Absolutely Autumn.

Autumn has definitely arrived at my terrasse.
The last blossoms of the summer are fighting for their existence in yellow, orange and red.

This spring I spread nasturtium seeds in pots and pans wherever I saw brown soil. I fear that snails and caterpillars might eat the most, but oh joy, the power of the seed won the race.

My mother would always use the last summer months first removing the blossoms, they are edible, to lure the plants producing  more flowers, and later collecting seeds for next year's flower feast.    I feel so close to her, going through the same procedures. 

  
Begonias are fighting for their lives. The first night frost will mean the end of them. I will as always bring them in security, in our basement,  and try keeping them alive till next spring.
 

I have collected small seeds from the pansies since August. They have been a true blessing. Blooming since April.

My dahlias are the greatest challenge. They either dry or rot indoors. This time I have found a garden expert allied. By following her advices I once more will give them a chance. It's to sad just to let them die. They are grandmother  flowers and so deserve to live. "The spring begins in the autumn", Karel Capek said. I'm so looking forwards to the fruits of my work. Have a wonderful Ruby Tuesday.

 
Photo and poem © 2013 by Magical Mystical Teacher


http://rubytuesdaytoo.blogspot.com.au

Interior collage

Selv gamle damer er opptatt av interiør og design. Som pensjonist tilbringer man mer tid hjemme enn noensinne. Livet går i sakte valsetakt. Gjenbruk har vært et ideal siden oljekrisen tidlig på syttitallet. Jeg har satt sammen et stilleben av gamle tekstiler og gjenstander fra loppemarkeder, Fretex samt småfunn og litt arvegods.
I bakgrunnen et dansk litografi, fransk kjeksreklame, og norsk rosemalingsbrett. Bedehuskaffekjelen som rommer 5,5 liter fant jeg i en mørk kjeller. Ståluglen, en brevpresse som er formet etter høyrehånd, og både signert og nummerert, er min manns loppetrofe som jeg har kidnappet for ti år tilbake. Har valgt en sjokkrosa, steintøy 2 CV sparebørse til center piece.Second hand Torbjørn Egner og David Baird utgaver symboliserer kjærlighet til bøker fra vugge til grav.



Tinnuglelysestakene er arvegods, mens plastkoppen til høyre er en overlevning fra en henfaren thermos. Lappeteppene er annengangs gjenbruk fra bruktbutikken. Den turkis husmorstolen med stålunderstell og små hjul fra femtitallet er også funnet, mens pleddet til kr.39,50 ble kjøpt på Fretex sist fredag. Ingen bestemt stilart, men mange glade minner fra et levd liv.


Even old ladies like me fancies interior design. After all I spend most of my time at home. I like to rearrange my old and new findings. Recycling has been my contribution to a greener world since the 1970-ies. Daughter Serina has encouraged me to read the blogs of Todd Selby. Here I was inspired to compose a still life contribution for a competition on a Norwegian "fabulous" interior blog .


Dette er mitt bidrag til interiørbilde.
Linking to .::{fabelaktig}::.
Take a peek at her wonderful Scandinavian modern interior designs.

Ruby challenge

I did promise a report from our (Gunnar's) garage. Sometimes promises are hard to keep. Me and my big mouth. Six o'clock today, it's dark, the storm is howling and salt rain comimg in horizontally from west .

In his garage a man is eager working, wearing thick, fake fur lined coveralls. Gunnar is busy mending the automatic garage door opener.
The light is good for work, but not for photography. I simply had no time to use photoshop. What I saw, is what you get.

No problems fining red in the garage. Skis stashed up under the roof beams.

I don't even know the names on the tools Gunnar is using. This is so definitely his place.


Bar chairs beside the heavy work bench.
The man knows what a man needs to make the wheels turn around.

When spending hours working, often with mates, he needs to relax from time to time. The chair is not orange, but post box red. Genuine leather, Italian design. Best and finest chair we've ever had.

Serina and I are represented with our bicycles. I never had a driver's license. That is weird coming from a car family.

Gunnar's beloved MG. Made for export to America, hence the wheel on the left hand side. Her first owner bought her in San Francisco in 1953. Second owner bought her in Vancouver and brought her over to Norway. Third owner Gunnar has been in faithful relationship with the lady since 1971. 40 wonderful years together.

She's been a work under construction for a couple of years now. She's become a demanding old woman, and Gunnar has three more females craving his time, plus Amidala, our truck and Serina's car. Poor man. He has indeed deserved his red chair.

Half resting with yet another tool sake in his hands. Wrench maybe?

Here's the right red colour of the chair and Gunnar's gloves.
New haircut today, not bad at all.

The door is almost fixed.

Bits and pieces.

More.

The L is from when he and Serina had driving lessons. She came home glowingly proud. Dad had taught her to do reverse in 8 number shapes.
Later hand brake turn.
Oh, my. They spent some real quality time together, and Serina ended up being a very skilled driver.

The man and his car.

Wet gloves hung to dry.

Jackson's jack.

Gunnar never stops admiring the fine curves of the car. I agree. She may be old, but her beauty is for all to see.

Visit teach Mary for more Ruby Tuesdays here

Daily Manna

I can sympathize with Steve E's concern; "is there food on your table"?
Like most Norwegians we have placed our kitchen table beside a window. We like streams of daylight, and we like to know what's going on outside.
I know I should have tidied up before taking the pictures, but this is how we live. Eating bread, smorgaas,orange juice, meat, reading morning paper, telephoning, listening to the radio, discussing, making notes in the Moleskin, reading loud Corrie ten Boom, "This is the Lord's day." Short and straight to the point words for the day.

Dinner; water, fried fish, onion, potatoes, fresh herbs and butter. Fruit and cheese. The paper still not done with.
Here's the place we like to gather and also when having guests. Plenty of place for six once the books and papers are gone. The candles and figurines get to stay.
Days like this (yesterday), are more valuable than anything I can think of.
And then there's coffee.

AUTUMN DELIGHTS

Our mispel hedge in the front yard doesn't care if it's mid November.
The red berries are brightening my days both indoors and out doors. They look so wonderful, but I doubt that they're edible.
Wouldn't it have been wonderful if they were??
I could have filled my freezer in no time.

As it is, I use them for decoration. They need no water and a little twig makes the world of a difference on our kitchen table.
Great joy # two this week, when I received my Mazawattee tea box, which I ordered in a second hand internet shop. "Old Folks at home" is the title. My grandmother used to have a similar box filled with wonderfully coloured and shaped buttons. When I got too restless for her taste, she would hand me the box to play with and also tell about the items in the box. A pearl in my memory book. I have placed it in front of my couvert. Just seeing it, brings sun into my heart.

This Carl Larsson girl, modelled after his paintings, is also having a good time on our kitchen table between mispel berries, foliage, pine cones and pebbles brought home from various hikes.
Heaps of delights assembled on a tin tray.

Autumn in the Garden by Henry Van Dyke

When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.

'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,
Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,
There's a voice that talks
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here
Year by year,--
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,
Fading as the flowers.

Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;
But relief
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow
From the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,
To resign,
And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all.

What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!
And what prayers
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure!
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have traced
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find
Comfort in my mind.

Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:
Yet how near
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,
Of the human race!
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,
Not apart!
They who know the sorrows other lives have known
Never walk alone.

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