torsdag den 31. januar 2019

Words for Wednsday -- 2nd Instalment -- Unicorn Farm 19

1 - start 
2 - wicked 
3 - holiday 
4 - castle 
5 - infinite 
6 - goodbye

Susan is still thinking back on the chain of events leading to her first encounter with Persephone, the ghost girl in the attic. 
About half a year has passed in the past, Susan is thinking of. The hot summer, where Susan, Linda and her mother discovered the small room behind a secret door lies behind her. It is late winter, February or maybe March. This Winter is the Winter before the Summer where Susan arrives at the Unicorn Farm for the first time (I've not written about that in WfW, but I have several chapters written in Danish in my files).


Susan was disappointed. The visit had sounded nice from the start. She and Linda had gone with their parents to a friend's place. But the afternoon had turned into a wicked surprise. The landscape looked like something out of a commercial for winter holidays. Flowing, snowbound fields and a decrepit castle in the background. The house was old, with thatched roofs and blue doors and window frames; sure it was idyllic. But the wonderful landscape and the gently falling snow was not making up for Susan's disappointment. They were supposedly going out there to see some horses, or because the man had some horses. Linda thought of learning to ride in the coming summer and this man was somehow connected to a riding school. Susan had been thinking of her latest homework. She had not been very attentive. This was so not what she had expected. Thy were sat at makeshift tables in one end of a repurposed barn, there were lot of other people and they were most assuredly not going to look at any horses. Linda and many of the other children were playing some sort of hide and seek in the dark in the other end of the building. Only Susan of the older ones sat with a couple of toddlers and a few young ones feeling too mature to play.

The men were frying sausages, using a contraption her father, the friend, and one of the other men had built. It consisted of a wooden frame with two rows of spikes, connected to live wires. Sausages were then put on the spikes, and when the switch was flipped, the current ran from spike to spike through the sausages, making them steam and sizzle, emitting tantalizing smells. But Susan did not like it. The current did not like to be used in this way.
The grown ups drank a lot of beer. For once there was no lack of coke and other soft drinks for the children, but Susan did not like the way the grown ups -- her parents included -- changed when they drank beer.

As they ate the sausages, Linda tried to find out more about the horses, but Dad kept away, making more sausages, and Mom were no wiser.
"Bugger," her Mom said, a bit too loud. "I forgot to buy sugar as I went shopping. There's no sugar for your porridge and our tea tomorrow, Linda."
"Oh, Mom, how could you!" Linda screamed. 
That was Susan's chance. "Mom! I can go and buy some sugar. I'm sure I can make it to the supermarkets over at the new blocks before they close, and from there I can take a bus home. I've done that many times going home from Hanna's place."
"Are you sure, and won't you be cold. It's snowing quite a lot, you know."
"I know, Susan answered, "but I thought we were going out visiting a farm, and looking at horses in the snow, so I brought my sweater, anorak, warm sheepskin mittens, muffler, extra snow leggings and my long boots. I am dressed for a mile long walk through a minor blizzard. Just hand me some money for the sugar, and I'll be all right."
"OK." Susan's mother smiled foolishly. "I hate Linda's tempers. Here you are. Buy yourself some sweets while you're at it."

Susan dressed in her winter outfit and walked out in the falling snow. The weather had actually turned into a minor blizzard. The winds blew from all directions, the snow hurt her cheeks and nose, and she could hardly see the road. She stomped down the middle of the road, aiming for the lights of the main road up ahead.
The snow and the cold crept in between Susan's clothing, the wind pulled strands of hair from underneath her muffler and whipped them brutally into her eyes and over the bridge of her nose. Even though she went at a good pace, her hands and feet were slowly turning numb with the cold. She felt as if she had been walking forever in an infinite snowstorm, the lights seemed just as fa away as when she set out, the storm as relentless. She was never going to reach the new blocks alive, far less go shopping for sugar.
"Goodbye, cruel world," Susan thought. She had read that sentence somewhere, and it fit her mood.

Then she hit her shin against something hard. "Ouch!" she exclaimed. It was the guardrail on the main road, She had not even been able to see the lights through the falling snow, and had been heading for the old castle, where bright lights shone in the spires. Now she could follow the main road and with renewed energy she hurried along.
Just a few minutes before closing time Susan opened the door to the mini-market and blew in in a gust of snow and wind. The shopkeeper sold her a bag of sugar and a peppermint chocolate bar, Susan's favourite.  There were still money left, so Susan bought a bag of rock candies and some milk. The shopkeeper told her that the buses were still in service, although delays were inevitable. Susan thanked him, re-wound the muffler around her head and headed for the bus-stop.


to be continued - tomorrow I promise. 

onsdag den 30. januar 2019

Words for Wednesday - 30 January -- Unicorn Farm 18

This week's prompts are once again provided by Lissa at The Memory of Rain.
 

1. last day
2. zealot
3. homeward
4. listen
5. midnight
6. always


and/ or

1. start
2. wicked
3. holiday
4. castle
5. infinite
6. goodbye



This time I have used the first set of prompts - not because I can not use the other half, but this instalment has grown too long as it is. 

Following the example of  River at Drifting through Life, I've collected all the stories of Susan at the Unicorn Farm, that I've written so far as a part of the Words for Wednesday-challenge in a page called Unicorn Farm.

Once again I wrote a small chapter from my magical autobiography, and once again I took up the additional challenge of using the prompts in the order they were given.

A couple of weeks have passed since last Thursday's  chapter.  
Flash backs are indented and purple for ease of reading

The last day of January was as rainy and dreary as the rest of the month had been. Susan was despondent. Her teacher had berated her for not knowing the meaning of the word 'zealot', and now, walking homeward in the never ceasing rain, all she had to look forward to, was to listen to Linda's bragging over her good notes in maths. Maths was the only subject in school, Susan never really excelled in, she was always in the lover half of the class in maths, not bad, she just could not get herself to spend more time than necessary on numbers and fractions.
Much to her parents' chagrin she was way better than Linda or even them at languages.
"Give me languages," she thought, "or history, or even that dang-blasted Social studies, but maths ...Why can't mum and dad ever acknowledge all my good notes in English, German or even Latin. When Linda for once has scored an 11 all the world has to know. It's just not fair!"
She hung her wet coat on its peg and went straight to her room. She was the first person to be home. Dad was of course still at work, Mom was too - or maybe shopping, Susan couldn't remember if today was one of her short days or not. Alternating Thursdays she had to stay long hours to cash up after paying the workers at the shipyard. Where Linda was, was an open question. Only she herself knew, but their parents did not care very much, as long as they were home for dinner - or gave due notice, and were home at eight o'clock. As long as they did not get into trouble, they were free to spend their days as they liked. Susan liked the freedom it gave her to visit the library, to read up on her magic, to roam the nearby woods in summer, to go by bike to nearby cities as fancy took her, or just spend the whole day in her room, reading and eating candy. But today the house felt strangely abandoned.
Susan was restless, there was no new letter on the pillow. The last she had heard from Heidi was last Sunday. There was really nothing new. Neither Torben nor David had been back at the Farm as far as the twins had been able to find out. Actually nobody was at The Farm at all. Either Tue or Lis went there at least twice a week to check for signs of life.
Things were at a standstill. None of the siblings were able to recognise the foreigner from the airport, even though Stellan's photos were excellent. They did not want to bring their parents into it.
The only consolation to be had was what her granny's Dutch friend always said when someone was worrying: "Slecht nieuws heeft vlugge voetjes" (Bad news has quick feet - no news is good news).

