Poetry Monday :: Croissant

Poetry Monday - what's that? It is a blogging game, that Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over the hosting duties, mostly the supplying of the prompts - only temporarily we hope - while Diane at On the Border is taking a break for health and relaxation, travelling the world with her husband as far as we can tell.  We just hope she's going to take back over once she returns home.

The prompts now come from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog.

Today's prompt is: Croissant

You know it's true
- find it, I do
It's a mommy power!
And when I do
I follow through,
do as to pick a flower
and say "Croissant"
in mock up French!

But why?
Because some time ago the Owlets showed me a crazy video tha's basically about a man snatching croissants from thin air, every time saying 'Croasson' in terrible French.
It stuck ...  of course I can't find the video. If I do, I promise to  post it.

 --  A  --  B  --  C  --

And today I solved Wordle with only yellows - no achievement & badge popped up, contrary to what I would have expected ;)

Wordle 1.738 5/6
⬜⬜🟨⬜🟨
⬜⬜🟨⬜⬜
⬜🟨⬜⬜⬜
🟨🟨🟨🟨⬜
🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

I still would not have logged in - but maybe I'll post all my schievements here on the blog.

Friday Frustrations ~ Wordle Badges Fredagsfrustration ~ Mærker i Wordle

Yes, I know, I said I'd never play again. Citing myself from December 30, 2025.

Wordle, Spelling Bee, Strands, Connections, and Tiles* - I have enjoyed solving these four for the past three and a half years, I even based this year's A-Z Challenge on Wordle, but now it's over. Tiles, The Mini Crossword and Letter Boxed are only for subscribers as of September 1st. I know that Wordle, Strands and Connections are still free to play, but for how long? For me making Tiles pay to play was the last straw.

But I cannot keep away from Wordle. I made a promise never to log into my free account ever again (meaning I have no acces to my stats or the Wordle-bot, but also that NYT does not have the pleasure of seeing me log in).

Wednesday I felt sorely tempted, as this popped up.

 --  A  --  B  --  C  --

Ja, jeg ved det godt. Jeg sagde at jeg aldrig ville spille nogen af New York Times mini-games igen. Men Wordle er for fristende.
    Mit kompromis var, at jeg ikke ville logge ind (hvilket betyder at jeg ikke kan se statistik eller få nogen form for hjælp eller feed-back, men også at NYT ikke har fornøjelsen af mig).
    I onsdags var det bare lige før jeg faldt for fristelsen, da denne her poppede op efter at jeg havde løst dagens Wordle.

It seems they added badges to Wordle. I love achievements, ergo I checked it out.

Fortunately I soon realised that I would not break my promise to myself, even for this. Some of the badges were streak badges.

 --  A  --  B  --  C  --

Det lader til at de har lavet mærker i Wordle og de andre spil. Jeg elsker den slags, så jeg måtte lige se, hvad der ellers var.
    Heldigvis at jeg gjorde det, for jeg fandt ud af, at jeg ikke skulle bryde mit løfte til mig selv. Mange af mærkerne var nemlig for streaks.

They are even awarded retroactively, so no way I could avoid them. As I despise anything streaky, I had no problems closing the else very tempting log-in pop-up.

 --  A  --  B  --  C  --

De bliver også tildelt på bagskud, så de ville ikke være til at undgå for mig. Og da jeg hader alt, der har med den slags at gøre, lukkede jeg prompte den fristende log-ind pop-up.

 --  A  --  B  --  C  --

Here's the solution, that would have earned me the green badge

~

Her er den løsning, der ville have givet mig det grønne mærke.

Peter's Time Travel ~ Part 6

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
    When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
    Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to our mind.

This month the words are supplied by River and are to be found on her blog.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today, Wednesday 4, we were given:
Chips 
Herd 
Clamped 
Walk 
Over 
Cheese

Still continuing my dream-story of Peter's Time Travel.


Next day we walked to school, a trek of about one kilometre through woods and over fields. The children knew the way, but it was hard on me to walk this far in the snow. In school, the teacher already knew about me, and placed me in the back of the classroom with a slate and a book containing the alphabet and writing exercises for beginners. I blushed, and felt utterly uncomfortable with my long legs cropping out from under the table no matter how much I tried to keep them in. And my hair was still too long. Paul, the farmhand whose chamber I slept in, had promised to cut it for me, but not on a Sunday. Tomorrow, maybe.

The classroom incidentally rescued me from any faux-pas, by solving the question of who was king, as a portrait of king Christian 7 hung over the door there, I had been one king too far.
    After starting the younger children off, the teacher, Mads Laursen, came and sat next to me. He was very young, I think not much older than me, and we both felt the awkwardness of the situation. I felt his warmth and his breath crowding me, now had he been a young woman ... the thought made me blush, and I hurriedly fastened my attention on the letters at hand. It did not last long till I could write all the letters to his satisfaction, and after going to school Wednesday as well, he declared that by Friday I would be ready for work, I was less certain, but I felt restless and misplaced in the small school chairs, and I itched to be of use, to prove myself valuable.

I spent some weeks doing taxation papers and other accounting jobs for the farmers nearby. My maths were far superior to theirs, and I was happy for the back story of my father being a well to do merchant to explain this proficiency. Most farmers had a hard times doing simple sums in their heads, only when it came to grains and bushels they lit up. By the time I was done doing this, I was know by, and knew most of  the bigger and smaller farmers in the parish. I had learned to ride a horse, and I had grown stronger.
The winter had been unusually hard, and the night still were frosty. I recalled something called The Little Ice Age from the news, maybe this was it? Selfishly I felt happy about it. More time for paperwork meant that I would be fit for the field work once sowing season started, which could not be long now.
That Sunday the chaplain approached me and told that the scribe, which I knew from the 'grilling' as I still called it, had fallen ill, and asked if I was able to give him a hand with the church registers. He had gotten behind, and now he was looking for a vocation somewhere else, he would prefer to leave the registers in order. I asked Lars if it would be OK, and he approved. The next week I spent my mornings doing farm chores, then I rode to the church, where we sat in a room in the vicarage and brought all the church registers up to date, I learned much abut the people in the community and about human kind in general during these sessions.

By walking, riding and helping with household chores, mucking, cleaning, chopping, cutting, planing, threshing and so on. I grew stronger. Actually stronger than I had ever been.

I was still homesick and cried myself to sleep most nights, but I was slowly learning the ropes.

Then Spring came. And with it sowing of barley, oats and rye.
I asked Lars why we did not grow any wheat. At first he just gave me the expected: "It is not done," but then proceeded to tell me of types of soil, too short periods for growth and the larger fertilization needs of wheat.

