my stunning photoshopping skills the goodness of photo cropping and post-editing in general. Vision on the left: a lovely lake in a forest; reality on the right: a rusty bathtub in the yard.
In response to the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Perspective.
I love the colour red. Red scare won’t scare me.
I think I hate this colour. What colour is that even? (Hi, mum, I’m just joking, thanks for the gift!)
Ella is perching atop a tree. I think that she’s thinking she’s a bird.
Based on the amount of footprints, it looks like my cats were running around the tree for hours.
Nobody believes me that I hate trains.
Hubby and me were presented with a white elephant. Not the big beast literally but a white elephant gift nonetheless. It was a gift coupon for a fancy degustation menu dinner in town. So we put aside our rubber boots and pitchforks, had a bath (though it was not yet Sunday aka Bath-Day), dressed up in our good church clothes and off we went.
As suspected, the restaurant proved above our usual social and economic standards, and I came totally unprepared. At a table for two, there were more pieces of cutlery and more glasses and plates laid out than in my entire cupboard collection. I was wondering if it’s worse to use the wrong fork and knife or to google stealthily on my phone which fork and knife you start from. (Now I know you start from the outside and I got it wrong. Of course.)
A waitress in an evening-gown-uniform inquired if we desired wine. I couldn’t figure out how to ask discreetly if it was or wasn’t covered by the gift coupon, so I remained silent. Hubby ventured an affirmative answer, on which the waitress offered a list of foreign-sounding brands. Hurrying to help my monolingual hubby out, I asked tentatively if they had perhaps something local. She regretted that they didn’t, and she surely thought we were Amish. Hubby chose the last option on the wine list by repeating the last cluster of sounds the waitress pronounced.
The wine was brought by a waiter in a tuxedo-uniform. He was probably sent by his female co-worker to get a share in the humorous spectacle of villagers in the city. The waiter inquired if we wished a vegetarian or a regular menu. Hubby was being humorous (or so he thought) and asked playfully if he looked like a vegetarian, patting lovingly his bulging belly. The waiter blushed, said nothing and started to bring in bizarrely tiny portions of fancifully arranged meals. Before serving each, he named it, and I understood none of it because I don’t speak Gourmetese.
The last course was a dessert brought in cups so incredibly small that I was doubting if it was worth the bother at all. When the waiter was out of earshot, I dryly observed that I drink vodka from a cup larger than this. A couple at a neighbouring table looked in my direction, mildly amused. The waiter returned to ask if we wanted coffee. I wanted coffee very much but I had all reasons to believe that I would have to order five to ten cups to satisfy my need. I said I didn’t want any. So we drove home, where I got my usual half-litre mug of coffee and hubby a buttered toast.
It wasn’t me, the scratches were already there when I came!
My most mutually awkward accident doesn’t involve me eavesdropping but storming straight somewhere where I shouldn’t have.
At a party in a private home, I was invited to have a look at the host’s garden on my own. I did, but sadly at a moment when other people were using the garden for activities of their own. I don’t blame the guys at the other end of the door, they were holding the handle to prevent me from opening it, but I thought the door was just opening hard and I prevailed.
The garden proved shockingly interesting.
In response to the WordPress Daily Prompt: Accident.
I’m quite illiterate, but I read a lot.
–J. D. Salinger
This looks so depressive that it cheers me up.
This post is about and for Justine from Eclectic Odds n Sods.
I met Justine on WordPress forums when we were both taking the Zero to Hero challenge. Soon we discovered that we have a lot of in common: such as our husband. Though we love our big bald man, it’s the only logical outcome that the two of us should marry. We have already set the date (Christmas), the menu (Peking duck) and the mascot (reindeer). But I realised we forgot to propose!
Thus, Justine of Eclectic Odds n Sods, will you marry me?
In response to FireBonnet’s Random Moments of Delight challenge #9.
I’m not sure that I actually like snow. It’s slightly uncomfortable to lie in the snow when shooting macro.
I’m freezing. Serve me well. I should know better than to pick stuff from snow.
See her sad eyes? You could tell she hates winter. I can’t make her move from the snow in her cosy bed, though.
This is a follow-up to one of my previous posts here. It’s not pretty. But you were asking for it.
In response to the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Abandoned.
This reminds me of John Mansfield’s line “Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir”. The reality of cargoes is considerably less poetic.
I prefer civilisation to nature, hence the true focus of the photo is the car in the background. Now go on, throw stones at me.
Pebbles and polish
I attract street sweepers and building cleaners. I wonder if it’s because I’m clean and neat or because I’m dirty and disordered. (My mirror says it’s the former. Hopefully.) I love that they love me but they scare me. Consider this.