Susan opened Spells and Cantrippes for Daily Use, but she did not read, slowly she realized she was reading the same two sentences over and over.
She was thinking of Percy the ghost girl, even though she was not around. Susan had remembered to put fresh flowers in the little room in the attic. Mum called it their guest room, but to Susan, and to Linda when she was in the mood, it was the door to another space and time.

Susan vividly remembered the summer's day when she had discovered the hinges behind the tapestry.
She, mum and Linda had been cleaning the room after dad no longer needed it for a darkroom.  Mum said they should make it into a guest room for when Granny came visiting. Susan and Linda had wanted to make a playroom up there. The room was eminently suited for both purposes, On the right hand  side of the room, as you entered the door there was a window, now uncovered and sparkling clean, letting in lots of light. Between the door and the window a small shell formed wash basin gleamed. Susan had spent long time scrubbing all the chemical stains from dad's developing of films from it. The tap even worked and mum had screwed up a hanger and had sewn towels matching the light yellow paint. Susan was dusting and cleaning the tapestry on the wall opposite the door, as she found the hinges. The top one was level with her nosetip.
"O look, here's a secret door!" Susan had exclaimed. "Let's open it."
"I'm sure you're wrong," her mother had said, "it is probably some old holders for photographs of your father's."
"No," Susan persisted, "there's one more down here, and I can just feel a crack between them. I'll go and get a knife." She went down into the basement, where her father was cutting wood for some mysterious project of his, he was clever with his hands, and made improvements in the home now and again. Susan borrowed his Stanley knife after promising only to cut away from herself and not let Linda play with it.
Susan carefully cut through the tapestry following the crack firs between the hinges, then from the lower hinge down to the floor, the from the upper hinge up, turning to the right she could just reach the top, and finally down even further right. She even asked Linda if she wanted to cut a little bit, surely that was not playing. Finally the door was free, but it was locked! "Well," Mom said, the tapestry on the door has to go." "Oh, no!" Linda and Susan said as one, "then the door is not a secret door any more."
"Come, let's see if we can find the keyhole." In the end Mom found it. She cut a neat hole in the tapestry just uncovering the keyhole. Underneath the tapestry was an old newspaper. Susan read the words 'midnight', 'paintings' and 'exhibits' on the consecutive layers. Then the keyhole was uncovered. Susan took the knife back to the basement and returned with a bundle of old keys. One of them just had to fit.  And one of them did, the most ordinary one, one of the not rusty ones. The one used for drawers cupboards and so on. Susan silently swore to dismantle and reassemble the lock so that one of the other, less common keys would fit.
The inside of the door was glued over with old newspapers, Mum looked at them. "Look, she said, They're all from 1942 or '43. It was those cold winters during the war." The owners must have isolated the room by glueing those papers on the inside." "I remember that. Susan said. Mom looked at her. "I mean ... of course I do not remember the winters, I was not born then, but Granny showed us photos of her walking to Sweden on the thick ice, patting the ferries that lay stuck and frozen in the middle of Øresund."
"Yes, I saw those as well. Impressing." Mum said."
"But what's in there?" Linda said.
"How did he get to the inside of the door?" Susan asked simultaneously.
"Linda go fetch my bike lanterns in the basket," Mum said.
"He came in from the other end, Susan," Mum said. "When we put up the fireplace in the big room, we covered the other end of this room up."
"So you knew it was there?"
"Yes and no," Mum said. "I never really thought about it, I thought it was just a small room, not that it reached all the way in behind this room. But obviously it does"
Linda returned with the bike lights, they were not that bright, but they all looked into the triangular space beneath the roof.
"There's something over there!" Linda said.
"Go and get it," Mum said. Linda got in with Mum holding the light aloof.
"Eww!" Linda said, "it's just an old bag filled with cobwebs and bottles."
"Oh, the milk bottles," Mum said. "That's where they went. I always wondered where i put them. When milk no longer came in bottles, I put our stash away instead of cashing it. I liked them and thought they would make nice vases. Bring them out here."
"But they're filled with cobwebs," Linda protested.
"I'll get the vacuum cleaner," Susan said and ran down the steep stairs.

There had been no more treasures hidden in the small triangular space, but now one of the milk bottles stood on the table in the guest room and Susan was careful to fill it at least once a week

How she met with Persephone the ghost will have to wait for tomorrow and the other half of the prompts.


Dobbelt jubilæum -- Double blogoversary

      Måske er jeg en smule sent på den - det lader til at ingen rigtig fejere bloggens fødselsdag, blog-jubilæum eller hvad det nu hedder på dansk. Det har jeg heller ikke gjort før, ikke fordi jeg har noget imod det, men jeg har altid først opdaget at der var gået endnu et år, et par dage, uger eller måneder efter at det var sket. I år opdagede jeg det så et par dage før og ydermere så jeg at blogpost nummer 1.000 lurede lige om hjørnet. Jeg kunne få dem til at falde på samme dag - så det gjorde jeg! 

- o 0 o -

Maybe I'm late to the party, I see almost nobody celebrate their blogoversary any more. I have never celebratet blogoversary (or is it blogiversary?). Not deliberately, out of any conviction. Just because of my bad timing. I have always found out some time after the fact that yesterday, or the day before, or even last month marked the second, third or sixth year I had been blogging. This year I accidentally discovered it some days before the fact. And then I saw blogpost number 1000 looming in the horizon. I could make these two events coincide. And so I did!

-- 🎆🎉🎶🎵 --

I dag for 7 år siden trykkede jeg udgiv på mit allerførste blogindlæg, og dette indlæg er så nummer 1.000 i rækken.
     Hvorfor skriver jeg stadig en blog? Jeg har prøvet Twitter, Instagram og Facebook, men jeg vender altid tilbage til at blogge. Tingene bliver stående på en anden måde end på Facebook og Twitter. Og så kan man skrive en længere svada med flere fine billeder..
     Det, man har skrevet om, kan sorteres, og så behøver jeg ikke at få en af Ugleungerne til at hjælpe mig med at lægge noget op i modsætning til Instagram, hvor jeg og min oldtidsmobil ikke kan lege med - den kan nemlig ikke engang gå på nettet.

- o 0 o -

Today 7 years ago I hit publish on my very first blog post and this post is my post number 1000.

Why am I still blogging? I've tried Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. But I still return to blogging. The posts remain here in comparison to Facebook, they're sortable and searchable.  And unlike Instagram, I don't need to ask one of the Owlets to borrow their smartphone to put up a photo. Me and my ancient cell phone can handle Blogger - that is to say, I can, as my old cell phone can't handle Blogs at all. Heck, it can't even access the Internet.

