Poetry Monday :: MITTENS

It sure is time for mittens, and I'm knitting mittens. But whenever I hear "mittens", this song goes on auto-playback in my head:

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favourite things

Cream-coloured ponies and crisp apfelstrudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favourite things

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favourite things

When the dog bites, when the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don't feel so bad


I'm sure you all know this one. Salzburg, The Sound of Music, and Maria von Trapp means something special to MotherOwl. And I think we need some more of the uncomplicatedness and sweetness contained in these lines.

Next Monday: Poinsettia or Potted Plants

Using today's words & IWSG - July question

The last batch of Words in June was given by me, and can be found here. I repeat:
     Humdrum, Hapless, Righteous, Puny, Troubled, Quirky.

I am - once again -  continuing the story of the mysterious examination in transformation and using the words in the order they were given. 
I'm still not satisfied with the story or my writing skills. But I want to tell this story! Bits and pieces are missing. This whole chapter is in for a solid re-write before making it into the book. But as I can't just leave out a bit of the story, here we go:

The humdrum process of reading through pages and pages of encyclopedias on mammals, marsupials and other animals in Australia, was interrupted at regular intervals by someone reading aloud when they found a relevant passage.
"Tigers!" Kalle said, "There is an Australian tiger." He paused looking down into the book again: "The Thy-la-cine, wow hope I said this right - is an extinct, or possibly extinct - this means died out, doesn't it?" Knud nodded and Kalle read on: "a carnivorous marsupial that was native to the Australian mainland and the islands of Tasmania and New Guinea. It is commonly known as the Tasmanian tiger or the Tasmanian wolf. The Tasmanian tiger was relatively shy and nocturnal, with the general appearance of a medium-to-large-size canid." He stopped. "What's that?"
"Canid?" Hilde said, Kalle nodded his blonde head and Hilde continued. "Canid is the adjective to canine, meaning as or of a dog. That means dog-like, or a member of the dog-family!"
"Thanks," Kalle said and went on: "This then means that it looks like a medium sized dog except for its stiff tail and abdominal pouch similar to that of a kangaroo."
He drew a deep breath: "The Tasmanian tiger was an expert predator; but exactly how large its prey animals were is disputed. Its closest living relatives are the other members of Da-sy-u-ro-mor-phi - another of those big words," Kalle said with  sigh "including the Tasmanian devil - good old Taz!"

"Are they extinct or are they not?" Hilde asked impatiently.

"The last hapless specimen, a male, died in a zoo in 1936. Since then people claim to have seen some, but none have been photographed or caught."

They read on in silence.

"When is our deadline?" Kirstin suddenly asked.

"I know!" Hilde said with a righteous mien. "Today, just before lunch!"

"We're in deep trouble," Kirstin answered. "Lunch is at one o'clock as always. Now it's almost eleven. Two hours to solve this. Our puny magic is not up to this!"

"Earth!" Knud exclaimed. "That was what was troubling me. We're missing the last clue from Jon, the last element!"

"You sure have a quirky mind," Susan said.

"You're right," Hilde said to Knud and at the same time a stone came in through the window. Kirstin looked out, but she could only see the empty yard below and the branches criss-crossing overhead.


- - - - -

July 6 question - If you could live in any book world, which one would you choose?
This is an impossible to answer question!
   I would like to live in several book worlds, the Hobbits' Middle-Earth, the magical world of Harry Potter, Laura Ingalls Wilder's prairie home, Paksenarrion's mediaeval world, the high fantasy "Earth" of Paul Anderson's Three Hearts and Three Lions, The Broken Sword, or Operation Chaos, or the Avalon from People of the Wind. Or the musroomy village of the Smurfs. Or the forlorn planets of Enemy Mine.  Or the Palumbian rainforest where Marsipilami are to be found. Or the world where the right dime handed to a newspaper man is a portal to a parallel world. Or Xanth. Or Landover. Or Araluen, home of Rangers' Apprentice. Or the Ringworld. Or Kardemommeby. Or the underseas colonies of a short story the name of which eludes me. Or Pern, as described in the first books and the Harper's Hall series. Or Salzburg and surroundings from The Sound of Music. Or the sewers of New York together with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Or the cosy town of Bullerby. Or some of the worlds invented by Olga Godim. Or the postapocalyptic, world from The Waveries. Or my own Unicorn Farm ...
  Do you see a common trait? Worlds with magic, friends and family, and order fighting chaos.

