From My Balcony

Nasturtium
(Collage made in Picasa 3)

Quotation of the Week (38/09)

Gonepteryx rhamni - Common Brimstone

"Just living is not enough," said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower."

Hans Christian Andersen

About Me and Languages (4)

In 'senior high' I was an 'arts' student (the exact word always hard to find since school systems vary both between countries and in time). Cumpulsory school in those days was 9 years, starting at the age of 7. As I have mentioned, we began with English in 4th grade, and with a second foreign language (for me French) in 7th grade. In 'senior high', a third foreign language was added, and now (between German, Russian and Spanish) I chose German. (In fact, I had made a headstart with a German correspondence course already in 9th grade.) On top of that, for the few of us who chose the classic program, came Latin...

I always hesitate to mention I studied Latin, because it might give people the false impression that I actually know Latin. I do not feel that I do! Our teacher in this ancient language of the wise and learned had been persuaded to give up retirement to teach it to a group of five optimistic teenage girls. He was a kind old man who had accepted that school was no longer what it used to be in his day. He was also the school librarian. Whenever we got tired of Latin (and one does, when one struggles with it for 7 or 8 school hours per week for three years), we could easily get him to talk about other things, like library books or history. He was especially good at demonstrating how Hannibal went over the Alps with the elephants.

That is pretty much what I remember from three years of Latin studies. Our greatest fear during the 3rd year was that our teacher would get sick and someone else would discover how little Latin we really knew. Luckily, he stayed healthy, all five of us got exactly the same good marks (over average), and I never had to decline a Latin verb again afterwards. Ego sum, tu es (I am, you are) is about as far as I got during those three years.

French, if my memory serves me right, I continued with for two years in 'senior high'. At the end of 9th grade, I thought I knew French pretty well. After two more years, I just found it getting more and more complicated. We also had a teacher who much preferred talking about the French wine (le vin) and the French women (les femmes) rather than the language as such. I can read French; but turn off the subtexts on a French film, and I'm in BIG trouble! I never went to France, and the most use I've had of it since school is probably when reading French quotes in classic English or Russian-translated-into-Swedish novels; written at a time when every well-educated person in Europe was supposed to speak it.

With German, I got on better, in spite of all the grammar; and in spite of right now not remembering a single thing about my 'senior high scool' German teacher - not even if it was a man or a woman! I will get back to German later. Before that, I still have a lot more English influence to speak of. But that, too, will have to wait until another day...

One Of Those Days - Or Not

Earlier this week, I was thinking of maybe signing up for a local photo shoot-out 'thing' this Saturday. They have it every year and I always think that "maybe this year I will", but then I never get round to it. I didn't this year either. At the beginning of the week I though maybe my brother would be coming down this weekend. Then he said he wouldn't, but then it was too late to sign up. Then I felt a little disappointed. Then I woke up this morning and there was fog outside my window, and somehow it seemed to have got inside my head too, so I was just as glad I hadn't signed up. Lousy photo weather anyway!

However, towards noon I found that at least the fog inside my head had cleared up a bit, and then I decided to go into town after all. With camera, although without competing. Apart from all the enthusiastic photographers running around looking for I-don't-know-what-themes, it turned out to be Home Guard Day. The good part for me was that since I was not taking part in any competition, I got to keep my photos.

So here are some sights that one does not see every day in this country:


Riding police


Camouflage dressed hornblowers
(not really very good camouflage in town environment, and making a lot of noise too)


Military band members having picknick on a town bridge

Raven's Wordzzle Challenge #80

The Slumber Party Mystery
Chapter 28 – A Nightmare

Raven's Wordzzle Challenge #80 : Charitable, alligator, tribute, drunk, slave, preparation, carrots, mountainside, propeller, lark, chisel, worship, suicide, organic, plus

Lieutentant Skittles lay awake that night, turning things over and over in his head. He did not usually work on weekends – emergency calls were then referred to the police station in a bigger city - but this Saturday he decided to pay tribute to his own sense of duty and put in some extra hours anyway. He hoped his superiors would see this as a plus in the upcoming promotion talks. The thing was, Dr Adam Challenge had talked of coming down to the police station "tomorrow", but Skittles doubted that he really meant to - and if he did, he would find the station closed, because it was Saturday. But Skittles could go and see Adam…

Adam had not slept well either. He was usually no slave to alcohol, but last night he had got drunk, and in the night he had dreamt very strange dreams, in which he had been running an organic farm growing carrots, which he had then attempted to feed to an alligator. But the alligator had attacked the boat he was sitting in, and had preferred to chew on the propeller; which Adam had then attempted to fix with a chisel, even though it did not really seem like the right kind of tool for the job. Just as the boat was sinking under him, however, he woke up. He fumbled for the alarm clock, but pressing the button didn't help. After a while, he realised that it was not the alarm clock that was ringing – it was the door bell.