 WHEAT! I had walked through the fields the day my former life ended. I had tasted some ears of wheat, and put some in my pockets, I had always loved the taste and feel of ripe wheat. And I had listened enough to my granddad to know that modern wheat would be vastly superior to anything grown in 1802. I asked to be excused and went to the attic and looked, and yes, my pockets were still stuffed with golden ears of wheat.

What now. Could I ask for a small field of my own, could I just sow them somewhere or what should I do? Of course I ended up in Lars' office. Riisbye was a small, dying town, more like a hamlet. Four farms in all; two big ones, Lars' being the smaller of the big ones, and two smaller. Apart from the farmer's families it housed the ususal farmhands. a beggar and a tailor. Nothing much ever happened here - much to my luck. Later in the afternoon he told me, that I could have the furthest of the fields for my experiments, it was no longer in use and had fallen into disrepai. I was free to try my hand at it if I liked to test out my "foreign crops" there. The only condition was that I did not neglect my duties on his farm. Next day, while Lars and a trusted hand were sowing his fields, I tried my hand at ploughing. It looked so easy, but man, it was tough. Horses are not the same as a reliable tractor. They get shy, they try to avoid the hardest work and my furrows looked like they were made by a drunken sailor. I sowed almost all my wheat, sawing only a couple of ears for an experiment in autumn sowing. Another "It is not done" this earned me.

Then came fencing and weeding. I had to do my part on Lars' fields as promised, so often my field was weeded and tended to in the late evening hours or just before dawn. The wheat prospered. I took to watering it with the contents of my chamber pot diluted with water.

During summer I also helped Elizabeth wash, bake and even weave. All of this was hard work. She also taught me of candle-making, soaping and conserving. I picked many fruits for her, cherries, strawberries and apples, lots of apples. Conserving was hard and hot work, and not menfolk's work, but I liked to be around her, and she often appeared in my dreams, slowly replacing my first love, Lucy, and after a while appearing more that friends and family from my old life.

I harvested my wheat by hand after the rest of the harvest had been done, All alone, because no-one believed in my foreign crops. I had learned to use a scythe, and my small field was soon done. I dried it in the threshing room when nothing happened, threshed it on the sly one Sunday after church and put away one small sack for sowing next spring. I was vary of mice and other rodent, so I asked for, and had the old trunk I came in. Helped by Lars and one of the farm hands I repaired it and stored my grains in it in the room, I shared with some of the menfolk. Later I took some of it along to the mill to be made into flour. We tasted it for Christmas and Easter baking, and I was promised more land for my foreign crop next Spring. It really was tastier, and whiter, which seemed to be a determining factor for Lars and his family.

... to be conlcuded next Wednesday.

Poetry Monday :: Obsidian

It's two weeks and a bit since I last gave Service notification for Bloggers! When blogging an important thing to learn, is to press PUBLISH once you're done!

I need to take my own medicine.

Also this poem is sorely lacking. After several times where I was convinced that I would retain the poem I created in the wee hours of Monday morning, I now wisely keep pen and paper by my bed.
Note to self: Remember to check that the pen actually have enough ink.

This one ran dry after the first two lines. Yes I was writing in the dark so as not to wake up hubby - I've done this many times before. Normally I use a pencil, but it was broken.
Note to self: Sharpen your bedside pencil more often!

The poem was way better when I wrote it. I've tried to collect the strands, but alas ...

Poetry Monday - what's that? It is a blogging game, that Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over the hosting duties, mostly the supplying of the prompts - only temporarily we hope - while Diane at On the Border is taking a break for health and relaxation, travelling the world with her husband as far as we can tell.  We just hope she's going to take back over once she returns home.

The prompts now come from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog.

Today's prompt is: Obsidian

Riddle-solving time. Obsidian is watching the only exit from the Arena.

Obsidian sits on his guard,
its eyes so black, like stone its heart.

Now Amber comes and speak its words:
"Like lightening I've often heard
me called, it is my due.
Now stand and let me through!"

Then Opal, Jade and Pearl they try,
they plead, they threaten and they vie.
Our Pearl it even sheds a tear
to no avail. Obsidian just sit and stare.

They try by day, they try by night
in sunshine golden, starry light

Ruby, Beryl, and Peridot
go on about it. On the spot
Obsidian is sitting.
They almost feel like quitting

Then suddenly the humble one
rise up, decides to join the fun.
Agate whispers in its ear
it then stands up, the way is clear.

Asked how the riddle met its end
Agate thinks a bit again:
"It is not light nor season,
It only stands to reason."


If you think you know this ending from somewhere, you've probably enjoyed Spider Robinson's tales from Callahan's Cross-time Saloon where a similar joke plays a small part of the short story A Voice is Heard in Ramah ...

- - - - - - - - - - Coming Themes  - - - - - -

taken from the 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group.

Mar 23 Croissant
Mar 30 The Moon Tonight
Apr 6 Passover
Apr 13 Fabulous
Apr 20 Superhero
Apr 27 Plaid
May 4 Back pack
May 11 Futuristic landscape

Sunday Selection & Colour26

In the last hour of our Sunday, I found some photos.

One of my favourite mugs

A fun new plant, tentatively identified as Pilea mollis I think also known as Moon valley. It's even flowering. Notice the pot as well.

My beloved, and now quite worn backpack.

All more or less fitting for the colour of March

The A-Z Challenge ~ Some Musings Tanker om A-Z Udfordringen

The A-Z Challenge
In April we're given a challenge: Blog each day (not Sundays) about a theme - or not - but using the letters in the English alphabet from one end to another; or put in another way, from A to Z which gives the challenge its name.

My A-Z blogging ideas and musings:
I have participated several times, and I plan to do so again this year. I have been thinking:

• A-Z is for me an APRIL Challenge. Blog every day about something or other with the relevant letter; and get a survivor's badge for your trouble.
• I do not like writing posts in advance. I know, life happens, something happens. It's Easter season ... continue the list of excuses. But it seems a bit like cheating.
• On the other hand I like planning and thinking in advance. My theme for April 2026 is to be Travel Tales and High Adventures and Lissa's badge fits perfectly.

This one is the best for my purpose, I think, and I'm so happy Lissa joined sea and land into one badge.

A-Z udfordringen
I april bliver vi stillet overfor en udfordring: Skriv på din blog hver dag (undtagen søndag) skriv om et tema – eller også ikke – men brug bogstaverne i det engelske alfabet fra den ene ende til den anden; eller sagt på en anden måde, fra A til Z, hvilket giver udfordringen sit navn.