-- 🎆 --

      Nogle uglebilleder fra de forgangne 7 år

- o 0 o -

 Here are some owly photos from the past seven years.

Ny tehætte tilbage fra 2012
New tea cosy from 2012

Fukurou - ugle på japansk. Min fødselsdagslagkage i 2018
Fukurou means owl in Japanese. My birthday cake 2018

SpareUglen har overtaget strudsefuglens job. 2015
The savings Owl - taking over from the haughty ostrich of 2015

Haveuglen næsten druknet i ukrudt. Maj 2014
GardenOwl drowning in weeds May 2014

FODMAPuglen november 2013
The FODMAPowl from November 2013

Perleugle juleferien 2016
PerlerOwl Winter holidays 2016

Sommerhusugle
Summerhouse Owl

Kaffeugler. Der er blevet drukket utallige
kopper kaffe i Ugleboet de sidste syv år
CoffeeOwls. Innumerable mugs of coffee
have been drunk in the Owlery these last seven years.

-- 🎉 --

     Man kan nok bedst se tidens gang på Ugleungerne. Her er den mindste Ugleunge og Uglemor tilbage i 2012

- o 0 o -

The best way to watch the passing of time, is to look at the Owlets. Here's MotherOwl and the smallest Owlet in 2012

-- 🎵 --

Og så springer vi 7 år frem i tiden.

- o 0 o -

And now fast forward 7 years.



     Uglemor håber på at fortsætte med at blogge om stort og småt i Uglebo og omegn mange år endnu. 

- o 0 o -

MotherOwl hopes to continue blogging about this and that in the Owlery and surroundings.

-- 🎶 --

lørdag den 26. januar 2019

Theposekugle -- 2 -- Tea Bag Bauble

     Uglemor var i gang med en ny theposekugle. Det gik enormt langsomt, mest fordi alle theposerne skulle skæres til én ad gangen. Så fik Uglemor en idé! Hvad nu hvis man stablede 15 theposer - nok til en side - og så skar dem alle sammen på én gang. Det blev prøvet - og det virkede. så nu er Uglemor færdig med den blågrå theposekugle.

-- 🔹🔵🔹--

MotherOwl is making yet another  tea bag bauble.It was slow going, mostly because each of the 180 pieces of teabag hat to be individually cut to size. MotherOwl had an idea. Layer 15 teabags, enough for one whole side, and cut them all at once. A trial run showed that this was indeed possible, and from then on things got faster. The grey-blue bauble is finished!




     Lad os lige se, hvordan man laver sådan én. Så langt var Uglemor nået i tirsdags. Tre hele sider flettet.
     Der ligger tilskårne og foldede led til en ny, fjerde , side på skæreunderlaget.

-- 🔹🔷🔹--

This is how far MotherOwl had made it this Tuesday. Three faces done, and the segment for another face ready at the cutting mat.

     Nu er vi nået til fredag, ti hele sider, og leddene til de to sidste sider ligger allerede klar. Det var kun de tre sidste sider, der fik glæde af lynskæremetoden, men den vil komme i anvendelse i fremtiden. Det er helt sikkert.

-- 🔹💙🔹 --

The making of seven more faces lasted until Friday. It was only when cutting the tenth face and the segments for the two last faces that MotherOwl used the cut all in one go-method. It will see more use in times to come. 


     Alle tolv sider var færdige lige efter morgenmaden lørdag. 

-- 🔹🔵🔹 -- 

All twelve faces were put together right after breakfast Saturday.

     Så hentede Uglemor den grimme brune tråd og en nål og begyndte at sy.

-- 🔹🔷🔹 -- 

MotherOwl found the ugly brown yarn and a big needle and began sewing.

     Først syr man seks sider sammen til en flad, snefnuglignende ting. Her er den første færdig. 

-- 🔹💙🔹 --

Six faces are sewn together into a snowflake-like structure.


Og to styks flade snefnug. 

-- 🔹🔵🔹 -- 

And now there's two strange snowflakes. 


Uglemor syr og syr - og binder knuder op på tråden. Nu ligner det noget, men måske liger det mest en hjelm? Det syntes de andre i hvert fald, da Uglemor syede videre under formiddagskaffen.

-- 🔹🔷🔹 -- 

MotherOwl just keeps on sewing and untangling her yarn. The bauble takes form. Now it is in the form of a strange helmet. At last that is what the other inhabitants said during coffee-break.  


Men Uglemor lader sig ikke stoppe af sære hjelme. Hun fortsætter ufortrødent indtil kuglen er færdig og kaffen drukket.
-- 🔹💙🔹 -- 

But strange helmets and laughter did not deter MotherOwl. She persisted until the coffee was drunk and the bauble was done. 

TA-DAA!

torsdag den 24. januar 2019

Words for Wednesday - Thursday edition -- Unicorn Farm 17

As I wrote yesterday. Lissa's  prompts did not speak to me at all. But then, after having written the next instalment of my story, I looked at the words once again. And now, suddenly, I could see how they all fit in.

1. birthday
2. dream
3. cake
4. sugar
5. wishes
6. grant

and/ or

1. joyride
2. promise
3. wishing well
4. ghost
5. flowers
6. love


We just continue right where we laid off yesterday, and once again I took up the additional challenge of using the prompts in the order they were given.

Susan sent one of the photos and the original newspaper clipping to Heidi and the twins via magical mail. The other two she kept with the copy of the local paper in a folder under her bed. She had cast one of those practical "don't mind me"-spells on the folder, so that her parents or even worse, her sister would not notice it. 

Tomorrow was Saturday, the first in this school semester. And it was Linda's 13th birthday. Susan was sure the whole family would get together, Linda would look like a dream in her new dress. They would all eat pink cake, drink lots of cocoa with too much sugar in it, Linda loved oversweet things. All her wishes would be granted her - within limits of course. She would not get a palomino horse this year either.  

Susan had always found such occasions more of a nightmare than a joyride. But now that she knew the reason - her being a witch, at least an apprentice witch - set her apart from her family and society at large; she was able to face these ordeals with equanimity.

Next morning Susan rose early. Breakfast was a quiet affair as Linda slept late.
She had to promise her mother to behave, to pull on a dress, and generally be a normal girl during the celebrations. "Don't you go and spoil Linda's party with your sulks," her mother said.
Susan managed to take a bath and get to her room before Linda arose. She studied herself in the mirror. If she has a wishing well she would throw in two coins and have dark, curly hair instead of the medium brownish haystack she had now. Linda had wonderful golden hair and let no chance pass to mock Susan's common-coloured hair. And she would like to be a bit taller and slimmer. Her body was rather square and boyish, she used to be proud of her strength, well she still was, but she so wanted to look just a little bit like those other girls. And then again, she thought, her plain looks let her blend in. People did not notice her, and she could go on minding her own business without being disturbed.

