Get organisised

My study, aka Chaos.Time I got myself organisised. Tomorrow, maybe....

"Happy anyway"

Look at this happy little chap and learn a lesson from him. I have been silent recently because I didn't want to bore you with more blathering about my medical condition. The prescribed treatment is working, and each day seems to bring me closer to "normal". Alleluia!
I even managed to go out on Barn Owl business the other day, albeit with the help of my vigorous mate, David H. We went to rescue a Barn Owl nestbox that had fallen when the barn collapsed. The box was a write-off, for which I was grateful, as it was one of those Wildlife Trust boxes made out of chipboard, a horrible material to repair.
So, bones no longer quite so achy and muscles calm even though still weak, I am raring to go. All I need now is for the weather to get a bit warmer and I will give you all a beaming smile like the little Brazilian menino da rua in the photo!

The me in Odmedod

Of course you all remember the scarecrow character, Odmedod, who appeared in the 1942 edition of the Rupert Annual. This illustration doesn't do him justice, as his arms and legs were just sticks. Which is why the illustration doesn't do me justice either. A side effect of my current medical condition is that the musculature on my arms and legs has wasted away quite a lot, leaving me looking like a pudding with four poles poking out.
I seem to be mending, thank goodness and thanks to medication, in that the everywhere-pains of the morning gradually subside during the day.
And the prognosis is good: I should be back to normal in 4-6 weeks, according to both the Turkish and the English specialists who have been on my case.
[Smiley face].
Which leaves me with the question: how can I rebuild the muscles in my arms and legs? I have no wish to look like Arnie Schwarzie, I will be happy with biceps no larger than goose eggs,  providing they work. Any ideas gratefully received.

Out of the bouches...

 Examen de français en primaire

 Réponses d'élèves de primaire  : 

1. Dans la phrase ''Le voleur a volé les pommes'', où est le sujet ?
- En prison.

2. Le futur du verbe ''je baille'' est... ?
 - je dors.

3. Que veux dire l'eau ''potable'' ?
 - C'est celle que l'on peut mettre dans un pot.

4. Qu'est-ce qu'un oiseau migrateur ?
 - C'est celui qui ne peut se gratter que la moitié du dos.

5. Que faire la nuit pour éviter les moustiques ?
 - Il faut dormir avec un mousquetaire.

 6. À quoi sert la peau de la vache ?
 - Elle sert à garder la vache ensemble.

 7. Pourquoi le chat a-t-il quatre pattes ?
- Les 2 devant servent à courir, les 2 derrière à freiner.

 8. Quand dit-on''chevaux'' ?
 - Quand il y a plusieurs chevals

9. Qui a été le premier colon en Amérique ?
 - Christophe.

 10. Complétez les phrases suivantes :

 À la fin les soldats en ont assez......d'être tués.

 Je me réveille et à ma grande surprise...
 - ...je suis encore vivant.

 La nuit tombée...
- ...le renard s'approcha à pas de loup.

 11. Pourquoi les requins vivent-ils dans l'eau salée ?
 - Parce que dans l'eau poivrée, ils tousseraient tout le temps.

12. L'institutrice demande : Quand je dis «je suis belle», quel temps est-ce ?
 - Le passé, madame 

Trellis is surprised

I publish this latest missive from the good lady of North Wales without comment.
Dear Mrs Samovar, she writes, a little bird told me that A CERTAIN PERSON came to stay with you last week. All I can say, dear, is that you are a braver woman than I am. That CERTAIN PERSON is notorious for eating everything in sight, drinking endless cups of tea and forever walking about for no apparent reason. I hope at least that he was kind to your dogs, and maybe even spent time stroking your pussy (He doesn't get on well with cats as a rule).
Anyway,  look after yourself, dear, and know that I admire your kindness to dumb animals, including  to the CERTAIN PERSON referred to above.
Yours in sisterly solidarity
Blodwen Trellis, Widow, retd, no serious offer refused

Начало

Don't worry about what it means (it is in fact a poem written by my young friend Masha Cherepanova, and a nice one), just look at the Kyrillic alphabet. This is what Frederick Bodmer says in the chapter "The Diseases of Language" in "Loom of Language" referring to the influence of Church Slavonic on the secular Slavonic languages:
 [words in bold are my emphasis]
"The Russians did not emancipate themselves from the literary tyranny of the Church, and to create a written language of their own, till the end of the eighteenth century.  As a hangover from their church-ridden past, citizens of the USSR still stick to Kyrilliza...The Poles and the Slovaks are free from this cultural handicap..."
 And later:
 "While the Kremlin curbed the power of the Greek Orthodox Church, it made no attempt to bring itself into line with Europe, America, Africa, Australia and New Zealand by liquidating the cultural handicap of the Kyrillic alphabet..."


For me, there is always the fascination of "cracking the code" of a different writing system, and I still get a buzz from reading Russian. But I have to admit that page after page of Kyrillic can become somehow stultifying, perhaps because all the letters seem to take up the same square space. I suppose it's a bit like reading texts written entirely in capital letters. So, although I can't go all the way with Bodmer, I think he has a point.
Mind you, I wouldn't say so to Masha - she and her poems and her language are all far too beautiful.


Вечер,музыка,клуб,нас знакомят: «Привет.»
Я напротив сажусь. (Симпатичный,но нет)…-
Эта мысль в голове пробегает стрелой.
Шум, толпа, голоса.(Трудный день…)-Алкоголь?
-Не сегодня.-Пойдем. Этот танец за мной!
-Я устала.(Огонь…)- Сигарета важней?..
-(Черт возьми, кто ты???)Нет! 
-Так пойдем, не робей! 
(Это вызов? Зачем? Что кому это даст?)
-Не робей??Что ж, пойдем, танец силы придаст. 
Шаг. Еще.(Этот взгляд!) Поворот.
То лицом, то спиной, руки накрест, обвод...
Голова закружилась,шатнулась...Рука
С нежной силой меня притянула слегка.
Один танец мгновенно сменяет другой.
Я теряю ход мыслей, поистине твой
Этот вечер и танец в весь вечер длиной.
Ты меня не пускаешь- хотела уйти,
Руки,волосы,шея...сердце рвется в груди...
Голос внутренний шепчет лишь слабо:"Очнись!"
Тихо...Музыки нет.-Мы с тобой увлеклись..

Federico Barocci

I was in fine voice last night (in fact, early this morning) at Midnight Mass. It was good to be singing carols that I knew from my childhood: all shepherds and magi and mangers and swaddling clothes. The Nativity scene above was painted by an artist I had never heard of (shame on me!), Federico Barocci ,1535-1612. The painting hangs in the Prado, but I never saw it there, I was always too preoccupied with Goyal El Greco,  Velasquez. and the like.
The reason the painting is here on my blog is that it was on a Christmas card a dear friend sent me. Makes a change from overfed robins wearing pixy hats.