What a load of waffle…
Eating waffles is a way of welcoming the spring in Sweden (whether it’s here or not)!
They are eaten on Annunciation Day or Our Lady’s Day, which in Swedish is ‘vårfrudagen’. Now this sounds quite similar, if spoken quickly, to ‘våffeldagen’, which means Waffle Day. So through time, the Chinese whisper effect changed Our Lady’s Day to Waffle Day.
Many of you have been wondering if winter is extra long this year… Well, it started earlier, but looking back in my archives, I giggle at the photos taken this time last year.
Paw prints and footprints on the snow in perfect harmony? Yes, that’s right…
My sister was here for a visit. The ice on the lake was still thick.
She took off her shoes and socks and went for a walk. Not sure about you, but I’d have cold feet about doing this. (Yes, that is a bad pun!) After all, it was about minus 13 C…
I wonder if craziness runs in the family…
For more quirky perspectives, please visit: My World!
Snow Dogs
Interior dog monologue (at the height of winter in February)…
Frodo thinks to self:
Does it look as if I’m having fun in this snow blizzard?
In fact, which dog in his right mind would enjoy the gale force wind and the lashing snow?
…
…
Oh, that’s right…
—
—-
My dad, Oscar!
For warmer pets, please visit: Camera Critters!
Sailing the skies
Spring equinox skies,
Day and night in perfect balance,
A brief whisper of warmth, then of cold -
Like a lover’s caress.
Come unfold your sails, cast them to the skies
And float among the clouds
On this day that contains a song
Of the velvet in the fist of iron.
For more singing skies, please visit: Skywatch!
True grit
It’s that time of year… the season at the cusp of spring and winter.. Yes, it’s springter!
A time for much gritting…
Paths are turned into icy rinks and have to be gritted to save limbs from being broken.
We grit our teeth as the warmth of spring is conquered by the chills of winter.
The dog is still injured and on leashed walks until May. Oh, what to do with all that surplus energy?
Young men from the county come out to school to fill up the green containers with sand and gravel, which can then be used in the school yard when it is dangerously slippery.
For me, this epitomizes the joyfulness of even the most humble job. Every time they throw a shovelful of grit into the container, the huge crowd of schoolchildren cheer and shout and celebrate with outbursts of “Strike!”
The more joyful the kids, the happier the men at work. Each shovelful is received with rapturous applause.
How will you share the joy and show someone how much you appreciate them?
A day at the beach
It was the spring equinox at the weekend – when day and night are equally long.
And indeed, it was a glorious day full of bird song and the promise of spring.
A day brimming with good company and a walk by the lake – the third largest in Sweden. If spring is going to come anywhere first, then it should be here.
But wait… Are those people standing on the lake? Isn’t it supposed to be melting?
Ah – yes. The sun turned the top layer into water so that these enthusiasts could take aqua planing to a whole new level.
What are they doing? you ask… Having fun on snowboards that are pulled along behind colourful parachutes at break-neck speed.
On the ice. On the first day of spring.
Someone forgot to tell Mother Nature that it was the ‘official’ first day of spring.
And the next day, she sent a fierce snow blizzard our way.
Just to show who is really in charge.
For warmer and more spring-like pictures, pop on over to: My World!
Enchanted horses
I couldn’t resist posting a couple more photos of those delightful frolicsome creatures: Icelandic horses.
Just look at them – they’re enchanting little fuzzy carpets on four hooves!
(Click the photos to enlarge them.)
Even in a terrible snowstorm, both the horses and owners seem to be having such fun.
These Vikings epitomize endurance, don’t you think?
For more cheerful creatures, please visit: Camera Critters
and Pet Pride!
The art of the divine
While out walking on the frozen lake,
The snow muffling all sound
So that the day was as quiet as the light
That suddenly poured forth from the dramatic clouds
And revealed the reflection of
Nature’s own stained glass window
Laid out at my feet on the snow.
Nature's stained glass window reflected on snow
Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. ~John Muir
For more poetic skies, please visit: Skywatch!
