What my brain spewed out...

...when I realized how long it had been since I last blogged and knew I only had tonight to do it. 



First, Marianne is back to her good, old self. The swelling went away the fourth day. She had her last pills today, thankfully. Dogs get as low-energy as humans when on antibiotics. Poor baby. She hasn't wanted to go near that field where she got bit, afterwards. Lets all cross fingers she's learnt.


This is when we got back from the vet and the morphine kicked in. She was afraid to lay down, since the mouth hurt so bad. I had to help her, in the end. She was out for several hours and when she woke, she felt a lot better and her appetite was back....or perhaps it was the drug-munchies?







We missed Simen

Tuesday we're off to her 1 year old check up at the vet. Should be fun. She really impressed me at the emergency Vet. She hadn't been to a vet before, but took to all the instruments, benches, noisy machines and other sick animals, like a pro. The Vet could do whatever she wanted to, but when she touched the lips(?) she cried out miserably.





The shark slippers are finished.













I had to turn down a visit from a friend. That really and truly sucked. With Runar having so much to do with his new business and his stress level being as it is, I just couldn't make it happen in a way that would be an enjoyable experience. He is a gracious and understanding friend, which makes it doubly bad. But, I have promised myself to get better at saying no, rather than forcing myself to manage more than I can handle. The visit will happen and when it does, I'll likely be happy it got postponed. I hope. Part of me fears there is a train that has left and will never return. I hate that little miserable voice in the back of my mind. Someone ought to find a way to permanently stomp that dude and tell the rest of us.


I got tax refund. I didn't think I would. Very pleasant surprise, that.

 Drought has stolen all the colours. This little fellow is usually pinkish purple



Tuesday we took the boat out and ate supper sammies on an island. The drought is making everything look rather sad, to be honest. It's crazy dry. My lawn is a yellowish-brown dried out joke. Simen, bless his soul, managed to keep my flowers alive. Mostly. I love that boy.

Tuesday night, I wanted to strangle him slowly to death a time, or ten.

He had forgotten a fish in a plastic bag on the floor inside the boat. You cannot imagine the stink. I had to remove the rotten mesh and dry it up. G.R.O.S.S. We had to leave the hatch open the entire trip and we left the boat open, making Simen go down to close up late at night before going to bed. He had to clean the boat a later day. Grrrowl!

This one hasn't sprung out and doesn't know about the colours having been stolen, yet. Crude awakenings to come. Å, Jah!









 Next week, Helene and her Runar is coming home. Juhuu!









I'm crocheting a new summer hat for myself. Like this, but white.












The big cousin get-together up at the farm, is happening August 1st. None of us sisters has had the guts to start any serious planning. Runar has already started dying. It can't be helped, he'll just have to die gracefully around me, or suffer the consequences. I'm working on my mean streak this summer.

I got my hair fixed, yesterday. And my brows. I thought they got too dark and tried scrubbing the colour off with eye makeup remover.

I now have very sore and very red eyebrows. They're still just as too dark. Nobody can see that they're coloured and that I regretted it, tried to fix it and failed. Miserably. Nobody.    
Snort!


My attempt at a selfie, showing off my new caps. My photographic skillz still suck balls.  

I HAVE BEES IN MY GARDEN, but I will never be able to live off my photography,

I know that very well. It's a mystery why I keep at it...but I do.

I HAS BEES IN MAH GARDEN!

Suddenly I love my messy old garden. It may not be pretty, but at least the bees like visiting and that ought to mean something, doesn't it?

As I said; I'll never be a photographer
You can nearly see half of her

Yes I know it's a she-bee*



*expl. will follow




It's a bee!

It looks like she's flying without wings, even though she's obviously carrying big yellow bags.


 It is living proof of bees still exist and the world isn't going to end. At least not tomorrow.

These are rose leaves. Interesting. Below them and in the background, you can barely see a bee. Do-it-yourself-zoom-in-style

Notice how I also broke the Don't-take-standing-pictures-rule? Skillz. Pure skillz.













Oh, see, a cut rose stalk. Fascinating.

I'm a big fan of impulsive clicking.    Uncontrollably.     You can always trust that method. Nothing good, or interesting ever comes from it.








Honestly? I'm terrible. I don't know how my phone camera works. Half the time I can't find the zoom button. I just can't seem to dig up the interest of learning it. I'm having a classical old-people-archetypes moment with everything regarding cellphones.


This is me while experiencing a crash course of camera functions given by Simen. He is clicking the button just when I'm exclaiming; I can see me!

I am really trying here, peeps. Can you see all that enthusiasm? I amaze me sometimes.














I really should learn how to take better pictures.



