Garn: Du Store Alpakka Sterk
Pinner: 3 og 3,5
Mønster: Sandnes tema 35: Norske ikoner, modell 11
Fotomodell: Janne
fredag 27. mars 2015
Nordkapp Recoloured!
Endelig (etter bare et halvt år) er jeg ferdig med Nordkappkofta mi!!! Noen kjenner sikkert den okergule, lusete varianten som Oda-jakken.
- og Dalek.
mandag 23. mars 2015
Archibald - et utkast
Yes, shimmering candles were indeed a source of comfort to Archibald. Whenever he needed to wind down, he went into his study, and lit his candles.
There was nothing wrong with his lights of course, it was just that, well - candles.
And so it happened that Archibald one night found himself asleep in his study, head resting atop his desk. That is to say, Archibald of course wasn’t aware that he was asleep, being as he was, asleep. He was, however, aware of dreaming, and thus drew the conclusion of being asleep.
But that is not the point.
The point is, that Archibald had fallen asleep while writing in the light of his comforting candles.
This is not, as you might think, a story about the candles burning down and setting the study on fire. In that case, Archibald would have been suffocated by the smoke long before he would have had the time to wake up, and that would be the end of the story. Or rather, the end of the story would have been the dirt being put back on top of his coffin lid, a story which I think you would find altogether too short, and perhaps a bit morbid.
So instead, we are going to make this a story about how Archibald, completely unknowingly, created a whole new world.
You see, Archibald had dreamt his whole life about writing stories. He had tried several times, but always failed to finish. He would build up his characters and his story to almost unimaginable heights (If they’d been completely unimaginable, they wouldn’t have made for very audience-friendly reading, now, would they?), and then all of a sudden tear the pages apart (Of course, he always used paper for his writing) in a fit of rage.
«Why do you always do that?» his friends down at the pub would ask, time and again. But Archibald would never give them a straight answer. And so, they kept on toasting, while Archibald huddled in his corner, fuming with unrelieved ambition.
This was all about to change; for while Archibald slept the hours away, dreaming of deep forests packed with beautiful witches and magical creatures, unsung heroes and radiant feasts, a thunderstorm crept in over the town. It seemed, to those who know about these things - to be a perfectly good thunderstorm. But then, at midnight, a lightning bolt struck the large oak outside Archibald’s study window.
Now, this didn’t bother Archibald overly much, as he was a very sound sleeper. He merely twitched half an inch, maybe fluttered an eyelid, and kept on snoring.
At first, it seemed the bolt hadn’t done any damage. Then, the trunk of the old oak started groaning sadly. All of a sudden, it snapped with a massive boom, sounding almost exactly like the thunder seconds before. And with that, the old bugger kicked the bucket standing by the little shed in the yard. Luckily, the shed made it, as there were a few ducks living inside, whom where quite startled, and made for the door squabbling like, well - startled ducks.
Archibald heard none of this above his snoring. Not that he could tell, at least, for some of the noise made it into his dream and fused with it, but Archibald could never have told you in what way.
Now, here is the turn of this story: Of course, a huge, old oak falling to the ground outside your house isn’t an everyday-event. Neither is it when the previously mentioned oak starts glowing pale blue-white.
That is exactly what happened next. The glow started amidst the oak’s branches, and crept slowly along the trunk until it hit the roots. And then - it crept along the roots, into the ground.
Now, to you and me, dear reader, this seems utterly astonishing. Which, of course it would have been, had anyone been there to witness it.
There was nothing wrong with his lights of course, it was just that, well - candles.
And so it happened that Archibald one night found himself asleep in his study, head resting atop his desk. That is to say, Archibald of course wasn’t aware that he was asleep, being as he was, asleep. He was, however, aware of dreaming, and thus drew the conclusion of being asleep.
But that is not the point.
The point is, that Archibald had fallen asleep while writing in the light of his comforting candles.
