tirsdag den 27. august 2019

Poetry Monday :: Marbles.

As I'm still in play mode, World of Warcraft Classic launced today, I have not pomed anything for today. And Marbles ... well give it a try.

I never played marbles at school,
We played tag games as a rule,
And everyone knows
That running on small rounded stones
make you fall on your nose
and possibly break all your bones.

Join the fun at On the Alberta/Montana Border where Diane supported by Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey have been doing this fun for years. 
To the distress of this old Owl, Delores of Mumblings is now leaving Blogland because of a mean, stupid troll. 

mandag den 19. august 2019

Poetry Monday :: Camping

From Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey via Diane of On the Alberta/Montana Border we are given this week's topic in a rhyme. And the topic is Camping.

Camping - I know we all expect something about tents, camp stoves, sleeping bags et cetera. No, not going to happen. As you migth have understood from my recent posts, I presently reside in a world, where "camping" has a whole 'nother meaning.

I just walked here, peaceful as you please.
You came sneaking from behind, killing me with ease.
And now ... you're camping my corpse!

I just sat here waiting for a rare to spawn.
And now you sit here too, waiting on my lawn
Bugger all - you're gonna camp my horse!

Corpse Camping

onsdag den 14. august 2019

A Grumpy WoW Player

I needed a break, and as love doing almost all kinds of Quests and stuff in World of Warcraft, I logged in on my poor suffering main, Bredil. But it was a short lived pleasure, as I just hate being thwarted in my attempts to have fun.
I'll show you just what I mean.

1st photo:
Here I am, once again back in the test version of WoW Classic.
I had reached level 15 (max. for this test). I had crafted, fought for, bought or quested for the best armor and weaponry you could have.
I had not done much cooking, the Savory Deviate Delight was given to me by a nice player. Thank you!
Now I wanted to see, how tough I really was.
The colour of the Quest's name in the log, tell me how hard they are to complete. This one is red. That means either group up or prepare to die - a lot.
I called my pet, Scorpy, and together we were just able to handle two of those bad ass Bristlebacks at the same time. My chance of gathering 60 Quillboar Tusks before the servers closed for good were non-existent. But in 12 days plus some more for leveling this far again, I'll do it!

2nd photo:
Back in Battle for Azeroth, my main has been fooling around. He was beset by this expansion's Quillboars, Briarbacks, and got himself a bunch of Quills. The info-text tells him that Hobbs might be interested. He went in search of Hobbs.
But as he finally found the Quillboar enthusiast, he was in for a nasty surprise. Hobbs wanted nothing to do with him or his quills.
Arrows point from the Quills' flavour text, to Hobbs, to the empty slots (nothing to sell).
A search at the helping hand site - Wowhead - told me why.
The last, topmost arrow points to the explanation for his misery. He's not yet level 120!

The key words here are: getting honored with Storm's Wake - which of course you cannot do until you reach level 120 and can do world Quests.
I exited the game.

Now only 295 hours left.

The Words for Words for Wednesday - no Story

In August the words for Wednesday are given to us by River at Drifting through Life
It's not that the words are not inspiring. I just seem to suffer from some sort of writers' block. The words and photos to go with them are good, and I don't think that anybody should be deterred from seeing them because of my shortcomings, so here goes: 

This weeks words are a couple of lines from books she has read:

1. "then I was going to bed, where I planned to stay until Christmas"
2. "I'm always careful," I said calmly, stepping straight into a puddle.
      and this photo from her sister-in-law when she was in Europe several years ago

A week ago she gave us these enticing words:

1. derision
2. mendacious
3. plethora
4. manuscripts
5. unfamiliar
6. gently

1. vaguely
2. expression
3. ornamental
4. peppermint
5. spinning
6. narrowed

     and yet another photo.

I have to get writing again!

tirsdag den 13. august 2019

Ventetid -- Waiting

320 timer endnu!                                                                                                        320 hours more!

mandag den 12. august 2019

Poetry Monday :: A Childhood Hero

Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey have been keeping the chair warm for Diane of On the Alberta/Montana Border  who has now returned in splendour. Her first theme is A Childhood Hero.
I did not have one childhood hero, but a pair.  
The verse is not good, bit it is what I was able to put together. Tuesday was library day in my childhood.

