Sunday

So, after the wet and cold and windy Saturday the sun came out and the day seemed perfect for a walk, or so it seemed. The pond glistened in all the splendour of autumn colours, the ducks paddled across the murky water, the swans preened on the shore showing off to the many (too many) passers-by.

I wanted to avoid the crowd and trod into the forest. Wrong move! There was mud everywhere. Slippery sticky mud. It didn't take long before I was covered in mud up to my knees. And when I met a canine buddy (or was it she met me), I was soon covered in mud up to my chin. But it was still fun and nothing a hot shower and washing machine couldn't mend.

So...

...the rain and the wind blew away my planned trip to the coast and I stayed at home instead and it kept raining and blowing and the leaves and the conkers kept falling; some staying on solid ground, others dropping into a rain-filled pool.

Chestnut

What's happening? Why am I not swaying gently in the darkness of my soft cosy home anymore? That stuff beneath me - it looks hard and scratchy! And what is this thing glaring at me? I don't want to look at it! I want to go back! Go ho... Oh nooooooooo........ bump!

I browsed through old emails (an activity that demands extensive use of DELETE key) today and found this. It's sort of an urban legend and you have probably heard or read it but... well... I still think it's funny and clever, all the more if there's any truth in it.

So here goes:

A crowded United Airlines flight was canceled. A single agent was rebooking a long line of inconvenienced travelers. Suddenly an angry passenger pushed his way to the desk. He slapped his ticket on the counter and said, "I HAVE to be on this flight and it has to be FIRST CLASS."

The agent replied, "I am sorry, sir. I'll be happy to try to help you, but I've got to help these folks first, and I'm sure we'll be able to work something out."

The passenger was unimpressed. He asked loudly, so that the passengers behind him could hear, "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?"

Without hesitating, the agent smiled and grabbed her public address microphone, "May I have your attention please," she began, her voice heard clearly throughout the terminal. "We have a passenger here at Gate 14 WHO DOES NOT KNOW WHO HE IS. If anyone can help him find his identity, please come to Gate 14."

With the folks behind him in line laughing hysterically, the man glared at the United agent, gritted his teeth and swore, "Fuck You!".

Without flinching, she smiled and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to get in line for that too".

Prekmurska Gibanica - photo

It doesn't look too pretty, I know, but it's yummy alright.

I have sacrificed myself for blogging sake and brought it home to take this pic after which I got rid of the corpus delicti by consuming it. I'll have to work out three times a day and go on a diet till the end of year to get rid of all the calories.

Prekmurska Gibanica

A Spanish blogger who spent some time in Slovenia reminded me of prekmurska gibanica. It is one of the best pastries I have tried and is possibly one of the most renowned Slovenian dishes. It consists of two kinds of pastry: flan for the bottom and filo for the layers, and four kinds of filling: ground poppy seeds, cottage cheese (with or without raisins), ground walnuts and sliced apples.
The whole recipe can be found here.

I must admit I have never made this one before and it's unlikely that I ever will. It's simply too complex and time consuming to prepare at home. But it is absolutely delicious stuff although somewhat heavy and if you ever get a chance give it a try.

OK, this is kind of a lazy sort of post and I was hoping at least to be able to provide a photo of gibanica. But, incidentally, the shop that sells the stuff (and has it almost always in stock) ran out of it by the time I came by. So, no photo today but I hope to produce it tomorrow if I'm not too busy.

One more thing perhaps, silly though it may be, and which has become some sort of an inside joke among Slovenes (although some even take it seriously). Some smart-ass once wanted to translate the name of the cake into English and this is what came out: Over-Mura moving cake. Makes no sense, eh! Mura is the name of the river that runs through the region where this pastry is originally made. 'Gibati' in Slovene means 'to move' but also, in a more archaic sense (but in this case definitely more appropriate), 'to fold'. But the fact is, no matter the name, the thing is damn good.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . . I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled

Now, what do I think about eccentricity, about buffoonery?

I don't mind it, even welcome it to an extent, but I'm terribly ordinary myself, ordinary in both appearance and manners.

Well, that's not entirely true. There is one thing that makes me stand out from the crowd. See, I am a tall girl and my figure makes me almost impossible to blend in. It was frustrating at a time, my height. Embarrassing, too. I was always left behind at dance parties, no boy would pick me up. And that hurt an adolescent that I was. I am a terrible dancer as a consequence and hate dancing to day. But I don't care anymore and even enjoy being above others in the most literally sense.

Surely, there are other things, too, that make me different, that make me special, but they are hardly apparent at a glance and hardly important in this context.

But there is something, a thing common enough and yet not quite so. I like walking around with a camera, snapping away as I go. A few years ago I couldn't have imagined me doing so, I would have felt too embarrassed. But now I enjoy it and only feel slight discomfort when others stare at me too overtly.