tirsdag den 30. juni 2020

Sømvæven igen -- Pinloom revisited

I de forgangne dage har jeg vævet omkring 10 firkanter på sømvæven. Det er ikke mange, men nok til at finde på forbedringer.

- - - - -
  The last couple of days I've made all of ten squares on my pinloom. Not many, but enough to make some improvements.

-- 🛠 --

De første to er forbedringer af selve væven. Ankersøm og et manglende søm:
- - - - -
The first two are improvements to the loom proper. Some anchoring pins and a missing pin:
Herunder i funktion:
- Garnet er forankret til ankersømmene i stedet for om det første søm. Det giver - synes jeg - en bedre start. Og det er også nemmere at få firkanten af igen, når den er færdig.
- Der, hvor sømmet er fjernet, kan jeg komme til med hæklenålen, og eftersom jeg starter samme sted hver gang på grund af ankersømmene, er det også altid der, jeg skal have min hæklenål ind.
- - - - - 
 Here you can see the improvements being used:
- The yarn is anchored to the anchoring pins instead of to the first corner pin. This gives - I think - a better beginning, and it's easier to get the finished square off the loom.
- Where the pin is removed, I have an open space to insert my crochet hook. And as I always start in the same corner, due to the anchoring pins, I also always insert my crochet hook from the same place.

     Den anden ændring er en ting, der irriterede mig ved de første to grønne firkanter. En af kanterne så sære ud.
 - - - - - 
The other improvement is in the weaving. I was bothered by the look of one of the edges.
Jeg kiggede på den firkant, jeg lige var i gang med, og fandt ud af at det skyldtes at garnet snoede sig om sømmet. Om det er noget, jeg gør forkert, eller om det er normalt, ved jeg ikke. Men hvis nogen har samme problem, er løsningen lige her:

- Sno garnet. I stedet for at lægge det rundt om sømmet, holder jeg løkken mellem tommel- og pegefinger og så vender jeg løkken mod venstre og lægger den om sømmet. Så ser det sådan her ud.
-- 🧶 --

I looked at the square, I was weaving, and noticed that the yarn crossed over itself just behind the pin. It might be something I do wrong, as an Interweb search yielded no solutions. But if anybody make the same mistake as I do, here's a solution:
- Twist the yarn. I hold the yarn loop between thumb and index finger, and instead of just placing it over the pin, I twist it to the left, and then place the resulting loop over the pin. Thus the yarn is crossed over and will uncross upon weaving. Like this:


Og så bliver kanterne ens på alle fire sider:
 - - - - -
And all four sides of the square now look alike:
Fine kanter - Nice edges

mandag den 29. juni 2020

Poetry Monday :: Bugs

  Diane of On the Border and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday, supplying us with a theme and crafty poems, they are open for suggestions. 
  This Mondays theme is Bugs! Diane has spoken.
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy.

The absolutely only bugs that come to my mind are computer bugs.
Although it's Summer outside, with flying things and slugs!
I sit at my computer whenever there's time
Fighting DNB, whose stupidity is a crime!

I tried a lot of other sites, WP, Wix, Squarespace and mony more.
But trust me, everywhere I went, I just found BUGS galore.
If I don't find a better home,
I think I might be up and gone.

I'm sorry about my depressing obsession with New Blogger and company, but blogging is actually interlinked with a large part of my creativity and fun. 

Next Monday we'll tackle Ligth! Thanks to Jenny

søndag den 28. juni 2020

DNB at other Bloggers' Sites (7)

This is going to be a collection of links to blogs where people give their opinions and suggestions on the subject of DNB.

Katherine Tyrrell at Making a Mark
Adam at Too Clever by Half
Soulie at Picks and Pickles
Nancy at Joy for Grace
 

lørdag den 27. juni 2020

DNB of the day 6 and Hopefully Last

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 0 days - this means TODAY is the first day of the Summer Holidays! 

Speed! My last rant. With no photos, because you cannot see how slow New Blogger is. Almost every function in New Blogger is markedly slower or more sluggish than its Legacy counterpart.
Now I am going to change back to Legacy Blogger and enjoy the fast, compact and efficient layout as long as it lasts. Summer Holiday is no time for grumbling. But I sure hope they iron out some of the bugs before late July.

Marskmulen - The Marshwiggle

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 0 days - this means TODAY is the first day of the Summer Holidays! 

De grønne firklanter fra sømvæven er fortsættelsen på et projekt, jeg troede jeg forlængst havde fortalt om. Nemlig Marskmulen

    Efter at jeg havde lært mig selv at strikke neverkont, først frem og tlbage, så rundt og rundt, og endelig fra midten og ud, strikkede jeg mig en halsedisse i (mestendels) neverkont.
Farverne og faconen er inspireret af Muddermukke, marskmulen fra Narnia -  som jeg ofte identificerer mig med i mine dystre stunder, så er jeg en marskmugle.

-- 🧶 --

  The green squares off the pinloom are a  continuation of a project, I was sure I had told about long ago, but now I have to remedy this. 
  After teaching myself to knit entrelac, first back'n forth, then in the round, then from the middle out, I made myself a neckwarmer in entrelac.
  The colourway and the shape has its origin in a drawing of Puddleglum, the Marshwiggle from Narnia, with whom I often identify in my more gloomy moments. The neck warmer is of course called The Marshwiggle.

Her er Marskmulen vasket og stukket.

-- 🧶 --

Here's The Marshwiggle being stretched after washing.

Og her er den på sin plads om Uglemors hals.  Hvad firkanterne skal blive til, må vi se i de kommende uger. Nu er det jo blevet sommerferie, og der er god til til underlige projekter.

-- 🧶 --

And in its place round MotherOwl's neck. What exactly the green squares will grow into only time will tell. Now it's holiday, and there's time for such projects!

fredag den 26. juni 2020

DNB of the Day 5

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 1 day.

Which blog?
I can't see which of my blog I'm currently writing a blog post for. Well usually I know, but sometimes I dual wield, and then it is nice to know where I am, An added complication is the tendency to go to the main / first blog whenever I go back via the Back to Blogger arrow top left.



Phew; 14 blog posts in a week, and 3 posts in one day - this must be some kind of record for me. I promise not to keep up with this breakneck posting speed for long now, tomorrow will be the last day with more than one post I hope.

Jeg er så glad for min cykel ♫♬ I am so Happy with my Bike

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 1 day. 

Jeg er så glad for min cykel         𝅘𝅥𝅮♫♬𝅗𝅥           I am so Happy with my Bike
Tekst og Musik: Poul Kjøller          𝅘𝅥𝅮♫♬𝅗𝅥        Lyrics and Music: Poul Kjøller
Bad translation by MotherOwl

-- 🚲 --
              
En cykel larmer ikke og bruger nul benzin       A bike does not make noises, uses zero gasoline
en cykel oser ikke som andre oliesvin.              A bike is not bad and smelly like any big engine.
   Jeg er så glad for min cykel,                                 I'm so happy with my bike,
   jeg kommer hurtigt langt omkring,                       I can go quickly anywhere,
   og det fordi på en cykel                                         And that's because on a bike
   går det let som ingenting.                                      It is just a piece of cake.
              