My childhood heroes lived inside a book
They were brave, they were fearless, they had what it took.
They climbed up a mountain so terribly tall
and then wrote a book on their brush with the wall.
I read of their merits, and all through the night
I dreamed of oxygen bottles, snow blindness, and fright.
My mother who came in to hear what I said
Heard me talking of 3000 feet and aid
She forbade me to read,
but I never agreed.
So I secretly read
of the dangers they met.
Every Tuesday I sought out a new book
About Hilary and Tenzing and the route that they took.

torsdag den 8. august 2019

Words for Wednesday - Easter Holiday 6

And once more I'm playing catch up. Now using only a few of  WiseWebWoman's prompts for July 31st, I'm continuing my story of the Easter Fire at Unicorn farm.




And the Irish fiddler Frankie Gavin playing "Rakish Paddy"

Though I love Irish music -- I even played a fiddle in my youth -- I can't seem to place it in the story. Maybe later.


The only real problem arose, as Knud and David found out that they were born on the same day and none of them wanted to jump first. In the end David solved the problem by unceremoniously giving Knud a push in the back, forcing him in the direction of the fire. Knud was, like Susan of non magical origin, but he had his wand ready and with a swish and the appropriate words -- diligently studied by them all in the preceding hours -- no mishap came to pass.

Tage and Lis kept to the strict chronological order of jumping; this meant that Tage as the firstborn of the twins were first, they had done it for several years at home, and Susan envied them their steady grasp on the wand and their even voice as they pronounced the Icelandic syllables with ease.
Hilde, the squat, Norwegian know-all with mouse coloured lank hair and slightly bulging eyes of course had to show off. She went towards the fire with a swagger, displaying her ample front and backside to the spectators. Martine had to prompt her in the use of the words, making the heat of the fire a soft, tickling sensation instead of the terrible heat.
Then gentle Monica, only a few days her junior, and as different as could be, stepped daintily through the flames. She turned her head and smiled reassuringly at Susan, just before she was hidden behind the curtain of flames.
Susan was apprehensive. Even after so many wizards had walked through the fire without ill effects, she wondered if the spell would work, if she would forget to concentrate on it, if she would get far enough on the other side of the fire before her powers ran out, in short anything that could go wrong crossed Susan's brain. But she had placed herself in the line, ready to jump through the Easter Fire; now she had to go through with it. She drew her wand, walked as close as she was able to, she felt the heat on her skin, especially the nose and cheeks, the sound of the fire was loud in her ears. She stood still, concentrating. Then she passed her wand in front of her in the patterns they had practiced all day and softly spoke the words to go with the gestures. Suddenly the almost singeing heat from the roaring fire sunk to a pleasant level, and she walked steadily into the flames. The roaring and crackling sounds of the fire battered against her ears, the updraft from the flames almost lifted her skirt, but she walked on, through a seemingly endless tunnel made of fire. Then the curtain of flames became thinner, she got a glimpse of the line of trees black against the horizon, and she was through. Susan remembered to count ten steps before cancelling the spell. Breathing a sigh of relief she sunk down on one of the benches. She felt empty, happy, glad it was done, ready to do it again.
Veronika came through as well, looking as pale as Susan had felt and flopped down on the bench next to her. Sarah too looked strained as she sat down. She too walked the Fire for the first time.
Then came a slew of Icelandic and Swedish wizards' children, among those Kirstin and Kalle, then Olav and Björn, two Swedes also walking for the first time. They looked incredibly happy upon getting out. "I did it! I did it!" Björn shouted, before collapsing on the bench next to Veronika. Olav gave him a hug, "Me too!" he said in an awed voice.