The other day I was literally crawling in the street, busied with taking macro photos of cobblestones and minding my own business. Suddenly a voice behind my back said: “Whatyaupta?” I got a fright and dropped my camera on the cobble. “I’ll see when I see it,” I said tentatively in a tiny shivering voice. It was just a street sweeper. He smiled at me and said: “Ughuh.” (I think he meant “I see.”) His two front teeth were missing.
The next day I walked in a lift in a public building. There was someone inside already but all I saw was a vague silhouette because I don’t stare at people. The door shut. Suddenly my hand was firmly grabbed and there was a loud scream: “Aaww, what a cute colour!” I would have collapsed but I couldn’t because I was held. It was just a cleaning woman who really liked my nails. Still, I could hardly stir when she took the lift to the cellar, where she exited.
Something is fundamentally wrong. Is it me or is it the cleaning people? What’s your experience?
I can never resist a bench. In fact I may have started collecting photos of these.
My most horrible nightmare is obligatory physical education. I was living it and I emerged scathed for a lifetime.
In response to the WordPress Daily Prompt: Sweet Dreams.
I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive.
For lack of a botanical name, I shall call these pinkberries.
The cone discovered in the garden fascinated me. Especially because I found it under an apple tree.
Yesterday hubby and me went for a walk. This is unique in itself because it only happens once in four years or so. Like the Olympics.
When a group of random teenagers passing by respectfully wished us a good day, hubby sadly observed that we must have grown old. I was delighted, though, that kids finally stopped yelling obscenities at me and started to treat me as the little old lady that I am to them.
Here’s to teenagers, to whom you’re either dead or a zombie when you’re over thirty.
In response to FireBonnet’s Random Moments of Delight challenge #8.
The same spot, different seasons.
In response to the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Threes.
Such blossom in February? The shrub obviously lost sense of what season it is.
This is how I always visualised an Angry Young Man. I think he’s lacking a sickle, though.
The good thing about black cats is that you won’t lose them in winter.
I wish I knew why I have to poke and pull at everything around.
It’s amazing that the rose blossom still hasn’t dropped and died.
Your car has secrets.
The following conversation took place about midnight, after hubby left the car parked on the driveway rather than in the garage and after curious granny couldn’t cope with this state of things any longer.
The door is thrown open. A voice from the darkness of the corridor.
Granny (alarmed): There’s a red light blinking in the car!
Hubby (grumpily): I know.
Granny (insistent): But there’s a red light blinking there!
Hubby (annoyed): It’s the security system.
Granny (suspicious): Is it?
Hubby (disgruntled): Huh.
Granny (disgruntled): Huh.
A snort is heard. The door is slammed closed.
I’ve been studying granny’s behaviour pattern for years and discovered that she uses evading techniques to ask for what she wants. In this case study, she required that the car be put in the garage, but utilised a substitute problem to achieve her aim. She didn’t achieve it, for hubby is male and hence doesn’t take orders unless bribed. I mean, motivated.
To provide some comfort for the poor disgruntled lady, I came up with a series of alternative solutions for the blinking red light case.
1. The car is communicating with aliens.
2. The car elves are having a disco.
3. The car battery is trying to commit suicide.
4. The car is winking at thieves to come in.
5. The car is having a nervous tick.
I’m sure it’s number five because the car hates to be parked on the driveway as much as granny does.
What about your car? Do you know the secret meaning of its blinking red light?
That fat dark patch in the middle is my shadow. Its very largeness is none of my fault, it’s the lomo effect. (Does that sound convincing?)
What I love most about my cat Ella is that she loves me back unconditionally. I don’t think that much can be said for most persons.
This is my regular rather than Random Moment in Delight in response to FireBonnet’s eponymous challenge #7.
Love is Godless, God is loveless and everything is as bad as you always suspected.
– A. L. Kennedy
Will the drop drop or will the drop not drop?
I grew up behind the Iron Curtain. The funny fact is that back then, there was no going abroad because we were not allowed to, and now, there is no going abroad because we can’t afford to.
In response to the WordPress Daily Prompt: Society.
I was taught that these were poisonous. Since then I distrust the colour white.
For lack of treasure, I’m presenting a treasure box. Let’s pretend the treasure is in there, shall we?
In response to the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: Treasure.
This is a cut-out of someone’s gate which looks to me like the symbol for infinity.
All things red are my favourite. Also all things shoes, which, sadly, is not the case here.
I find this shot strangely poetic. Even though Ella doesn’t bother to look up.
It was silly to climb up here. My husband had to step in and carry me down.
I don’t mind Spartan, but this accommodation was Spartan and depressive.
Testing if the bush is, pardon me, a prick. And it is.