Recipe of the day

Loosely translated from the Householdbook by J.S.Lindal 1947
A book no home should be without. And no Lady of the house can call herself a true Lady of the house until she has studied it from cover to cover.
Religiously.

Leg Cheese
Sheep legs are to be singed over a fire, all hairs should dissappear, you need an iron in the fire for hairremoval between the toes . Legs to be soaked in saltwater, scraped and then rinsed many times in clean water. Then they are boiled in slightly salted water, until the bones fall off. Then taken out and all bones removed. Meat should be squeezed, while squeezing add slowly the broth. To the cheese you should add spices, salt, pepper, cloves, according to taste. The cheese should be kneaded until it has reached a consistency, then put in a moist cloth and pressed overnight, then cut and pickled.

Yumm..........
The next recipe in the book is Pickled Calf´s Head. If anyone is interested in obtaining the recipe, please contact me and I will have it sent to you once the postman comes a knocking.

Also, I am hereby advertising for a survivor of Leg Cheese tasting for elaboration.

Welcome

The Lady of the house has decided to translate a little from the original posts.

Hugleiðingar húsfreyju í sveit

.
May your days be merry and bright and the road always rise to meet you etc.

Card of the day
-is the Devil himself. The Old man down there, Belsebub, Lucifer. The one with them feet of goats.
The card has many meanings. It points towards the materialistic world. The Lady of the house is a person of spirit and cares less for the material matters, so that explanation can be thrown out with the bathwater. Another meaning is the symbol of unity and unbreachable bonds between two persons, the card of weddings.
I have started to wonder if I should contemplate on buying wedding gifts rather than christmas and birthday presents. The time of birthdays is ahead, loved ones who are still here to celebrate one more year of youth or maturity,and loved ones who could have blown out their candles if only.
The time of advent preparations nearly upon us; I have already spent a few nights arranging christmas carols for my students to play. Jingle bells already fast becoming one of my least favourite tunes, with a good few weeks to go until I am Jingle Belled every hour on the hour, in fact every few minutes or so, in different versions and with different sounds. But that will be the time when it will be a warm welcome to come home, put on warm socks and sip hot whiskey´s and toddies while watching the evening news. Think about where to hang the rest of the fairy lights; yes, I said rest of. I have a few hanging around the house, one is scrunched up in a big glass bowl and lights up a lonely corner. There is always a bit of the merry while waiting for sleet through the last days of autumn.

True Stories

The cat is possessed again. I am on the verge of calling a preast, arm myself with the bible for a shield and chant in a threatening way in Latin. Carry smoldering incense into each and every corner and watch the beast squirm and howl louder than before. Then be a proud owner of the ideal cat in duplicate; cats who wee inside their box, stay outside for longer than 2 minutes at a time, eat their food off a plate instead off the floor, and dont scratch and spread kitty litter enough to cover the entire floorspace of a medium sized family home. Cats who wont scream like banshees from hell in the middle of the night and who wont scratch the furniture to sawdust.

A true story.
Takes place in a kitchen in another home in the country, a home where cats also take residence.
Cousin just out of her teens: "Yuck, eugh, it smells of cat piss in here".
The lady of the house visiting:"Really? I cant smell a thing".
Cousin:"Yup. Yuck. Massive stench. Cant you smell it???".
Lady of the house:"Erm...nooo...Really?
Cousin: "Yeah. Its totally yuck. It also reeks in the hall, kind of wets your eyes in a way".
Lady:" You sure your cats didnt just piss on something out there. Mine sometimes do.(transl.: sometimes=always)".
Cousin just out of her teens exits kitchen to sniff around the hallway. The visiting Lady of the house sniffles weakly, totally blocked up from a severe headcold, stares at the clock on the wall and imagines the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
Cousin enters right:"Hey...whoaaah! Your boots have the stink of death. Totally horrible".
Lady of the house:"Wah....? Really? I cant smell a thing. Are you sure? How about in here?".
Cousin approaches with nostrils flared like a water buffalo in heat, sniffing while the visiting lady of the house blows her nose on some kitchen roll and trying her best to catch the tiniest whiff of that supposed horrible aroma. The sense of smell fails miserably. The cousin looks at the rednosed lady, straight in the eyes and lo, if there wasnt a tiny glint of horror in her stare.
Cousin:"Look. You have to take those socks off. They stink to the heavens. This is disgusting".

The lady of the house in a right old mess. Had been teaching classes all day wearing the socks the cats pissed on.
And no one said a thing.

