The War against the Weeds part 1

Let the Weedwar begin! 

Today (May 7th) was 2013's first sunny day with temps above 10C. The Goutweed has already started to grow. That friggin piece of weed is the worst kind of enemy. It is almost impossible to get rid of, because it spreads like a plague. The kind of toxic you would need to get rid of it, would be illegal to buy in stores. That's how badass this mofo is.

Not even alphabetical order in my garden...

It's supposed to be a herb used as medicine in the old days. Among other qualities, it is used as a remedy to ease arthritic pains, which is rather ironic. I haven't ever tested it. All I know is that the torturous aching I'm experiencing having to pull it up, is killing me.

We've attacked() the garden hedge. The part of the hedge that divides our garden with the neighbour – the old hedge that our former neighbour planted, that we hadn't really bothered with, since it wasn't ours and the former neighbours had very specific rules for what to do with it - had more or less turned into a jungle. We needed a friggin chainsaw for some of the branches. Don't get hedges, peeps, if you can avoid it. It is so much work to keep them trimmed. And cutting it is only half the job. Afterwards you have to get rid of all the cut off branshes, etc. Since our hedge is surrounding all of our garden, this means we have to carry it around to the other side of the house, or lift every branch one by one over the hedge to get it on the trailer. We only have a normal sized trailer, which means we'd be driving back and forth for a week... We decided to borrow FIL's twig chopper instead.  

Similar to what this lady is using

It is also taking forever. It is taking forever and a half and it is B.O.R.I.N.G. I worked for two days last week to get half of it chopped and cleared. It's enough to make you weep, I tell yah! Yesterday we started trimming the rest of the hedge. My arms and shoulders still ached like crazy from last week, so Runar had to chop the branches himself. He wasn't happy. I had to pay him in beers+++ He'll have to slave some more after work today, before it's done.

It has to be done this week by Thursday the latest. It is our national day this Friday. All gardens are supposed to be fixed and ready for that day. With spring coming so late, it has been a race to get it done. I've planted pansies in two of my urns. They can handle a frost night or two. The rest will have to wait. Not even tulips are flowering yet, which shows how late spring is this year...

Later this summer, or whenever we find the time, we have to cut down the old sick apple tree and a couple of birch trees. The biggest one needs to be cut in half to avoid it falling on houses and killing people...ugh, not looking forward to that. It will involve Simen climbing up in the tree with a chainsaw, while Runar is standing on the ground shouting out instructions.

And what's up with the lawn? Seems ours is just moss and weed. I've used fertilizer and some kind of  lawn-cleaner-moss-killer magic stuff that cost me the whites off me eyes.

Most likely I'll be mowing the lawn twice as often and the weeds will have a ball until the snow comes next winter  <.<

Up at Vintland the winter has barely lost it's grip. Not much is growing up there yet...




We had a great time visiting Helene. I got us lost a couple of times - as is what a proper roadtrip is like, right?!? I'll get a blog post up when I've gotten the photos.

Magic

Do you have some? I could need some magic. Sometimes medicine can be magic, but other times it just doesn't do the trick.  They've warned the general public about extreme pollen, this spring. My kid sister woke up with blisters on and around her eyes. She didn't realize she even had allergies. Thankfully allergy meds helped.

I went a month from before Easter until about a week ago with constant fever and inflammation. The arthritis meds just didn't seem to do the trick. I was able to do less and less and even thinking about moving my right arm, hurt like hell. Yesterday my doc gave me a cortisone shot. Holy mackerel! 

 The shot itself wasn't bad, I mean, the shoulder/arm hurt before, during and afterwards. Ways afterwards it was like a furnace was living inside it, but this morning I woke up and what do you know, I can actually move my arm. Magic!

She chewed me out for not seeing her earlier. That seems to be the basics of our relationship... I am being sick in all the wrong ways. I need to learn how to be sick the right way. I need to learn to be loud and articulate about the inflammations and the fever and not wait it out in silent misery.

It sounds stupid, I know, but that is an impossibly big ocean to cross for me. I am not quite sure why it is like this, although I am fully aware that it is some kind of built-in defense mechanism at large, but for some reason I pretend everything is fine, until I am so sick I'm barely conscious. This is stupid and I know this, but when I get really sick, this knowledge-that-I-know-so-well goes *poof* out the window. Like magic. The bad type of magic. 

I haven't quit smoking yet. I've used all the excuses out there and then some. Talk about bad magic. I need some amazeballmagic to work this one out. Hubby has decided to help motivate me. He now refers to me as a drug addict. Drug addicts have limited access to everything(I think this means everything fun). Not the amazeballmagic I dreamt of, but it's what I've got, so I'll have to just make it work...