This is not, as you might think, a story about the candles burning down and setting the study on fire. In that case, Archibald would have been suffocated by the smoke long before he would have had the time to wake up, and that would be the end of the story. Or rather, the end of the story would have been the dirt being put back on top of his coffin lid, a story which I think you would find altogether too short, and perhaps a bit morbid.
So instead, we are going to make this a story about how Archibald, completely unknowingly, created a whole new world.
You see, Archibald had dreamt his whole life about writing stories. He had tried several times, but always failed to finish. He would build up his characters and his story to almost unimaginable heights (If they’d been completely unimaginable, they wouldn’t have made for very audience-friendly reading, now, would they?), and then all of a sudden tear the pages apart (Of course, he always used paper for his writing) in a fit of rage.
«Why do you always do that?» his friends down at the pub would ask, time and again. But Archibald would never give them a straight answer. And so, they kept on toasting, while Archibald huddled in his corner, fuming with unrelieved ambition.
This was all about to change; for while Archibald slept the hours away, dreaming of deep forests packed with beautiful witches and magical creatures, unsung heroes and radiant feasts, a thunderstorm crept in over the town. It seemed, to those who know about these things - to be a perfectly good thunderstorm. But then, at midnight, a lightning bolt struck the large oak outside Archibald’s study window.
Now, this didn’t bother Archibald overly much, as he was a very sound sleeper. He merely twitched half an inch, maybe fluttered an eyelid, and kept on snoring.
At first, it seemed the bolt hadn’t done any damage. Then, the trunk of the old oak started groaning sadly. All of a sudden, it snapped with a massive boom, sounding almost exactly like the thunder seconds before. And with that, the old bugger kicked the bucket standing by the little shed in the yard. Luckily, the shed made it, as there were a few ducks living inside, whom where quite startled, and made for the door squabbling like, well - startled ducks.
Archibald heard none of this above his snoring. Not that he could tell, at least, for some of the noise made it into his dream and fused with it, but Archibald could never have told you in what way.
Now, here is the turn of this story: Of course, a huge, old oak falling to the ground outside your house isn’t an everyday-event. Neither is it when the previously mentioned oak starts glowing pale blue-white.
That is exactly what happened next. The glow started amidst the oak’s branches, and crept slowly along the trunk until it hit the roots. And then - it crept along the roots, into the ground.
Now, to you and me, dear reader, this seems utterly astonishing. Which, of course it would have been, had anyone been there to witness it.
lørdag 31. januar 2015
Universet har sans for ironi
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| Kilde |
Det visste ikke jeg. Tenk dere da den kilende fornemmelsen jeg fikk da jeg oppdaga dette innlegget, etter å ha tilbrakt den siste uka med å glane på gamle Mummitrollet-episoder fra NRK. Facepalm anyone?
Det begynte med at min forhenværende romkamerat Mia kom på overnattingsbesøk. Vi gjorde som vi pleier; spretta ei flaske vin, brygga litt kaffe, sjabba litt, spiste litt sjokolade. Mens vi drev å leita etter en film til kvelds, fant jeg plutselig et par dvd-er med Mummi-episoder.
Kjenner jeg Mia rett var nok Tove Janssons hundreårsjubileum et godt insentiv da hun utbrøt at hun ville se Mummi, men det veit jeg ikke hundre prosent sikkert.
Vi så iallefall seks episoder på rappen, og la en semi-plan for roadtrip til Mummiland (Jada Kimmie, du er innbefatta).
Seinere surfa jeg litt rundt på Youtube og fant nesten hele serien. Gjett hva jeg har gjort etter jobb.
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| Kilde |
Det jeg setter mest pris på er tidløsheten og de mangfoldige dimensjonene i Mummifortellingene. De er både skumle, morsomme, underholdende og lærerike, sjøl for en voksen (ikke at jeg påberoper meg å være en sånn en). I en alder av 24 får jeg fortsatt noe igjen av å glane meg gjennom timesvis med Mummi. Hufsa er fortsatt DRITSKUMMEL. Og Snusmumriken er like AWESOME som da jeg var seks. Når jeg blir stor skal jeg bli som Snusmumriken.
