Daily Prompt: Love to Love You

What do you love most about yourself? What do you love most about your favorite person? Are the two connected?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us LOVE.

Apfelküche Marcel

Cogito ergo sum as Rene Descartes the French philosopher, mathematician, and writer said and I assume he knew what he was talking about. You do not understand, well to be honest neither do I, my Latin is not so perfect. It is a dead language, so it does not have to be perfect. What this great master actually said in plain English was “I think, therefore I am” which just about knocks the nail on the head.

It does not for you? For me neither, but let us not worry the question is what do you love most about yourself. I really do not know where to start.

My wonderful straight grey hair, which it turning whiter day for day.
My unique nose: in size almost unbeatable.
My gift for writing super blogs, an event in the world of blogging
My undiscovered writing talents, waiting to make an impact in the world of literature

I was going to continue with my gift of cooking five star menus, food that melts in the mouth, tickling the taste buds and being the talk of the town.

“Mrs. Angloswiss, the best cook I know. It is a pleasure to be honoured with an invitation to her table. Her soups are unbeatable (huh? I buy them in a packet), fresh vegetable cooked with love, and meat dishes from the realm of the unbelievable.” This is what I like to hear from all those that have been honoured to share the dining table at home. That was until an unforgettable day last week.

I have an apple tree in the garden, and as always it brought forth over one hundred apples this year, which are waiting to be eaten in a large basket. Unfortunately there are only three of us at home, and apples do not last forever. Do I stew them and fill them into glass jars, do I preserve them, dehydrate them, or shall I freeze them (I do not think that will work)? Such were the thoughts going through my head until Mr. Swiss said “I think I will make an apple tart” (Äpfelkuche in German, but it all boils down to the same thing).

I had to hold my breath until this remark sunk into my brain. So he repeated the sentence, wondering if I had heard. He then added it would be an idea if I could point him in the right direction when he started.

“When?” was my question.

“Now” was the answer.

OK but when I do something I like to plan when and how and take time. I was just beginning to write one of my unique irreplaceable blogs and my train of thought was disturbed. In the meanwhile Mr. Swiss was already in the kitchen slicing apples and preparing pastry for the form (no big problem, since we can buy pastry ready rolled and in the necessary shape), but for a beginner, like Mr. Swiss, this was not so easy.

As I heard no unnecessary exicItement in the kitchen I decided to let him continue without too much intervention (and I wanted to write my blog). I heard the oven being switched on and the warming up noises.

“I think it is ready for the oven” was the next sentence I heard from Mr. Swiss. Yes he did it all on his own, the apple slices were arrange symmetrically in the pastry and ready to be baked. I noticed they were carefully placed in the form, a geometrical pattern. I did not make a remark “that looks wonderful” as I was still wondering why my apple tarts never look so nice before being baked. The tart was placed in the oven and Mr. Swiss made the filling to be added when the pastry is half cooked.

I was sure this would be an obstacle on the way, but no. Mr. Swiss was armed with one of my many cookery books showing the ingredients to be used. He had everything ready and asked if that was all it needed. I made a few suggestions to perhaps change some ingredients (actually it was perfect, but I had to prove my point that apple tarts were not so easy to make) and after mixing the filling it was poured over the half cooked apple tart.

As you can see from the photo it was a success. I managed to complete my blog with no further excitement. Actually this is a photo is of the second apple tart that Mr. Swiss made (all on his own). The first was eaten so quickly I did not have time to take a photo.

Our supply of apples is now diminishing thanks to my new pastry cook. So what do I love most of all about my favourite person? I do not do personal stuff in a blog but I would say he makes a good apple tart.

Daily Prompt: Love to Love

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Daily Prompt: Opposite Day

If you normally write non-fiction, post a photo. If you normally post images, write fiction. If you normally write fiction, write a poem. If you normally write poetry, draw a picture.

(New) photographers, artists, poets: show us OPPOSITE.