Candlelight

The beginning of the month of October, calm autumn nights lit up with the warm glow of candles. Gypsymusic and nazis on the television, a tall glass with a cold drink. The lady of the house thinks about the best way to move bookshelves and books up to the next floor, how best to make space for the organ and the Steinway. Chilly nights ahead in the bedroom , and time to move the bed from its summerposition to its winterposition. Large windows to the east and the south make for a cold head of hair for the bed´s dreaming inhabitants in the crispness of a winters morn. The northwall painted a dull granite gray, opted as the best colour at the time 2 years ago, appropriate for the mood of the time. A warmer colour would suit for this year, the colour of tenderness and perhaps patience that comes with age. Or one to suit the warmth in the room once the geothermal heating is hooked up to the rattling old radiators in the house. The last rattle will be a goodbye to frozen toes on a cold bedroom floor.
The month ahead contains music in many different forms, in many ways. Everything from psalms and hymns for christening to a chamber music concert, ethereal voices singing the music of Pergolesi and Haydn while a chamber orchestra and basso continuo keeps the music tied to the ground. As if a string was tied to the song, flying in the breeze up below the church ceiling. The best way to get warm while away is to play, to get warm from the inside out and perhaps brighten up a small part of the world, even if just for a minute.

Pot luck

Came home to a dark house after stuffing myself with pork ribs with my parents. Took my shoes off in the hall and idly wandered towards the kitchen to make some coffee. From the corner of my eye I glimpsed something that did not belong there at all. My blood curdled and then froze, I was half paralyzed, didnt dare reach into the kitchen and flick the switch. A brown and hairy thing on top of my stove. Not moving. Most likely frozen in the pure panic of the moment like myself, definatly scanning me and looking closely at me; finding out the best way to pounce and go for my throat, the fastest way to deliver a bite that would cause me to bleed to death in record time. Or that it was aiming for my ankles, going to cut the legs from underneath me so that I couldnt run away while it would chomp happily away at a leg or an arm. Perhaps the face.
Decided to be brave and turned on the light. Its an old fluorescent one, the kind that flickers for a while until it comes on with the brightness precision required in operating theaters. In the all too short flickers of light in between the all too long periods of darkness I noticed it had its long and hairy arm hanging out of a pot on the stove. Started walking ever so carefully to the time of one step per every 300 heartbeats or so (it still was pretty fast walking) then I got a good look at the monster.
A monkey!
I had a monkey in a pot.
Had forgotten that my cousin was visiting earlier with her 6 month old daughter and in the rush to tidy up we had thrown all the toys into the pot AKA coolest drum in the world. Forgetfulness.....senility you see.
Tried to get over the shock and calm my nerves and ran a bath for myself. A splash of purple Radox, proved to be relaxing in big lettering over the label. That should kill my monkey shakes.
When I entered the bathroom I was greeted with a stench so vile and sickly sweet. Into the tub I should go no matter what, since that supposedly should aid a restful sleep. The only way I could envision that happening was if I gagged enough times and for long enough from the smell I would soon be exhausted enough and therefore relaxed, that I would at least get some sleep, if not a restful one.
My 6 month old relative and the makers of Radox have a lot to answer for.......

Samples

A sandwich with cucumber salad in my lunchbox. Sweet tea in a flask. Blue and red sneakers with uneven bows and a striped green shirt, the damp smell of freshly watered small plants under plastic. Flies buzzing, the scent of new and sticky birch leaves and larch in the morning dew, dusty smell of the dirttrail. The principal says do not wander off, children, a flaking green bench. A morning in Forest Vaglar 20 years ago.
Orange glow on the kitchen table, warm and golden, green haze looking at the northernlights in the wintersky and me rubbing the daybreak into my eyes. Mt. Esja pitch black in the distance, blueish Mt. Akrar to the left and the smell of exhaust coming in through the bathroom window, itchy nose while I open the jar of coffee whistling a part of a Fauré tune, a blue toothbrush. A january morning in Akranes a few years ago.
A cold gray damp in the air, everywhere, warm slippers and an Icelandic woolen jumper in natural colours. Gray rain slapping the walls on the outside, shuffling fast in my slippers across the backyard, shoveling lumpy darkness from a pitchblack pile into the coal bucket. The bright flame of the match cuts through the morning, the smell of a firestarter peeking out from between the coals in the fireplace, shaky hands wrapping the jumper tightly. A bottle of milk with a green label on the front step, green Barry´s tea in a mug and toes start to warm up to the pale pink and amber glow, blue tongues licking away the damp. Smell of peat left on top of the coals. A march morning in Waterford.