Mine A-Z ideer og overvejelser:
Jeg har deltaget flere gange før, og jeg agter at gøre det igen i år. Jeg har også tænkt over udfordringen igen:

• For mig er A-Z en APRIL-udfordring. Skriv et blogopslag hver dag med det relevante bogstav - og få et badge til bloggen for din udholdenhed.
• Jeg kan ikke lide at skrive opslag på forhånd. Jeg ved godt, at livet nogle gange kommer på tværs, at der dukker noget op og at det også er påsketid ... fortsæt selv listen med undskyldninger. Men på en eller anden måde synes jeg, det er lidt snyd.
• På den anden side kan jeg godt lide at planlægge og tænke over det på forhånd. Mit tema for april 2026 bliver nok Rejseberetninger og vilde eventyr eller noget i den retning – og Lissas badge passer perfekt til mit formål, synes jeg, og jeg er så glad for, at Lissa har forenet hav og land i et badge.
  

 
My social participation:
I am going to visit other participants' blogs this year too, but I'll be quite stern.

Last year I spent far too much time trying to comment on blogs that required a log in, wading through posts not touching on the A-Z at all, or where I had to "fight" to get to the posts ... to the detriment of my visiting blogs that were interesting and/or relevant.

I solemnly swear to delete comments on my blog only saying: "Nice blog, please visit mine" or words to that account.

~  ~  ~  Timeline for the A-Z Challenge ~   ~  ~ ~  

• The THEME REVEAL (optional) : March 9- 14
• Official Challenge Sign-ups : March 23- April 4
  
• Reflections (optional) : May 4 -9 
  
• Road-trip (optional) : Opens May 11  

The 14th of March is the last day in the Theme reveal, I will not participate, as I think signing up for the Official sign up is enough.
The next days I'll finish revising my copy of the spreadsheet, I have already begun visiting the participating blogs (LINK) and "grade them" Yes - Maybe - No.

Yes are for those I am going to visit come April; these are the blogs where the theme sounds interesting and the layout does not bother my stupid eyes.

Maybe are for those where the theme is interesting, but the layout a p.i.t.a. (white on black, moving elements ..), or where the theme might turn out to be interesting.

No are for those where there is no theme reveal post (I already found three of those), for those requiring a log in to comment, and for those where the theme does not sound like anything I'd like to read: erotica and suchlike, pure self promotions, economics/business, mental health, cosmetics, blatant -isms, ...

Min sociale deltagelse:
Jeg vil også besøge andre deltageres blogs i år, men jeg vil være meget streng.

Sidste år brugte jeg alt for meget tid på at kommentere på blogs, der krævede login, på at læse indlæg, der slet ikke havde noget med A-Z at gøre, eller hvor jeg måtte kæmpe mig frem til indlæggene ... på bekostning af blogs, der var interessante og/eller relevante.

Jeg vil også i år slette kommentarer på min blog, der bare siger: »Dejlig blog, besøg min« eller lignende.

~    ~  ~  ~  Tidslinje for A-Z udfordringen  ~  ~  ~  

• The THEME REVEAL (optional) : March 9- 14
• Official Challenge Sign-ups : March 23- April 4 
  
• Reflections (optional) : May 4 -9
• Road-trip (optional) : Opens May 11

Den 14. marts er sidste dag i Theme Reveal - tema-afsløringen. Den har jeg ikke deltaget i, for jeg synes en tilmelding er nok.
De kommende dage vil jeg revidere mit skema over dem, der har deltaget i tema-afsløringen en sidste gang (LINK). Jeg er allerede begyndt at gå disse blogs igennem og give dem "karaktererne" Ja - Måske - Nej

Ja er til dem, der lyder interessante, og hvor layoutet ikke irriterer mine dumme øjne.

Måske er til dem, hvor temaet lyder interessant, men layoutet generer mig (lys skrift på mørk baggrund, flimrende eller hoppende elementer), eller hvor jeg er usikker på om det interesserer mig.

Nej er forbeholdt dem, hvor der ikke er nogen tema-afsløring (ind til videre hele tre), dem hvor man skal logge ind for at læse eller kommentere og dem jeg bare ikke har lyst til at læse. Det er for eksempel: Erotik og lignende, ren selvpromovering, økonomi/forretning, mental sundhed, kosmetik, diverse -ismer, ..

Words for Wednesday :: Peter's Time Travel ~ Part 5

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
    When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
    Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to our mind.

This month the words are supplied by River and are to be found on her blog.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today, Wednesday 11, we were given:
Trembling
Bobbing 
Rescue 
Green 
Redhead 
Potato

In Lars' office he first told me that we had to decide on a story for me to tell about why I was staying here. A mystery journey in a chest was not done, and I was happy to oblige.
Lars suggested that I was to pose as a distant cousin of Anna's, as she had family in Elsinoer. I had allegedlly fallen off the hayloft when visiting and now was staying to get well again and learn about farming first hand.  I readily agreed. It was not too far off the mark, and would explain any oddities with big town mannerisms.

I found my work cut out for me. I was, or at least had been, good at maths. But the monetary system was not the logical units I was used to where 1 Krone equalled 100 øre. In 1802 we had 1 Daler equalling 6 Mark, and 1 Mark equalling 16 Skilling. I had always found hexadecimal and company fun and challenging, and some of us boys had competed in doing maths in our heads testing one another with pocket calculators and 'phones - what would I not give for one of those solar powered calculators now.  I had not been the slowest, so quite soon I was skilled in these conversions. The lettering was worse. I could by now read books and even the newspaper printed in Fraktur with no more errors than what the convoluted language of printed matter led me into, but the handwriting often confounded me. And when I tried writing in Latin script, Lars scolded me for 'playing the vicar'. In the end I made up the ledger using my own lettering on old scraps of paper and on a slate, once I got hold of one. Then when I was sure I was right, I carefully and slowly copied the text of Lars' former entries adding my new sums.

I was fast and efficient and Lars suggested that he should offer my help to the other farmers in the vicinity.
"Gladly," I replied, "but I'll have to learn to read and write normal handwriting better first, My parents were quite progressive in only teaching us Latin cursive."

"You must have lived far off to avoid school?" Lars mused.
"I think we did" I replied, "I just had a glimpses of my mother teaching me, using just such a slate." What I did not tell was that yes, she had indeed done so, but as a part of some re-enactment scedule of hers. I now wished I had paid better attention to her lovely, flowing German cursive back then.