Problem being that I do everything. I noticed the prompts we have had lately lead me to tell everyone how good I am (me being a modest type of person). I decided today to choose a photo with some poetry, discovering my muse. I do not often write poetry, it usually does not rhyme. This prompt tells me it is “Potluck”, so I chose a photo I took yesterday morning in the town of Solothurn, Switzerland, on our weekly Saturday morning market day. Played with it in a photo programme. The musician in the photo is always there, in the same place. He is dressed in the style of a German troubadour from the early middle ages, and his songs are love songs. In German he is known as a Minnesänger. So here we go.

market singer

The years pass
Hair becomes grey
but still maintains its strength
The troubadour awakens
Time to share the melancholy of unrequited love
To sing the songs of mystic days
Capturing the hearts and spirits of the ladies fair

He dons his blouse with billowing sleeves
and takes his fashionable cap
The instrument tuned
Am I ready? Is this what the ladies are pleased to see?
With a last glance in the mirror checking that all is perfect
A journey begins

He sings with a sweet voice
Birds listen intense
Who is this competing with our song?
Two young ladies walk past
Talking of fashion
Shall I buy short, or mini?
Ignoring the lyrical words of love
From the troubadour
Troubadours now play an electric guitar
accompanied by music loud with a beat
Also dress in blue
Blues of the American troubadour Levi Strauss
Not the blues of medieval life

The troubadour has sung from the heart
He can no more
It is now time to go
People pass him on the street
wondering why he wears such strange clothing
Not knowing that he is the last troubadour

Daily Prompt: Opposite Day

Weekly Writing Challenge: Love in the 21st Century

For this challenge, we want you to write about 21st-century love.

I don’t usually do love stories, not my thing, but I had an idea for this one. I do not write about my own personal life in that connection. I just do not find it belongs in Internet for everyone to read. So here is my effort for this week.

Full moon in Feldbrunnen

E-mail group for night owls – online e-mail exchange

Moonman: Hello moongirl.  Your thoughts and ideas are wonderful. I am sure we are soul mates.

Moongirl: I was thinking on the same lines. It seems we are both night people. I work on the night shift at the hospital and you work at the zoo looking after the nocturnal creatures.

Moonman: Yes, for us the night turns into day. There are some things in life that have to be done during the night hours. The animals that sleep in the day have their longings in the night hours.

Moongirl: Do you have longings in the night hours?

Moonman: Oh yes, and you?

Moongirl: Now it is getting personal, but I now know you long enough to confess. My night feelings are very intensive.

Moonman: How intensive?

Moongirl: They vary. At full moon my feelings are completely out of control.

Moonman: How much out of control?

Moongirl: You have to see it and feel it, and on an online chat talk, you do not get the deep feeling.

Moonman: I long to meet you personally, but I am not sure that a full moon night would be the best time for me although I never work at the zoo by full moon, it would be too complicated.

Moongirl: Don’t disappoint me. Be honest, tell me why.

Moonman: I get feelings, sort of a little out of control at full moon. I change a little.

Moongirl: So do I, I leave a deep impression on the people I meet at full moon.

Moonman: I am sure you leave a wonderful impression. Do you mean sensual, with feelings that leave their mark.

Moongirl: Oh yes, definitely, but tell me about the little changes you have?

Moonman: I don’t know. It is difficult. I can hear much better. I hear a mouse walk over a grass stalk, I see better. I see the bats as they fly through the tree branches. They even speak to me.

Moongirl: Tell me, you are really getting my feelings up. I am also not able to work at full moon. I get longings, special longings. Does your body change, develop things out of control.

Moonman: Oh baby, you are really on my track. Yes I admit it, but not all appreciate the changes.

Moongirl: Tell me about them.

Moonman: Err well, yes, my ears get a little more pointed. My teeth also and I get just a little bit hairy to be honest.

Moongirl: You sound like a werewolf.

Moonman: And now you don’t want to know me anymore. So let’s just forget it.  I just ….

Moongirl: Stop. Nobody’s  perfect. Let me tell you the department I work in at the hospital, then you might understand why I also do the night shift. I work in the blood bank.

Moonman: Tell me more.