Susan opened her cupboard to find her pretty dress. As she did so, she saw the ghost of a former inhabitant glide past in the mirror.
"Take it easy, Persephone (that was the name of the ghost). I'll bring you some flowers later today. And do come down and watch the party later, you'll love to see all those pretty ladies and stiff gentlemen."
"And you'd love to see their reaction to me?" Persephone chided.
"Oh, no, Percy. Please don't. Please stay invisible. Mum's gonna kill me if anything goes wrong. Somehow I'm always to blame when something goes wrong."
"I promise, the ghost said. Only do not forget the flowers!"
"I won't!" Susan said, leaving her room.

onsdag den 23. januar 2019

Words for Wednesday -- 23 January -- Unicorn Farm 16

This week's prompts are provided by Lissa at The Memory of Rain.


1. birthday
2. dream
3. cake
4. sugar
5. wishes
6. grant

and/ or

1. joyride
2. promise
3. wishing well
4. ghost
5. flowers
6. love


For once the prompts did not ligth any spark whatsoever, but as I idly read through my chapter from last week, my mind's eye went back to those days of long ago, and the words started flowing. I have used NONE of the prompts, but the link is given, so that other may participate and join the fun. 


Not more than half an hour has passed since last Wednesday's chapter.


At the library Susan went straight to the newspaper section. She vaguely remembered, maybe from some guided learn how to use the library-tour from years ago, that the old newspapers were kept handy. And yes, underneath each paper from today, which were laid out on sloping tables, were a set of shelves, four for each paper, each holding a week's worth of newspapers. A whole month of news lay there for the taking. Susan found another paper than the one with Lis' clippings and searched the relevant shelf for Saturday's paper. There was a mentioning of the arrival of the head of state, no pictures, and nothing new compared to Lis' paper. Susan folded it neatly and put it back. The next five were no better, either they did not mention it at all, brought the same photo, or some with the President seeing sights in Copenhagen. And they all wrote almost the same words. But finally, in the local paper, the one Susan had left out, she found a rather long reportage from the airport and some photos.
Susan looked closely, yes it was Torben. And that photo there, it showed the foreigner quite clearly. She checked with the big watch on the wall; only a quarter to four. If she hurried, she could make it the the newspaper's office before closing time. She might be able to buy - or even have for free - the original photo or one like it. First she went to the librarian and had a copy made of the relevant pages. It cost her 50 øre, but Susan had been given some money for Christmas, so she was quite rich for the nonce.

It was turning dark outside and the people still in the street were hurrying home, the rain still fell in heavy showers and thunder could be heard now closer, now further away. It was just one of the things that came from living in a coastal town. The rain clouds just stayed around the town until they had dropped their very last drop and spent every ounce of energy unsuccessfully battering the towers of the two churches with their thunderbolts. Susan biked almost all the way to the newspaper, only pushing the bike through the narrow one way streets near the centre. The traffic was still sparse, and she made it to the office in time without any incidents.
As she reached the door, it was opened rather forcefully from the inside. A large man with a black beard stood in front of her.

"Hello Susan, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"Oh, hi Stellan!" she answered. "I am looking for a photo from last Saturday's paper, did you make them?" Stellan was a friend of her parents', he was a journalist, and Susan had met him a couple of times before. He was a nice and easy fellow, from somewhere else, Susan had momentarily forgotten where, and he spoke with an accent. Normally he was all smiles, but Susan thought he looked sad.
"Which photos? I made some from Copenhagen, as I was there, visiting a friend of mine."
"From the airport?" Susan asked eagerly, Stellan nodded, and Susan said: "Yes, those are the ones I'm looking for."
"Ah," Stellan nodded "social studies?" Susan nodded agreement, happy that he himself had uttered the words. She hated lying, and just saying yes was only half so bad.
"You know what," Stellan said. "I have all of them at home, and I have to hurry home and eat before leaving for Copenhagen again. My friend is very ill, you see. If you could water my plants and take care of my canaries for me, you could have two or three of the photos."
"I'd be happy to," Susan said and strode after the long legged man through the dark streets of the city.

"Here are the photos," Stellan said, as they entered the living room and he pulled out a big, yellow envelope. "Remember the upstairs plans as well, and now come and say hello to the canaries while I eat!" They went into the small kitchen. Stellan quickly fried eggs and ham and ate and smoked cigarettes, making Susan's eye water and itch.
She chatted with the birds, caressed them, fed them, gave them fresh water, even cleaning the dirty water tubs, and changed the newspapers at the bottom of the cage. She then looked for the watering can, and found it in the window sill.

"You're a dear, Susan" Stellan said, "Just put out the lights and close the door when you're done."
"Thank you, Stellan," Susan said. "You are a big help."
Stellan tousled Susan's hair and left in a hurry. Susan opened the window and carefully watered all the plants. Some of them seemed more than half dead; no wonder as they had been trying to live off too much smoke and too little water and care; and she could not resist the temptation to give them a little boost with her magic.
Stellan's house was small, but full of wonders. Lush carpets, musical instruments and colourful spreads and trinkets gave it a semblance of Aladdin's cave. It spoke of his foreign background and his many travels. She loved it, but she was very careful not to disturb anything. She only ran her hands caressingly over the violin. It had not seen as much use as his banjo, but it was much prettier. Susan could not play either, only simple tunes on the piano, but she loved listening to other people playing.
After having completed the chores and emptied some of the ashtrays for good measure, she sat down on the blue sofa and opened the envelope. A zillion photos from the presidential visit to Copenhagen spilled over the table. Susan sorted them and looked through those from the airport. She found some where the stranger and Torben were in plain view. Most of them featured the president as well. She chose three, put the rest back into the envelope and left the cosy house behind.

As she closed the door she remembered having left behind her bike at the newspaper. She did not want to leave it there overnight. The office lay in a part of own with many pubs and bars, peaceful enough in the daytime, but her bike would most probably be stolen if she left it where it was. It was a detour, but then she still had time to spare. Sheltering the precious photos inside her jacket with a bit of additional magic she went out into the rain.

tirsdag den 22. januar 2019

Theposekugle -- Tea Bag Bauble

     Der er noget med sne og januar, der inspirerer Uglemor til at folde theposekugler. Nu er hun gået i gang igen.

Sidste år blev der foldet kugler i forskellige størrelser, men som man synger En er for lille og en er for stor. Den blå er meget fin - og lille. Det er noget fnidderværk at sidde med. Hver side er ca. 3 cm i diameter.  Den regnbuefarvede går i den anden grøft, der er hver side er ca. 15 cm tværs over.
     Nu prøver Uglemor så noget midt imellem. 

-- ❅--

There's just something about January, cold and snow outside that inspires MotherOwl to make tea bag baubles
Last years baubles were either very big - the rainbow coloured one measured 16 cm from top to bottom - or very small; the blue one measures 7 cm, a very fiddly project


     Der er talt 180 ens theposer op. Her er 18 stakke med 10 i hver. De sørgelige rester ses i æsken; den var helt fuld til start. 
 -- ❅--

Now for a new start. 180 tea bags lined up in stacks of 10. What's left from a very full box of empty tea bags can be seen still inside the box.

     Hver enkelt pose bliver så skåret til. Først ryger lidt af toppen, så en strimmel af hver side.

-- ❅--
Every bag is then cut to size 15 at a time. First a bit from the top, the a bit from each of the sides.