The snow is gone and I've been on my first few hiking trips in the woods with Georg. This is good magic all around. I need to get back to our regular hiking trips with my friend Marianne and her English Cocker Spaniel; Noori.

I need to get my house and garden up to par. Now that I can move my arm again, I'm ready to get to work. I just have to remember taking babysteps. Therein lies my challenge. The list is a long one and it's gotten longer over the winter. It will take time. I have all the time I need. It's not a problem. My lack of patience is my problem. I have to learn to take on one item at a time, instead of five. I need some good magic to do this too.

Saw the dentist the other day. The new dentist is a young lady. Gorgeous looking and sweet. My former dentist was old, grey, serious as a grave and constantly referring to me as Mrs Jakobsen. The new one is all smiles and happiness and considerate about my issues with coffee and nicotine stains. Before I knew it I had made a deal about seeing her twice a year.  Ridiculous, I know. I haven't had any cavities for years and years. The dentist is over-the-top expensive. I fear dentists like the plague. To the point where the dentist assistant needs to call me a week, or less, before my appointment, so that I don't have time to worry myself into a fullblown panic attack. Now I'm going through this twice a year? Just because of a gorgeous looking, sweet female smiled to me in such a nice way while telling me that seeing her an extra time a year would give me a prettier smile... Sneaky magic at work here. The word "sucker" echoes through my mind.

 In two weeks my friend Ellen and I are visiting Helene. We'll be sharing a double room. She's shared beds with me before and can handle all the weird stuff I do in my sleep. There will be a festival going on the weekend we're there. I'll be taking Helene shopping. There will be lunch with alcohol. It'll be fun. It'll be magic.
  

The Widow

 Sometimes I can look at a drawing, a painting, or a photo of a person and wonder what their story is. My mind wanders and meanders down roads and trails, wondering how it must be to be somebody else. 

What is she seeing, the widow standing on the balcony? Is she seeing her future? Is she crying and drying her tears thinking of her future life without her love, without her strong, handsome prince by her side… Or perhaps she isn’t crying, perhaps she isn’t really, truly morning her loss of husband at all.

Her gown looks expensive, elegant but simple at the same time. In a way it makes her appear more appealing. It makes me wonder what her life has been like up to now. Does she have kids? Does she have a job? Does the toll of everyday life bring her down? Is she so weary when the night comes that she is unable to fall asleep? Lying awake wondering how on earth she’ll manage to get through the next day. Too worn out to think further ahead than the next day. Has she ever wondered how fast she can run to the daycare centre when her car broke down on her way home from work, and she just missed the bus?

Or is her life totally different? The kind of life I quite frankly know nothing about. What would that have been like? Perhaps she has been spending her days planning a huge household. Overseeing servants and gardeners and whatnot. Perhaps she’s been busy driving her children to private schools and picking them up to take them to ballet classes or golf. Who knows?

Perhaps she has a secret lover somewhere just waiting to court her or her husband’s younger brother. What is she seeing, the widow standing on the balcony?

Chimney Fire, hot firemen and how I almost likely saved the world

Saturday we had a chimney fire. Not the good kind of fire, where you light up and sit and watch the fire tongues and hear the crackling logs, but the scary type where you have to call the fire station and ask for help.

hot hot hot

I woke up Saturday and there was this odd smell in the house. To tell you the truth, it friggin' stank! It was like a bunch of Frost Giants had camped in our house frying hotdogs made of iron ore rock on melted lava.

The Chimney sweeper had been here Wednesday and cleaned out our chimney. I thought all was well. I figured the stench came from us removing the ash from the chimney hatch was the cause.
 

I had bought the Hobbit DVD. Simen and I had been waiting for this movie and he was just as excited as I was to watch it. Simen jumped out of bed, but claimed the right to wear PJs all day as he was too worn out to dress. I didn't bother to argue. Hubby saw this as a cue to get back to bed and I told him that was a good idea, because I didn't want him to ruin the movie by his negative comments about hobbits, trolls and wargs not existing.

When we were about half way into the movie the stench had gotten a lot worse and when I checked the chimney it was too hot to touch. I told the sleeping hubby I was calling the fire station to ask them for advice. He mumbled something, I took it as a solid Y.E.S. The fireman asked a bunch of questions and I told him that no, there were no flames coming out of the chimney, just a really bad stink and the chimney being hot as hell. He said he'd send up to check. I warned the hubby and he reluctantly got up and got semi dressed, as in he put  on jeans, but couldn't be bothered to button them up. Simen hid in his room as he was still refusing to wear anything but PJs.