Adam, in spite of being saved from drowning, did not feel in charitable mood when he opened the door, and even less when he found Skittles outside.

"Oh, it's you," he growled moodily. "I was asleep, you know. I'm not usually up with the lark on my days off! Is there an emergency?"

Skittles did not answer. "May I come in?" he asked. Adam realized it was no use saying no, and stepped aside to let the lieutenant pass into the hallway.

Skittles looked around curiously and noticed a suitcase in a corner. Had the doctor been making preparations to go away?

"Going somewhere?" he asked, nodding towards the suitcase.

Adam sighed. "I had intended to go up the mountainside to a cabin and do a bit of climbing this weekend," he said. "But that was before I got that possible suicide note from the General. I decided I had to check that out first, and then you know what happened. I'm not planning to run off anywhere now, if that's what you're thinking!"

"Good," said Skittles. "I'm not accusing you of anything, it just struck me that I forgot to tell you yesterday, that I strongly advise you not to leave town."

The two men looked at each other. It was evident that neither of them was exactly in worship of the other.

For the rules of Wordzzle, and to read other stories, go to Raven's Nest. To read previous chapters of my story, click the label SlumberPartyMystery below.

In Memory Poem from 2001

I am not American, but I think the whole world remembers.

I wrote a poem a few days after the "nine eleven" events. If the perspective should seem odd to anyone, there is some personal stuff woven into it as well - some other bad news that I got while the TV images were still burning in my mind. The personal news had nothing to do with the events in New York - they just became forever fused together in my mind.

The scene from the TV news that made the most powerful impression on me was the film sequence of a man who was walking away from the towers, turned round to look when he heard the crash - and then just turned back and kept on walking at the same pace as before. What had happened was just too much to take in.


---

I was the World Trade Center
minding my own business
and other people's too, if asked
until I was run down
by an unexpected terrorist attack


I'm the man in the street
looking back over my shoulder
but continuing my walk
not able to take in
what just happened here


Now I'm just a ruin
a heap of smoking rubbish
full of chaos and destruction
fire, pain and fear
wishing everything undone


Is there an answer somewhere
a way to rise again
high above the skyline
without fear of new attacks
without the need to fight back

---
I'd also like to send you over to Wood and Pixels Narratives to look at Dan's pictures for today.
---

About Me and Languages (3)

In the summer after 9th grade, before I started 'senior high school', we went to Britain again. This time for three weeks, by car, and spending the nights at various small country inns and hotels ("Fawlty Towers" kind of places…). We arrived in Harwich, went across the country to North Wales, then down to the south coast, up again via Staffordshire to Scotland, as far north as Inverness, and finally back home from Newcastle.

Some of the many sights we visited were Cambridge, Caernavon Castle in Wales, the Roman baths in Bath, the Wookey Hole caves in Somerset, seaside town Lyme Regis in Dorset, Southampton and Isle of Wight, New Forest National Park with famous wild horses (really wild - one of them kicked my little brother!), Beaulieu with Motor Museum - and of course Stonehenge.

Postcard from Beaulieu. (click on picture to enlarge)
(I put this one in as a special treat for blogfriend Dan. Little did he know when he asked about me and languages what extensive reading it would lead to.)


Me at Stonehenge.
Fashion note: This was the year when skirts suddenly went below the knee after having been way up above during the 60's!

On our way north, I got to spend a day with a penfriend and her family in Stoke-on-Trent in Staffordshire, known as the home of English pottery industry. They took me to see an old manor house from the 15th century called Little Moreton Hall. I don't believe there was a single straight angle in that building! My parents and my brother spent the day elsewhere, and picked me up again towards the end of the day.


Little Moreton Hall, penfriend and her family.




On our way to Scotland, we passed Hadrian's Wall, which once marked the northern border of the Roman Empire.


Scotland...

At Loch Ness, looking for the Monster.


We did also visit some places in Scotland where there were less sheep and more people. Like Edinburgh, Balmoral Castle (the Queen's summer palace), and St Andrews to play a little golf (very little – more like mini).

Before we went back home again, we had another whiff of English seaside life, at Whitley Bay on the North Sea Coast:



This is the British idea of beach life. At least back in those days. At most, you lifted your skirt above your knees and waded a few steps out into the water. Preferably, you stayed fully dressed in a deck chair.


Nuns at the pleasure pier in Whitley Bay. My British readers will have to tell me whether that is/was a common sight or not!

Note on the photographs:
The photos including the two postcards have been scanned from my photo album. The sepia coloured ones are originally black-and-white. (Sepia effect applied in Picasa 3.) The colours in some of the coloured photos from this journey have kept exceptionally well. I have colour photos in later albums that have totally faded away and are all dim shades of purple by now...

The story will go on. I promise though - when I get past the teen years, I'll speed it up a bit!