Staring out the window

Tags

Daydreaming, Window Sill

What I wouldn’t do to have a window sill like this one. The tree too, but especially the window sill.

I would sit here with a book, article or text book. Sip my tea from my gigantic, green tea-cup. Every time I was stuck with a difficult paragraph, or had something to ponder about, I’d look out the window. I’d be distracted for a few minutes looking at the people hurrying up and down the strees. Wrap myself in a woollen blanket during the autumn and winter and simply enjoy life.

This window sill is not strong enough to hold a person, unless you’re two. Then it’s perfect. It’s the best place in Uncle and Aunt’s place to eat breakfast while looking at the trains and busses passing outside the window. I was a little jealous as I was restricted to resting my elbows on the sill while standing on the floor next to the window.

But, maybe one day I’ll have my sill. A strong sill. Preferably in my office combined library. Oh, what would one be without dreams?

The Evolution of the English Language

Tags

British Library, English, Language, Time line

I mentioned Stan’s list of links at Sentence First from a few days ago, and then said a few words about Venetian. One of the other links he posted was one to British Library’s Time Line of the English Language. A nice little interactive overview of the evolution of the English language. Check it out here 

Abnormal shopping

Travelling abroad a Norwegian is always likely to bring home his or her alcohol quota. The rules in Norway are strict and one is only allowed to bring a few bottles of alcohol when returning home, the amount depending on the alcohol content of the drink. I am not one of those people.

When travelling this time I was actually looking for certain alcoholic beverages: Irish cider and one certain type of champagne (not really champagne, but what we still call champagne, ignoring how we annoy the French from the Champagne area). The first because its price in Norway suggests it to be illegal, the second because of my innate need to fill the quota. I could not find either neither in Sweden nor in Denmark. Consequently, no alcohol followed me home.

With a two-year-old never leaving my side I managed to do very little proper shopping, I’m talking clothes, accessories, shoes, etc. I was limited to shops where they had trolleys for Son. He is used to that from back home and enjoys shopping with me, as long as he can talk to everyone passing us.

As I’ve mentioned before I pay quite a lot of attention to what we eat. And, living in Norway, that is not always a walk in the park. But, in Denmark, biological groceries are not considered swear words, nor forced out of the market by large brands who buy off shops to squeeze out the smaller brands. The range of products was thus out of this world, compared to that at home. Prices were better too. So I ended up buying a lot things I assume not every man in the street would bring home after travelling the neighbour countries.

I know, but I’ve never claimed to be normal…

Vanilla, just pure vanilla, no vanillin, no additives, just ground vanilla.

Tzatziki spice mix, because I too am allowed to be lazy. Little salt, no additives, not certified biological, but makes my life easier and my salads better.

And one of the best chocolates ever. It is becoming increasingly rare in Norway and has now become quite difficult to find.

Venetian

Tags

Italian, Italy, Language, Venetian, Venice

Stan at Sentence First just posted a list of interesting links. One of them brought me to an article on Venetian. I was immediately fascinated by the subject, maybe it’s because of my interest in Scots, which also opens for a debate on whether it is a language or a dialect.

I have, as mentioned earlier, spent many summers in Italy. These have been spent in the area around Venice, and I have also visited the city itself multiple times. I also have friends from the area, and language has been discussed on more than one occasion. However, I have never once heard anyone mention Venetian. Neither by name, nor has anyone mentioned a dialect different to the one I have heard.

The story of a variety (always the safe word to use) that has developed independently from Italian for so many years, and still hold such a strong position as the article claims, is an astonishing story. I have noted the name of the book written by a scholar at the University of St Andrews (which the article is based on) and will try to find time for it sometime. For now I’ll just share the story with you, and hope that I might get some information for free (maybe you’ve already read the book? I f you have any knowledge of Venetian at all, please, do share!)

The House of the Mosque

Tags

Book, Book Review, Reading, The House of the Mosque

I have just returned from a world far away from my own reality. I have met people and learned to know them better than I know some of my closest friends. I have visited them for a few hours every day, and during those hours I’ve felt my pulse rise, my heart beat faster, I’ve been disappointed and I’ve almost been moved to tears (had I been more emotional I would have cried at least a few times).

 

This world has been visited while I’ve still remained in the safety of my own living-room (or my brother’s living room, in my car, on a ferry, or in bed).

 

This time I’ve been to Iran. I have read the book The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah which follows the lives of the family living in the house connected to the Mosque in Senejan. The family has lived in the house for centuries, and the story told in the book spans for a few decades starting in the 1960s. A quick google search will give you a plot summary at the length you’d prefer.

 

I liked the book. I was not spellbound by it, but it was still difficult to put down. There are many characters, which I at times found a little confusing, I have never been good with names and as many of the names used in the book are quite unusual to me doesn’t help either.

The book is fictional, but incorporates real events and people. The story must thus be seen as a made up story. Still, the story has a lot to offer, and opens a window and a new angle of looking at conflict in the world today. It has helped me see further aspects of the wars fought in the Middle East.

 

I would absolutely recommend the book. It’s moving, it’s well written (at least the Norwegian translation is, so I assume the original or the English version is no worse) and reading it is a few hour well spent.

There’s no place like home…

Only a few hours ago did I park the car in the driveway after ten days on the road. We’ve had ten days of fun, excitement, adventures and bliss. I hope Son will cherish the memories for as long as his two-year-old brain is able to store them. The days have been packed and the two of us have not been apart for more than a few minutes every day. After a very busy year I’ve loved spending that much time with Son, but at the same time I’ve had very little time to myself. Hubby Dear has been at work and thus couldn’t come with us.

We came home late this evening, and although Son has at several occasions today exclaimed that he missed his bed at home, he had no intention of getting any sleep after the joyful reunion. But now, the house is quiet. I’ve unpacked everything that needed to be unpacked immediately, set a dough to rise overnight and am now planning on reuniting myself with my bed and pillow.

I’d forgotten my book in the car and while walking the few metres from the door to the garage, tranquility set in. The sky is cloudy and grey, the air is fresh and it is just warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt. The lawn is overgrown, the flowers and bushes have lived and done exactly as they’ve pleased for a while and look very different to how they looked when we left. It has obviously been raining a lot while we’ve been gone. All potted plants are nearly dead from drowning, in contrast to the plants inside that are almost dead from lack of water. The neighbourhood is quiet, Son is sleeping inside and I’m home.

I’ll now creep down under the huge duvet, open the window up wide to let the summer-night air in, read a few pages and sleep, for as long as Son allows, in my own bed. There really is no place like home.

Travelling

Tags

Tolkien, Travel

“Not all those who wander are lost”

I want to travel. I need to travel. I don’t have to go far, I just have to change what’s around me. Here new sounds, see new places and breathe the air of someplace different. After being at home for a while I feel trapped, smothered and sufficated, I need to spread my wings. The best journey is one where my loved ones travel with me, but I also enjoy solitude and spending time on my own.

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to“

I have not been abroad since October. It’s too long. My last trips have been short, consequently they need to be more frequent. I will spread my wings for a few days now. I will discover new places, and equally important; rediscover old places. I will get lost, that is part of the journey, an important part. And I will test myself, challenge my weaknesses and grow stronger.