End of Legacy Blogger for me.

 Now I'm experiencing what Roberta R. told us happened to her in my post Experimenting with Blogger,  the old interface briefly flickers, and then I'm back to New Blogger. So I suppose this is 'it'. Let's see how long I can keep up blogging with this terrible mess of an interface.
  Alone the thing about pressing Shift and Enter to get single spacing pisses me off:
   I am happy that I edited and pre-posted next Mondays Poetry post, that will at least happen, then.
  Words for Wednesday may or may not happen. This bugger takes away from my fun with blogging.

  Take care out there Charlotte (MotherOwl)

Poetry Monday :: Our Favourite Pictures

  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and Diane of On the Border  are taking turns supplying us with a topic for this weekly endeavour. 
  They also both write wonderful, funny, thought-provoking, ingenious or simply honestly well written verse. Go and read.
   Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey is taking a break due to her husband's health issue. Let's continue  to send warm thoughts, good energy and lots of prayers their way.

My favourite picture. Now does this mean a painting by some famous artist? Or does it depend on what it depicts? Or maybe a picture, that I took myself and like especially well? Or maybe more pictures ... our favourite pictures are plural, yes?


The Favourite Pictures in my book
Are maybe those, I never took
I know, I was not very smart,
but now I have them in my heart.

A photo that I never took
- a picture of that special look
in a newborn baby's eyes
 (As blue as summer skies).
A faraway look, a stranger feel
A look into eternity
Some say, and this might well be real,
Their lack of focus is the cause.
But I know in a day or three,
When they get used to gravity,
That look is lost forever

Another photo not by me
Depicts the subtle greenery
In Spring when buds are bursting.
(For green our eyes were thirsting)
I look and look and fill my mind
And eyes with natures colours.
And never nature was so kind,
The leaves so green and many.
But never can I capture them,
Although I try each time spring come
My camera's not that clever.

I should  just maybe learn to paint.
A work of love, not for the faint
With brushes, easel, aquatint
(what that word means  - not a hint).
Oh I have tried this more than once.
But never could I capture
On canvas what my eye did see
A babe, the subtler greenery
The day I'll learn this noble art
And paint the pictures from my heart,
Will be the twelfth of never.

Next Mondays topic is: Someone we've met.

More Fake Paintings 🎨 Sunday Selections

 I found making fake paintings so fun, I could hardly stop. I have materials for many Sundays to come.

Moon over freshly cut branches

Sloe and rapeseed flowering in early spring

A peacock showing off

 Sunset in late autumn.

WfW - 30.09

For today River at Drifting through Life has given us a lot of words:

1. surprise
2. winked
3. firepit
4. gnomes
5. quilt
6. sunroom

and/or:

1. lonesome
2. shirt
3. beach
4. volcano
5. train
6. moat

   I'm still continuing my tale. and not the 'net is working, so I hurry up and post what I have written so far - one of the positive side effectes of D... New Blogger is that I have the posts all ready for publishing - just insert text and press Publish. 
  I did not use more than a few of the words, so maybe another chapter will be forthcoming soon.

Susan found her way back to Anna and Rósa, happily noticing that the conversation had drifted to other matters than music and songs in magic. She told Anna and Rósa that while Wandsinging was not a secret, talking about it was not encouraged. All in all wandmaking was one of the more secret crafts of the wizarding community, and the less said about it the better.
  One of the sombre dressed Italian witches, all in black and grey except for a shining emerald green sash, asked Susan, Anna, and Rósa whether they were served by gnomes. "They do not look very much like the goblins, I have met in my visits to other schools for magic," she said. Even through the language spells, her accent was still heavily Italian.
  "That's because they are neither goblins nor gnomes," Anna answered, "and please do not call them either to their face. They are Nisser, our little people, and they are easily affronted, which would make your stay here a less than pleasant surprise."
  "How's that?" the witch said.
  Susan giggled. "Imagine quilts made of nettles, unsavoury dishes, salt in the sugar bowl. All such unpleasantries have been happening to some of us over the first months at Unicorn Farm." 
Rósa winked at Susan. "Do you remember the Surströmning?"
  "Oh yes I do!" Susan said, her face no longer smiling, but looking as if  someone held a rotting fish under her nose. No wonder, as this is what surströmning actually is. "It was not only a punishment for poor Tage, but for all of us, the smell, it was atrocious!"
  "Oh, it's not that bad," Anna said. Birgitta actually likes it.
  "That's one thing about you Swedes i am never going to understand," Rósa said. Surströmning and unsweetened cranberry juice. Yuck!"
  "Oh, please don't get started." Susan moaned. "We all eat things that nobody else likes. What's your local thing to put in front of unwary foreigners?" Susan asked the Italian witch, who had been listening to the girls' banter trying to decide whether they were serious, or pulling her leg.
  "Well," the witch said slowly. "We have something called Trippa. It's the very fat part of old sows' underbelly, boiled and served in a soup. It is an acquired taste, I'm told."
  Susan and Rósa shuddered at the thought of soup with blubbery sows' parts in it.

... to be continued

Computer troubles

Now that our internet connexion is working for a little while I hurry to tell that said connexion is not there most of the time. The goblins will hopefully repair it today or tomorrow.