Mest av alt gleder jeg meg til de episodene jeg aldri fikk se da jeg var lita. Det har vist seg å være ganske mange.
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| Kilde |
torsdag 22. januar 2015
Long time no see...
"...eller som feskeran sei; Længe sia æ har vorr på sjøen!"
Så. Siden sist?
Siden sist har jeg flytta fra Tromsø hjem til foreldrene mine i Nordland.
Jeg har fått fast stilling på Husfliden.
Jeg har fått tildelt en terapeut.
Jeg kom halvveis på NaNoWriMo 2014 og var veldig stolt av det.
Jeg persa leserekorden min i 2014 og leste 73 bøker - bare 27 bøker fra målet.
Jeg har endelig fått bakseter i min fine hvite Grand Vitara XL7.
Jeg svømte for første gang på tre år i dag.
Jeg har runda to hele PS3-spill: "Thief" og "The Last Of Us."
Jeg har gjort en fysisk aktivitet hver dag siden 1. januar.
Jeg har hatt en åttetimers skriveøkt i én setting.
Jeg har fått mamma til å se en og en halv episode av "Sherlock."
Jeg har spilt "Assasins Creed" for første gang.
Jeg har sett to stjenreskudd på én uke.
Jeg har snart strikka ett par nye lester:
Så. Siden sist?
Siden sist har jeg flytta fra Tromsø hjem til foreldrene mine i Nordland.
Jeg har fått fast stilling på Husfliden.
Jeg har fått tildelt en terapeut.
Jeg kom halvveis på NaNoWriMo 2014 og var veldig stolt av det.
Jeg persa leserekorden min i 2014 og leste 73 bøker - bare 27 bøker fra målet.
Jeg har endelig fått bakseter i min fine hvite Grand Vitara XL7.
Jeg svømte for første gang på tre år i dag.
Jeg har runda to hele PS3-spill: "Thief" og "The Last Of Us."
Jeg har gjort en fysisk aktivitet hver dag siden 1. januar.
Jeg har hatt en åttetimers skriveøkt i én setting.
Jeg har fått mamma til å se en og en halv episode av "Sherlock."
Jeg har spilt "Assasins Creed" for første gang.
Jeg har sett to stjenreskudd på én uke.
Jeg har snart strikka ett par nye lester:
Garn: Regia Stripemania Color, frg 6367
Pinner: 2,5 mm
Jeg har funnet et portrett av meg sjøl i ei Nemi-stripe:
(Tror det står paparazzier utenfor om morra'n...)
Ja, også har jeg gjort yoga i ei offentlig badstu.
fredag 31. oktober 2014
onsdag 29. oktober 2014
Spøkelser
Tror jeg finner svaret i Kaizers og kabal. "Don't tell, do show." Express. Men hva om jeg er lei av dikt og poesi?
Hva om jeg er lei av spørsmål på rekke og rad, halve setninger og ord som bare finner veien gjennom fingrene.
"Gå der det brenner." Dit vil jeg, for der lever jeg. Her er jeg halvt i svime.
"Gå der det brenner." Dit vil jeg, for der lever jeg. Her er jeg halvt i svime.
Der redsel dør, der lever drømmen, og dit vil jeg.
- 4. januar 2014
onsdag 15. oktober 2014
onsdag 1. oktober 2014
En sånn dag
Noen dager er bedre enn andre. I dag er en sånn dag. I dag har jeg kaffe og ord, høstsol og venner. Universet er kanskje ikke mitt, men jeg får låne litt av det. I dag holder jeg det forsiktig mellom hendene, og lar gløden fylle meg med liv.
tirsdag 30. september 2014
mandag 29. september 2014
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