På cykel kan man være en cowboy på sin hest,    On a bike you are a cowboy on your horse, the very best,
og svinge sig i sadlen som i det vilde vest.           Riding cross the prairie as in the wild west west.
   Jeg er så glad for min cykel,                                     I'm so happy with my bike,
   jeg kommer hurtigt langt omkring,                           I can go quickly anywhere,
   og det fordi på en cykel                                            And that's because on a bike
   går det let som ingenting.                                          It is just a piece of cake.
              
Og vil Du lege speedvay er cyklen helt i top,                And if you want some speedway racing, the bike is just top notch,
du brummer lidt med munden og speeder motoren op.  You hum some motor noises while you speed your engine up.
   Jeg er så glad for min cykel,                                            I'm so happy with my bike,
   jeg kommer hurtigt langt omkring,                                  I can go quickly anywhere,
   og det fordi på en cykel                                                   And that's because on a bike
   går det let som ingenting.                                                 It is just a piece of cake.
              
På cykel kan du køre en tur med mor og far,        On you  bike you can go riding along with mom and dad,
og lærken kan du høre, og luften er ren og klar.   And you can hear the birds' song, and the air is clean and clear.
   Jeg er så glad for min cykel,                                  I'm so happy with my bike,
   jeg kommer hurtigt langt omkring,                        I can go quickly anywhere,
   og det fordi på en cykel                                         And that's because on a bike  
   går det let som ingenting.                                       It is just a piece of cake.

-- 🚲 --

     Nu fik I alligevel Cykelsangen af Poul Kjøller. Og det er bare fordi jeg er glad. I dag var der nemlig strid modvind, jeg købte 8 liter sodavand ud over de normale indkøb, og jeg følte mig ærligt talt træt og ugidelig, men se bare. De to punkter i den grønne cirkel er i dag!!!

-- 🚲 --
              
  Well I translated The Bike Song by Poul Kjøller anyway. And the reason is that I'm happy. I went to PE and shopping today.  It was windy - against when going uphill, of course. I felt tired and lazy, I bought 8 litres of soda and did my normal shopping. But look at this. Today's points are circled in green!

Min cykel - My Bike

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 1 day.


     For snart mange år siden var der en sang, der hed "Jeg er så glad for min cykel" og det var Uglemor enig i. Men de seneste år har cyklen og uglemor ikke været så gode venner. Bakkerne er bare vokset og vokset. Hun har kunnet cykle til stationen, i cirkus, på indkøb, kort sagt til alt det nødvendige, men det var bare ikke sjovt.

     Så her sidst i maj, den 28. for at være præcis, blev det Uglemor for meget. En måneds total inaktivitet, mestendels tilbragt i sengen på grund af bivirkninger efter en af de mange undersøgelse, havde sat for mange spor på uglekroppen. Nu skulle det være. Frem med cyklen, cykle 1½ km ud af landevejen og hjem igen, næste dag 2 km hver vej og så videre, indtil Uglemor en uge senere cyklede på indkøb igen. Og det blev hun stædigt ved med. Ikke hver dag, men næsten. Godt 5 kilometer ud og lige så langt hjem. Vejen til byen og alt muligt andet går gennem skoven, så der kan ikke køres rigtig stærkt, som på landevejen, ikke mindst fordi folk rider, lufter hunde, går ture og leger i skoven, så man må være i det mindste lidt forsigtig.
    Ved siden af har Uglemor så - meget lidt - deltaget i et online træningsprogram.
det har været sejt, men pludselig, i søndags var det ikke så hårdt at cykle. Uglemor måtte ikke enten skifte ned i 1. gear eller stå af, hvis hun ikke ramte bakken med præcis en rigtige hastighed og vinkel, det betød bare lidt ekstra arbejde. Der var tid til at kigge ordentligt på blomsterne, høre fuglesangen og beundre folks heste. Det skete ikke gradvist, men BUM, fra den ene dag til den anden.

 -- 🚲 --

Many years ago MotherOwl heard a song called: "I am so happy with my bike" and MotherOwl agreed. But in recent years the bike and MotherOwl  have not been such good friends. The hills have just grown and grown. She has been able to bike to the station, to the circus, shopping, in short for everything needed, but it just wasn't fun.

This past May, the 28th to be exact, it became too much for MotherOwl. One month's total inactivity, mostly spent in bed due to side effects after one of the many examinations, had left too many traces on the Owl body. Now was the time! She dusted off her trusty old bike,rode 1½ km down the road and back again, next day 2 km, and so on until a week later MotherOwl once again went shopping by bike. And she persisted. Not every day, but almost. A bit over 5 kilometres out and just as far back home again. It was still not fun! The road to town  and to almost everywhere else goes through the forest, so that MotherOwl can not go as fast as on the roads, not least because people ride, walk their dogs, stroll, do Nordic walking, picnic, and play in the forest - MotherOwl has to be at least a little careful.

Alongside this, MotherOwl has - very indigently - been participating in an online training program.

It's been tough! But suddenly, last Sunday, it wasn't that hard to ride a bike. MotherOwl didn't have to either shift into 1st gear or get off if she didn't hit the hill at exactly the right speed and angle, it just meant a little extra work. It didn't happen gradually, but BAM from one day to the next.

     Denne graf viser minutter pr. kilometer. De meget høje (under linjen - aksen er er vendt om) værdier skyldes at Uglemor har haft en bakke jordbær i den ene hånd, en æske flødeskumskager i rygsækken eller taget bare mange små stop for at plukke farveplanter.
     De seneste dage har Uglemor ikke følt, at hun anstrengte sig, og alligevel har tiden,  modvind, varme og last uanset, været under den magiske grænse på 20 minutter hver vej, der giver Uglemor en respektabel gennemsnitsfart på over 16 km/timen. Husk på skovveje, heste osv. På asfaltvej svarer det til lidt over 20. 
 -- 🚲 --
 
This graph shows the minutes per kilometre for June. The very low (or rather high, I turned around the axis) values are due to the fact that MotherOwl - homewards bound - was transporting a crate of strawberries in one hand, a box of cakes in her backpack or just due to many small stops to pick plants for dye.

The last couple of days (each day is at least two dots - one out, one home), MotherOwl has not felt taxed, and yet, every time, despite headwind, heat or cargo, she has been below the magical limit of 20 minutes each way, which gives her a respectable average speed of over 16 km/h. Keep in mind forest roads, horses, etc. On tarmac road it equals over just 20.

torsdag den 25. juni 2020

DNB of the Day 4

  Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 2 days.

The same problem with the scrolling through loads of units rears its ugly head when I try to find an old photo to re-use. 2000 photos are not much for an old blog like mine  ... Oh, OK middle aged, 8 years and a bit.
Here you can see, or rather, you can't

Sømvæv - Pinloom

  Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 2 days. 