     Her ligger de første 15 trimmede theposer. 
 -- ❅--
First 15 cut to size.


     Så er første side foldet, og der bliver skåret videre. Papstykket er en til formålet fremstillet motivsøger. Det skulle jo nødigt ende med kedelige bogstaver eller halve thekopper på de synlige dele.
 
-- ❅--
The first panel folded and done. Cutting continues. The paper square is a custom made motive finder. MotherOwl would hate to end up with ugly lettering or half a teacup on each of the visible parts.

     Indtil nu har Uglemor foldet tre sider  af 12. Det er ikke noget, der går hurtigt.

-- ❅--

So far MotherOwl has made 3 out of 12 sides. It is a slow work.

lørdag den 19. januar 2019

Snekunst -- Snow Art

Naturen er den bedste kunstner.  -- 🎨 --  Nature is the greatest artist of them all. 


fredag den 18. januar 2019

Snewafler -- Snow Waffles

     I går var jorden dækket af sne. Det betød at vi skulle have snevafler. Snevafler er meget lækre, så det er noget, vi altid ser frem til.
     Men i går havde stakkels Spiril jo brækket sin tå, og var ikke så frisk. Uglemor havde været tidligt oppe for at være med Spiril på hospitalet og var lidt træt, og værst af alt, Skribenten var ikke hjemme. Så derfor blev snevaflerne udsat til i dag. Og i dag producerede Uglemor så et veritabelt bjerg af opvask, helt præcist en gryde, to spiseskeer, en kniv, tre skåle, en dejskraber, en bagepensel, to piskeris, to decilitermål og to vaffeljern.
     Og så bagte Uglemor selvfølgelig en masse snevafler. Det lykkedes oven i købet at bage den næsten perfekte snevaffel! Der mangler kun en lille bid.

-- ❅ - ❄ - ❅ --

When it snows, and the snow covers the ground, MotherOwl bakes snow waffles. But yesterday, when the snow fell, no waffles were made. Poor Marsupilami and his broken toe were a bit off colour, MotherOwl was sleepy from being at the hospital with him early in the morning, and worst of all, the Writer was not at home. Snow waffles were postponed.
But today MotherOwl produced a veritable mountain of dirty plates and cutlery. To be exact: one pot, two tablespoons, one knife, three bowls, one spatula, one basting brush, two whisks, two measuring cups, and two waffle irons.  By using all this MotherOwl made a lot of waffles, enough for all the inhabitants of the Owlery. She even produced an almost perfect waffle.  Only a tiny bit was missing.




torsdag den 17. januar 2019

Bump midt om natten og SNE!

 Things that go bump in the night and SNOW!

    Midt i nat, eller måske tidligt i morges, i hvert fald på et tidspunkt hvor alle anstændige ugler har hovedet under vingen, blev Uglemor vækket af nogle høje BUMP!-lyde. Og nej, det var hverken hekse eller spøgelser, det var stakkels Spiril der var faldet ned ad trappen. Og han havde brækket en tå. Kun en af de der små tæer der ikke har sig eget navn.
     Normalt har Uglemor i den situation bare klæbet tåen sammen med den ved siden af og så fortsat. I hvert fald de to gange, det har været hendes egne tæer, det var gået ud over.
     Men ikke nok med at denne tå absolut var brækket; den sad altså også i en sjov vinkel.
     Uglemor tog med Spirillen til nærmeste sygehus, hvor vi var næsten helt alene og blev fint behandlet. Spirillens tå blev røntgenfotograferet, og tåen så også mærkelig ud på det billede.
     Så blev tåen bedøvet - til Spirillens store skræk med indsprøjtninger - og lige så nydeligt sat på plads med kraftigt håndarbejde af den unge læge. Så klæbede han tæerne sammen, tog et nyt billede, hvor tåen nu var fin og lige igen - den så også fin ud udefra - og sendte os hjem igen.

     Spirillen hinkede omkring og skræmte næsten livet af os med sine hop. Så ringede de fra hospitalet igen, det var vi blevet advaret om, kunne ske. Han skulle komme ind og få en "støttefod" på.
     Det klarede han heldigvis alene, og nu kan han med forsigtighed vandre omkring i huset uden at være ved at vælte sig selv og alle andre.

Da han var på vej hjem, begyndte det at sne. Sådan rigtigt med store, hvide flager, og snevejret kom da heldigvis med ham hjem.

-- 👻 --

In the middle of the night, or the wee hours of the morning - in any case - at a time where all decent owls sleep with the head beneath their wing, MotherOwl was awakened by a BUMP! The bump was neither a ghost nor a witch, but Marsupilami. He fell down the stairs, and told us his toe might be broken.
It was one of the small ones not having a name of their own. MotherOwl is known to brutally tape (her own) broken toes to its neighbour and that's it. But Marsupilami's toe was broken for real, jutting out in an awkward angle. Nothing doing but a visit to the nearest ER.
We were almost the only ones there, and after an x-ray showing a bone jutting out. A nice and competent young doctor anaesthetized the toe, using injections to Marsupilami's chagrin, and set the bone. One more X-ray showed the bone in a normal position. It looked fine from the outside as well. Then he taped the toe to its neighbour and sent us home.
Later the hospital phoned us again, as the doctor had warned us might happen, and told us that Marsupilami had to come back and be fitted with a supportive device. Great idea as his method of locomotion was a hazard to him and his surroundings.

On his way home with his foot enclosed in a charming black sandal, he met some snow. Real big snowflakes falling and dancing in the wind. And he brought the mini-snowstorm back home with him.




onsdag den 16. januar 2019

Words for Wednesday - 17 January -- Unicorn Farm 15

This week's prompts are provided by Lissa at The Memory of Rain.

The first prompt is the sound of
Mountain Rain and Thunderstorm
I think it's the first time we have had 
an audio prompt.

The others are

1. it's going to rain today
2. chasing storms
3. umbrellas
4. charmed
5. a long journey
6. trains


Once again I wrote a small chapter from my mock autobiography, and once again I took up the additional challenge of using the prompts in the order they were given.

Some days have passed since Susan received the first letter of the year.

January was unusually wet and dreary, school was bad, even worse than usual, Susan thought. Her classmates had never been very nice to her, but after an epic fight in 4th form they had mostly left her alone. Now the teachers seemed to be after her as well, or maybe she had just begun to imagine things after experiencing how learning could be at The Unicorn Farm.
She made her homework dutifully each day, in a hurry to be able to pour over her magic books. She had now learned to send letters with magic, for Heidi's next letter had told her to read the note at page 114 in Spells and Cantrippes for Daily Use. The old anonymous tome had lain unopened in the bottom of her carpet bag, but it was actually quite a handy book. Susan was slowly beginning to rely more on her own powers and on her magic when faced with a problem. This earned her strange looks from her parents and sister, and only the fact that she DID NOT bring her wand to school had saved her from trouble there.
Actually the "DO NOT bring your wand into that other world"-rule was one the apprentices got hammered into their brain on The Farm.
But her growing confidence and new problem solving techniques; skills she had no idea of possessing, was what caused her problems.

