's totally new to me. We've been reading German, Icelandic, Finnish you name it books from the library - I even read something in Hungarian. If you had asked me this morning, I'd have said that Russian would be 'translated' by Mál sameinast as well. But it's not so!"

Kalle looked at Susan. "You're right. I did not know. I think my brain needs new orders. Let's go for a walk to clear our minds."

Words for Wednesday 31. January

For the last time the The Words for Wednesday is hosted by Letting the Words Escape. Today's (or rather this Wednesday's) words are:

bloody
confidence
ranger
Apollo
submarine
Byron

and/or

dictionary
groundhog
dancing
rain
silent
Germany

I don't rigtly know what happened here. These words and my sons' homework, make sentences with these words, somehow spliced themselves in my mind. This happened:
 
Two mini-novellas - almost.

I have no bloody conficdence in rangers, Byron blurted. I'd rather enter the Apollo space shuttle than this darned submarine.

Groundhog day found us dancing in the silent rain, wishing we were still in Germany.

Words for Wednesday -- 24 January

Once more late to the party. Here's my story.
The Words for Wednesday in January will be found at Letting the Words Escape. Today's (or rather this Wednesday's) words are:

1 frisbee
2 baseball
3 Winston
4 truce
5 Studebaker
6 diamond

and/or

1 vanish
2 message
3 Tokyo
4 Wanda
5 twist
6 maim

Instead of playing baseball or frisbee with his friends, he had a secret passion for old, historical movies. He loved watching the news reels from old movie theatres. He had witnessed how Winston Churchill acted to arrive at a truce, he had watched Bonnie and Clyde climb in and out of Studebakers, diamonds glittering from fingers, pins and hair.

He felt the dreariness and inadequacy of modern times almost as a physical thing, and more than once he wished he'd been born a century earlier.

One day he had had enough. He felt maimed and hurt by the television and the internet. All they ever shoved him, was the decadent and informal bustle of a world going to hell in a handbasket. He left a note for Wanda, the old cleaning lady, her mother had made him hire for his apartment when he left home. With a twist of his hand, he threw the key into the river and boarded the next plane for Tokyo. He just had to vanish for a time. Hopefully the Japanese with their penchant for forms and etiquette could help him readjust to the world of the living.

Words for Wednesday - 17. January

The Words for Wednesday in January will be found at Letting the Words Escape. Today's (or rather tomorrow's) words are:

birthday
robbery
earthquake
execution
Pooh
Paris

and/or

Hepburn
ferry
murder
rolling
ledger
and oops Tobruk, which I did not see - I have not included it into the story.

For my birthday last year, I received a book on the Hepburn romanization of Japanese writing. My interest in Japanese took wings after the big earthquake, noticing the houses rolling with the quake instead of tumbling down, like the houses here in Paris would have done.
I sat on the ferry feeling the wind in my long hair. It was a wonderful day to be alive sailing down the Seine. I closed my eyes against the glare, and began memorizing the rules for transcription of long vowels. I felt a bit like the Pooh Bear reciting foreign poetry.
Next I tried my hand at the Japanese text, I was supposed to be able to read tomorrow in class, but I lost my way in the meandering, beautiful kanji. I wondered why the poor fellow in the text suddenly had to be executed for murder. I dug up my word list for the relevant chapter, and realized that Yamamoto-san was accused of robbery and falsifying the ledger, he was not a murderer.
Reaching this comparatively happy end, I closed my books, determined to enjoy the rest of the trip.

Words for Wednesday --10 January

-- Onsdagsord 

The Words for Wednesday in January will be found at Letting the Words Escape. Today's words are:

king
avalanche
canyon
pianist
Wyatt
marriage

and/or

supreme
packers
pie
jazz
crash
farewell

Wyatt was an extraordinary pianist, he was the best yet seen, or rather heard. But he was a frustrated man. He had one dream; his one dream was to become a king, and this was an almost impossible dream for an ordinary man, even if he was the best piano player ever.
He had to win half the kingdom and the princess's hand in marriage for this dream to come true.

One day, while playing the piano at an elegant Swiss skiing resort, he went skiing with the guests. On their way through a narrow canyon their peals of laughter set off an avalanche. Wyatt called to everybody not to try and run away, but flee diagonally from the path of the avalanche. His quick wits saved everybody, among those the princess of a small kingdom. They fell in love while trying to get warm sitting at the fireplace after their ordeal, and thus Wyatt became a king of one of the smallest kingdoms on Earth.


Wyatt and his soon to be bride -- the princess Ariane -- threw a gigantic farewell party before leaving the skiing resort. Everybody had pie and champagne, and Wyatt played his very best, even improvising jazz tunes on the piano late in the night. Then next day they were underway, loaded with well wishes and gift. That many gift, that only the princess' supreme skills learnt from her father the King's packers in her youth allowed the plane to bring all their gifts and luggage and themselves, narrowly avoiding a crash from the overload.

Words for Wednesday - 3. januar

-- Onsdagsord

The January host for Words for Wednesday is Cindi at Letting the Words Escape.