PS! I apologize for incessant use of sarcasm.

PPS! ...not really.

Speaking in public

I'm a member of the Norwegian Humanist Assosiation and have been a local board member the last 4-5 years. This month is when we hold our annual Coming-of-Age Ceremony. Hubby, Simen and I have been helping out with the ceremony as many years, because we appreciate the year long program-course with emphasis on respect and tolerance of others, that the kids are taking part of and the beautiful ceremony that is held to honor our young teenagers that will grow up to become pillars of our community.

The ceremony is April 26th. This week we had a summary meeting with both teens and parents. Thursday is the big rehearsal. I had to step in as a chairperson for the meeting.


Speaking in public freaks me out so bad. I know it  sounds weird. I've worked as a teacher, how can that be possible.

I don't mind a classroom full of kids, or adults for that matter - when I started out as a teacher, many of the students were twice my age.

 Put me on a stage with a microphone and I die a million times inside. It takes all I've got to not just crumble down and faint.

 I'm much more comfortable helping out behind the stage, so to speak. Being responsible for the catering, rigging, cleaning, etc. This year, however, all the other boardmembers and course leaders were away, or at their regular jobs.

Thankfully I only got 4 days' notice. If I had known for longer, I'd probably ended up institutionalized. My old mentor and former teacher-colleague had made a powerpoint presentation with notes, the wonderful young course leaders (former Coming-of-Age participants) agreed to take care of the course summary, etc, so there really weren't much left to do for me. I still had to do the welcome and go through the practical information about the ceremony. It was enough for a brainmelt. I did what I always do with things way outside my comfort zone. I go ahead and try not think about it, because it's a job and the job needs to be done regardless.

• I completely forgot to present myself. A few parents approached me afterwards and politely asked my name. Sooo embarrassing. It's like I was raised in a barn with no manners

• I miss-pronounced several of the participants' names during the name-call. (although this is one of the points with the meeting, making sure the participants' names are correct and pronounced correctly)

• Sweat ran down my face. In friggin' rivers. I tried to wipe it off discreetly, but with 150 people watching? Nah...

• I messed up a few times and had the whole room break out in loud laughter 

• I did manage to bring up everything I was supposed to and my voice didn't shake - which was my biggest fear. 

I was so much in a hurry to get home afterwards, that I helped put back all the tables and chairs - the meeting was held at the high school cafeteria. Baaad. 

I didn't sleep at all that night and I was a complete wreck the next day. All the things I could have done differently/better kept swirling around in my mind like annoyed little wasps. 

I slept alright tonight, but my arms still feels like lead and my shoulders are letting me know I was a stupid idiot for carrying tables high above my head. I took Marianne for a hike down to the sea and I feel like I've been run through the army recruit work-out-routine

At least it's done and over with. 

How do you deal with situations outside your comfort zone? Have you done any public speeches? How do you prepare? Does it get any better, ever?  

The embarrassing confession of a middleaged white crazy woman with too much imagination

I have been stuck up at the farm all week. Runar was supposed to come back up on Monday, work a few hours chopping fire wood and then we'd all go home. 

That didn't happen. His job got in the way. 

Tuesday I was out of most groceries, tobacco and all dog food. Runar would come pick us up in the afternoon. I would manage on wholegrain bread and chewing tobacco until he came. 

It didn't happen. Again. 

Instead Runar's parents came up with groceries+++. We couldn't ride with them home, because there is simply not enough room in their car for Georg. 

Wednesday came. I had again packed and cleaned and we were ready to be picked up. This day his brother's broken down car got in the way. Georg and I went hiking in the woods in the pouring rain instead. It fit my mood perfectly. 

I had a weird, scary dream that night. Probably due to my fear of being alone in a cottage far away from everybody and watching too many scary movies in my teen years about axe murderers, in combination with hearing the news on the radio, about bands of eastern European bandits molesting old people living in remote areas. Naturally I dreamed about being visited by evil axe murdering bandits and by the time I awoke wimpering in a fetal position, it had escalated to a full blown war between Georg and I and all the evilness in the universe. I was rather jumpy all morning. So much so, that Georg noticed and was rather jumpy too. 

What do you know, I got visited by a ...salesman. 

Just to imply just how odd that is, let me inform you that in my soon-to-be 44 years of life I have never experienced or even heard of anyone else experiencing being visited by any salesmen up on there in the mountains. There simply is no market for traveling salesmen among the mountain farmers. 

1) They usually don't have the money to spare for buying anything other than the bare necessities

2) There aren't but two-three farms on the entire mountain that are inhabited all year. It is mostly cottages and summer  houses.