     I dag var vejret dejligt, og Uglemor kunne arbejde i haven. Og nej, det var ikke havearbejde, der stod på programmet i dag. Der blev hentet værktøj i den store stil. Alt det her.

-- 🛠 --

Today the weather was fine. MotherOwl could work in the garden. No not gardening, something else. Those were my tools.
   Og så mangler der nogle essentielle ting. Savkassen, en sav (fukssvans) og en flaske  trælim. Så savende jeg 11 stykker træ i 45 graders vinkel. De blev samlet med hvid lim og efterladt i varmen for at tørre, mans vi spiste frokost. Der blev tre træstykker i overskud, og de er med på billedet af værktøjet.

-- 🛠 --

Urgh, I missed some essential tools, the mitre box, a jacksaw and a bottle of glue. I sawed 11 mitred pieces of wood and glued them together with the glue. They were left to dry while we ate our lunch, and 3 of the 11 pieces were not used (they are in the tool photo). 

     Efter  frokost lavede jeg to rammer i samme mål som træremmerne, nu bare i bølgepap. Jeg tegnede streger og satte knappenåle med en halv centimeters afstand hele vejen rundt.
     Så sleb jeg trærammerne grundigt med fint sandpapir, lagde de sømbesatte rammer på trærammerne og bankede sømmene knappenålene ned i trærammerne. Da de alle sammen sad godt fast, fjernede jeg bølgepappet - der måtte lidt vold og en hobbykniv til hjælp.

-- 🛠 --

 After lunch, I made two frames the exact same size as the wooden ones, but in corrugated cardboard, I made guidelines and put in a pin for each 0.5 cm.
  Then I sanded the wooden frames thoroughly with medium fine sandpaper, placed the cardboard frames with all the pins on top of the wooden ones and hammered in all the tiny pins. When all the pins were roughly equal height, I removed the cardboard frames. A Stanley knife and some rafter rough handling did the trick
     Resultatet: En lille ramme, cirka 10 cm lang, med knappenåle hele vejen rundt. 88 i alt.

-- 🛠 --

  The result: A small frame with 88 pins, app. 10 cm wide.

     Og en stor, omkring 18 cm og forsynet med ikke mindre end 160 knappenåle!

-- 🛠 --

And a big one. It measures app. 18 cm, and I used 160 pins!

   Og så skulle de testes!  --  Testing is important!

Den anden firkant, jeg vævede -- The second square. 

    Alle de grønne firkanter. Der var lige præcis ikke garn nok til den store.

-- 🧶 --

All the green squares. Of course I ran out of yarn when the last, big square was almost done.

Nærbillede af den store -- Close up of the big square.

       Den første firkant vævede jeg af mit valnøddefarvede. Det er bare alt for tyndt, men jeg kan altså ikke sætte knappenålene tættere end ½ cm!

     Jeg har længe ønsket mig sådan en lille, firkantet væv, en sømvæv hedder de søreme, til at væve prøver og lapper med, men aldrig fundet en, trods ihærdig leden i mange genbrugsbutikker. Nu tabte jeg tålmodigheden.
     Min diagonalvævemetode ligner meget  den HowDidYouMakeThis? forklarer i linket.

-- 🧶 --

  And the first square, woven with my walnut dyed yarn. It is just too thin for this, but I can't place the pins closer together than half a centimetre apart!

  I have been wanting a pinloom for a very long time, and I have searched all second hand shops for them, since I saw one somewhere in the interwebs years ago. Today I lost my patience.  My diagonal weaving method is almost the same as the one explained by HowDidYouMakeThis?

onsdag den 24. juni 2020

DNB of the day 3

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 3 days.
Some good news - scroll down.


Scrolling
  It just makes so much fun scrolling through 1436 posts at a max of 5 posts per screen to look for an old one. And to make things worse, even I can scroll faster than our very slow internet connexion can show the posts. That black square down left says "Getting more posts" I see it all the time.

Of course a consequence of this is that you need a way to publish, delete or take down your blog posts when you finally find them without adding a checkmark and scrolling all the way back to the top - this could have been interesting - Blogger please do not implement this.

  But this solution, making the posts jump ever so slightly on mouseover and draw my eyes there. No thanks.Why not keep the TEXT labels fixed on top like in Legacy Blogger? As the Germans say "Quadratisch - Praktisch - Gut"



And some good news: Now photos add where the cursor is situated if it's not only a lot of empty lines. Complaining helps. Let's all complain!

Words for Wednesday - 24 June

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 3 days.

Today as all Wednesdays in June, Messymimi is posting the prompts - she actually did so yesterday my time, much appreciated. Today we are given: 
thanks
incapable
suffering
memorial
aunt
front
   and/or
effect
admission
past
jaw
room
enhance


Another aftermath of the broom racing. And today I took up an old habit: Using the words in the order, they were given.

  Saturday after the broom racing was a day off, Not all brooms were ready for flying, and the professors had agreed to leave the race track in place until later, so that all could have a chance to try it out in the coming week. In the morning Susan was visiting Heidi and her family. Aunt Jemima, who was an avid spectator of broom racing events was still staying with the family.
  Thanks to Thora's prompt ministrations in the sick bay on the day after the racing, Tage was not wholly incapable of walking or using his hands any more. He was still suffering some pains here and there, though, and he would probably have a memorial scar behind his knee for years to come.
  Aunt Jemima had been sitting at the front row when Tage crashed with the obstacle. Now she mumbled swords to the effect that she was not satisfied with Thora's ministrations.
  Kai almost roared at her. Then cooled down and asked her if she could do better. After her admission that she could indeed not do any better, but felt that a son of two so well known wizards should have been treated better, Kai gave her an exasperated look and said. "Dear aunt Jemima, let the past be past."
  Tage gingerly touched his jaw where a vivid red scar was still visible. "It was that exact kind of thinking, that led to all this. I'm not better at flying than Finnbogi or Sif and Elvin, or indeed Fiona, who has no magic parents at all. Ancestry has no bearing on flying skills whatsoever," he said vehemently.
  Aunt Jemima backed down. "Noone in this room was able to do better," Sandra said in a soothing voice, placing a plate of delicious waffles on the table. "And Thora has greatly enhanced Tage's chance of having a normally functioning leg again. I am grateful!"

tirsdag den 23. juni 2020

DNB of the day 2

 Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 4 days.

Datestamps for posts scheduled for later today.
  When I scheduled DNB 1 for later today, on the main page, I was only told it would publish today, not WHEN.
  DNB strikes again.


And look at the numbers in the red circles. Old Blogger might actually have a 24 hours period of when it puts time and not date!

Gådefuld - 2 - Enigmatic

 Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 4 days.


To damer stod og snakkede. Tante A: "Ja og så forærede jeg mine to børn hver nogle lækkre, hjemmevævede håndklæder i julegave. Du ved, de har begge to mange børn, og travlt med deres arbejde har de jo også."

Tante B nikkede forstående.