My Bucket List -- Part 2

Here I repeat a few lines from My Bucket List. And then I continue with my Have done list. It is very long.

So many places I haven't been
So many wondrous sights unseen!
• • •

     - - 💖 - -
 
Oh, all these are but dreams and dust.
I have to stay at home, I must. 
The children, they have yet to grow,
Though I feel old, they are not so.

But I can sit me down and think
Of all the things I've heard and seen
And I can tell, here on the screen
What I have done. Well paint me pink.

I've sledged down a mountain side
Sat on a camel for a ride,
Shot guns and bows
And held a fire hose.
I have known feast and famine too
Gone hungry to bed
Not a crumb of bread
But live I did, learned to make do!

Seen forest fires and deserts grand.
I've been to many a foreign land.
How many? Well, I cannot count,
As many are no more around.
I've been shot at in Damascus once.
I've candied quince,
Dined with a prince,
And also stayed for days with nuns,

I've heard the nightingale at nights.
Seen jousting, mediaeval knights.
Heard Jessie Norman sing as young
and almost unknown, she was strong!
I have heard mastersingers sing
In Salzburg - singing of The Ring.
Heard Papageno win his love
The Queen of Night watched from above.

I've been to Khartoum Porto, Rome.
Eaten simit in Izmir, seen St. Peter's tomb,
Been to Dubrovnik before the war
and even wished upon a star.
I've eaten bread with beetles, yes!
At least in bread
they were baked and dead
In biscuits - well, I'll let you guess.

I've seen a lion, climbed a fence
I've made both enemies and friends. 
And walked along a coast of sand,
Played guitar in a country band.
Slept in a hut with palm leaf roof,
Swam in the Nile,
Met a crocodile
And cut myself - with scars as proof.

I've held newborn pigs
Harvested figs.
I've taught at school,
And rode a mule. 
I've been at sea one stormy night.
I've built a dome,
And made a home.
I've seen the Pyramids, a sight

I've climbed a mountain,
Changed a tire,
Ate Italian ice-cream
And hugged a friar. 
I have learned Japanese and French
Eaten olives from a tree
Been to jail and set free.
In Salzburg I've sat on a bench.

I've been to the Oktoberfest -
The pretzels were the very best.
I've crossed the polar line in May
It also snowed a bit that day.
Given birth to a child, yes even more,
Fed sheep and goat.
I've rowed a boat.
One night sold burgers in a store.

I've met the Pope
Walked a tight rope.
Worked in a trapeze.
And tended bees.
I've been to London, rode the tube,
Picked mushrooms in fall.
I've knit a shawl,
and learned to solve the Rubik's cube.

I've eaten many a strange meal
from brain of mutton
to balls of veal.
I must admit I am a glutton
For things I have not tasted yet.
The worst thing I have ever tried?
Is fat from goat's ears, cooked and dried.
And Surströmning I did regret!

I've worked at an assembly line,
And nearly drowned in tidal brine.
I drove a bus down hairpin bends,
so sharp that sparks flew from both ends.
I've swam at night into the sea
Been baked in sunshine, drenched in rain.
I've baked a bread from newcut grain
And pilfered mango from a tree. 

My life has been so full and long
And yet I feel it went not wrong.
It ends with a romantic word
The best is even to be heard:
I've been married more than half my life -
He is my man, and I his wife.

     - - 👵 - -

Now I feel old, The things so small -
I never used to see at all -
Now bother me, and ruin my day.
I think I have no more to say.

Poetry Monday :: My favourite food

Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
Today's theme is My Favourite Food (courtesy of Jenny).

Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey has set the topic this Monday. Last Monday she told us how she's got to evict a poem or song before she's able to produce something of her own. And here I thought that I was alone in having to sing songs to the end or look up a half forgotten poem or search for an old book before being able to go on. 
It seems we're not all that unique after all. 😊😌

-- 😋 --

This Monday's topic, my favourite food of course made a song run through my brain the second I read it. I'm sure you all know My Favourite Things from The Sound of Music.

This song, and indeed the whole musical, is one of my favourite things. Maria even tells us of her favourite foods in this song:

"...  Cream colored ponies and crisp Apfelstrudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things."

I am not a big fan of Schnitzel with noodle or indeed Apfelstrudel, I always have a hard time when asked for my favourite food because:

My favourite food
Depends on my mood.
It's different each day.