This Tuesday was just as dreary as the rest of the month had been. After hurrying through her history lessons, Susan grabbed her wand and a few other things, bent on trying out a few cantrips somewhere outdoor.Even with rain coming and going "her place" would be fairly dry.
That place was not of that other world, at least not as Susan understood tit. It was an abandoned lumber yard with a humongous walnut tree and some decrepit, red buildings. It was also the place where Susan, Heidi, Lis and Tue had installed the portal in one of the hottest summers ever.

Her mother called her as she was leaving the house: " Susan! Are you leaving now?" Susan nodded, and her mother continued: "It's going to rain today. Again! If you have to go chasing storms, then at least dress for it.Umbrellas are no good in this weather. You've turned too many of them inside out lately."
"Sorry, Mum," Susan said. "I'm going to pull on my rain gear. I'll be home for dinner. Promise." Susan gave her mother a hug before she disappeared into her study again.

Susan locked her bike and quickly ran up to her place in the old lumber yard. Nobody could see her here, nobody ever came all the way here, except for late September when the walnuts were ripe. This was Susan's secret place. The portal was over in the far corner, invisible to all but fellow magicians. That made her feel safe and even more at home here. It was a charmed place in her rather miserable life. She sat down with her back to the long, red building. It was fairly dry here, the drops were pattering on the roof over her head and running thorough the old drain pipes, making rivulets meandering from the house. The thunder rolled now and then, but she was not cold. Magic could help in so many small ways.
She pulled some letters out of her deepest pocket. Heidi's newest letter had arrived only this morning, and she intended to study every word before it became too dark.

"Dear Susan!
We have looked more closely at the photo from the train station, and now we do not think it really is your father in the photo, even though I agree that it looks a lot like him. We suspect that Torben used the other half of the potion to look unsuspicious for a long journey, since we now know - or at least have a strong suspicion of - where he went. As you guessed, he used the trains to go to Copenhagen -  all the way to the airport even.
He went to the airport to pick up somebody. Who that somebody is, we do not know, but we got a glimpse of them in the news, as some foreign head of state came by that same plane.
Do watch he news in the coming days. We are all afraid what will happen next.
We sent you a newspaper cutting of the meeting in the airport. You can just see Torben and that other man to the left.
Take care of yourself and your family.
Your friend Heidi"
 Susan sat for some time studying the newspaper clipping in the murky daylight. The quality was not much better than the one from the security camera at the station. Susan got up and ran to her bike. She had an idea. The local library had all the newspapers for way back. Maybe some of the other ones had a better photo. She could always say it was for some homework.

Oprydning og deraf følgende digt.

Cleaning and a poem, but only in Danish, because MotherOwl only translated the Polish verse into Danish.

-- ✎ --

     I går ryddede Uglemor op - ja det gør hun hver dag i større eller mindre udstrækning - men i går ryddede hun sit skrivebord op, og det sker ikke så tit.
     Skrivebordet rummer normalt hvad der vist bedst kan beskrives som kreativt kaos. Men nu var Uglemors lille røde bog, paphjernen, oversigten over Ugleungernes lommepenge og mange andre nyttige ting blevet borte. Uglemor hentede kost og spand og gik i gang.
     Under oprydningen dukkede masser af ting op, der havde været borte i længere tid, blandt andet slutningen på et morsomt vers om ses kokkepiger på polsk, som Uglemor havde leget med at oversætte til dansk.
Her er det så:

Sześć kucharek
Wanda Chotomska

Było sobie sześć kucharek:
Jedna chuda jak sucharek,
jak bułeczka pulchna druga,
trzecia jak makaron długa,
czwarta miała mleczną cerę
i lubiła kluski z serem,
piąta niby pączek tłusta
i jak ocet kwaśna szósta.
Pięć kucharek w mlecznym barze
miało przez nią kwaśne twarze,
bo nic nigdy nie robiła,
tylko ciągle się kłóciła:
z tą najpierwszą o kakao,
co na blachę wykipiało,
a z tą drugą - o talerze
i o każdą dziurkę w serze,
o ryż - z trzecią, o sól - z czwartą,
z piątą zaś - o bułkę tartą...

Og på dansk
Der var engang seks kokkepiger,
hør nu efter hvad jeg siger.
Samme sted de arbejd' fik,
hør nu her, hvordan det gik.
Nummer ét var tynd og mager,
skønt hun elskede ost og kager.
Nummer to var tyk og fed,
ku' knap rokke sig afsted.
Nummer tre var ung og yndig,
hendes suppe næsten syndig.
Nummer fire derimod
var som dagen lang og god.
Nummer fem ku' li sardiner.
Alle fik de sure miner.
Kun på grund af nummer seks,
der var sur som nogen heks.

Der var altid noget i vejen.
Nummer et, pas nu på stegen!
Nummer to, jeg tror du sover,
se kakaoen er kogt over!
Hun ku' skændes med nummer tre
om hver gaffel, kniv og ske.
Selv den blide nummer fire
kunne hun forstå at tirre.
Fem fik skænd for sin dessert,
hvor selv raspen var forkert.

...og så er der ikke mer,
digtet slutter lige der.

Og den røde bog? Den er stadig væk!

tirsdag den 15. januar 2019

Lysere tider -- Brighter Days

Ja det går mod lysere dage, i hvert fald sådan rent meteorologisk. 
      På årets korteste dag skrev DMI: Solopgang: 8.45, solnedgang: 15.35, dagens længde 6:50

I dag lyder de tilsvarende tal: Solopgang: 8:35, solnedgang: 16:05, dagens længde 7:30, tiltaget 0:40
     Men goderne er ikke jævnt fordelt, og den ellers friheds- og lighedselskende Uglemor siger heldigvis! For det er 10 minutter om morgenen, men hele 30 om aftenen. Det kan faktisk mærkes!
Og morgenerne følger snart efter. Om ikke længe vil det være gråt og ikke sort udenfor når vækkeuret ringer. 
  
 Morgenmørke --  Darkish Morning

Brighter days ahead, at least from a meteorological point of view.
Already we have 40 minutes more daylight than at winter solstice. And MotherOwl, who with 6 children has learned that to share equally is the best, notices with glee that those minutes are not equally distributed!
Our mornings are all of 10 minutes longer, while the evenings have gotten the lion's share: 30 minutes more, YES!
And the mornings will follow. Soon it'll be daybreak - or at least not pitch dark outside - when the alarm sounds.

mandag den 14. januar 2019

Sne og Sjaggere -- Snow and Fieldfares

     Hver vinter tager Uglemor billeder af sjaggere, i år er ingen undtagelse. Sjaggeren er en trækfugl, der tager sydpå hver vinter - og sydpå, det er her!
     I Ugleboet er der flere æbletræer, og et af dem har skrubsure æbler. De sidder på træet langt ind i efteråret lidt afhængig af stormenes rasen.
     Og hver vinter, sådan her omkring kommer sjaggerne, normalt samtidig med en første sne. Der kommer en flok, nogen gange 70 til 100 fugle, og når de har været her, er æblerne væk. Der ligger kun stilkene og så selve æbleskroget som små, skrøbelige stjerner spredt ud over haven.