"Tomorrow is Sunday, We go to church," Lars stated. "But Monday's school, and you will go there with Christen and Johanne. You do need to learn."
I sure needed to learn. But church, I had forgotten that I was supposed to attend church tomorrow. Everybody from this village, and from the five or six other, bigger villages belonging to the parish would be present. And every single person would want to know about me, would look at me, scrutinize me, assess me, and ask me questions. Furthermore I was not used to going to church, I feared to bungle up something and make everybody stare even more. Could I claim exemption by telling that I belonged to another religion? Jew? No they were always persecuted and accused of any misfortune. Muslim maybe. No that was only something far away I had understood from the newspapers which I was avidly reading. Catholic? Maybe, but I did not know much about their faith either.And thinking again. Freedom of religion had not even been a thing in 1802, had it? I rememberer something about a new constitution to be made years in the future, 1840-ish maybe, and wished, not for the first, nor for the last time, that I had been more attentive during my history lessons.  Better to just tag along and do as the others did.

Church went better than what I feared. Lars' timing was perfect. After a relatively short, but cold sleigh ride we arrived at church. We were almost the last to arrive, and we had time for nothing more than entering the church, grab a hymnal and sit down in our pew. We sat in the upper half of the church, so I was unable to see most of the staring people. Turning around was not done! After a little time my nervous trembling stopped, and I began taking notice of my surroundings again.
    I was still very conscious of people looking at me. I tried not to squirm, scratch or pick at anything, but sit straight with my hands folded in my lap, like Lars to my right and Hans and Christer to my left. Anna sat with Johanne and Elizabeth on the other side of the aisle, I could not help looking at Elizabeth, she was a pleasure to look at with her hair newly washed and all shiny and her new, green Sunday dress. She noticed my looking, and I averted my eyes, feeling red and hot.

The service was long and boring, the sermon even longer, but I remembered many of the hymns from my confirmation class with its forced church attendance a few years ago. It was not Andreas Peter Madsen officiating, but the vicar himself, Pastor Fangel, an elderly but sturdy man.

During the long sermon I studied the church, the parts in front of me at least. The pulpit with the carved letters, that slowly turned into words for me, the Altar where I could discern the dates 1723 and smaller 1731, it was already old. I also saw the initials of the kings FIV and CVI for Frederik 4 and Christian 6. This shocked me. Who was king now? I had no idea, only none of these could still be king, if their names were on an altar from 1723.
    Oh why had I not been more attentive at school? I knew that after Christian 6, his son Frederik 5 would become king, and then Christian 7, Frederik 6, Christian 8 ... and so on to my time when Frederik 9 was succeeded by his daughter, Margrethe 2nd, and she in 2024 by Frederik 10, and then his son would some day become Christian 11, thus bringing order to the numbering, broken when Christian 1's son Hans was followed by  2, and only then by then Frederik 1. But this was neither here nor there. Some fast maths, 30 years to a generation, 89 years since 1723, and a bit less since 1731 when it seemed that Christian 6 was new king ... three kings onwards gave me Frederik 6. Hopefully this was right. No internet, no smartphones, and the only books in the house was a farmer's almanac, the Bible and a catechism. I decided to pay attention to what the vicar said, maybe I could find a clue there.

     The church looked much as I remembered it from a Christmas service long ago with my grandparents. Strangely it looked more worn now. Probably it had been renovated some time in between, closer to my time.
    When was my time really, I mused. Even though I was determined to listen, the long sermon got my mind drifting again. My eyes fell on the baptismal font. I remembered my grandfather's hand caressing the carved vines and telling everybody that he, and his parents, and their parents all the way back from time immemorial had been baptized in that font. When was my time?
    I was born in the 21st century, but I would probably never return back there again. Could I find a place in the 19th century, among my ancestors?
    What about my parents? What did they make of my disappearing? I stopped that train of thoughts. It would just make me cry.
    I looked back at the baptismal font; it was comforting in all its solidity. It had stood here since the church, or maybe even its predecessor was built. It would still be here when everybody living here and now and in the future -- Pastor Fangel, Lars, Anna, Elizabeth, Christer, Hans, me, my grandparents, parents, my siblings and their children too -- had long turned to dust.
    It was a thought that at the same time made me feel like yelling and screaming in ice cold panic, and yet somehow I felt safe, at home, looking at those vines cut in ancient stone.

After the service we stood in the back of the church and I had to tell my story several times. It got easier with each retelling and I began to relax a bit.

... to be continued

Poetry Monday :: Meeting a Friend

Poetry Monday - what's that? It is a blogging game, that Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over the hosting duties, mostly the supplying of the prompts - only temporarily we hope - while Diane at On the Border is taking a break for health and relaxation, travelling the world with her husband as far as we can tell.  We just hope she's going to take back over once she returns home.

The prompts now come from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog.

Today's prompt is: Meeting a Friend

Sorry, I met several friends, and I could not decied which ones to leave out.


Today I walked my garden and met with some old friends:
I meet them every springtime, I'm vary at their ends!

Some other frieds are woolly, but do know how to fly
I am lucky to have snapped her, she can be kind of shy

Though it is barely springtime - for sure I cannot lie
it took me by surprise that I met some butterflies!

- - - - - - Coming Themes  - - - - - -

taken from the 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group.

Mar 16 Obsidian
Mar 23 Croissant
Mar 30 The Moon Tonight
Apr 6 Passover
Apr 13 Fabulous

Sunday Selection ~ Plant edition

I find the difference between potatoes and those finicky seeds quite entertaining:

Forskellen mellem kartofler og de der sarte frø, synes jeg altså er morsom:

Did someone say: Soil?

-It's too hot                         - Nope, too cold!
- Too dry!                           - Too moist for sure!

But not a hint of Ocean twilight, the colour of March, to be seen.

Men ikke spor af månedens farve, beklager.

Ti timer ~ Ten Hours

I dag er dagen ti timer lang ... og der er bier, mange bier i vores erantis. Det skulle man både kunne se og høre i dette videoklip.

-- 🐝 --

Today we have ten hours of daylight -- and there's bees, lots of bees, in our eranthis. They should be visible  and audible - in this video.

Jeg ved ikke, om det kan ses tydeligt, men de fleste af bierne er brune bier. Det vil sige oprindelige nordiske honningbier. Jeg var henne og lede efter dem i det hule træ, hvor de boede sidste år, men der var ikke nogen. Jeg må lede videre.

-- 🐝 --

I do not know if you can see it, but most of the bees are of the dark variety, native to Denmark.
I tried looking for them in the hollow tree where I found them last summer, but there were none now. I'll go on looking

Oxalis and a Secret Tool ~ Oxalis og mit hemmelige værktøj

Jeg havde købt nogle oxalis-løg. Hele tre små i en lille potte. Men jeg ville ikke plante de små løg i den bittelille potte. De fyldte den næsten ud allerede.