Tante A fortsatte: "De kunne nok trænge til noget lækkert. Men her i juledagene kom jeg så på uanmeldt besøg hos dem begge, og ved du nu hvad?"

Tante B rystede på hovedet.

Tante A fortsatte: "Jo, hos min søn, der hang håndklæderne nok så nydeligt på gæstetoilettet. Men hos min datter ... der var de allerede godt brugte, og et af dem lå oven i købet på gulvet."

Tante B så forbløffet ud.

Tante A fortsatte: "Ja, og så besluttede jeg altså at jeg aldrig ville give min datter eller hendes familie noget hjemmelavet mere. De passer jo ikke på det."

Tante B nikkede forstående.

   Det var ikke lige den udgang, jeg havde regnet med. Sønnen ville jo ikke bruge de dejlige håndklæder, men kun have dem til pynt. Datteren derimod brugte bare tingene efter hensigten, højst sandsynlig med glæde. Jeg ville have vævet flere håndkælder til min datter, når de andre var slidt op, og så finde noget stille-til-pynt-tingeltangel til min søn til næste jul. Eller er jeg bare underlig.

--💎 --

 Two elderly ladies were talking. Aunt A: "Yes and then I gave my two children some delicious, hand-woven towels for Christmas. You know, they both have many children, and they are busy working too."

Aunt B nodded understandingly.

Aunt A continued: "They could probably do with some luxury. But then over Christmas I came on an unannounced visit to both of them, and do you know what?"

Aunt B shook her head no.

Aunt A continued: "Well, at my son's place the towels hung beautifully in the guest bathroom. But at  my daughter's ... they were already well used and one of them was even lying on the floor. "

Aunt B looked up.

Aunt A continued: "Yes, and I decided there and then that I would never give my daughter or her family anything homemade any more. They don't appreciate it."

Aunt B nodded understandingly.

   It wasn't exactly the outcome I had expected. The son does not want to use the nice towels, only show them off. The daughter on the other hand used them for their purpose, probably happily so. I would have promised my daughter more towels when those were worn out, and maybe find some showy brick-a-brack for my son for next Christmas. Or am I just weird.

mandag den 22. juni 2020

DNB of the Day

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 5 days.

  As you might know, I have more than one blog at Blogger. I have my Musings (my main blog - this one), Unicorn Farm, Droplets and a lot more. I actually have 16, more or less active blogs.
  That too causes problems with DNB (Disappointing New Blogger. You might supply your own adjective here).

Now this:
  Hitting Update (paper airplane icon) when editing an already published post, does not bring me back to the main page of posts.
  Hitting Publish (same paper airplane icon, only on a new post) will do this.
AND
  Hitting the <- Blogger in the upper left hand corner after said editing, will send me back to my main blog list, not to the one I was editing posts from.

Poetry Monday :: The Pandemic

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 5 days.

  Diane of On the Border and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday, supplying us with a theme and crafty poems. They are open for suggestions, and this week, Baili supplied us with The Pandemic.
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy.

   This time I think a WARNING is in place. In this Free Verse Poem, I am an old, grumpy person.
   I've just about had it with news media clamouring for an ease in restricions because of the economic consequences of the epidemic in our small and smug country, all the while seeing people not giving two hoots about distancing, clean hands and so on, and people still dying in great numbers, just not here.
   I've just about had it with news media and sports and music stars going on about this pandemic - how hard it is for them personally and how hard it is for the music and sports scenes.
  And I've just about had it with news media and stars and poems going on about this pandemic changing the face of the earth and bringing about love, peace and harmony.

   If you're not in for a grumpy, incoherent spanking of you, me, and everyone, please go away without reading any further, and return in a few days, when we meet again (at computer distance) for Words for Wednesday.
 

 -- 🌩 -- 🌩 -- 🌩 -- 🌩  --

Some think this pandemic will change the world.
Some think this pandemic is the worst.
I don't agree.

We have had WWI, WWII, The Vietnam War,
The Spanish Flu, the Plague, The Age of Aquarius.
What did they change?

Well, maybe someone, for a week or two,
Or maybe even a year. Maybe someone changed their life,
But not the world.

Maybe the one who had the solution was killed off by you or me?
Though an abortion, or through our lifestyle.
Just let us think.

Maybe he died of hunger, or lack of clean water,
Or was made blind or crippled by a disease or a pest
In some remote village. 

Maybe he was killed or maimed by the insecticides, pesticides, fungicides
or any of the other -cides, without which no 3rd world farmer
can hope to compete.

Some think this pandemic is bad! You and I are worse!
We're not killing one person or even half a million.
We're killing the world.

END OF RANT

Next Monday, we'll talk about Bugs! - Thanks Diane!

søndag den 21. juni 2020

One more New vs. Legacy Blogger-Rant

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 6 days.

Labels.
I often have many labels to a blog post. In the blog post overview, I can see only four of them. One (the alphabetically first one) is always visible. When I hover over the oval with +4 more, I can see, not 4 as I expected, but 3 labels. The rest are ...  just dots!

And no, it's not for lack of space. Look at this:

  That last, missing label is "Årstider", and it would not have had all four labels take up more space than the three "In the Attic 2" labels do here.In Legacy blogger the limit is 200 units - two full lines of labels in normal sized layout.
   I stand mystified.
  

   Furthermore I type in "GR" to choose Grumpy - Gnavpot for this post, find it, put a checkmark in the relevant box, delete "GR" to look for New Blogger, my other tag for this post. But deleting GR in the add a  tag field deletes the checkmark next to Grumpy - Gnavpot as well! BAH!


Oh, I just found a couple of positives with the New Blogger.
- If I change the colour of the text, the old colour code is not still there when checking the HTML page.
- If I plan and then publish a post, Blogger asks if I want to post this at [Date & Time] If I click "yes", I go to the Blog post overview page, I do not stay in the post editing window as in Legacy Blogger.

But I dare say that these and a few other small improvements of the same magnitude come at a high price.

-- £ -- $ -- € --

I also just found out that the difference in empty space is even bigger if I chose the normal sized layout instead of my normal "enlarged for half-blind owls" layout. Have a look:

lørdag den 20. juni 2020

To dage -- Two Days

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 7 days.

Fredag og lørdag har det regnet og været lunt. Uglemor har ikke været i haven, før her lørdag aften.

-- 🌱 --

Friday and Saturday have been warm and wet. MotherOwl has not been in the garden, until now, Saturday evening.

Se her, snerler længere end min hånd. På to dage!

-- 🌱 --

Now look at this. Bindweed plants grow longer than my hands in two days!

More New vs. Legacy Blogger

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 7 days.

I am trying to use the new Blogger. Only I use more time writing bug reports and 'please improve this'-responses than I do for actually blogging GRRR!

But now to some things that really are a P.I.T.A. to me:
All those things demanding an extra click (or five), more scrolling or both!

Merely irritating - Borders and Labels:
New Blogger on top, Legacy below.