3) Those that do live there hate all strangers and foreign strangers with a vengeance. I'm pretty sure if they were asked, they'd put foreigners right up there along with aliens and devil spawns.

Back to Thursday. It was a nice sunny day. The doors were open. Georg was sleeping with his head on the door sill as usual and I was cross stitching a pillow case - I had ran out of yarn and finished crocheting two summer hats and had found one of my older sisters' cross stitching from decades ago, hidden in the bottom of a wardrobe. Yes, I was that desperate. I had cleaned everything, weeded everything, mowed everything, I had done all the work that I could possibly do.  Radio was on. I was humming along a happy tune. Georg and I had more or less refound our calm, the dream with axe-murdering bandits were but a pale memory, when a kind voice in broken NorwEnglish said 

"Haelloo?" 

I don't know where he was from, other than he was clearly from the African continent. He had an honest kind face and a bright white smile. 

I completely freaked out. I'm embarrassed to say. I jumped  up, cross stitching flying and I shouted

"NO! No, no, no, no, no. NO!" and stupidly waved a hand in front of my face. 

I  somehow lost the ability to speak any other words. 

Then Georg stood up and I grabbed hold of him as he was acting on my freaking out, more than a visit by a stranger. 

I saw the saleman's eyes widen. 

"Nice...?" He said and pointed a shaky indexfinger at the dog.

I also pointed at the dog and found two new words apart from "no", which I still seemed to mumble nonstop under my breath. 

"WATCHDOG! MINE!"

GEORG THE WATCHDOG

The poor visibly shaken nice man only looked at me. Mouth slightly agape. 

I searched my mind desperately after something to say. Something that wasn't shouting threats. something calm, nice and polite. 

"GOOD BYE!" 

He ran. 

I have no idea what he wanted. I'm not even sure he was a salesman, other than that he carried a black suitcase often used by traveling students from 3rd world countries trying to sell their arts so that they can afford to eat while finishing their studies in this insanely expensive cold country. It could be that his car broke down and he needed help, to borrow my phone, some water...I will likely never know. He is quite likely now become 110% certain of white middle aged women's utter lack of sanity. 

I walked out to the road to see if I could see him, but he must have just continued running for his life. Maybe he thought I'd let Georg kill him and then we'd eat him for supper...

I am guilty of all the horrible prejudice that I thought only belonged to my parents and their like, that I swore I would never fall victim too. 

Runar did come that afternoon. We actually finished the wood chopping. This season's firewood  work for us, family and sale is done. Whee. 

I admitted my horrendous meeting with the stranger. He laughed his ass off, of course.  Then he was silent for a while, having that pondering look where his brows gets all furry, before proclaiming loudly:

"I'mma make you a sawed off shotgun that I'm going to place on a secret shelf above the door. Just in case a band of axe-murdering bandits does show up when you're up here alone. I mean. Come on, Georg saving you? How? Drowning them in drool?" 

I was too shocked to speak. I had a terrifying image of my crazy freaked out self with a sawed off shotgun - illegal one, made out of two old before-WW2-old semi broken shotguns armed with buckshells - going completely TEXAS up in the mountains. Not a pretty sight, I tell yah! Oy vey! 

 

Me in one of the summer hats I crocheted. Taken before the bad dream and the embarrassing meeting with the stranger, while I was still happy-go-lucky ignorant of my dark prejudice side

How the felted slippers turned out. 

We're heading up to Vintland again today. For the weekend. We're going for an uneventful and blissfully boring weekend. Runar will be sorting out his tools, etc. I'm going to start on my secret project - knitting socks with thorn pattern. Sort of like a barbed wire thorn pattern. I have no idea how to do it, or how it'll turn out. 

I have hearing dyslexia

I just responded to my son's cussing in a rather bizarre way. Again

First time:

Simen: FAEN! = FUCK!

Me: Ja'a? = Ye'es?

I just somehow translated 'fuck' to 'mom'.

Second time:

Simen: Satan!

Me: G'natt = G'nite

Yeah. I can't even begin to explain this. I have no idea how I could hear it that wrong. It's like I have hearing dyslexia. My son walks into a wall and cusses. I believe he is hitting the wall to get my attention and then calling up: 'mom', or calling up: 'G'nite'.
...my son has a bad habit of walking into door frames, now that I think about it.

In my defense, I have been yelled at by the kids for not paying attention to them when surfing the net, so now I answer whenever I hear them. Not because I'm actually paying attention. I've just programmed my brain to spew out nonsense whenever I hear they're voices. Because obviously I don't listen. ...I would make a terrible defense lawyer.

I called my nephew Georg today. His mother heard it. Ye gods!