I bought some oxalis bulbs. This tiny pot contained three bulbs, and they almost filled it up already. No way I was going to plant them in there.

Min løsning blev denne her potte - med et hjemmelavet planteskilt.

My solution was this. With a home made plant tag.

Vi får lige et billede af skiltet

We need a close up of the tag.

Jeg fabrikerede det her skilt af en gammel konservesdåse ude på køkkenbordet. Det kan kun lade sig gøre på grund af mit hemmelige værktøj: Jans ingen ballade-plade.

I made the tag from an old tin can on my kitchen table. This is only possible due to my secret tool: Jan's no trouble-board.

    Denne her. Den er lavet af en gammel skabslåge og to lister efter idé fra Jan.
    I den røde cirkel kan man se nogle sort-blå pletter og et nyt borehul - spor efter dagens idé.


This here board. It's made from an old kitchen cabinet door and two lengths of wood. The inspiration of course come from a friend named Jan.
Inside the red circles, traces from today's work can be seen, blue-black smudges and a new drill hole.

Words for Wednesday March 4 & IWSG Peter's Time Travels ~ Part 4

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
    When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
    Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to our mind.

This month the words are supplied by River and are to be found on her blog.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today, Wednesday 4, we were given:
Property 
Barrels 
Dingo 
Down 
Silent 
Doubt

I used only Down, and i cannot explain how Doubt could no fit in. Continuing my dream-story of Peter's Time Travel.

In the morning I felt much better. Still weak, still forlorn, but somehow imbued with a careful optimism.

Sophie and another young girl, about my own age, but beautiful, came in. I pulled the covers up to my chin, but the other girl just smiled at me and said: "Oh! I am so happy to see you awake and sitting up. Father said that you were a mysterious stranger, but you look quite normal now. I am Elizabeth Larsdatter, the oldest of his living children."

"I'm pleased to meet you," I said, sketching a bow from my bedridden position.

Sophie laid out a simple dress for me. A worn, but soft undershift, a coarse, white shirt, a woollen waistcoat and trousers of the same grey woollen material. Long, knit stockings, also grey, and a pair of clogs finished off the outfit. Elizabeth hung an old cloak on a peg by the door. "I'm going to knit you a scarf," she said, smiled at me and left.

Sophie helped me get out of bed, poured water from a pitcher into a big, flat bowl on the bench by the door and said: "Call for me when you're done washing."

"Hey, no way," I said. "Can't you help me, please? I have lost much of my memory from being thrown around inside that trunk."

Sophie blushed. "No, can't do. It was OK to wash you when you lay ill and unconscious, but now, it is not done."

"It is not done." Those were words I was going to hear many times in the coming months and even years.

I had to fend for myself then. I inspected, what had been placed on the bench by the door. A flat bowl of lukewarm water, a jar of more lukewarm water, a pitcher of some sticky substance, some soft and coarse rags, and a towel. I put a finger into the substance in the pitcher and smelled it. It smelled clean. Gingerly I rubbed a bit of it between my palms and added a few drops of water, It dissoluted in water and made suds. Soap! I put some soap on one of the rags and scrubbed my stomach, it was OK, I needed cleaning, I could smell myself, eew, Finally I was clean, and even washed my hair in the bowl, it sure could do with a cut. It was true, then that I had been ill for a long time. I dried off myself with the towel, and put on the undershift. I then opened the door ajar and called for Sophie. "I think I'm clean now, but I'm afraid I've made a mess in here."

She came in and laughed at the sight. "Now I understand why the menfolk are asked to wash in the stable. You sure made a mess. But you are to be excused. And now please put on the clothes."

I did as asked, fumbling with buttons, hooks and ties. No zippers yet.
"And now come with me. Time for a slow walk of the premises, but put on the cloak as well. It's cold outside. And take ths cane, clogs and icy snow and wobbly you are bad partners, and we need no more accidents."

I put on the cloak, and pulled up the hood against the cold. I saw the wisdom of a cane, more like a sturdy staff really. The small door led into a barn, two horses neighed at ys from a far corner, and a cow placidly munched away at the hay in a stall.

"You have been put up in the stable hand's room," Sophie explained. "It is nice and hot as it is placed up against the kitchen. Now we go out, beware the cold and ice."

And it was cold. Snows lay on the ground, big drifts and shallower parts. "We chose today because it is not windy."

"I thank you" I said, my teeth clattering.

"And there we have the loo," she said, pointing to a small outhouse at the end of the stable. You are expected to use it during the daytime, for nightly pee you can use the chamber pot under your bed."
"OK, I said, and empty it where? Into the loo or what?"

"Just leave it. It is my job to empty the pots," Sophie replied. "And to light the fires, so do not try that either. When you're better - I would say soon, you will be given a bed in the attic with the farmhands and maids. It is bigger, but colder than the one you stay in now. You will see." She led me around to the gate, and suddenly I recognized the place. We were at my grandparents' farm. The gate was in the same place as it was - would be - in my grandparents' farmhouse. I had always liked the view from the gate over the far off lake and woods. It felt like all the world lay open in front of me, looking at it from up here, and today it gave me the very same feeling. This doubleness made me feel weak, and I propped myself up against the gate wall. Sophie noticed, and led me through the gate between barn and stable into the yard.

"The door to the right leads into the kitchen, straight ahead is Master's wing and left are stables, barns and such. Now we go in through the main entrance and say hello to Master and the family."
The layout had been - would be - roughly the same in my grandparents' days and the continued doubleness of the two farms so alike, yet so different made me feel even more self conscious and clumsy walking with a cane across the yard and up the three steps. But once inside the likeness to my grandparents' farmhouse helped me. Lars introduced me to Anna, his wife.

"It is good to see you standing on your own legs," she said. "I was the one who found you, and I thought you was dead buy then."

I bowed and told her that I was grateful for their keeping me alive.

They had four children. Elizabeth, the oldest, whom I had seen the day before, was seventeen same as me. Hans, called after his grandfather, was fifteen years old, and looked just like his father. The two younger were twins and ten years old. They were called Christen and Johanne. I was tired, and with introductions done, Anna sent the children off to their chores.

We sat down in the kitchen, Lars, Anna and I. Something in Lars' smile to his wife reminded me of my granddad, and I became dizzy once again.