In the not so bad category. Setting the date.
New Blogger:



And the really bad. Aligning the text.
New Blogger. I first click the three vertical dots and then SCROLL:


Legacy version:

More big baddies - Photo placement and resizing:
     If I try adding a photo it invariably adds itself to the bottom of my post and not as expected where I place my cursor. 
     To enlarge, I click the photo, click the Pencil-icon, chose large or extra large, click Update. Four clicks.
     And I have yet to find the secret "delete this photo-button". Options are: Click photo, hit "delete" or go to HTML and delete all the relevant code. And undo arrows do not remove my wrongly added photos.

New Blogger:

Legacy Blogger: 

    When the photos insert themselves in the absolute bottom of the post there's also no line for me to write more text after the photo. I have to go to HTML-editing mode to continue writing text below the photo.

     I should have left all photos, where they inserted, but then this post would have been very hard to read.

fredag den 19. juni 2020

Gådefuld - Enigmatic

Enigmatic - English version below the picture. 

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 8 days.


"Det gåtfulla folket"
     Da jeg var lille, hørte jeg ofte denne sang i radioen. (teksten er længere nede). Der var kun et par af ordene, der var underlige, vi boede jo i Helsingør, og svensk hørte man hver dag på gaden og tit og ofte i fjernsynet, hvor vi så svenske børneudsendelser og film.
Glass = is, kendte jeg fra vores ture til Helsingborg, hvor jeg altid spiste päronmjukglass = pæresoftice.
Kudda = pude, kendte jeg fra Hasse og Tage i TV: "K son i början på kudda".
Snuddar = rører ved. Et ukendt ord.
Grind = havelåge / led, jo det ord kendte vi fra Emil I Lönneberg.
Kottar = kogler, kendte jeg fra børnehaven, hvor vi sang en sang om et stakkels egern, der samlede kogler i toppen af et grantræ og faldt ned og brækkede halen eller noget i den stil.
Klottrar = maler/skribler / laver graffiti. Et ukendt ord.

     Men det var sådan set ikke sproget, der gjorde, at den sang var svær at forstå. Nej det var indholdet. At børn skulle være gådefulde, nej det fattede jeg ikke. Det var da de voksne, der var sære og uforståelige. De spurgte om maden var sund eller slankende, ikke om den smagte godt. De spurgte om det var nødvendigt at gøre dette eller hint, ikke om det var sjovt. De kiggede efter hvad mærke tøjet havde i stedet for om det kradsede, om der var gode lommer i, og om man kunne løbe stærkt i skoene. De sad bare og snakkede hele tiden i stedet for at udforske omgivelserne, finde ting og lege i det skønne vejr. De spurgte til folks stilling i stedet for deres yndlingsfarver eller yndlingsret. Og mente oven i købet, at en borgmester havde mere ret end en tømrer - underlige voksne.
     Og eftersom jeg dengang spiste en filur sammen med Pippi Langstrømpe, har jeg endnu ikke lært at sunde ting smager godt, så jeg spiser hellere jordbær end rosenkål, danser på line på fortovskanterne og kører uden hænder på cyklen i stedet for at køre i bil til bageren. Jeg vil heller ikke tro mere på en eller anden, bare fordi vedkommende har mange penge eller en fin titel.Men jeg sidder nu ofte og snakker, især med børn, de er nemlig fornuftige.
     Jeg ved ikke rigtig, hvad jeg vil sige med dette indlæg, men sangen her og disse tanker har kørt rundt i mit arme uglehoved en uges tid nu - tid til at uddrive den.

     Det gåtfulla folket
Barn är ett folk och de bor i ett främmande land
Detta land är ett regn och en pöl
Över den pölen går pojkarnas båtar ibland
Och de glider så fint utan köl
Där går en flicka som samlar på stenar
Hon har en miljon
Kungen av träd sitter stilla bland grenar
I trädkungens tron
     Där går en pojke som skrattar åt snö
     Där går en flicka som gjorde en ö
     av femton kuddar
     Där går en pojke och allting blir glass som han snuddar
     Alla är barn och de tillhör det gåtfulla folket

Barn är ett folk och de bor i ett främmande land
Detta land är en äng och en vind
Där finner kanske en pojke ett nytt Samarkand
Och far bort på en svängande grind
Där går en flicka som sjunger om kottar
Själv äger hon två
Där vid ett plank står en pojke och klottrar
Att jorden är blå

     Där går en pojke som blev indian
     Där, där går kungen av skugga runt stan
     och skuggar bovar
     Där fann en flicka en festlig grimas som hon provar
     Alla är barn och de tillhör det gåtfulla folket

Barn är ett folk och de bor i ett främmande land
Detta land är en gård och ett skjul
Där sker det farliga tågöverfallet ibland
Vackra kvällar när månen är gul
Där går en pojke och gissar på bilar
Själv vinner han jämt
Fåglarnas sånger i olika stilar
Är magiska skämt
     Där blir en värdelös sak till en skatt
     Där, där blir sängar till fartyg en natt
     och går till månen
     Där finns det riken som ingen av oss tar ifrån dem
     Alla är barn och de tillhör det gåtfulla folket



"The Enigmatic people"
  Was the tile of a Swdish song often heard on the radio when I was small, Swedish is not that different from Danish, at least not for us living in Helsingør (elsinore), where Swedish was heard every day on the street, and in the shops, and often on television, where we saw Swedish children's shows and movies. The song had a few words that were strange. These four words are very unlike their Danish counterparts, but I knew them, and the rest was fairly easy:

That glass means ice cream, and not glas, I knew from our trips to Helsingborg, where I always ate pear soft ice (päronmjukglass) Is in Danish.

Kudda = pillow (pude) I knew from a chilrens hour show on TV.

Grind = garden gate (låge), the word we knew from Emil I Lönneberg.

Kottar = cones (grankogler) I knew from kindergarten where we sang a song about a poor squirrel who collected cones at the top of a fir tree and fell down and broke his tail or something like that.

  As you see, it wasn't the language that made the song difficult to understand for me. No, it was the concept that children were enigmatic. I did not understand this. It was the adults who were strange and incomprehensible.
  They asked if the food was healthy or slimming, not whether it tasted good. They asked if it was furthering for some strange cause to do this or that, not whether it was fun. They looked for what brand of clothing they had instead of if it was itchy, whether it had good pockets or whether we could run fast in those shoes.
  They just sat and talked all the time instead of exploring the surroundings, finding things and playing in the nice weather. They asked for people's jobs and titles instead of their favourite colours or favorite dish. And they even thought that a mayor was more right than a carpenter - strange adults.

  And since I once ate a chililug pill with Pippi Longstocking, I have yet to learn that healthy things taste good, so I eat strawberries rather than Brussels sprouts, practise tight rope walking on the curbstones and ride without hands on the bike instead of driving a car to the baker. I also don't want to believe in anyone just because they have a lot of money or a nice title. But I often sit and talk, especially with children, because they make sense.

I don't know what I want to say with this blog post, but the song and these thoughts have been chasing one another inside my poor owl's brain. Time to expell them!

