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Sunday, August 29, 2010

Close Encounter of the Creepy Kind

And I don't mean like when a weird dude is eyeballing you in church. No, I mean of the creepy crawly, slithering along the ground kind. Yes, I am talking about snakes. Feel free to flee now before I put the photos up.

...

All of the weak stomachs gone? Alright. A few weeks ago I was walking along, doing my calf chores, when I hear a slithering sound (which was actually pretty incredible, considering I had my headphones on listening to music), and spotted the tail end of something green and yellow disappear into the weeds by the calves, not six inches from my foot. I stopped, sucked in all my breath, and said, "UUUGHH!" while throwing my hands into the air.

I. DON'T. LIKE. SNAKES.

I walked around cautiously for a week until the tall weeds got mowed down and eventually forgot about it. Until today.

I was casually feeding my little buddy, the deformed bull calf, when I happened to glance into the empty hut next to his, since we had a set of twins born last night (by the way, they are itty bitty, probably weighing less than all our cats put together) and I would be needing to find them a home outside.

There she was. Again. And she wasn't alone. She has a mate now. A small, 12-16 inch male live-in-boyfriend. And she looks pregnant. And just as creepy as I remember.

At this point I didn't have my camera, but I did want to take a picture of them, just so I could show it to my boss and make sure they were garder snakes and not some deadly venomous serpent that would require the National Guard or something (Yeah, I would call the National Guard to deal with a snake. I have a friend there, he's tough.).

I must have started smelling like fear, because all of a sudden the big snake noticed me staring at her and she got uncomfortable with the little snake slithering on her. And then for some unfathomable reason she left the unoccupied hut and slithered into the one of the calf that I was currently feeding, while the boyfriend disappeared.



I think Miss creepy was uncomfortable trying to go past the calf looming over her, because she went into the corner and stayed there, keeping her eye on him, but when I tried to walk away, past the hut, she had to dive to the other side so she could keep an eye on me too. By the time I came back from feeding the twins, I thought she would have followed her boyfriend and left, but nooooo, she was having a stand-off with bully.



I don't know for sure how long those two stared each other down, but I kept a pitch fork in one hand and a machete strapped to my other side just in case one of the creepy crawlies got within reach while I went about the rest of my chores. I really hope they have gone away and found a new home now so I don't have to see them around any more.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Un-motivated Moping

I have a bunch of stuff that needs to be done.

Poor Herbert may never get the rest of his story onto onemilliongiraffes.com since Ola is nearing the last ten thousand giraffes or so.

Sloan, the littlest hot-headed gnome is still stuck at home just waiting for his adventure to see the sea.

And I just can't find the ambition to type the second poem into the computer so I can get going with the translation.

And lastly, I can't seem to get the motivation to draw a picture (or search one down) to go with my latest attempt at a drabble ( which could actually use some re-working) :

Don’t mind me; I’m just hiding in your bushes, looking in your windows. I like what you’ve done with the curtains, very fluttery. Why do you insist on baking at eleven-‘o-clock, shouldn’t that be done in the morning? I don’t mind, really, your new apron hardly does its job of protecting your delicate bits.

I am so glad a nudist moved into the neighborhood, it was so boring here before; nothing to look at but wrinkly men and old women past their prime.

Oops, was that a branch I just broke?

“Who are you?!”

“Just your friendly neighborhood Peeping Tom?”

Monday, August 9, 2010

An Old Poem by Victor Myrèn

The Road of Suffering

You, who learnt to reconcile
with your suffering’s miracle,
carried its martyr’s crown
in your finest moments-
didn’t you feel how the mind
cleared with its burden?
although you carried in your memory
prayers, heard by no one?

Thoughts, as light as chaff
for the world’s storming joys
ask well, what it benefits
the path towards Golgotha rises
not knowing that the track
to the inner peace
goes through the thorn bushes
goes through the storm and battle

Didn’t you notice how the light
burnt brighter in your heart,
didn’t lilies grow from the gravel
for every pain suffered?
Didn’t strings, that previously were silent,
quiver in your mind?
Didn’t the eternal fire burn
in previously lukewarm souls?

Every burdened hearts
hold out your hands!
The suffering, the thorns and the pain
make us all brethren.
Gasping children that strode
walking far and lost
seeking you home from the wide
roads to find each other!

******
For those of you paying attention, I was in New York for a funeral last week, and while there I found a scrap book among my grandfather's things that my mother is fairly certain belonged to my great-grandmother. This bit of paper caught my eye, maybe because it is in Swedish, maybe because it is clearly a poem, so I decided to try to translate it into English. I turned to online translators and a handy Norwegian friend, Mari (over at the
thegiraffabilityofdigressions blog). Despite not speaking Swedish, she was able to assist me in making sense of the clipping.

I have another one that is much longer that I will tackle next (though not next, next, since I seem to have promised a Dairyrobics post and another gnome post to my facebook people) that is roughly titled, My greetings to Spring which is signed at the bottom Insänt av J.A. . My hope is that it isn't as heavy a topic as the one in Smärtans väg.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Gnome Man's Land

This weekend I took a trip back to New York with my family for my Grandfather's funeral. He died at the age of ninety-three, but you can't feel too bad for the guy since he lived in his own home his whole life, right up to until the last two weeks of his life. That's not too shabby.

And since it has been a few years since I have been out there, I got to visit with a few relatives.



There's no place like gnome... or Gnomeland, as we took to calling my uncle's house. ( My sister-in-law wanted to call it Gnomeville, but that's just not proper gnomenclature)

My uncle got married shortly before I did to a nice lady who has an extensive collection of gnomes. The photo above is merely the tip of the iceberg that greets you as you pull into the drive. Lining the driveway, all the way to the back yard, are these yellow faces and watering can signs.

Very welcoming.





Gnome is where the heart is...

Upon entering the house, after passing a ferocious looking fellow holding an axe, you are greeted with wall upon wall of gnomes.

I asked Janet which was her favorite gnome, and she couldn't pick just one. Just don't ask what the difference is between a gnome and an elf, because you are likely to get an etymology lesson

Home is where the gnome is...

and these gnome on the back fence have a lot of pets.



A house isn't a home without a gnome...

and I really like this saucy fella! I think I am going to try and do a portrait of him one of these days!












When in gnome...
play with the woodland creatures!