My favourite food
Is whatever is brewed
In our kitchen today. 

And don't think just because the verse is short, that it was quick to write. I think I used more time on this one (well sheer copying time maybe subtracted) than on the very long Awakening.

Back to the Classics -- Familien Trapp

The Story of the Trapp Family Singers

Yes it's an old library book.
I always look at library clearing
sales for books, I want to own.
I have many!

2: A 20th Century Classic. 
     Any classic book originally published between 1900 and 1969

Original title: Die Trapp-Familie. published 1949 and written by Maria Augusta von Trapp.

This is the book behind The Sound of Music, but it is so much more tha the musical. It's a book in two parts, the first part is corresponds roughly to the musical, the second part tells the story of "what happened next". We follow the von Trapp family in America, how they struugle to become Americans during the war even, and how they managed to carve out an existence in a place so very different to their homeland. And through and under the book runs the story of love and faith. Love of the family, love in the family, love of God and faith in His providence. It is a beautiful an heart touching story of making the best out of everything, and how it's what you do that is important, not who you are.

-- 📚 -- updated list -- 📚 --

 1. 19th Century Classic:  Alice in Wonderland

 2. 20th Century Classic: THIS ONE.

 3. Classic by a Female Author: ?

 4. Classic in Translation: ?

 5. Classic Comedy: Don Quijote

 6. Classic Tragedy. The Odyssey or The Iliad.

  7. Very Long Classic: ?

  8. Classic Novella: ?

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

10. Classic From Africa, Asia, or Oceania (includes Australia):  Author: Arthur Upfield. actual title to be decided.

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

12. Classic Play: Jedermann.

Back to the Classics - January.

Today - on J.R.R. Tolkien's 127 birthday I rolled my die 12 and got a 2.

2 means: A 20th Century Classic. Any classic book originally published between 1900 and 1969. 

Actually any of Tolkien's books would do, but I have been haunted by The Trapp Family Singers by Maria Augusta von Trapp for the last 14 days or so. I've been desperately searching the internet for the title of this book in Danish - I know I have it somewhere - and now I found it: Familien Trapp. A photo will follow later, as the Sun has set now.

Books and Chocolate

I think we all know The Sound of Music. This is the book - the real story - behind the musical. As I've told before, I too had been sitting on the green benches in Salzburg, looking up at kloster Nonnberg, the nunnery over the city, wondering if my future lay there. I hope to find much both  known and new in the book. 

Vanter - Mittens

Vi fejrer stadig jul  --  It's still Christmas

      Hver gang Uglemor hører ordet "mittens", det engelske ord for luffer, begynder Marias sang fra "Sound of Music" at køre inde i hovedet. Sound of Music har jo en helt  særlig betydning for Uglemor.  Vi har ingen nypudsede kobbergryder og ingen killinger, vi pakker heller ikke længere vore gaver ind i brunt papir med rød-hvide snore rundt om (selvom Uglemor kan huske den slags fra sin barndom - oven i købet med bærepinde i. Jo så gammel er Uglemor altså). Men varme, uldne vanter? Det kan vi stadig klare.
     I denne måned har Uglemor strikket på et par til Skribenten. Han cykler ofte, også om vinteren, og de vanter, Uglemor strikkede for nogle år siden, var slidt op.

Every time somebody says "mittens" MotherOwl hears this: 

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens.
Brown paper packages tied up with strings.
These are a few of my favourite things."

 Maria's song from The Sound of Music., which is of  special importance for MotherOwl.
We haven't got copper kettles or kittens, we do not tie our packages up with those special red-white strings, I still remember from my childhood (yes I'm that old), but warm, woollen mittens? Yes please.
Some years ago MotherOwl knit some for the Writer. They're now worn, and as the Writer often go by bike, even in winter, warm mittens are important. 

      Her er starten. Man strikker først på vrangen, det der bliver til en manchet, og så vender man om og strikker på den anden side, så retten kommer ud på manchetterne, når de bukkes om.
     Her er Uglemor nået til tommelfingeren - og lærte noget nyt.

Thus we begin. when the first 13 rows or so are knit, the work is turned inside out. Then when the bottom is turned up - as it is supposed to be - it's right side out.
Here MotherOwl has reached the thumb - and learned something new.