And now to the song - I know that an English version exists (Mysterious People), but it is shorter, more sentimental than the Swedish original. I added my own tanslation. You can't quite sing it - that would be too much Folk song army with "too-many-syllables-in-the-line"


     The enigmatic people 
 Children are a people who live in a mysterious country
This country is a rain and a puddle,
Sometimes their boats go over that puddle
And they glide so fine without keel.
There goes a girl who collects stones
She has a million.
The King of the Tree sits still among branches
In the Tree King's throne.

There is a boy who laughs at snow.
There is a girl who made an island
from fifteen pillows.
There is a boy and everything that he touches,
turns into ice cream.
All are they children and belong to the enigmatic people.

Children are a people who live in a mysterious country
This land is a meadow and a breeze
There a boy maybe will find a new Xanadu *.
And travel away on a swinging gate
There goes a girl singing about fir cones
She owns two herself.
There by a board stands a boy and scribbles
That the earth is blue.

There goes a boy who became an Indian.
There, the King of Shadows walks around town
and the shadows bow.
There, a girl found a festive grimace
that she tries on.
All are they children and belong to the enigmatic people.

Children are a people who live in a mysterious country
This land is a farm and a shed.
There, the dangerous train raid sometimes happens on
Beautiful evenings when the moon is yellow.
There a boy goes guessing at cars
He wins now and then.
The songs of the birds in different styles
Are magical jokes.

There, a worthless thing becomes a treasure.
There, beds become ships for the night
and sail to the moon.
There are the kingdoms that none of us can
take away from them.
All are they children and belong to the enigmatic people.

___________________
* The Swedish original says "Samarkand". Which after a song has come to mean a place of (unobtainable) dreams. I have not been able to find this meaning in English, and I think that Xanadu is the closest equivalent. 

onsdag den 17. juni 2020

WfW -17 June - Flying Lessons

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 10 days.


Now, all June, Messymimi is posting the prompts. Today we are given: 

brush
soar
distribute
allowance
debt
elegant

And this photo, which I'm sure is the beach on the island where my Unicorn Farm was placed.


     The day had come. Martine and Marie-Louise greeted the green team as they gathered for the morning's lesson. Martine, who today was dressed in practical brown slacks and a yellow patterned blouse, instead of her usual kimono, spoke: "Today you are going to have your first flying lessons, Marie-Louise is helping out here today because I have an inkling I'm going to need more than two hands teaching you all how to fly," she said. "Follow me!"
  And they all followed Martine and M-L, as the rotund, smiling and eminently practical teacher was fondly known to the apprentices, to a small shed to the south of the Farm buildings proper. "This is, as you probably already know, our broomshed," she said pulling a long chain with a big bronze key from her pocket. "In here all the school brooms are parked. You'll each be assigned a broom. It is yours to use during flying lessons, races, outings and all school activities as long as you're apprentices here. Remember where it's placed. I know, of course, but I'm not going to follow you down here every time you need a broom."
  The broomshed was long and narrow with small windows at irregular intervals along both sides. Also along both sides rows of brooms were evenly distributed. The brooms were held by chains to pegs and timber frames placed between them. Above each broom a name, a number or a symbol was etched on a plaque, but without any discernible system or reason. Most of all the shed resembled some kind of strange stable. Each apprentice was assigned to a broom and asked to remember its placement relative to doors, windows and other stable interiors. "It's no use trying to remember the name or whatever is on the plaques over your slot," Martine said with amusement shining through her voice. "They are apt to change at random times by some system as yet unknown to us."
  As each of them had freed the that was to be their broom from the chains, Martine showed them how to carry it. "Grasp the broom a handspan or two below the middle of the handle. The equilibrium point is situated there, but wear of the brush and handle have altered the brooms slightly, so you'll have to learn individually just where it is. "Anna, you have to use your right hand." At Anna's protests she said: "Yes I know some of us use our left hand better, but the brooms are particular, and when we stand in line and start together, the brooms would tangle if some used their left hand. We just have to learn," she said.
  When all had found the right place, Martine had them carry the brooms out into the meadow. There she faced the 10 apprentices, and spoke again: Now you say: 'Fylgdu!' and the broom will tag along just to the right of you. No need to hold on to it, but do, if it makes you feel better." Most of the apprentices, and all from non-magic families kept a hand on the broom while they walked down to the beach.
  Down at the beach a track was staked off with dry stems of sand ryegrass, small pieces of driftwood and suchlike, rather narrow and long, and in the end farthest away it expanded to give place for a big driftwood log.
  "The idea is that you practise mounting flying and dismounting here at the beach. It is at its broadest here, the sand is soft to land on when you fall off, and if you happen to drift out over the water, we have the shallowest part with no big stones in it ahead of us. At the end of this lesson, I expect every one of you to fly down the staked course, turn back by flying around that log and return back here. Grasp hold of your broomsticks now again, and M-L go to the middle of the line." They all moved a bit further to give room for M-L in the middle, five on each side.
  Once again Martine faced the apprentices. She looked at her own broom and said: "Fljúgðu! - This means fly! You do the same. These brooms are predisposed to do their tricks, so, no special gestures or inclinations are needed, just the word."
  The apprentices all repeated the magic word. And Martine looked satisfied as all brooms rose slightly. "Now that your broom is airborne, it's just a question of mechanics. Shift your grasp to higher up on the handle, near the top. Hold your broomstick upright in your right hand, Bend your knees and hold your left hand ready. At the count of three, you grasp the broom with your left hand as well, swing over your right leg and kick off. Like this," she said and suited action to words. She hovered just above the sand and added: "Think of the broom as some strange bike, it's the same mechanics. Well almost. A bike goes forwards, right and left, only seldom backwards. On a broom you add the extra dimension of up and down. But this is a case of learning buy doing. Ready! Einn, tveir, þrír." And all the green apprentices mounted their brooms in the prescribed fashion. They were more or less elegant, but all were airborne. Of course Veronika could just soar through the air, although she was not as good on a broom as her sister Fiona, she was better than any of the other from the green team. It was strange, that neither Fiona nor Veronika had had any inkling that they were witches until a few weeks ago. Fiona looked almost as if she had been born on a broomstick,
M-L on the other hand, was not fabulous on a broomstick. In truth she was the proverbial country witch, proficient in everything, but never excellent. To make up for this, she had both hands put on the right way, She had gentle, yet strong hands, she seemed to always be able to fix this and that, and no-one could swipe a table, clean a room or do any other domestic chore faster or more efficient than her. She was always in the exact right spot at the exact right time, She was out here now, helping Martine teaching the green team. She was better at this than Martine, even tough she was not born to magic parents, or maybe it was because of this, M-L was better at explaining.
  And Martine and M-L had a busy time, rescuing apprentices and fetching brooms that had dropped their riders, and now went their own ways. Once they even had to fly out together to prevent Terje from drowning when his broom set to sea and dropped him far from land.
  After some initial trouble, Susan got the hang of flying. Martine had been right, it was much like a bike. Leaning right made you turn left leaning back made you go up, and the opposites worked as well. The hardest part was the legs, where to put them? She had no pedals, no use for them really, and that was what led her into trouble as well. She tried backpedalling, but of course the broom just continued ahead and to the left at a steep angle and suddenly looped, and then Susan was dangling in her arms only. M-L was nearby and flew close. "Pull the tip of the handle down, land and mount again!" she encouraged Susan, who was actually able to steer the broom while dangling. Escorted by M-L she landed and re-mounted the broom.
  Flying was doable, but not much fun, Susan thought. She suspected that she would never come to enjoy flying on a broom the same way as riding her bike. But she could do it. When her turn came, she flew the track with no mishaps, turned at the log and flew back. "To dismount," Martine said, " you just land on the ground with both feet, swing your left leg over the broom, and stand as when you began. The word  'Fylgdu!'  will make the broom follow you again, and the sentence 'Takk fyrir ferðina!' -Thanks for the ride! will deactivate your broom. Try it!"
  Susan said: "Takk fyrir ferðina." and the broom was once again only an old fashioned sweeping implement. "Fylgdu!" made it stay at her side, and she placed her hand at the worn balance point. Back in the broom shed they all deactivated the brooms, grabbed the small brushes placed in each stall and used this to straighten the broomstraws, removing twigs, seaweed, sand and whatnot, wiped down the handle with a soft cloth dipped in some concoction, "You'll learn to make this later, as a part of your alchemy lessons," Martine said. "Now you're done. Go stretch your legs with some of Jon's limbering exercises, or you'll be sore tomorrow, wash and where needed dry your self and put on dry clothes," she looked at Terje, Kalle and Anna, who all had been thrown into the water. "Dinner will be ready in three quarters of an hour or so. Well flown!"