Moongirl: I never work on a full moon night, it gets complicated for me as well. I need that night for myself to get out and about meet people and get to know them closer.

Moonman: I think I know what you mean. Tell me do your teeth grow a little longer on those full moon nights. You do not have to answer that one if it is embarrassing.

Moongirl: you see we are soul mates. I think you know what I am.

Moonman: Sounds like a female vampire to me, but just joking of course.

Moongirl: I don’t joke about things like that. It goes too deep. Moonman I must meet you, my feelings for you are so intense after this exchange. Yes I admit it, I am a vampire.

Moonman: Ok, we meet on the next full moon night at the local park. We will have a ball I am sure. Just follow the howling and I will be there.

Moongirl: No problem moonman, I will fly to you. I love you Moonman with all my blood, teeth and vampire allure.

Moonman: I am longing to smell your breath and give you a complete lickover. I can be myself with you Moongirl, I am sure. I have at last found the love of my life. My lonely days are now over.

Moongirl: Just wait for me in the park. Oh the fun we will have together.

Weekly Challenge: Love in the 21st Century

Daily Prompt: I want to know what love is.

We each have many types of love relationships — parents, children, spouses, friends. And they’re not always with people; you may love an animal, or a place. Is there a single idea or definition that runs through all the varieties of “love”?

Crane Fly

Tomorrow is mother’s day for most of us. The British had theirs in March some time. Anyhow this crane fly must have had a mother, otherwise he would not be here. Did he love his mother? I am not acquainted with the life of crane flies, but I doubt if he ever saw her. Just an anonymous egg amongst many others and he grew and became an adult crane fly that decided to sit on my kitchen window long enough for me to take a photo. A photo which I played with a bit in a photo shoppy programme (little things please little minds). So here we can forget love, more like instinct probably.

What is this love that we all like to talk about? All I can say is find out for yourself and a blogging site or any other social media is not the place.

I am in Facebook and see every day where the members plaster their walls with the “I love my father, mother, son, daughter, cat, dog etc.” posters, declaring love for everyone and everything and even writing details of how wonderful the person is and what they did to deserve this canonisation. It is too personal for me to tell all the millions of FB members my feelings in that way, so I just go on to playing a brainless game or looking at a few nice photos. .

There is also the other side of the coin, where victims of bad treatment like to tell everyone on Facebook about the brute of a boyfriend they have and speaking all sorts of insults against that person. Is it all true, or not? Who knows?

Such personal feelings are better left. For that we have a private sphere.

I don’t even write stories about love, at least not true love. Most of my love stories finish where someone is murdered or a crime of jealousy takes place. I just cannot be serious about lovey feelings when I write for the public eye.

So I will now prepared my evening meal, which I love eating, afterwards will do some photo work on my computer, which I also love doing and this evening will probably stuff myself with potato chips and coca cola which I also love, although my diabetes does not. All in all I love life and my cats, my husband, my father, my felines, my facebook friends (who?) my garden, and WordPress for enabling to love blogging.

Have a nice mother’s day, those that are mothers and have a nice day wherever you are if you are not a mother.

Daily Prompt: I want to know what love is

Fleeting

Sunset over Feldbrunnen

New job, new people
He saw me, in spite of only a fleeting glance
So many years ago, we were young
The fleeting glance deepened
was transformed in a metamorphosis of feelings
Glances are now  superfluous
Just a love story matured through time
no longer fleeting, but eternal

Love in a Sale

The sale is on, be careful what you buy
The price is low, but the hopes are high
There are so many extras that you get for the price
A heart that is loving and laughter full of spice
Please take beware of all he has to sell
Do not throw it away, it is brittle like a shell

How could I refuse when he sold me such a gift
These words oh so sweet, gave my feelings such a lift
I paid for the goods, he gave me no more
I looked for true love but that was in the store
The loving heart was sold to very many others
The laugh was spicy but somehow laughter smothers

I told him to go, the shell began to crack
The sale was quickly over, I told him to pack
He soon found another who thought she had a deal
She found he was no bargain, and poisoned his meal
The moral of this story, make sure just what is sold
You might say I buy, but such love can turn cold

Jacob and Heidi

Jacob closed his eyes and could almost hear the water gushing over of the devil’s stone and splashing down onto the river bed below outside his bedroom window. He was rudely awakened by the jailer banging on the bars of his cell.