-- 🍎🍎🍎 --

Every winter MotherOwl is photographing fieldfares. Fieldfares are "highly migratory" (Wikipedia's wording) and fly South every winter. And South ... it's here!
In the Owlery we have several apple trees, some for eating, some for cooking and one to look at. The flowers are so pretty, but the apples are most sour, inedible. The apples stay on the tree for long, some times until next year, depending only on the storms.
And every winter the fieldfares arrive from further North. They come in big flocks (No special common noun for fieldfares, I'm sorry) often up to 100 or more, often 70ish. When they leave, all the apples are gone We find a stem here and there and then the very cores, laying all over like so many small, pale stars.

Sjagger under æbletræet  -- 🍎🍎🍎 --  A fieldfare under the appletree

søndag den 13. januar 2019

Allerede en halv time! -- Half an hour more!

     I dag ender juletiden. Det er Herrens dåb, som falder søndagen efter Helligtrekongerssøndag (med mindre altså Helligtrekongerssøndag er den 7. eller 8. januar, så er det nemlig mandagen lige efter - sært at to dages længere juletid bare er for meget).


     Så i dag tænder vi altså juletræet for sidste gang, i så - eller nok snarere i morgen - fjerner vi al julepynten. Måske med undtagelse af vores julekrybbe, der kan få lov at stå til kyndelmisse. 

-- 💧💧💧 --

Today is the Baptism of the Lord, the end of the Christmas time in the liturgy. The Baptism of the Lord is celebrated on the Sunday following Epiphany Sunday - unless this Sunday is the 7th or 8th, in this case the Baptism of the Lord is celebrated on the Monday after Epiphany - strange things happening - a two days longer Christmas time is just too much or ... ? 

Today our Christmas tree will be lit one last time, and then - or maybe tomorrow - we'll put away all the Christmas ornaments. Maybe the Nativity will survive until Candlemass.



Dagens gode nyhed er, at vi allerede i går passerede en halv times ekstra dagslys. 
Her er dagens tal fra DMI: Solopgang: 8.37 Solnedgang: 16.01 Dagens længde: 7.24. Tiltaget: 0.33

-- 💧💧💧 --

Today's good news: Already yesterday we had more than half an hour extra daylight. 
Today in numbers, courtesy of DMI: Sunrise: 8.37 Sunset: 16.01 Day-length: 7.24. Longer by 0.33

Ankeltørklæder -- Ankle Scarves

     Uglemor havde en lille smule hvidt og noget mere grønt garn tilovers efter at have strikket sine herlige vanter. Hvad nu? Der var ikke nok til en hue - og Uglemor har allerede en hue. Der var måske nok til et par meget korte sokker, virkeligt korte, og Uglemor fryser om benene, ikke om tæerne.Så svaret må være ANKELTØRKLÆDER!

     Og ja, Uglemor er klar over, at billedet herunder er fis og ballade og muligvis oven i købet manipuleret. Men ideen er da sjov!

MotherOwl still had a little bit of white yarn, and some more of the green left from knitting mittens. It was not enough for a hat, and MotherOwl already has a hat - and one to spare; it's not enough for socks, well maybe a very short pair of socks, and it's not MotherOwl's toes that are cold, but her legs.
The answer has to be ANKLE SCARVES!

MotherOwl is totally aware that this picture is a scam and possibly photoshopped as well. But the idea is funny.
Ankeltørklæder -- Ankle Scarves

Ankeltørklæder analogt med halstørklæder er nok mere sjovt end praktisk, for eksempel må de der frynser da blive pænt  klamme ret hurtigt. Pulsvarmere er da bare et rør, kunne ankelvarmere så ikke bare være det samme?


Ankle scarves are more fun than practical, I'd imagine those fringes would become rather nasty after a short use. Ankle warmers made like wristlets are more practical, albeit less fun.

- o 0 o -

Åh, I vil gerne se ... jamen her er de så

Oh ... you wan to see them. Well, here you are.


Jeps, jeg satte frynser på alligevel, og når jeg føler mig tilpas fjollet kan jeg tage dem på med frynserne nedad.
Yup I added some fringes, and when I feel like it, I can turn them upside down for that extra tickle.

fredag den 11. januar 2019

Vanter - Mittens

     I morges fik Uglemor langt om længe ikke kolde fingre, da hun fulgte Ugleungerne til bussen. For se nu her. I går eftermiddags var det så vidt. Vanterne var strikket færdig, nu skulle der hæftes ender. Det blev heldigvis klaret under aftenkaffen.
     Der mangler stadigvæk et mønster på kanten, men det betyder heldigvis ikke så meget for funktionen af vanterne.
     De er godkendt!
-- --

This morning MotherOwl's fingers stayed warm and cosy as she walked the Owlets to the bus. The reason was not warmer weather, but new mittens.
Yesterday, MotherOwl snapped this photo of her mittens, and she spent all the time during evening coffee darning in ends - not a favourite occupation.
The mittens are still lacking the decorative pattern on the cuffs, but that does not impair their use.
They are Owl-approved!



Hvidt alpakkagarn fra Frisenvang. Det grønne er farvet med tagrør i efteråret.


White alpaca from Frisenvang. The green was dyed with reed flowers in the autumn.



Seasonal SAD

Sæsonbetinget KaUGoBF-syndrom.
Hvis det ikke kan give mening som på engelsk, kan det i det mindste være længere og sværere at sige.

-- 🌱 --

MotherOwl is a sufferer from SAD. Seasonal SAD even. As with all those disorders the beginning is fairly inobtrusive. A peek at Karna Majs wonderful blog reminds me of her practical way of storing seeds in a crate, and this leeds to MotherOwl looking through her own crate. This in turn leeds to MotherOwl discovering the sad lack of seeds, flower seeds, vegetable seeds, seeds for her belowed herbs, in short any kinds of seeds.

🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

     Uglemor lider af sæsonbetinget KaUGoBF-syndrom. Som den slags altid gør, starter det nok så fredsommeligt med et besøg på Karna Majs vidunderlige blog. Det minder Uglemor om Karnas smarte opbevaringsløsning med frø i en æske, og det fører til at Uglemor står på hovedet i sin egen frøkasse og opdager en sørgelig mangel på frø. Grøntsagsfrø, blomsterfrø og ikke mindst krydderurtefrø.

-- -- -- 🌱 -- -- --

And from there the road to a full fledged attack of Seed Aquisition Disorder is very short.


🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱

    Og derfra går den lige vej til et alvorligt udbrud af Sæsonbetinget Køb af Urte- Grøntsags- og BlomsterFrø-syndrom.

Drawn by this guy 🌱 Tegnet af ham her

torsdag den 10. januar 2019

Words for Wednesday 10. Januar -- Unicorn Farm 14



This week's prompts are provided by Lissa at The Memory of Rain.
She served us two pictures, I choose only one of those.


Once again I wrote a small chapter from my mock autobiography.


We continue where we left off a week ago.



