a little fairy tale

this evening, our heroine, the forest maiden,

with more than a little help from the warrior princess

and a little bit of help from the guy with the tomahawk,

found out the troglodyte's secrets.

even tho' he had tried to oh-so-cleverly disguise them.

and now the forest maiden (changed out of her forest garb) can kick back and relax and wait for the news of the new iPhones tomorrow.

or is it later today?

as long as someone remembers

i'm reading orhan pamuk's museum of innocence, which is one long pondering as to whether objects can house memory and feelings. in the book füsun says "when we lose people we love, we should never disturb their souls, whether living or dead. instead, we should find consolation in an object that reminds you of them..." my visit to the flea market on saturday rendered a new little collection of objects which feel somehow laden with more or less inaccessible memories, reminders of stories not my own. and yet, i am still drawn to these things.

this old typewriter was there the last time i went to the market, so you might say we already have a history together, or at least that we'd met before. i didn't intend to buy it, but as i was leaving, the guy said 100 kroner and so i went for it. mostly because it still had a little poem in it that must be the last thing that was typed with it.

it's a sweet little poem about a little frog by chief doctor morten scheibel from the hospital in viborg. somehow, such a remnant there in the carriage of the typewriter does give a little bit of access to the stories and the memories it silently holds.

he experimented with the lines...using no spaces initially, then reverting to normal spacing. there's even a word he struck out and changed, offering glimpses of his creative process, left behind in the typewriter. tho' there was a more fetching typewriter there at another stand (and another price), this little poem made this one more appealing.

this camera may have similar secrets to tell, as there's a film still in it and it's on photo #14. it'll need a new battery before i can find out what memories it holds within. and discovering the battery thing makes me think that the other practica i got at a flea market a month or so ago might be ok after all if i just replace the battery.

stoneware plates and bowls keep their secrets more closely guarded. the azur nissen denmark plate is crazed and has a hairline crack, belying tales of long and not always gentle use. i loved the color and the amusing chat i had with the rather crotchety woman who sold it, so already i have laid a thin layer of my own memories onto it. the little bowl is a bit more silent, speaking only through the HAK initials on the bottom, as being a descendent of a long tradition of pottery-making in denmark. i loved the soft colors and the shape and size of it.

this little flat bowl/tray is HAK as well. the simple flower motif reminds me of the flower people sabin drew when she was little, so already i begin to layer my own meaning onto the object. it makes me a little bit sad to think that it found its way to the flea market. it must have once been a present to someone, thoughtfully given and once that person was gone and the story with it, it was packed up and sent off to the flea market. objects only retain their meaning as long as someone remembers.

viking imaginings

there are times when you come upon a scene that transports you, just for a moment, back in time. i imagine that this scene wasn't all that different in viking times...cows grazing on the shore and a long viking warship at anchor in the lake. a crisp autumn day, birdsong in the air and a light breeze of the sort that the vikings undoubtedly enjoyed. i didn't see any actual vikings, but i suppose they were at the nearby kro, having lunch and a few beers...just like in the old days.

it kind of makes me want to pillage something...

where is dostoevsky when you need him?

this morning, while i was getting ready, i flipped on CNN. it's what i do when i'm in a hotel. this morning, it was all chilean mine rescue, all the time. i watched the third guy coming up out of the hole and being released from his little cage, which is dubbed the fenix, i guess to signify rebirth. and it was a birth of sorts, as he came up the long canal into the light of the world again, to the waiting arms of his wife. and it was a touching moment.

but the endless analysis and gushing and hype by the newscasters was simply too much. they showed a psychological "expert," who, sounding no more authoritative than a random person on the street, exclaimed in completely general terms, about how psychologically difficult it would be for them. the CNN reporter simply exclaimed along with her, not asking any deeper questions to elicit a more meaty expert response. but perhaps she knew she didn't have an expert on her hands at all. what i fear is that she didn't know that. she simply thought it was her role to play sentimental drama queen together with this woman on camera, as they breathlessly watched footage of the first three miners hugging their families. it's a pity, as i think the psychological aspects of this experience on the miners must be fascinating.

the job behind this rescue is a big one and it is an amazing story. i was a little surprised that the strongest were brought up first. i'd have thought they'd bring up the ones most in need of medical attention, but maybe it made for better television that the first men stepped out, smiling and looking surprisingly robust in their trendy sunglasses (for eye protection since they'd been away from the light for 2 long months and undoubtedly donated by oakley or ray ban or some such company).

i wonder if, thanks to the instant transmission of information and the way that news is covered completely while it's happening, rather than waiting for it to happen, we have lost our ability to know what the story actually is. if we're developing the story on the fly, as it's happening, there's nothing reflective it and no opportunity to draw deeper meaning, or get at the essence of the story.

dostoevsky developed the brothers karamazov on the fly. he published it under great duress and financial pressure, as well as time pressure, in weekly installments, plotting it as he frantically wrote. but sadly, it seems that there are few dostoevskys out there today, and so we watch stories unfold on television...

weirdness on a wednesday

is that what porcupine eggs look like?

: : still laughing about the fact that last week i was told that i didn't get a job i interviewed for because i lacked experience in a multi-national company working across cultures. huh? and even weirder, the woman who told me this had met me and talked to me for nearly two hours. and a lot of the conversation centered on all of the places i had traveled and nationalities i had worked with for my work with two different multi-national companies from 2001-2007. oh, and the past two years where i've worked in a country other than the one in which i live. oh, not to mention that i've had my entire working life outside the country of my birth. cross culture, my ass. note to self: do not speak danish in an interview ever again.

: : i found a way to cure my stiff neck. i went down and confronted the local manager of Fona, the store where i bought my macbook pro, about the completely ludicrous quote they've given me on fixing it. the funny little man and his failed hairplugs lied to my face, so i didn't get satisfaction on the MBP issue (which i will explain in a different, much more ranty post in the near future), but the adrenalin the whole encounter gave me fixed my neck right up. 

: : trying to convince husband to restage some cute pictures from his childhood, a la this. thus far, i have failed. tho' it wasn't the picture above i was trying to convince him to restage. there's another one of him at about age 3, standing stark naked in the backyard on a quilt. funnily enough, he won't go for an updated version of that one.

: : yesterday, it went from heavy snow to brilliant sunshine in the space of about an hour. i'll take some more of the sunshine, please.

: : my wednesday is only going to get weirder. will undoubtedly share more of that later. it's going to be anthropology, i tell you. observing the natives in their natural habitat. just like a good cross-cultural girl should...