One more heart

We were invited to a concert which was held in a castle. Our colleagues got married on a tiny tropical island, and to celebrate this occasion they organized a small party. Two vocal singers and a pianist entertained more than fifty people; I suppose most of them would rather have a beer in the nearest pub. Food was also very fancy with canapés and little sweet bites; most people would certainly prefer to eat steak and fries. I liked the music; they sang arias with a love theme.

Although presents were strictly forbidden (at least I was told so, and which is in my opinion a good idea if you have just everything you want to have) I made another lace heart which accompanied two tea cups as a present to the newlyweds. It was made in white because I thought that it would best suit both of them. Red ones are not suitable for everyone.

I wonder if this relationship will last and grow. It is not the groom that would be a problem but the soul of the bride that calls for freedom.

Knights

The other day when we celebrated Slovenian yearly cultural day (I still think that celebrating the death of a poet is improper) I visited one of the museums in Ljubljana. The exhibition about knights (in Slovenia) is excellent with lots of information given in different forms – from object like knight’s garment, weapon (most of it was found in Ljubljanica river), plates, cups, paintings to written information on life of knights.



It was interesting to see so many children in the museum. “What did you like most?” one mum asked her son. “Knives,” he answered plainly. What I liked most? Actually I liked the whole exhibition but I was most impressed by a photo and a story about two knights who were fighting against the Turks. They lost the battle (like they had supposed) and were killed. The heads were cut off their bodies and skin was removed from their skulls, stuffed and sent to their relatives. After many centuries their skins (stuffed) still exist and the photo of them is shown at this exhibition; covered with a dark piece of cloth and so high, that children can't reach it. Impressive, really.

Carnival time

Yesterday was the last day of this year’s carnival time. I decorated only the door of our house. It looked like as we were the only people in our neighborhood celebrating Shrovetide. Children have grown up and nobody wearing a mask knocked on our door this year. Such a pity.

But! As each year I made a costume for myself and visited my parents and entertained our guests in the evening. As a pretty (kind of old and too fat) fairy I was making wishes to come true. I also made some sweets, called krhki flancati in Slovenian, to properly celebrate this day. Mum made doughnuts with jam, and our celebration of the carnival was perfect!

Today is just another ordinary day, the day when sweets and meat aren’t on our menu. And it should be so until Easter.

Storytelling

Last week the storytelling festival has started in Ljubljana; it lasts until today. It is interesting that among the listeners there are mostly women, aged 20-60. I was among them, of course. Last Friday I was listening to the tales from the Orkney Islands, told to us by Tom Muir. Some were sad, some were funny. I liked them all.

Yesterday in the evening I escaped into the world of the tales from the different parts of the world. Stories were told to us by eight people living in Slovenia, and all were told in Slovenian. After many years living here these people still can't speak proper Slovenian, and this gives me confidence to continue writing this blog in English, although I am fully aware that my English is far from perfect. But you can understand me, like I understood the storytellers yesterday, making me laugh and sometimes even cry.

I was a bit bored by the Serbian and Indonesian storytellers and I didn't really like the "political" tale by the North American one. I almost cried hearing the legend from Albania and stared absentmindedly while listening to the one from Ukraine. I liked the intelligent tale of the Spanish storyteller and I laughed out loud hearing the one from Italy. My favorite was the tale told by the Zimbabwean storyteller about this how a wild cat was domesticated.

I found out that the men are better storytellers than women, maybe the reason is also their deep voice; I don't know. I know a man who has a voice for telling stories and fairytales; as far as I know he does tell them to his children. In 2006 I met a man who had that magical voice for telling the tales. He made my day then and I always remember him when I walk up that hill. We all need to hear stories, the ones with a happy ending. I think that this makes our lives much happier and full.

Happy weekend!