“Time for a wash and breakfast Jacob, and it will be your last one here, so make the most of it.” Jacob rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up in his bed. Although he would rather have dreamed on, it was true. Today was the last day of his ten year prison sentence. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and trudged down to the pump in the prison yard. The cold water gave him no problems. It woke him and he never really knew anything else. His mother would only heat the oven and boil a huge pail of water when it was her washing day.

Washing days in the small village where he was born were the only luxury of hot water he knew. He was the oldest and only boy in a family where he had seven sisters. His father had been killed in a landslide on the alp where he lived during the Summer months tending to the herd of cows that were kept in the summer pastures and so his mother was left alone with the children and no steady income.

Jacob became a child labourer. He had to leave his family and live in another village many miles away. He was sent to a farmer that lived on the slopes of a mountain he had never heard of. The farmer needed a worker as he himself was a widower. His wife had died a year before and left him with a six year old daughter to care for.

Jacob remembered the day when a strange man called at his mother’s house with a horse drawn cart. There were another eight children on the cart and he was told to join them. The cart left his village and after 3 days on the road he arrived in a village he did not know.

On the way the other children had been picked up by other farmer’s families and he realised this was the way things were. If you have no money, no way of securing that the family could survive, you gave the children to a family where they were needed. Although his mother had tears in her eyes when he left, she knew there was no alternative and Jacob accepted her choice. At least work could be found for her daughters as a servant or cook in one of the farmer‘s families that needed cheap labour but Jacob was too much of a burden and had to go. The money his mother was given for Jacob as well as the expense that was saved to clothe and feed him would help the family to come through the Winter.

Jacob’s new master was an unfriendly man, kept himself to himself and had a daughter, Heidi. Jacob thought Heidi to be a pretty little girl at the first glance, but when she turned towards him he noticed she had a cleft lip. This did not bother Jacob so much as he was used to seeing such deformations in the village where he grew up.

Jacob’s master, Heidi’s father, showed him to a room in the roof. There was hardly room to stand, only where the slopes of the roof met in the middle. Although Jacob was still a child, he was tall and could see that his future would not be so bright in this room. He never forgot his first night in this strange house. The windows were open and he could hear the sound of water splashing over stones.

The next morning he was woken by his master and told to get up as there was no time for being lazy. The cows had to be milked and until this job was done there would be no food. He followed the master to the cowshed, was given a three legged stool to sit on and a short demonstration of what to do. This was nothing new for Jacob. He had often helped his father to milk the cows during the Summers on the alp. He remembered the feeling of hunger he had. After the work a piece of bread and cheese and a bowl of milk was given to him and he was told to sit on the floor and eat. If he wanted to wash there was a trough outside. This was Jacob’s new home and family, but he knew that many children suffered the same fate so he just accepted it.

Jacob was not so much alone and found a friend in Heidi. The master had no time for a daughter and Jacob was often given Heidi to look after when the master went to town for market business. It was Heidi that showed Jacob where the noise of the water was coming from. There was a large stone in the middle of the river bed. Heidi told Jacob that the villagers said the devil had once put it there to stop the water flowing down the mountain as a punishment for the villagers.

The devil did not like to see that the villagers all attended church on Sunday. The saviour was not at all pleased so he made that the water flowed over the stone and splashed down on the bed of the river below and the water supply for the village was saved. Jacob only knew that it was the most peaceful of all places in his new surroundings and if he ever got a few minutes to spare, which was usually when the master was away on business, he would always go to this place with Heidi.

The years went past, both Jacob and Heidi grew older. Heidi was never allowed to go to school.

“A girl like you with a split lip will never learn anything” her father often said. Heidi did not cry, she knew no kindness and indeed, she was more together with Jacob and tried to avoid her father when she could. Although the master was a wealthy man, he only spent money on a new cow, or drink in the village inn. Food came from the farm he had. A cow would be slaughtered, its milk used for cheese and with time a chicken run was made. After all Heidi was growing and could look after the hens as well.