After another bevel of Swedes and Norwegians, Nata, a Finnish girl from the yellow team, was the last of the 12 years old to walk through. After her the stream slowed down as the professors had to control the permissions. The first one through came as a big surprise for the girls siting on the bench. It was Fiona, Veronika's sister with the broken leg and arm. She obviously had been granted permission from her parents, and now she was carried through the Fire by gentle Taavi, the male twin-professor from the yellow team. Fiona was shaking as Taavi gently put her down on the bench between Susan and Fiona. "I could do it, she said triumphantly. "My spell held strong and true all the way through the Fire! I did it myself, and Taavi did not hurry or help me." Susan smiled at her. Fiona said: "You are absolutely hopeless!" and gave her a big hug.
Heidi came through the fire and sat on the end of the bench. "Fiona, that was great!" she said. "Yes it was!" Susan and Fiona said simultaneously. They all began laughing.
Rosa came through the fire, looking solemn. They moved closer together on the bench to make room for her as well. Anna and Marja, the youngest of the Finnish birch-sisters, came through and sat down on the ground in front of them. Then one last Finnish girl in yellow, whose name Susan had forgotten, came through. And then they all looked at the fire, now beginning to die down just a little. And yes, My came walking out of the fire; with a determined look on her small, pale face she counted ten steps before she crumbled in a quivering heap. Susan, Rosa and Veronika jumped up, and picked her off the ground. She was crying. "It's OK. I'm just so, so happy. I made it, I really did!" And the she stood, hugging her want-to-be helpers, and all of the green group came over hugging and laughing and shouting.

onsdag den 7. august 2019

Words for Wednesday - Easter Holiday 5

Trying to catch up with myself, I now bring the next installment in Susan's tale. These are the words provided by WiseWebWoman for July 24th. 

Traffic Lights


And a photo of a fox

Saturday as darkness fell, they were all gathered round the big stack of firewood, placed behind the farm, where it would be less visible both from the sea and from the highway on the mainland. Gilvi who were by far the oldest of the people at the Unicorn Farm, took a piece of wood from the stack and pared thin shavings with his pocket knife. Everybody formed a loose circle around the fire to be and looked while he struck the iron and flint together several times and the sparks flew. Finally the shavings caught, and soon the fire began growing.
"Tonight," Gilvi intoned, "in the night where darkness was subdued by light, we stand gladly by this fire, lit by simple means, by stone and steel and wood. This is the night that is bright as the day and full of gladness. The power of this night dispels wickedness, washes away faults, restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to the sorrowful. It drives out hatred, fosters unity, and brings down the mighty."
Gilvi fell silent, stood as lost in thoughts. Susan covertly looked around, all the other apprentices stood still and looked at the fire. Susan followed their example, and watched with a growing sense of wonder as the flames grew stronger and leapt skywards.
When the stack of wood was engulfed in flames, Gilvi raised his head and spoke again: " This is the Easter Fire, a new fire. Now that the Easter Fire is burning brightly, let us make a joyful noise unto the Lord." *
At this everybody began clapping, shouting and singing. And if those from non-magical families were a bit slow in responding, nobody noticed.

The happy noises were cut short by the arrival of  the nisser** carrying trays laden with small cakes and chocolates and every delicacy imaginable. The last pair - the Icelandic ones - carried a large cauldron from which an enticing smell emerged, that lassoed the apprentices and professors alike and made them scrabble for a drink or two. It was refreshing, sweet, tangy and just a bit bubbly. "Is is an old, secret recipe from the deep wastes of Icelandic lava-fields," my lord, Susan overheard the female nisse say to Gilvi. She presumed it was an answer to his questioning the contents of the cauldron. "We brew it inside the volcanic mountain of Krafla near Mýwatn." More you'll not know." The nisser kept close watch on the contents and poured it into waiting cups with big, wooden ladles. Everybody could eat as much as they wanted from the brimming trays, but only the older apprentices and the teachers were served more than once from the cauldron. Susan was sure she saw Gilvi, Thora and maybe even Sif and Elvin, the two oldest Icelandic apprentices, have a very small third cup.
As darkness fell, the flames grew

When the fire burned a bit lower, the jumping began. First all the teachers jumped through the fire. Gilvi first, he walked through the roaring flames just like he would have through a doorway. Susan was disappointed, that no actual jumping was involved, but when the Finnish Taathi bowed on by Taavi with an old fashioned flourish walked daintily through the flames, she saw the reason. Nobody could see through the curtain of flames, and an ill-timed jump could result in sprained ankles or worse. Taavi then stepped out. Thora was next, she was as elegant jumping through fire, as sitting on her broomstick or casting a spell. Then Torben jumped, holding onto his long beard and swinging cape with both hands. Jon and Birgitta began discussing who were to jump next, Finally Jon bowed to Birgitta and said: "Ladies first." That settled it, she was not liking the idea of having to admit that she was older than the black-skinned Jon, which actually she was.
Martine was the youngest and last of the teachers, she put aside her kimono before jumping, and had problems getting through the fire.
Everybody who neede it, had had permission from their parents to jump through the fire, even My, who were only 10 years old. and had to wait till everybody else had had their turn. The apprentices lined up, only a bit of jostling and elbowing taking place in the queue.