mandag den 15. juni 2020

Poetry Monday :: The Delights/Disasters of Growing Your Own

Countdown: Summer vacation begins in 12 days.


  Diane of On the Border and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey are taking turns hosting Poetry Monday, supplying us with a theme and crafty poems, they are open for suggestions, as this week, where SpikesBestMate supplied us with The Delights/Disasters of Growing Your Own. Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy


One year oh not so long ago the weather was just right,
Some sun, some rain, a little wind, and not a trace of blight,
I planted some zucchini then, just like I use to do.
Long yellow ones and round and green, and then some UFOs too,

They grew, they thrived, set leaves and stems and covered the ground.
With yellow flowers, happy bees, the fruits they did abound.
Each day at ten I picked a crop and then again at four.
And if at evening I did look, for sure I'd find some more.

We ate zucchinis day and night, we steamed, we fried and baked
And though they're tasty there were more, we ate till stomachs ached.
And then we got this bright idea. We'll sell zucchinis cheap!
A table covered with cloth, and harvests' bounty heaped,

Here green, there yellow round and long, and UFOs over there
A sign was made, "Zucchinis sold, one Euro each", the price was fair.
At noon another sign was made: "Zucchinis here, no poisons used, two for the price of one".
But still no takers. Evening came. The sign read "3 for one".

Next day I went out for a walk with mornings harvest done.
And all along each road and street were tables like my own.
The only one with empty crates at the very end I'd see
"Strawberries fresh 1 Euro here - have a zucchini free".

Then I went home and picked them up and to my kitchen went.
I washed and grated, sliced and diced, and into bags they went.
And then I filled our freezer up, with bags of all that grew.
With green zucchinis yellow too, and UFOs, just a few.

And all through winter summers joy came back to us again
Zucchini cakes, zucchini stew, zucchini dice and grain.
I'd never had a harvest as abundant as this one.
But if it ever happens, i'll cut the plants - bar one!


Next Monday we'll tackle The Pandemic.
.

lørdag den 13. juni 2020

Old vs. New Blogger

Inspired by River at Drifting through Life I'm comparing Legacy and New Blogger ... Sorry all the words are in Danish. I did not think to change my settings first.

In the Legacy version I can see more posts, and I can see all my labels.
In New Blogger I can see my Avatar, and I can see either a miniature of the first photo in the post or the initial letter of the title. 

Let's get inside: 
In the Legacy version, I can see all options in the top nav bar and I can see all right bar options without having to de-expand "Labels" first. And I can see many more labels, when I choose to expand the labels window.
I can read the words: New post, Publish, Save, Show example, and Close. Yes, I'm a words-person. I have to think extra to find and understand the floating ⊕, <>, 💾, ☉, or ➤ And of course they changed places, so I misclick often.

Now for a photo:
In New Blogger I need one more click every single time I want to insert a photo; and every single time I want to change the size of said photo to the standard options as shown in the lower part here.


Conclusion: I am SO going to stick with the Legacy version. The new one requires more clicks for the same contents, it's filled up with icons and bling; I find no new functionalities, just a lot of empty space in between things.
I'm so happy there's an option to go back to the old, practical, compact Blogger. And I'm afraid that if / when the New blogger is stuffed down my throat I'll stop blogging or find another "home".


Back to the Legacy version, yes please!

fredag den 12. juni 2020

Farvegryden, rødt - 10 - Dye Pot, Red

Avocadofarvningsrapport. Som sædvanligt: Skaller giver orangeagtig rød, kerner en mere pink rød. 1. bad til venstre på garnet 2. til højre

Progress report avocado dyeing. As usual pits - right - give a more true red, whereas peels - left - give a more orangey hue.



Og så de sidste billeder af det nøgle. Farvet med restebad af skaller og sten sammen, resterne af vanlnøddegryden og havens sidste vilde kørvel. Der var ikke ret meget farve tilbage nogen af stederne. Og rigtig meget af avocadofarverne blev vasket ud sammen med noget organisk - stivelse? - der er i skaller og sten. Jeg må eksperimentere med at undgå dette.
- Måske ved at farve garnet flere gange,
- eller ændre pH værdien
- eller ved at si væsken grundigere.
- Måske noget enzym-noget til at ligesom spise stivelsen?  (𝛂-amylase?)
- Tinbejdse?
- Friske sten og skaller?
Godt at jeg har en familie til at hjælpe med at spise avocadoerne.

And the last photos of this skein. Dyed in pits+peels exhaust, the very last cow parsleys and  the walnuts exhaust where the yarn was still white. Not much dyestuff was left in any of these. And much of the avocado dye washed out with the sticky organic matter from the pits and peels. I'll have to experiment some more with how to prevent this.
Maybe:
- dyeing the yarn several times.
- adding vinegar or ammonia
- straining the dyebath better
- neutralizing the starch (𝛂-amylase?)
- tin mordanting
- fresh - as opposed to dried pits and skins.
I see avocados in our future. 


Vundet til et fint krydsnøgle -- Wound in a cake

onsdag den 10. juni 2020

Farvegryden, rødt - 9 - Dye Pot, Red

     Ugens grimme  skulle jo have været starten på et rødt fed. Her til højre i billedet (igen). Så genlæste jeg noter og gode råd, og tilsatte en smule kaustisk soda inden jeg prøvede igen. Basisk skulle gøre farven rødere, og den blev da også lidt rødligere - billede kommer senere.