"Sorry," I said, "I think I still need more time to regain my strength."
"Please do not be inpatient about it," Anna said. "Sophie and Elizabeth have fought all winter to keep you alive. Please do not ruin their work by being impatient."

"I will do my very best." I said. "But I'll need some sedentary work in the weeks to come."

"You said you can do sums," Lars stated. "Soon the taxators will come, and I need help with my ledgers, normally the chaplain - the man you met yesterday - would aid me, but he is trying for a job somewhere else, where he can be the vicar, and not second in command ... Now it is time for a short rest for you, but afterwards you come to my office - come over and ask. Do not be stuffy, that is a waste of time - and we will see what you can do."

"I thank you for your great kindness," I began, then added: "That might seem stuffy, but I need to say it. I'll be back soon."

I walked through the snowdrfits to my room, really needing that sturdy staff to get back. I paused for a second to enjoy the view, then I relaxed in the warmth of the stable hands' room, shedding all but the undershift and took a short nap.

- - A - - B - - C - -

March 4 question - What elements do you include in your book launch? Or what do you have in mind for your future book launch? Or what advice do you have to offer to others planning to launch a book?

My reply - I've never done a book launch for a book of my own. But I've been a helper several times for others' book launches.
My advice - also to myself - would be:

• set the date long enough after promised printing and delivery  so that eventual adverse happenings won't stress you.
• get some themed snacks if at all possible.
• get enough snacks! Surplus will be eaten.
• keep speeches short and to the point.
• bring enough coins (and bills) for change if you plan to sell books.
• have wet wipes and clean rags handy.
• dress comfortably.
• bring at least three ball point pens. 
• DON'T PANIC!
  

Poetry Monday :: Breakfast in Bed

Poetry Monday - what's that? It is a blogging game, that Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over the hosting duties, mostly the supplying of the prompts - only temporarily we hope - while Diane at On the Border is taking a break for health and relaxation, travelling the world with her husband as far as we can tell.  We just hope she's going to take back over once she returns home.

The prompts now come from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog.

Today's prompt is: Breakfast in Bed.

Breakfast in bed leaves lots of crumbs
Thats why I alway give a 'Thumbs
Down' for breakfast in bed.

Too short, maybe, but my head is empty when it comes to creativity, and filled up with worries for the future. Elections are upcoming, this time for the parliament, not the local councils, but I can repeat what I posted last time around (October 2022): Only elections are not tomorrow. They are in three weeks, March 25th. Always on a Wednesday.

Scarier

and probably the worst poem, I ever wrote. Please, bear with me.

Now Halloween is scary
But Hallows eve has nary
A vampire's chance in hell
To scare me as tomorrow will ..
It is election day!

Tomorrow will be dreary
and leave me sad and weary
When all is said and done
and day has had its run
It is election day!

Tomorrow they'll be merry
The jesters. Hot and airy
is every word they say
like animals they bray.
It is election day!

Coming Themes  - - - - - - - -

taken from the 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group.

Mar 9 Meeting a Friend
Mar 16 Obsidian
Mar 23 Croissant
Mar 30 The Moon Tonight
Apr 6 Passover
Apr 13 Fabulous

Sunday Selection ~ Colour26

Service meddelelse for bloggere! ~ Service notification for Bloggers!

Hvis du vil være en succesfuld blogger, er der én ting du bliver nødt til at lære: Tryk på UDGIV, når du er færdig med at skrive!

When blogging an important thing to learn, is to press PUBLISH once you're done!

~ ~ ~ I forgot ~ jeg glemte det ~ ~ ~

Det bliver ikke til det store her til aften, men dette her billede af nymånen rammer i hvert faldmånedens farve

No great things tonigth, but this photo of the new moon fits the colour of the month.

Tak til Firefox Thank you, Firefox

Peter's Time Travel ~ Part 3

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
    When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
    Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to our mind.

This month the words are supplied by Lissa and are to be found on her blog.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today, Wednesday 25, we were given:
Train
Loop
Scream
Puzzle
Bowl
From which I did not use a single one. I just continued with my dream-tale of Peter's time travel.


Lars Hansen entered, now in a fine dress complete with a silver buttoned, striped waistcoat. I felt a tiny bit hysteric, and even more like participating in a play. Just the other day I had been a totally normal boy, going to school, tinkering with my moped, having a girl friend, a job, friends and family; playing my guitar, dreaming of the future ... now I lay all beaten up in an oversized shirt, 200 years before I should have been anything, with a mysterious journey to account for and three local bigwigs about to grill me.
 
Lars Hansen greeted me by the name of Peter Larsen. I was about to protest, but then I realized that as Lars was my father, Larsen was what I was, not my surname. Then he introduced the chaplain, Andreas Peter Madsen and the scribe Bengt Pedersen. Bengt sat at the table, pulled out a big ledger, an inkwell and some pens. Sophie lit the candles and brought two more stools. Lars and the chaplain sat down and looked at me.
The Chaplain asked: "What is your name?"
Careful not to lie or say anything to arose suspicion I replied: "I'm Peter, son of Lars. And my mother is called Ellen."
"Where do you live?"
"I do not remember," I replied. " My brain feels all hazy, stuffed like."
"How did you arrive here?"
Now I was on safer grounds: "Inside a big trunk. I had hidden in there from my smaller cousins - we played hide and seek. The trunk accidentally snapped shut, or was maybe shut by the owner. No, I do not remember his name either. He lived at my grandparents' place, but he was a strange person, keeping much to himself. Then the trunk - still with me inside - was pulled off, maybe put on some carriage, and suddenly there was a big sound like a cannon, I was shook up, I banged my head against the trunk more times. I fainted and then I awoke here."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen, I'll be eighteen in August." Again I was careful not to mention any years. Quickly I did some maths. Now was 1802, subtract 18, I should then if pressed, give my birth-year as 1784. I would rather not. Let the scribe do the maths.
"What did you do for a living?"
"I do not remember," I replied, selling cheeseburgers would be gibberish for farmers in 1802 I was sure, " I remember going to school, but noting more."
The chaplain waited for the scribe to finish, and asked him to read aloud. He did and I had trouble following what he said.
The three men left the room. Sophie gave me a glass of watered beer, and then we waited. The men  entered again.
"We have discussed what to do with you," the chaplain said. "And we have decided that until further notice you are to stay here at Lars Hansen's farm, get well, earn your living, and hopefully get your memory back. I will ask around and pray my fellow vicars to do the same, for somewhere a family is missing a son." He looked at me and added with something alike to pity: "Do not press our memory, give it time. Maybe it will return of its own accord. I expect to see you in church come Sunday."
 He and the scribe left and Lars asked the maid to get some more beer. Then he pulled up the stool, sat down and looked at me. "What work can you do?" he mused. "You do not look strong, and your hands look as if they had not done much work, even when first you arrived."
"I'll have to regain my strength," I said, stalling for time and inspiration.
"Yes of course, you look white as the sheets just by sitting. You need strengthening. But still what can you do? Were you a farmer?"
"I don't think so," I answered. "my grandfather was, but we visited only rarely."
"A blacksmith then?" He shook his head. "As I said, your hands were not calloused or scarred or anything even when you arrived. Was your father a tradesman or horsebreeder?"
"I don't remember," I answered again. "My memory feels like a slate someone has just recently swept clean. But I know how to read, I suppose I can also write, and I can do sums. I think I can even speak some English and German."
"Tradesman, then. Maybe from Elsinoer, maybe even Copenhagen or Bergen. Did you come from far away to visit your grandparents - and where do they live?"
"I do not remember even that. But yes, I do actually think we travelled quite far to visit them. They lived in a small town, Northern Zealand, but the name eludes me. Why, I can't recall their names either."
"You were also in a bad state when we found you, black and blue all over, and half frozen too. Many were the times we thunk you would not live through the night. The other man, he died. We buried him when the ground finally thawed last week. It has been a long, cold winter. All the other trunks and boards were also in bad ways, we have used them for kindling, or for small repairs. Only your trunk remains."