      Tommelfingeren tæt på. Opskriften sagde: Når markeringstråden er strikket ind, sættes maskerne tilbage på pinden og strikkes med garnet. Selvfølgelig! På den måde får man ikke den irriterende tråd på bagsiden, og det bliver oven i købet pænere.

Close up of thumb marking. The instructions read, When the scrap yarn has been knit in, put back the stitches and knit them again with the mitten yarn. Voila! No dangling thread and it's even nicer to look at.

      Så mangler der næsten kun tommelfingre. Toppen blev strikket om på det ene par, for den lignede et hus, så spids var den - det er der så ikke noget billede af.

Thumbs and a bit more missing. The top of the first mitten was frogged and knit. It tapered so much it looked like a house, no, no photos.

 En færdig, en mangler at få hæftet ender. Broderiet på opslaget er traditionelt og karakteristisk for den slags vanter i Lovikka-stil. Så skal de vaskes og krattes op med en karte, for at være ekstra varme og næsten vandtætte.

One mitten done, one needs to have the ends darned in. The embroidery on the border is traditional and almost a signature for this kind of mittens - Lovikka style mittens. Next up is washing and roughing up with a card to make a warm, water repellent finish.

Linking up with Ginny at Small Things.

Salzburg

Dank tekst under billedet. For en gangs skyld er dagens blogpost undfanget på engelsk.

 - - - - -

For once this blog post was written in English inside my brain while weeding my fruit bushes and scolding the children for their dodging of chores, namely weeding another part of the garden. Fighting with dandelions and feeding the leaves to the hens one by one is more fun than weeding.

Whenever I despair of everyday life, is oppressed by chores and dust mice and laundry, I try to remember this song: Youtube

Here's the text written out:

Climb every mountain
Climb every mountain, search high and low
Follow every byway, every path you know.
Climb every mountain, ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream!

A dream that will need
all the love you can give,
Every day of your life
for as long as you live.

Climb every mountain, ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream!

I too have like Maria von Trapp sat on those green benches at Residenzplatz in Salzburg, and wondered if my vocation was nothing but a longing to get away from the world and its demands, or if it really was a way of getting closer to God. The decision was - as should be obvious from my blogging on life with husband and children - that the monastery for me would indeed be an evasion, and not a vocation.
When I have trouble remembering this, the abbess's song from "The Sound of Music" is one of the best remedies, sometimes even better than prayer, or maybe this song from quiet Nonnberg really is a prayer.

Residenzplatz, Salzburg

  Når jeg er ved at løbe sur i dagliglivets pligter, som i dag, hvor jeg lugede jordbærbedet for en uendelighed af burresnerrer, snerler og brændenælder, og Ugleungerne skulle luge et andet sted men i stedet sloges med mælkebøtterne eller håndfodrede vores høns med mælkebøtterne et blad af gangen, når det er sådan, tænker jeg - hvis jeg ellers husker på det - på abbedissen i Sound of Music, hvor hun synger "Climb ev'ry mountain"
Her er min sangbare, men ikke fantastiske oversættelse:

Løb over bjerge
Løb over bjerge, søg her og der,
følg alle veje, hver en sti du ser.
Løb over bjerge, kryds hver en strøm,
følg alle regnbuer til du når din drøm.

En drøm der vil ta'
alt det du har at gi'
hvert minut, hver en dag
gennem hele dit liv.

Løb over bjerge, kryds hver en strøm,
følg alle regnbuer til du når din drøm.

   Også jeg har som Maria von Trapp siddet på de grønne bænke på Residenzplatz i Salzburg og overvejet hvad Gud egentlig ville med mig. Om klosterlivet var mit kald eller hvad.
     For mig har klosterlivet altid stået i et forklaret skær, Tænk bare at måtte koncentrere sig om Gud hele tiden, gå til messe hver dag, at måtte bede tidebønnerne, at blive tvungen til regelmæssigt skriftemål, ikke at skulle bekymre sig om sit timelige velfærd; Da jeg dengang nåede så langt i mine overvejelser sammen med Gud, stod det mig klart, at det ikke var min vej, det ville være en flugt, en flugt fra alt det distraherende, alt det uforudsigelige og spændende ved familielivet.
   Når jeg som i dag har svært ved at huske på dette og rette mit indre kompas mod Gud, så er abedissens sang fra det stille Nonnberg i stand til at rette op på det, bedre end nogen bønner. Men måske er abedissens sang en bøn ...