  The ugly surprise. was meant to be the beginning of a red skein. It turned out ugly, as seen to the right here (again). I then perused old notes and tips, added some (just a little) lye and tried again. This pushed the colour towards reddish-brown.- photo to come later.

I min jagt på rødt, kom avocadoskaller og -kerner frem. Ifølge Carol Lees opskrift skal det trække og koges op for at give god farve, så i gryder hver for sig, kog op mandag morgen og aften og gentag tirsdag. Og så var min tålmodighed slidt op og vandet rødt som blod.

Red comes among other from avocado pits and peels, both rinsed thoroughly, then finely cut and dried. According to Carol Lee soaking and boiling for days is the key to good colour. Yes. well my patience was sorely tried. I soaked the pits and peels in two separate pots. They were boiled Monday morning, Monday evening, Tuesday morning, Tuesday evening. And the water was red as blood, and I was out of patience. 
Pits     Peels

Og to timer senere var det kølet nok af

Two hours later it was cooled down enough for me to touch it.
       Der er som altid hos mig forskel på farverne. Skallerne giver en mere orange tone medens kernerne giver fint rødt. Det bliver meget lysere når det tørrer, så det er nærmere pink og orange-pink.
     Jeg bukkede så garnet lidt anderledes, så et stykke farvet og et stykke ufarvet kom ned i glassene igen, skaller hos skaller og kerner hos kerner. Det bliver interessant at se, om det bliver tone-i-tone eller hvad der sker.

  As always when I try, the pits give pure red, and the peels a more orangey red. It will turn much lighter while drying. I pulled some of the dyed skein up out of each glass an tucked in some of the un-dyed to the left into each glass. Time will tell if I have succeeded in making gradients or what.

Words for Wednesday - Father Paul's quandary

Now, in june Messymimi is posting the prompts. Today we are given:
mile
coverage
corner
throw
monarch
dump
     and/or
paragraph
reduce
gate
confine
cruel
shiver

This week Mimi is also adding the following archaic words to use or ignore:

mooncalf (a foolish person)
orts (scraps or remains)
fandangle (a useless or purely ornamental item)

 Way back in January I wrote an 'end of the world'-story, called either Mary & Allan or The Wave. The story can be read in its totality here. I have in my mind several spin off's, lose ends and so forth to this story. And today I have written out one of them. 
  To the best of my knowledge, I did not use any of the words, but I love those old fashioned ones; Fandangle, Mooncalf ... hmm just right for a "Magical me" story.
 
Father Paul's Quandary
Some years later the settlement was growing and the mouse farm was finally thriving. An expedition, looking for more people, had also found more mice in an old cave somewhere nearby. Before this happened, the mice were getting steadily more inbred, and Mona had been on the verge of killing them off when the winter's expedition returned home with their catch. All week after their homecoming of the expedition Father Paul had not been his normal, equanimous self.
  As the week ended, they held their habitual Saturday evening meeting, as every Saturday after dinner. Everybody met in the common hut. There grudges were settled, disputes ended or postponed until a solution could be found. Next day was Sunday, and a day of resting and feasting was observed as far as possible. Every Sunday Father Paul also celebrated mass for all who wanted to participate, and more and more people came for mass. Father Paul liberally spent holy communion to those wanting it, only asking that people believed that Christ was actually present in bread and wine and not being knowingly at odds with anyone, God or human alike, this was unlikely after the Saturday meeting; and father Paul himself was always available for a talk or for confession. 
   But on that Saturday evening's meeting father Paul brought himself up as a subject. "I've been thinking," he said, "what with the mice and all that other gene-pool stuff. I feel I'm somehow cheating out by not marrying and begetting children of my own." He looked round on all present. "I mean, I'm not related to anybody here, as far as I know at least, and I wonder whether I am not just being selfish for not adding my genes to the pool?"
  "Do you want to marry, Father?" Mary asked.
  "No way," father Paul answered quickly. "I neither feel alone, nor lonely. And the thought of living with a woman, getting to know her in the biblical sense and most of all: Never being able to celebrate the mysteries of Mass again, makes me go all cold inside and my stomach heavy as lead. It's not that; it is pure 'should I be allowed to deprive the gene pool of my genes' that is the question. I'm not in the least unsure of my calling."
  "And neither are we, really." Tom said. "Your being our priest, and by 'our' I mean a priest for all of us, has meant a great deal for the sanity of this settlement. 'You are a priest forever after the order of Melchisedek' Those words suit you perfectly."
  Allan rose, shyly for once. "Ever since the Wave, you have been The Priest. Our priest. Genes, gene pools and future generations' survivability is not all there is to life. Mental stability, rituals and the things that transcendent reality matter as well. I'm not a man of big words but I'll try to explain ... When someone dies, I kneel  here, in this place. ... I think I speak for many of us now ... I kneel here and I look at my hands, at Mary's hands, at the hands of all us old geezers. Big, gnarled hands, scarred, rough, made for work, made for doing. But in front of death there is no doing only silence. I want to go somewhere else, lugging stones, chopping down trees, digging ... everywhere else but here, kneeling, waiting, silent ... I feel my impotence in the presence of death. But then you are here as well, with that tiny altar of yours, with your worn paraments, and with my best Zinfandel." Allan smiled despite his seriousity. "With rituals, prayers, words as old as time itself. And then I feel, despite my despair and impotence, that I am where I need to be. Not that I feel at ease. I'd still run, given the option. But somehow some way ... there's a meaning behind all we are and do."
  "I think this was your answer." Tom said. "We are all your children. But if yo wish, we'll hold an election?" Father Paul nodded, unable to speak. "You know the drill. All go to the lectern one by one," Tom continued, "on a slip of paper you write 'Marry' or 'Priest' or a doodle if you abstain. Robert, please put up the bowl.
  Robert placed a big, lidded bowl next to the lectern and took off the lid. One by one all adult members of the community went to the lectern, took a slip of paper, wrote a word, folded it and dropped it into the bowl. Tom pointed at Astrid: "Astrid, please shake the bowl." Bothered by her arm, that never became as good as new after the accident which spared the life of her and her husband Bengt when the Wave passed, she placed the lid back over the bowl and shook it. Then she placed it on the lectern and sat down. Tom looked in his list: Mona, you're counting today. Mona went up, took off the lid and picked the slips of paper up one by one, Reading aloud, she sorted them in neat stacks in front of her:" "Priest." Mona read aloud 15 times in a row, then two Abstains then more Priests, one Marry, three more abstains, and then Priest ... Priest ... Priest ... until the bowl was empty. "I think there's no reason to count the votes," Mona said. "Father Paul, you are our priest, now and forever!"
"And now, Tom said, "As the chairman of today's meeting I declare the meeting for ended. Communal cake will be served shortly."