Sophie came, carrying beer and two mugs. Lars poured half a mug for me and a full one for himself. "All this thinking and talking is thirsty work," he said, and drank deeply of the beer.
I tried it too. It was thin and bitter, even bitterer that the cheap beer I had drunk Saturday night in town. But also not as strong, luckily, as getting drunk, or even just tipsy would not do, I was afraid to blabber or start crying. Neither would be smart. I suddenly remembered that I was dressed only in an oversized shirt and asked: "When you found me, in the trunk, was I then naked or do I still have some clothes of my own?"
"You were dressed in some strange rags," Lars replied.
Of course, a T-shirt and short jeans would be classified as this in 1802, I thought, but too late.
"We still have them somewhere. They were made of some very good materials, but they are in no way fitting clothes for a young man."
"Remember, it was hot, and I was on toddler duty," I said smiling a lopsided smile. "I'd very much like to have them back, maybe they can even aid my memory."

"I will ask Sophie to see to it. And now you eat and sleep. Tomorrow I return and see what work I can have you do."
"Thank you, Master." I replied.
"I do not think you should have to call me Master," Lars said. "You can call me Lars. I have a mind that you come from good stock."
With that he left, and shortly after Sophie returned with a tray of mashed potatoes, some slightly stale bread, a broiled piece of meat and two wrinkly apples. And my clothes. She left immediately, taking the candles with her, telling she was busy, as today was baking day.
I first ate everything on the plate and drank some more of the bitter beer. It went well with the salty meat. Why was it this salt? Thinking further on this I realised that electricity, at least useful electricity was yet to be invented. No electricity of course meant no refrigerators, no engines, no internet, 'phones, computers, no machinery at all. Also no tap water, flushing toilets or indeed most anything I was used to seeing as normal daily amenities. I looked around, Wooden furniture, made by hand, textiles, probably spun, woven, and sewn by Lars' wife and other female on the farm, if more than the wife and Sophie lived here. I had an idea that old farms were quite populated. All food grown locally. The ground ploughed by horses, the grains cut and threshed by men and maybe horsepower. Cows milked by hand ... the list of jobs on a farm was endless.

I slowly realised that almost everything I knew was now useless knowledge. I did not know enough of anything to really make it work. How would I for instance build a moped, or just a working engine of any sort even given a proper shop. I further realised that whatever skill I had, useful and useable in 1802, any village kid could do ten times better, having done so since they could barely walk.

I felt lost, abandoned. I hoped for a way to get home to my own time, but the only one who knew how, the mysterious lodger, had died and his equipment was smashed, burned or repurposed. I cried myself to sleep, hugging my old clothes.

... to be continued

Månedens farve ~ Marts ~ Colour of the Month

Månedens farve for marts er   ~  The Colour of the Month for March is

Vintergækker & erantis Early Spring Flowers - No Poetry

I søndags var verden stadig snedækket, og den store drive ovenpå vores kloakrist var stadig stor, Mandag var verden stadig stivfrossen, men der var noget ude på terrassen ...

-- 𑽇 --

Sunday the world around me was still covered in snow, and the big drift on top of the storm drain was not visibly smaller.
Monday the world was still frozen, the drift a wee bit smaller, but outside in a dry spot something grew ...

Støvregn og tusmørke hele dagen er ikke godt for billedkvaliteten, men jeg tror vi alle sammen genkender erantis og vintergækker på dette billede!

-- 𑽇 --

Murky weather makes for unclear photos, but these are snowdrops and eranthis, the archetypical Danish early spring flowers.

  -- 𑽇 -- 𑽇 --   

Og så glemte jeg at trykke på udgiv.

Der kommer ikke noget mandagsdigt i denne omgang, jeg havde travlt og var til møde, og Doughnut inspirerede mig bare slet ikke.

-- 𑽇 --

And I forgot hitting "Publish" sorry.

There'll be no Poetry for this Monday. I was busy and just returend home from a meeting. And Doughnut  did not inspire me.



  - - - - - - - Coming Themes  - - - - - - - -

taken from the 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group.

Feb 23 Doughnut (today)
Mar 2 Breakfast in Bed
Mar 9 Meeting a Friend
Mar 16 Obsidian
Mar 23 Croissant
Mar 30 The Moon Tonight
Apr 6 Passover
Apr 13 Fabulous

Sunday Selection ~ Colour26

Så er det sidste søndag med Electric rose, og jeg nåede helt frem til aftenkaffen før jeg fandt noget med den relevante farve - vores krus

Today is the last Sunday with Electric rose, and I made it all the way to our after dinner coffee before spotting our mugs.

Tøvejrstristesse ~ Thawing Downs

"Det skal være galt før det bliver godt," siger Pippi og et gammelt mundheld. Men alligevel.
    I går så min verden sådan her ud: Kold, klar og frisk at være ude i. Jeg mugede ud hos hønsene, og mine fingre frøs næsten af. Og jeg nød det, for jeg vil altså meget hellere muge iskolde, stivfrosne hønseklatter end våde, skimlede hønseklatter og ditto halm.