Sunlit joys
A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.
Anais Nin
I’ve been bottling the sunlight and catching dazzling rainbows to take out and enjoy when winter seems long.
I’ve collected diamonds from the snow and weaved them into a necklace for you.
If we take the time to look around, we can find our joy – every day.
How are you going to fill your heart with happiness today?
Riders on the storm
About three weeks ago, there was supposed to be a major competition for Icelandic horses on the ice of our local lake. All I had to do was to open the door, walk onto the lake and start snapping away…
The day of the competition was wreathed in white and spectral purple. A Class 2 snowstorm had decided to blow in and stop many of the top horses from being able to make it to the competition. Icy roads and horse transportation do not go well together.
A few dozen hardy souls turned up … and danced in the gale force winds on the iced over lake.
Icelandic horses are famous for their ambling gait – called the tölt. Ribbons were awarded to the winning horses as riders cowered from the storm in large padded overalls.
I like this photo as it contrasts the modern transport embodied in a quad bike with the ancient transport system that is a horse.
The wind was literally howling like hungry wolves as it blew horizontally into my face, cutting through the my six layers of clothing like red-hot needles through flesh. My fingers froze into place over the camera and I lost all feeling. Luckily, I wasn’t so badly off as the time I cried from the cold.
The alarming nuclear redness of my cold face was reflected in the faces all around me.
Still, that didn’t stop the riders from being as cheerful as their sturdy steeds in their merry winter coats, and who were doing happy little jigs and enjoying the bracing weather…
Meanwhile, I decided that the storm was best viewed from inside with a steaming cup of tea in my hands.
For more cheerful insights, please visit: My World!
The Help
I’ve been languishing in the heat of Mississippi, wallowing in Southern belles and fried chicken, and feeling shocked at the genteel brutality and racism underneath the fine Southern manners in Jackson.
Kathryn Stockett’s The Help is her controversial debut about rich white Southerners and their coloured maids (often referred to as ‘nigras’). Even more controversially, she – a white author raised by a black maid in the south – writes in the voices of the black help and the narrative is driven by their rich accents.
There are three main characters: the two maids Aibileen and Minny, and the young white woman, Skeeter. Each chapter is spoken in the voice of one of these women as we learn of a terrible, closed world of race, discrimination and separation in 1962 Mississippi.
“Mississippi and the world is two very different places,” the Deacon say and we all nod cause ain’t it the truth.
The real stars of the book are those hard-working, often abused, unseen women: the maids – as characterized by calm maternal Aibileen and hot-tempered Minny. Skeeter gradually gets drawn into their world as she decides to write about the way the help is treated.
The friendship between these three women crosses the boundaries of the racial laws of the time – and it also puts them into danger as few people would tolerate, much less understand, it.
At times, it reads like a chick-lit page-turner; at other times, it is funny and shocking. Much has been written of the deep South in the 1960s, but this book focuses on the women of the time and on the female aspect. The white females come off looking the worse for wear – and it is the unsung songs of the ordinary maids that really shine.
The whole point of the book? In Stockett’s words, “We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought.”
And that is something worth remembering every day.
Proper photographer’s attire?
Last weekend saw me up bright and early – as usual.
An exotic glow from outside attracted my attention as I flung open the windows to greet the dawn. It was the startling pinkness of the sky above – and the soft reflected pink below – turning the snow into a glowing jewel. In fact, the snow looked as delicious as the pink underbellies of the clouds above.
Armed with a nightie, dressing gown, boots and my camera, I rushed outside to try to capture the glory of that morning.
The translucency of light at the horizon became a gorgeous pink that made spirits soar – even if they were only clothed in pajamas at minus 19 C at 6.15 on a Sunday morning.
Oh, the things I do for you, dear readers!
For warmer climes and skies, please visit: Skywatch!
The sad ballad of the separated lovers
Her heart was torn in two…
Someone had separated her from her one true love.
She gazed out of the window and longed
… and longed…
… and longed.
Thinking only of his return.
….
…..