Georg offering a slobbering hug

A young hotlooking firemen came and checked, called someone and then informed us that a firetruck was on it's way. While he was walking up the stairs, Georg stood drooling on top of the stairs ready to greet this stranger. Most of the colour in the young fireman's face drained in a second. I told him that Georg wasn't dangerous, only big. Oddly enough, he didn't seem to agree....

Looking like shite and stinking as if we're smoking dirty socks

Minutes later a huge red firetruck pulled into our driveway with hot looking firemen in full "armour" grinning like crazy, while I stood on the steps hiding my face in embarrassment thinking about what the neighbours would be gossiping about now. I was also worried about the messy house, that I hadn't had the energy to clean this weekend, due to fever. I was certain they'd think we has smoked dirty socks, because I swear it stank that bad!

The firemen were great. They saved the chimney, the house and the day!


Sunday, Simen spent puking his guts out - either from a stomach bug, or exhaustion or a combo of both. I was in a coma on the couch as the fever refused to let go and hubby had to go to his parents for dinner.

Seriously, I'm willing to swap bodies with anybody. So sick of being sick

 He found that enormously unfair, as he hates dinnerparties and said he wished he was sick and could stay home like us. I said I'd gladly swap bodies and that actually I was so ready to swap bodies, I would have run after and abducted an alien and swapped bodies with it, if hubby would just find me one. He told me I was a sick, sick person. I agreed. He then went and bought popcorn and coke to us, so I knew he loved us and told him so. He said it was because he was afraid I'd go alien hunting and that I'd likely molest a completely innocent and nice non-alien person, because I had that desperate glint in my eyes and he wanted to save the rest of the world from me by making me just stay at home. I told him that if I'd go alien hunting I'd probably find one and I would most definitely try to persuade it to swap bodies with me and that it would probably be so scared it would not only leave earth with all it's mates, it would put up warning signs to let other alien species know they had better leave planet earth alone, because there were dangerous women on it. He told me to go to sleep and stop talking...


PS! I couldn't find any pictures on Google to go with my post, so I had to make them myself. I only have Paint and an ordinary mouse pad.

PPS! Ugly art is also art. Just sayin'...

A New Beginning

She had to go through with it. Somehow, some way she had to find the courage to do what was needed. What she was destined to do; what she was born to do.

“Ma’am? Madam…it is time.”

But how? How was she supposed to say goodbye to all of this? How was she supposed to say goodbye to Richard, Natalie, little Baby Em…oh, how her heart ached just thinking of sweet Baby Em. Those innocent violet eyes, so loving, so trusting…and that was why she was here, wasn't it? Why she had to go through with it. If she wanted to save Baby Em and all those she loved, if she wanted to save the lives of everybody, all those who had been and all those who will be. If she wanted this world to continue existing, she would have to do what she was destined to do all her life. And now it was time.

“Yes, Ronald dearest. It is time”

Jocelyn lifted her long, white, thin gown and walked towards the doors, stopping at the threshold she took a last glance at her room and out through the large domed windows at a dying world. A barren, brown world of sand and rock and dust. A world where volcanoes poisoned the air and coloured the sky dark, red and murky brown. There had been another downpour of ash-rain last week. The entire city had worked nonstop to clean it up for today's ceremony.

“Which balcony will I greet the people from, The Royal balcony or the temple one?”

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her mentor as she glided past him. Her features serene, a fixed half smile upon her lips. Large solemn green eyes scanning the hallway up and down, always alert and prepared for the unexpected. For those who didn’t know her as well as he, she seemed as usual; forever calm and serene, like a proper queen ought to appear.

“The one at the temple, my Lady,” Roland replied and held out his left arm to let her take the lead, then followed five paces behind, taking up the gown's train, surreptitiously scanning the surroundings for potential danger.

She was Roland’s beloved queen Jocelyn, had been his charge and student for almost three centuries. His heart bled for her, she knew. Even though others could not see it, it was there in his eyes. The pain, and the guilt. She knew he was able to see the telltales of her crying, because no amount of makeup could hide it from him. 

Through centuries of unrest, warfare and biological disasters, he had tried. He had always known; she believed he had known from the day he laid eyes on her, that she was different and in some ways special. That destiny - no, destinies - flowed around and about her. History waiting to happen, or never to happen at all. He had prepared her for this, although for 3 whole centuries now, he had worked very hard for this never to happen, for this day never to take place. He had failed. As he had told her he would. He never quite accepted it. He still couldn’t, but with this last development, there could be no other way. 