Sif and Elvin, the Icelandic sister and brother having had an extra cup from the bubbling cauldron, were the first in line. This confirmed Susan's suspicion that the two redheads were somewhat older than the other apprentices. Most of them were between 14 and 11 years old, with My at only 10 being the youngest and obviously Sif  being the oldest, at 16 or most probably 17. She and Elvin, both still looking worn from their illness, walked through the fire smiling. Helge, the gangling, accident prone Swede was next. Susan held her breath while he walked through, and from the sounds of sudden intake of breath and sighs as Helge came unharmed out on the other side, she had not been the only one.
* If you think you recognize these words - you're right. they are a slightly altered version of the Paschal blessings. Only a small percentage of Danes are Catholic - estimates wary between ½ and 3 percent of the populace - so the chances of anybody recognizing them were slim.

** Nisser: singular nisse; plural nisser are the Nordic equivalent of elves, goblins, the little people and such. Wikipedia tells of them. It is NOT the modern, christmassy tribe we're talking of here.

tirsdag den 6. august 2019

Poetry Monday :: Thunder and Lightening and Rain ... oh my!

Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday.
Today's theme is Thunder and Lightning and Rain....oh my (courtesy of Delores).

One of my big problems is that writing poetry in a foreign language is twice or maybe three times as hard as writing in my native tongue. This week's theme made me think of a poem I once wrote when everybody always seemed to be grumbling about the weather.
It celebrates the changing Danish weather in 8 or  9 verses, and its tune is borrowed from a funny song called :  "...eller også er det lyv."  (... or maybe it's a lie) written by Finn Jørgensen in 1983. The refrain praises the current season - out of 8 or 9 - mentioning one typical thing about it.

The 6th season is the autumnal thunderstorms, resonating with this week's theme.
An only slightly poeticized translation of that verse goes something like this: 

"Thunder, lightening, what a sight
Clouds are covering all of town. 
If you want to take a walk 
Wellies are a must.
     Our year have just four seasons
     Make that eight or maybe nine?
     And when thunderstorms are rolling. 
     This is something we sure like.

I did not have the mojo needed to translate / re-create it in English. I wanted to join in anyway and hope that you can enjoy a bit of it. Maybe - if thunder and rain continues - I'll wake up and do a bit more.  

Når vi ser at det sner,
springer vi udenfor og ler;
og hvem ved, det kan ske
at vi kaster med sne
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når vintersneen daler
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Lyt og hør! Åh det tør,
dråber drypper fra tag og rør.
mudder gror der hvor jord
titter frem under bord.
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når sneen endelig smelter
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Vintergæk bag en hæk,
så er vinteren ganske væk.
Og de blå krokus må
straks tage skørterne på.
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når vintergækken gækker
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Forår, skønt, alt bliver grønt
knopperne brister og alt er kønt.
Pollendrys, kæmpenys
regnbyger mødes med kys.
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når forårsbyger skyller
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Is og sand på en strand
varme kroppe i køligt vand.
Plukke bær, dejligt vejr,
der er nok til enhver.
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når sommersolen skinner,
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Torden, lyn - sikket syn,
skyerne dækker hele byen.
Ud og gå? Ja, så må
gummistøvlerne på!
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når tordnenen rigtig ruller
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Svaletræk i et væk
vildgæskilernes fjerne gæk.
Æblekinds røde skind
rystende efterårsvind.
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
    og når efteråret stormer
    er det noget, vi kan li'.

Dagen kort, natten sort.
solen flytter længere bort.
himlen grå, ikke blå
fugtig at kigge på.
    Vores år har fire tider
    eller otte eller ni
     og når træerne står nøgne,
    er det noget, vi kan li'.