  -- ❅ -- 

"It will get worse before it gets better", says Pippi Longstocking, citing an old saying. I an clinging to this right now.
Yesterday the world looked like this. I cleaned out the chicken coop, and almost forze off my fingers. It was just below ferrzing (-2C / 30 F), but the windchill made it feel much colder. And I loved it! Cold, clear, crisp air that smells as fresh as the clear, blue sky.
I much prefer frozen stiff hen crap to soggy, mouldy chichen crap.

Vi fik et lille drys sne i går aftes, og jeg skyndte mig ud og kastede et par senbolde, heldigvis, for til formiddag så det sådan her ud:

  -- 💧 -- 

We had some snow yesterday after dark, and I went out and threw some snowballs at the roadsign - no hits this time. Today it looked like this:

Nu er sneen 'rådden' og ikke til at have med at gøre. De frosne områder er spejlbalanke og glatte som is (det ER is), og det er fugtigt og væmmeligt. Selvom det ikke er rigtig koldt.
    Jeg måtte ud og grave en masse tung, våd og delvis frossen og sammenkørt sne væk. Hver eneste gang det sner, skubber sneplovene nemlig sneen sammen lige ovenpå kloakristen i vejen udenfor vores hus. Når det så tør, ender det med en enorm vandpyt lige for enden af vores indkørsel.
    Jeg har ikke fået varmen endnu selvom det nu er 3 grader varmt (~38 F) , men den fugtige, klamme kulde ligesom kravler ind under tøjet og gør mig meget mere kold end frosten og blæsten gjorde i går.
    Lad os håbe, det snart bliver bedre - lig med sol og tørvejr! Indtil da vil jeg spille computerspil, skrive, sy og strikke og lave sæbe.

  -- 💧 -- 

Now the snow is rotten and impossible to play withdeal with. The frozen areas are as slippery as ice (it IS ice), and everything is damp and yucky. Even if it is not really cold.
    I had to go out and dig away a lot of heavy, wet, partially frozen and compacted snow. Every time it snows, the snow ploughs push the snow right over the storm drain in front of our house. When the snow then thaws, it ends up as a huge puddle right at the end of our driveway.
    I haven't warmed up yet, even though it's now around 3 degrees Celsius (~38 F), but the damp, clammy cold creeeps under my clothes and makes me feel much colder than the frost and wind did yesterday.
Let's hope it gets better soon – better means sunshine and dry weather! Until then, I'll play computer games, write, sew, knit and make soap.

Using the Words to continue Peter's Time Travel

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
    When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
    Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to our mind.

This month the words are supplied by Lissa and are to be found on her blog.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

 It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

So Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

Wednesday 11, we were given these words:
Heartbreak
Cheeseburger
Postcard
Aterlife
Beachcomb
 
From which I only used Heartbreak and Cheeseburger.

Wednesday 18, we were given:
Kerplunk
Erase
Meek
Plead
Tenacious

I begin where I left off last time. Even repeating the last line. Let me see how many of these words I can work into this story - which for the record I have already written, at least as a draft, Monday and Tuesday. 

Could I really have gone back in time?

Almost before this thought had fastened itself in my mind, the door opened and the woman entered. This time with an older man in tow.

"You are finally awake," the man said. I nodded, carefully. "I am Lars Hansen, the farmholder." He continued, "Now it is time for me to find out who you are and what to do about you. What is your name?"

"I'm Peter," I answered truthfully, "and my father is Lars, my mother is Ellen."
"I do not know of any other Lars in these parts, and I'm sure you're not my son," he replied.
I did not know if he was joking or scolding. His voice was flat, but his eyes were twinkling just a bit. I replied: "I don't think so either."
He smiled encouragingly at me and said. "Tell me more, how did you arrive here?"

"I don't really know," I said, confusion and longing for my home and family almost overcoming me. "We were visiting my grandparents, and I played with my smaller cousins trying to keep them out of their parents' hair ..."
"And hating every minute of it, I dare bet," Lars interrupted me, now smiling a bit more.
"Well, yes, almost ... we played hide and seek. And then I hid away in a large, battered trunk, belonging to a lodger at my grandparents' farm. Then it snapped shut. Or maybe was snapped shut. I dared not yell, first so as not to be found, later on because I knew I was in a wrong place. Then the trunk was moved with me still inside. And after some more time, still moving along, all of a sudden there was a lot of big noises and colours, just like ..." I was about to say like an explosion, or a bomb, but I was unsure that he would know of these and continued "... like someone shot a cannon at the trunk from up close. Then, kerplunk, it landed somewhere, rolling, and beating me up even more. I do not remember anything coherently before awakening in this here bed."

"This tallies," Lars said. "I maybe should not tell you this, but early in the morning we heard a big noise, just like a cannon, followed by some more noise. When the sun rose, we went out and found you and a broken trunk and some strange debris inside our barn. I have to get the authorities. I will be back with them soon." With this Lars Hansen left the room.

The woman stayed near the bed, and I asked her if she could please turn on the light as I wanted to read a bit more.
"'Turn on' the light?" she repeated, "You do not turn on a light, you light it, but we have decided that you need to be better before we trust you with a candle. You might forget to extinguish it before falling asleep. I get you some porridge, and then you have to get out of bed for a short while."

She returned with a more substantial meal, and when I had eaten it, she helped me from the bed to the stool. I was very weak, the world spun and it was tough sitting on the stool while she changed the bedding and shook out the pillows. Then she pulled the big shirt off me, helped me into another clean, but still oversized one and back into bed. It was good to lie down.
"You will need to be awake and sit up again when Master returns with the authorities. But take a small rest. I will return."

I slept again, and woke when she returned, carrying a candleholder with three candles in it. This she placed on the table and helped me sit, propped up by pillows, She tried to reassure me: "Master will be here soon. He brings the chaplain and a scribe. You speak politely to them, be meek and subdued, and address them as Master or Pastor."
"Thank you." I said, "and how should I call you?"
"I am Sophie, a maid," she replied.
"Thank you Sophie," I said.

I was tense, afraid to say something that would make them suspicious, still afraid to admit, even to myself that I was lost in time, with no hope of ever seeing my family again. I decided that to plead ignorance would be my best bet. Maybe even telling that I suffered from amnesia. That would indeed explain my ignorance. I pondered. The trunk, or maybe the trunks all together had to be some kind of time travelling equipment. I had more questions than answers. Had the lodger travelled with me? Where was he? What about the equipment, and could it bring me back home again? I was a tinkerer at heart, and just maybe I could make it work again. At least it would be worth a try.

... to be continued.

And for the curious, yes I have written down the whole story. It'll be posted in smaller chunks.
Maybe I won't have the patience to wait until Wednesday with the next instalments.