Jacob was the farm hand. Actually he was running the farm and the master just gave him orders. The master was more in the inn in the village that working on his farm. Heidi’s father would often come home late at night smelling of alcohol and calling Heidi to give him something to eat. Heidi would obey and Jacob would try to help her. The master told Jacob to disappear, and not to do women’s work. Jacob did not like the way the master looked at Heidi and decided to ask her whether he could help.

“Heidi, why were you crying in your room yesterday evening?” he asked her.

“It was nothing Jacob, I fell and hit my arm.”

“Show me Heidi” and Jacob saw that her arm was green and blue and bore the print of a hand on it. “Who did this to you, was it the master?” Jacob asked.

“It will be ok, Jacob, please don’t ask, it will be ok”. But Jacob knew that something was wrong somewhere.

The next day the master went to the market and Jacob seized the chance to have a good talk with Heidi. He was working in the field and Heidi brought him his lunch – his usual diet of cheese and bread, but with some bacon rind that Heidi had found in the kitchen. It was a wonderful summer day and Jacob decided to go to the waterfall to eat his lunch with Heidi. Heidi did not say very much and was a bit withdrawn.

They sat down in the shade of the big stone and began to eat in silence.

“Heidi, what is wrong, you are so quiet.”

“It’s nothing Jacob, really not”.

“Has the master been beating you again.”

“No Jacob, it is just, well, in the evening when he comes home drunk he does strange things and I get frightened. “ and it all came out in a waterfall, just like the water falling over the devil’s stone. “He starts touching me in places that are uncomfortable and he grabs me and oh, Jacob please help me, I am so frightened that something will happen.” And she broke down and started crying.
Jacob took her in his arms and tried to comfort her. Jacob was now 18 years old and Heidi 16 and they were soon in an embrace.

Jacob felt more than sorry for Heidi, he had grown up with her, knew what a wonderful girl she was. And her hare lip: well he did not even notice it any more. Heidi felt secure in Jacob’s arms and on that day they gave themselves to each other and knew this was their destiny.

It was the first of many days that they met at the devil’s stone, usually when the master was in town. Heidi’s father still came home drunk in the evenings, but Jacob told Heidi to lock herself in her room and not let him in however he tried. The master was so drunk, he would soon give up and fall into a drunken sleep.

One day Jacob and Heidi were at the waterfall and the master was in town, so they thought. The master’s horse lamed on the way and he had to return for another horse. He noticed that both Heidi and Jacob were not at home and started searching for them. He knew that Jacob often had his lunch at the waterfall so he decided to see if he was there and as he got nearer he heard the voices of Heidi and Jacob..

“You lazy piece of nothing” said the master to Jacob. What are you doing here on my time, go to the field and do some work, and he took his horse whip out and started to whip Jacob.

“Father, leave Jacob, it is not his fault, I brought him here”

“We will see Heidi, I will deal with you later in my room” he said with a lecherous lear in his face. He then dropped the whip and took a stone in his hand. He was just about to bring it down on Jacob’s head when he suddenly stopped put his hand to the back of his own head and found it covered in blood. Heidi was standing behind her father with a stone in her hand which showed traces of hair and blood.

Heidi’s father turned round, looked at Heidi, and was about to say something, but fell forward over the devil’s stone down to the river bed, making a crumpled sound as he landed.

“What have I done Jacob? I have killed my father.

“No, Heidi, you probably saved my life otherwise he would have killed me.”

“Jacob what shall we do, I must go to the police and confess. I have killed my own father.”

“Heidi, you will do no such thing. Please let me handle this. You will now go back to the house, and if anyone asks, you have been there all day.”

“But Jacob”

“Heidi do as I say.”