She says: "Welcome to the New Year and a new year of Wednesdays!  This month each week's prompts will come from events (past and present) on the calendar this week ...

1. Resolution
2. Niece
3. Sweet
4. Celebration
5. Elvis
6. Golden

and/or

1. Snow
2. Summer
3. Typewriter
4. Edmund
5. Sarcophagus
6. France"

I went with the second set of prompts:

Edmund sat typing out his adventures on his uncle Digory's old typewriter, Electricity was not a part of the life at Cair Paravel.
He gazed out of the window, where the seeming endless summer rain fell. Edmunds thougths went astray, to the days spent in France, visiting the sarcophagus of Ogier the Danois in far away, Meaux.
"Oh, no, not her again!" Edmund exclaimed, as the summer rain turned first to sleet, then to snow.
He jumped up and called for his siblings. There was work to be done.

Words for Wednesday 27. december

-- Onsdagsord

This week's prompts are:

Parasol
Heel
Wag
Ascending
Hook
Stair rods

And/or

Mint
Tottering
Chew
Binder
Coming
Pelmet

MotherOwl is learning new words here: Stair rods and pelmets were new to me, and at  Elephant's Child people can be seen using "wag" as a noun, I only knew it as a werb. Learn and live.

My story:
The parasol unfolded, and she gently drifted down through the fluffy, white clouds. Nearer sea level she met ascending gulls, and found out that fluffy white clouds are just wet. As she came out of the clouds, she discovered a ship below her. Gently as a leaf she settled on the deck.
A door opened, she turned around, and stood face to face with Captainn Hook. He drew his rapier, shouted: "Death to the intruder!" and began to wag his blade close to her face. Quickly she turned to the stairs behind her, grabbed a loose stair rod, and began fencing for dear life. In the end it was Captain Hookø's vanity that saved her. His high heel caught on a loose plank, and she jumped overboard. She could get no wetter after the trip through the clouds.
The captain stood at the gunwale, screaming futile curses at her, but he had to stay on board because of the tick-tock crocodile.

(Also posted at Elephnat's Child's blog.) 

Words for Wednesday 20. December

-- Onsdagsord

Although it's still Tuesday here, it is Wednesday in Australia, where Elephant's Child is hosting Words for Wednesday.
Well not so many words exactly this time. Two haunting photos to spur us along.

I hope copying the photos - taken by Bill - for this purpose, is OK. If not, please, tell me so.

This strange story sprang up in my mind.

Jailhouse Rock ... this haunting tune was written while I sat incarcerated in Castle Rock City Jail. My crime was a petty one. I had been hunting crows with my old blunderbuss.

I fell into a ditch, and broke my glasses. A bit later, I saw something black among the bushes, thinking it was one of those bloody crows, I pulled the trigger, only to realize - even before the hails had hit, that it was the priest having a pee. He survived the shot, but was unable to sit for a long, long time.

I was convicted, and put into Castle Rock City Jail. I served my time, listening to Jailhouse Rock, and decided, that I too would become a famous guitar player. Well, I never did get famous, but I've earned my honest living as a guitarist in many a good rock band ever since.

Now I'm old, waiting for death in a room not unlike the prison cell back then. And I'm looking at a painting in my room. Oh, the irony. It depicts an old crow in a sunlit field. Eyes half closed and its beak into the wind.

I feel a sense of unity with this old crow. Soon, very soon, I'll stretch my wings and fly into the sunlight.

Words for Wednesday. A newfound challenge

-- Onsdagsord.

Another fun challenge. This time a less long-time one: Words for Wednesday.

I copy from the post at Elephant's child: 


"Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, or treating them with ignore... We can use some or all of the prompts. "

And

"Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog. I would really like it if as many people as possible joined into this fun meme, which includes cheering on the other participants. If you are posting on your own blog - let me know so that I, and other participants, can come along and applaud."

This week's prompts are: The show must go on and /or The straw that broke the Camel’s back.

That last one made it go clik inside my head and a poem came forth:



The straw that broke the Camel’s back.
Is the one straw that in the sack
Is the last straw to enter.
But baby Jesus in the straw
Holds up His hand and filled with awe
The camel kneels off center.
Thus it is Christmas once again
And Camel can forget his pain.

🐪 ❖ 🐪 ❖ 🐪 ❖ 🐪

Ovre hos Elephant's Child får man hver onsdag nogle ord at gumle på. Det kan der så komme meget sjov ud af. En kort tekst, et digt eller lignende.

Denne onsdags ord er:  The show must go on og/eller The straw that broke the Camel’s back.

Uglemor blev inspireret af det sidste ord og skrev straks et sært digt på engelsk. En dansk oversættelse blev det ikke til, men her er et der ligner lidt:

Det strå, der var det sidste strå,
fik Jesus til at ligge på
da Han var barn i stalden.
Han strakte hånden frem og se,
kamelen  den faldt ned på knæ,
og glemte verdens kalden.