When, oh when, would they be re-united?
Free to dance and whirl together
In love?
Little did she know that it might take a while…
Tree of ages
I’m in awe of trees: they seem to be wisdom distilled.
I think it has something to do with their age. Most trees will be here much longer than you or I.
I wonder if they hold a memory of history in their roots and the promise of the future in their branches?
Take this tree, for example. It’s taller than a house, much taller - and has a preservation order on it. Why? Because it is about 750 years old! Once upon a time, it was thirty metres taller – in its heyday – but it has since been cut back to help it live longer. It is expected to live for another hundred years or so.
When it was but a seedling, the lake came up to the house and fed its roots. Time pushed back the lake’s waters, but the tree thrived.
Just think of all that amazing history it has been a part of! 750 years ago saw the end of the Viking Age and the start of the Middle Ages.
The Crusades were being fought, the Byzantine Empire was re-emerging and Genghis Khan established the Mongol Empire. Dante was born, Birger Jarl, the founder of Stockholm, died – and Budvar beer was brewed for the first time in Bohemia.
I’m in awe of trees: they are the repository of memories.
For more wisdom, please visit: My World!
Fly litttle dog – fly!
They dressed him in a cape endowed with super powers.
They gave him a magic feather.
They flapped his ears up and down.
Up and down. Up and down.
It worked on Dumbo… so why can’t Oscar fly too?
For more tolerant animals, please visit: Pet Pride!
Fog in my gloves
Early morning.
The sky and snow are blue with cold
Until the sun rises
Tinging the soft underbellies of the popcorn clouds
With pink sugar.
The kids pile into overalls and boots
And gloves and hats and scarves
And kids and dog and I spill out
Into the gorgeous new day
To greet the thick fog rising like a veil
Above the welcoming iced over lake.
It’s cold. Very cold.
“I’ve got fog in my gloves!” my youngest shouts.
“Let’s go home.”
And enjoy the sensation and memory of that fog.
Fog in our gloves.
(You can click the photos to make them bigger.)
For more cool skies, go to: Skywatch!
In which I describe how attractive I am…
It’s been one of those weeks.
The dog gets mauled and my body decides to strike in sympathy.
What started out as a simple case of Athlete’s Foot (in me, not the dog – no athletics required) decided to blow itself up (almost literally) into something much worse. It got infected and turned my foot into a painful red balloon. Squeezing on my boot was pathetically like an elephant trying to put on Cinderella’s delicate glass slipper.
Then, to top it all off, my body erupted into hundreds of tiny and very itchy red dots – literally covering me everywhere from the neck downwards. According to the doctor it’s a viral rash… Yes, it seems as if I might be allergic to my own feet. Which is inconvenient – not to mention self-de-feet-ing.
Oh – and did I mention that these spots itch with the ferocity of a million fire ant bites?
Hundreds of the spots have migrated overnight to form cartels and red angry continents. I think I spotted Africa on my inner thigh, and Australia is fighting with North America for domination of my neck.
I know – I really am looking very attractive at the moment. Still, I’m the only person I know who has her own portable dot-to-dot drawing all over her body.
So, bring along your crayons and we’ll have a spot the spot party.
Snowflake infinity
It’s all too true that we cannot appreciate what we take for granted…
Like winter (or people), for example.
After seeing large expanses of snow and ice for weeks on end, it might be all too easy to start wishing for spring.
But let us stop and ponder for a moment…
Take the simple beauty of a snowflake: cold, mysterious, capable of inspiring child-like wonder – and yet each one is unique.
Slender needles, delicate ferns, rimed balls or lacy crystals: snowflakes are the tears the clouds send to cheer us up.
Each individual flake is has its own history – and is created by the elements as it falls gently to earth. And no flake is like any other.
Just like us really.
Each flake has its own beauty and is shaped by its journey and experiences. Just like us.
So, next time you are greeted by an expanse of snow – remember that what you are looking at is an infinity of possibilities.
(You can click each photo to enlarge it.)
To see other journeys, please visit: My World!
Who says what?