Jacob went to the police and told them what had happened. He said that the master had lost his balance and fallen into the stream, but there was too much evidence against Jacob. The blood stained stone told all and the wound on the master’s head. However, the police believed in an accident. The reputation of the master was known in the village and they believed Jacob when he told the police that he had been attacked by the master and killed him in defence. He was not accused of murder, but manslaughter and was put into prison for ten years. Heidi wanted to tell the truth, but she had a small problem which she had to keep to herself at that time. Jacob had forbidden her to appear in court and she agreed.

Today was the day that Jacob could leave the prison. He was given his normal clothing again, although it was a size or two smaller for him  than it was before he was put into prison. He had to serve in a prison in his birthplace as was the custom in the days gone by. He had not seen his Heidi for ten years. The distance was too far for her to travel and he thought it was better so, but how he had missed her, although it was the memories of his Heidi had given him the will to continue. 

He left the prison gates and was wondering where to go next, when a little girl came up to him and took his hand. “You must be my daddy, my mummy is waiting for you under the tree in the shade.”

“What a lovely story granddad”

“So leave your grandad to rest now Heidi”

“Mummy, the lady in the story was also called Heidi”

“That’s right, it was my mother”

“You mean gran, it’s a shame that she died last year. Grandad, was the story true, grandad! Mummy he is not answering is he asleep?”

“Heidi, I think he has closed his eyes forever” and Jacob took his Heidi once again in his arms, but in another world.

The Cat’s Mother

She was soft
Had warm fur
She licked me clean
She made me purr

If I wandered
She was there
Picked me up
With so much care

She gave me milk
brothers and sisters too
I loved to listen
to her strong mew

I started walking
but never too far
She was always there
She was my star

But then I grew up
She was still at my side
I know that I was
one of the pride

I remember her eyes
So large and so yellow
She loved us all
Her way was so mellow

This was many years ago
The cat ways are set
But one thing is sure
A mother we do not forget

A Mother’s Pride

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Floating on air, carried by proud hands
the sun shines through
illuminations of motherhood
joyful moments shared
A moment in time trapped on a day
free space for love and care
Will these be memories of child and mother
In the years to come when childhood has gone
In troubled times will they remember
the love they shared when they were young
A mother’s love is embracing and eternal
forever existing for its child
Will this be rewarded in a far distant future
Perhaps flowers on mother’s day
A telephone call, or a card
Who knows?
But the mother will always love
She will remember the day when she took her baby
and showed it to the trees
to the sun and to the world

Bad Temper in the Morning?

Black was the night when we first met
Thunder and lightening sounded
But I saw the love reflected in your eyes
from mine, we were really grounded

I lived with my mother, you lived far away
Our courtship was not so intense
But I knew what I wanted, and so did you
We got married to make it all sense

It was then I discovered that when you awoke
You were completely grumpy
The first morning you threw the cornflakes on the floor
Because you said they were lumpy

That was not good, it was very bad
And then you loaded the gun
I decided to go and hide in the closet
I had nowhere to run

But after an hour you were your loving self
No trace of bad temper, it was over
You told me you loved me, forever and ever
I forgave you and we were in clover

I soon discovered that this was your way
You were always crabby so early
I had to think it over, find a plan
In the morning you were always so surly

The first morning was a shock to tell the truth
But that was just the beginning
The second day your mood was worse
I had no chance of winning

You looked at me with you eyes so grim
And shouted “You are lazy and vain”
And then you chased me with whip in the hand
You did not even stop to explain

I ran for my life, to the garden I went
And hid myself in the shed
But half an hour later, you suddenly got tired
And we both went together to bed

I spoke to your mother, she said it is true
You are often bad tempered in the morning
But it soon comes to pass, it is just a plain fact
I should just accept as a warning

I will never forget when the tea had got cold
You decided it was time to strangle
I kicked you in the *****, you had so much pain
You calmed down, it was a new angle

I decided the best was to leave the bed
Some time before you awoke
You spent a full hour looking for me at home
The window you even broke

Nobody is perfect, I love you so much
Even with your morning attack
The priest he said for better or worse
Waking up with you is just black

Yes love can find so many ways
Life is not always a bowl of cherries
But we belong to each other, even on the black days
Don’t say sorry, just tell it to the fairies.