With trembling fingers Susan opened the letter.
Inside she found a note in Lis' easy handwriting and a photo. The photo was blurry, and when Susan looked closer at it, it was two photos on top of one another. She looked even closer. It was a train station with a road superimposed. The only person to be seen clearly, was a young woman with her back turned toward the camera.



Susan began reading. "We went back to the farm. There was nobody to be seen, and nothhing either. The place was cleaned and everything put back. We found not a single trace of the evening's happenings.>

The very next day we went back to the train station, we spoke to the ticket vendor, the janitor and all and sundry. But even with Tue's exceptional persuasive skills we found no trace of Torben there either. In the end we got the station-master to show us the security videos from that evening. Torben must have suspected something like this, they were garbled, double and triple exposures with postcards and movies thrown in for good measure. The only still we could get, looking remotely useful was this one. Could you try studying it, and send your observations back to us? Heidi has some very intriguing observations. We won't tell, so as not to bias you."

She went downstairs in the quiet house and took her mother's magnifying glass from the sewing basket, but the quality was not good. The train station did not look normal until it dawned on Susan that it was a mirror image. After this she was able to tell, that the people on the photo were indeed waiting for the train for Copenhagen. She tried to ignore the modernistic cars, they seemed to come from an American movie. The lady meant nothing either, she was sure. Then her heart started beating wildly. The man half hidden behind a lamp post ... that was her father! ... Or was it? It was impossible to be sure with this blurry image. She wrote down her thoughts and misgivings and put them in a new envelope.

Her letter had not arrived via normal mail, she was sure. But how did you send a letter with the aid of magic? She was sure either Martine or Birgitta had mentioned something during thieir first school year. She gave the battle up as lost as her memory just would not give, but added a questioning note to her letter. On her way to school, she dropped the letter in a mailbox.

tirsdag den 8. januar 2019

Sang på hjernen -- Vers 4

     Uglemor havde en sang på hjernen. Det viste sig at være "Hvor blev det af ..." med Lise Reinau. Og nogle år senere fik hun da skrevet om vers 1. Vers 2 fulgte nogle måneder senere, og i oktober fik vi så 3. vers. Eftersom vers 1 handler om foråret, vers 2 om sommeren og vers 3 om efteråret, skal der nok ikke så meget hjerneaktivitet til at regne ud, at vers 4 handler om vinteren. Og det gør det da også, men Uglemor er skuffet ... det handler bare typisk dansker-dumt om at spise til jul. Der er hverken schwung eller poesi dér. Øv.
     Læs selv her:

På vor gårdsplads står en mand med hat og kosteskaft,
næsen er en gulerod, og tænder har han haft.
Fryseren er fyldt med både gås og dejlig sul,
ja tænk engang at det igen er jul.
     Hvor blev det af hele året, hvem har spist det bid for bid?
     Hvordan kan man nå det hele på den halve tid?
     Hvor blev de af, alle mennesker som jeg strejfed‘ på min vej?
     Hvem stjal af vore dage som vi vogter, du og jeg?

Vi får lige hele sangen for at kunne vurdere den i sin helhed:


Hvor blev det af?
Ud af skyens pose sprang den splinternye sol
malerpenslen slikkede solskin på min havestol
pip i hver en fugl, for nu er det atter vår
for pokker hvordan er det tiden går
     Hvor blev det af hele året, hvem har spist det bid for bid?
     Hvordan kan man nå det hele på den halve tid?
     Hvor blev de af, alle mennesker som jeg strejfed‘ på min vej?
     Hvem stjal af vore dage som vi vogter, du og jeg?

Dovne, salte bølger fra det store Vesterhav
vasker vore unger, mens de leder efter rav.
Fire brune kroppe i det fine hvide sand,
det var sidste år ved Henne strand.
     Hvor blev det af ...

I min skorsten sukker en vemodig, nordlig vind:
Dagene bliver korte, Sortemis vil gerne ind.
Æbler dumper ned på plænen,
nøgne roser får dyne på som sidste efterår.
     Hvor blev det af ...

På vor gårdsplads står en mand med hat og kosteskaft,
næsen er en gulerod, og tænder har han haft.
Fryseren er fyldt med både gås og dejlig sul,
ja tænk engang at det igen er jul.
     Hvor blev det af ...


     Uglemor kunne naturligvis ikke bare lade den slutning stå. De tre første vers er fine og poetiske, men så kommer det der vers fire, med sin typisk danske stop i hovedet-mentalitet og lader det hele falde til jorden. Her er et forslag til et nyt 4. vers. Alle forslag modtages med tak!


På vor gårdsplads står en mand med hat og kosteskaft,
næsen er en gulerod, og tænder har han haft.
Fuglen synger sagte fra sit snebedækte skjul.
Ja, tænk engang at det igen er jul.
     Hvor blev det af hele året, ...

søndag den 6. januar 2019

TUSAL -- 1 -- January

Som jeg skrev her, er der 13 nymåner i år. Nu er vi så nået frem til den første nymånedag. Men da det  nye år kun er 6 dage gammelt, og det oven i købet stadig er juleferie, er der ikke meget i bøtten.

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As I wrote here,  this year is a year of 13 new moons. Now we've reached the first one. ORTs-wise not much has happened. We're only 6 days into a new year, and Christmas holidays will end tomorrow.
 
     Mine stumper lever virkelig deres eget liv, de kommer og går. Hvis nogen finder på at sammenligne stumperne fra år 2018 - glasset på det venstre billede - med TUSAL-indlæggene fra 2018 vil de finde ind til flere uoverensstemmelser.

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My ORTs have a life of their own. They come and go as they like. If somebody were to compare the ORTs of 2018 - the jar in the photo to the left - with my TUSAL blog posts from 2018 they'd discover several discrepancies.

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     Alle  stumperne fra 2018 vil, når de ellers er dukket op - ende inden i en temari.

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All the ORTs from 2018 will eventually end up inside a temari. I just got to catch 'em all.

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       Og hvor kommer de røde ender så fra? Uglemor er ved at strikke sig et par nye vanter. De helt gamle (strikket tilbage i 2011) holder ikke længere, og de nye (strikket engang i 2016), er dumme, den ene er for kort, den anden for smal, og så er det to venstrevanter! Hvad Uglemor lige tænkte på, da hun strikkede dem, er ikke godt at vide. Nu er det i hvert fald tid for et par nye.

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And from where do the red ORTs come from? MotherOwl is knitting a new pair of mittens for herself.  The old ones, knit in 2011, were worn out some time ago. And the new ones, supposedly knit in 2016, are just so wrong. One is too short, the other too narrow, and then it's two left mittens. What were you thinking of, MotherOwl? Time for a new pair!

     Her er så begyndelsen på de nye vanter, de er strikket i alpakkagarn men efter idé til Skribentens lovikkavanter. Og de er stadig gode!

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 The new mittens so far. They're knit from alpaca yarn, using the lovikka-tecnique, which I used for the Writer's mittens, and they're still warm and cosy.  

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  Hvis TUSAL er et nyt og spændende begreb, så læs mere her på engelsk og her på dansk.

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If you've never heard about TUSAL and ORTs before, go HERE to become wiser.