He did at last officially accept that he had failed. Deep down she knew he still firmly believed there was another way, but they had failed to find it. And for this reason, he had asked her to kill him, had begged her actually. He; the Master of History and his Queen’s Master of Protocols; the always correct and seemingly cold-hearted man of proper protocol, tradition and reason, he had begged on his knees, sniveling like a little boy who’d been caught stealing from the kitchens. Begged to be killed, to be allowed to die and never having to experience what was about to happen.

Jocelyn stood before the balcony entrance; she inhaled deeply, blew out air and stepped through. An avalanche of sound cascaded against her senses, people cheering and then as the deafening cacophony of cheers ebbed out, singing began. Softly at first until the song was all there was, all she heard, all anybody could hear. She was glad she didn’t have to speak; she doubted she was able of getting anything coherent past the lump in her throat. She let her gaze take it all in; her castle, her city - the last of her once so large peaceful, prosperous world. Her people. Her daughter.

She turned her gaze slightly and there on the balcony next to the one she was standing in, was her Baby Em. The future Queen and protector of the world.

Emilie, whose violet eyes reminded Jocelyn of Em’s father, Luke - the love of her life. He had given his life so that Jocelyn could live and Em be born. She felt a shiver coming and swallowed hard to stop the tears threatening to start flowing.  She took another deep breath and quickly turned her gaze the other way, catching sight of Roland from the corner of her eye. Roland, her protector, mentor and the closest thing to a father she had ever known. She raised her hand in salute and turned towards her Master of Protocol. No words were necessary; they had already said all that was needed to be said. She knew this was just as hard for him as it was for her, if not worse. After all, he was the one who had to continue on after she was gone. He had told her he had failed, begged her to let him die, but she could not allow that. She needed him to continue living, to continue being for Baby Em, what he had been for her. Prepare her for what was to one day come. Continue searching for another way, another solution.

The crowd had turned silent now. Everybody waiting, some in terror and fear, some with hope, but nobody uttered a single word.

Jocelyn held her arms out slightly and two maids caught her gown as she let it slide off her shoulders, she rested her hand lightly on Roland’s shoulder as she slipped out of her golden slippers, then she walked up the steps to the dais built so that it looked as if it was hanging in the air above the people. On the dais was the huge bronze gate. She walked naked to the left side of the huge circular bronze sculpture to where two bronze arms nestled a crystal ball in their bronze hands. As she pressed her right hand over the ball, the sphere between the frames of the gate cracked as if thousands of lightning bolts were trapped within. She turned and faced them all one last time, and then with a bow she turned and walked through.

Roland watched and thought his heart would literally break apart. Then everything turned white. He could see nothing but white, there was nothing but white noise in his ears. Colors whirled past and with a loud “pop” he was back on the balcony. The dais with the gate was gone, his queen was gone. He turned around and with tears streaming down his face he looked out upon a world in full bloom, a new world in late spring. 

As he stood watching, the cheers from the people rose up again. Their Queen had done it; she had saved them all and given birth to a new world full of life and hope. No trace of volcanoes were left. The sky was blue and clear. He breathed in and sighed.  He looked down and there was Baby Em wobbling towards him, giggling in her usual way. Bending down catching her before she fell, he lifted her up in his arms

“There you are, My Queen,” he said solemnly pointing his finger towards the blooming new world “A new beginning, given to us all by your mother’s sacrifice. Let us do our best to prevent you from ever having to do the same, shall we?”

The otherwise giggling toddler watched him with big serious eyes, then nodded once and gave the kind old man a hug.

Story writing - A challenge

I am starting a new project. Or that is, I am restarting an old project. Writing down some of the many stories residing in my head.  As those of you who have known me for a while know, I love stories. I love reading them and I love making them. I just don't love writing them down. My written words seem to steal away all colour and magic from my stories.

I read an interesting blog the other day by the author of The Termite Queen; Lorinda J. Taylor http://termitewriter.blogspot.no/2013/04/some-thoughts-aimed-at-writer-with.html  Where she expresses her curiosity for those who are afraid, or lack the confidence to publish their stories. She never worried about this, she says. She writes stories for the love of doing it. Not caring much about the rest.

I saw this post on Neil Gaiman's site http://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/47903123398/bigdamncalligraphy-so-i-did-this-pair-of-quotes Where he says to make art and not to worry about whether it is good or bad.