This fall morning I start the day in technicolour.

punker mouse

While drinking my morning coffee the male cat came walking in with a mouse in its mouth. Proud and happy with the catch of the day, he walked himself into the kitchen, of course, that is where food is stored in this house. Out of experience the lady of the house realised that a calm manner would be the best approach in this instance, walked calmly into the kitchen, since it is near impossible to diagnose a mouse alive or dead while held in the lion´s jaws of death.
I got out an empty waterjug, 1 litre IKEA one with a blue handle, ready to slam it down and make a small biosphere to ensure the survival of the mouse once the hunter would open its mouth to gloat and tell me the stories of how big it really was.
Mice are incredibly quick to go from the state of coma over to turbo or lightspeed. The cat equally fast (good in a way) so the little thing couldnt escape to the security of under the fridge like it obviously was going to try for. Instead, the cat miaowed and the mouse took the chance and ran to the hall, slid behind a bookcase.
Blackie started to get overly excited, hissed and slammed a clawed paw in between a few books which all ended up on the floor as if by magic, the only thing to be seen in the bottom shelf was a tiny little mouse´s tail.
Mice can not only run like the wind, they can also flatten themselves.
A lot.
Unassisted.
It had squeezed in between the shelf and the wall, a gap barely big enough for a human tooth...not that I was going to have a taste. My daughter, the cat, had by now showed up, the hissing done in dolby stereo surround, the lady of the house standing there trying to control the two blood thirsty animals. Images of supersized frothing-at-the-mouth dogs on a chain jumped into mind.
Housewives do not have the reflexes given to mice...or cats.
To make a very long story very short; the mouse was carried out sitting on a piece of paper, sniffing underneath the protective cover made by IKEA. Sat there with ruffled fur and a torn ear. Obviously a punker mouse. The cats facing curfew while I let the punker run for shelter.
The black Cattus Terrible in a protesting mood, pisses on the middle of the hallway floor, pure look of carelessness shining from the two eyes while I give him one of my best rehearsed speeches:
yuck, shame on you, disgusting, this is so not on, bad etc.
Cats simply have no sense for action and consequence and therefore its pointless to rub their noses into the offending puddle. Then again, speeches dont work either, rehearsed or not.
Put on disposable gloves, take out kitchen roll, disinfecting soap and water in a bucket, a mop. My weapons of expertise.
Think miscellanious thoughts bordering on the illegal about the cats and envision the days when there will be no mice to chase during breakfast and I can sit back in an unscratched leather chair. Turn on the stereo and turn it up loud.

Oldies

In my cyberworld mail I got two copies of a letter about some outrageous naked old woman.
In my meatworld mail I got an envelope from UNESCO asking for money, signed by an ex president of Iceland, Mrs. Finnbogadóttir.
All mails went into the bin, in both places, not looked at and with a pfff sound.
Pfff and tsk.
The sounds you start to make once you get older.
Then there is that weird sound I make when I have to bend down.
"Nggghhhh"
sometimes its "eeeegggghhhh"
Took me a little while to figure out the origin of the sound, was startled at first.
Found out in the end that the sound had its source in an organ deep inside the body. This organ is admittedly not on any medical charts. It also makes tick and tock sounds, a bit of rattling and spoing springy sounds. The clock that gets wound as the time passes. And the alarm going off regularly: "NGGHHHH" "EEEAAAGGGHHHH"
I have considered buying shoes with velcro or just plain slippers or clogs, just so that I do not have to bend down in public and do a live broadcast of those near senior citizen sounds while doing my laces.
The children laugh at me when I forget where I left the pencil at work. I have gone to the shops with 5 pencils sticking out of my hair, like a beaurocratic hedgehog at a christmas sale. I dont find the pencils until I am brushing my teeth later that night, after having drawn squiggles and circles into thin air and on my scalp for a while. Will probably die from led poisoning if this continues for long.
I also have started to find soft drinks too sweet. This is advancing fast on me.

This aunt is going to be playing at her nephews christening this weekend. In her minds eye she sees the image of herself; the geriatric Lady of the house who thinks raisins are an exotic touch to most dishes, handbag full of stingy wool, knitting by a decent light with a magnifying lamp while the young play around carelessly.
Damn....its fall already.
I always act like this well in advance for each birthday.

an overview

So far this week:

* a student lost a tooth in the middle of Mary had a little lamb. I had the honours of keeping it on my desk wrapped in tissue for half an hour.
*a student hadnt practiced at all since he was so very very busy. He had had to take a bath, look at the sheep and it was nearly his birthday and all....
*My dishes didnt wash themselves. Even though i dreamt it.
*two new students got into a fight in the middle of band practice since "we had a pause in our sheetmusic and were bored".
*the old students got into a small shock when I replied "yes" to the question "did we used to be like THAT?"
*I found the toothbrush I lost a month ago....in the cutlery drawer.