Maybe the reason I don't love actually writing down my stories, is because of fear. Fear of the stories being bad. Fear that my grammar and sentence structure is not up to par.

Maybe another reason for my writing being bad and stealing away all the magic and the colour is because I lack practice.

That just won't do.

I'm going to start posting some of my stories on this blog. I'm going to start writing down some of the stories that are still only existing in my head and posting them here. I'm going to stop caring about all the rest. That is probably a big lie, but I'm going to do it anyway.

You can read them, or not. I'll label them so you can choose to avoid them. You can comment on them and help me improve my writing, or not.  you can leave a link to your own stories if you like in the comment section. It's up to you. Just as it is up to me to write and post them. The beauty of blogs. I get to decide what gets posted and you get to decide what gets read.

Sometimes an inch is just enough

I've been and I am struggling with the beast of depression these days. (As if you haven't already noticed by the whiny self-pitying garbage I posted last - My apologies). I don't have a shrink, not because I don't believe they do a lot of good, but because I don't feel comfortable with them. I don't take antidepressants, not because I don't believe in them, but because I fear being medicated more than I fear depression itself. I'm stubborn, set in my ways and like to do things my way. It's just how I roll.

I know that forcing myself to be physically active, socializing and keeping up with my daily routine is a means to fight depression that actually works. Sometimes I set myself goals that are simply too high for my general state of mind and health. The ghost of high expectations is a tough mistress to please, indeed. I'm sure you've met her a time or two. She gets around.

Yesterday, all I really wanted was to get back to bed and hide under my blanket. Even the news were enough to tear me up. It was as bad as it gets. I spent most of the day trying to figure out a way to sneak out of an agreement I'd made with my best friend, Ellen. I was to join her and some colleagues of hers and go to a concert. I hadn't been to a concert in years. I hadn't been out with my friends for more than a year. This was a big thing and something I really looked forward to. Until a week ago.

I was a complete mess and in my mind I was not fit for the rest of the world at all. I was a walking disaster and out there all kinds of disasters were waiting around every corner. A collusion of nuclear dimensions was just waiting to happen. I was dead certain of it.

I also knew that if I stripped away everything that was not completely rational and logical, this was exactly what I needed.

I ended up going. I think it saved my sanity

Anne Grete Preus is a female artist and a total wizard on guitars. She rocks with electric guitars and a band and she rocks alone with an acoustic. Last night was only her and her guitars.  She's not everybody's cup of tea, but her songs are honest and they have meaning. Most of her songs are of the melancholy type and I had to work so fucking hard not to have a complete breakdown. I didn't. I clutched my glass of wine, praying it wouldn't shatter and focused on breathing in and out a few times, yes, but the glass held. I held. I went home feeling better than I have in a long time.

One song in particular spoke to me last night. It resonated with the strings in my brain and her words rang true. Because sometimes an inch is just enough.  

She sings in Norwegian. I pretended I was a ninja and translated a couple of her songs. They are more or less impossible to translate, but since I pretended I was a ninja, I pretended that was not so and gave it a go anyhow.

I searched Youtube and found a clip of her singing at a gay Accept concert. Anne Grete herself is gay and married the woman of her dreams a while back. (PS! the song starts at 0:56 for those who don't want to listen to Nøøørwish)

An Inch(Millimeter)

You can mount the highest mountain to explore your inner strenght
or study law for years and years to sit on the laywer's bench
Sharpen up your mind
Reading books by the miles
 Or working hard to afford floors of golden tiles

Ref:

But sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough

Low and lite has more power than much, full and a lot
 Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

You can long for an eternity after long, humid nights
Or long for true love even with your cards held tight
Never find peace and rythm here
allways looking round the next bend
believing that others' praise is not another word for pretend

But sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough

Low and lite has more power than much, full and a lot
Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

A single moment an eternity
Depends on your perspective
A single little clever thought
can change how you will percive it
The art is to hold your head high and keep your back free

        

But sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough

Low and lite has more power than much, full and a lot
Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

Sometimes, sometimes an inch is just enough
One little inch enough

...

Ain't that the truth of it. Sometimes an inch is enough. Only one little inch enough, perhaps, but enough all the same. It doesn't matter if you can't be the best, the fittest, the strongest, etc. Sometimes being just good enough, just fit enough and just strong enough to get you by is enough. The art lies in holding your head high.

Food for thought, huh?

Be proud of what and who you are, not what and who you could have been if only...



PS! I'm letting the artist know I've done a ninja-translation of her song. If she doesn't like it or prefers it removed, this post will be deleted.