Sleeping beauties in pencil

I dó know! Sometimes.

Last time I told you about the things I 'know' and gave you a couple of mindblowing (ahum) illustrative stories.
This morning I suddenly thought of another weird example. Something that happened quite a few years ago.

My best friend at the time and her husband came over for dinner. We dined with each other regularly. Sometimes they cooked, sometimes we cooked and sometimes we went to a restaurant.
This time we would cook dinner.
So I was trying to think of a nice menu. Going through recipes and cookbooks I found a recipe that would be nice to have as a starter. I can't for the life of me remember what it was, but I know that it had 'raw' cheese in it.
And thén I thought: "we can't have that, because you can't eat that cheese when you're pregnant".
Weird thing is, I was pretty sure (really really sure) that I wasn't pregnant.
And my best friend had the same feelings about children as I do. I like them if they are someone else's, but I wouldn't want them of my own.
And that is what she always said too.
So... as far as I knew, nobody present at that particular dinner was pregnant.
So... why not make a recipe with raw cheese.

Still, I decided to make something else for a starter. Just to be on the safe side.

Our friends arrived for dinner and we exchanged all the little newsfacts of what had been gooing on in our lives. And then she said: "We have some bigger news too."
And then she dropped the bombshell.
She was pregnant.
Which was quite shocking news.
For hubs.
Because... well, apparently I knew already.


And, when Evie was born, another friend who was pregnant and we knew thát, came to see little Evie. She was due the day, it was a Wednesday, she came to visit us. But everything was quiet on the southern front, so I didn't have to keep the towels and hot water ready. She said.
I told her about my premonition about the evening Evie was born (one of the 'mindblowing' examples in my previous post). She asked if I could tell her when her baby would be born.
I held her hand and said: "Your baby will be born coming Friday. At about three o'clock in the afternoon." And we had a good laugh, because whát do I know, haha!

Anyway, thát Friday she had her baby. Not at three o'clock I believe, a bit later I think. I'm not quite sure anymore. Shé was stunned and told all our other friends that I had predicted (haha, I'm a predictor) that her baby would be born that day.
I'm convinced it was sheer coincidence.

But hey... whát do I know!

Who knows

I know things.
And I don't mean things that I've been taught or that I've read or learned through experience. I know those things too. Although I have forgotten more than I remember. The more you learn, the more you know. The more you know, the more you forget. The more you forget, the less you know. The more you learn, the less you know.

Actually, I know very little. But about a lot of things.
Anyhoo, I'm not talking about those things.
I know other things. Things that one can't know you know. Weird things.

Yesterday morning for instance. At 07.00 I went out to feed the horses, the chickens and the pigs. Since it was still dark(ish) and the snow, rain and frost of the past couple of days caused the path towards the stables to be rather slippery, I took a torch. So I could see where the best options for breaking my neck were ánd avoid those spots.
The normal procedure is: feed the horses grass, feed the pigs, feed the chickens, feed the horses muesli/pellets.
If you want to know all about the grass we feed the horses and why we put it in big flexible buckets, read THIS. It's a long story with more details than anyone could ever wish for.
By the time I had filled the buckets and given them to the horses, it was just about light enough to see where I was going. So I consciously thought about leaving the torch or taking it with me to the pigs who live further down the garden. I decided to take the torch, because, and this is litterally what I thought: 'if the light in the pig's stable doesn't work I can't see a thing'. Nót that there was any indication for the light not working. I honestly have no idea why I thought it might not work.
So I took the torch and went to the pigs.
You've guessed it.
I switched on the light in their stable. It flickered a couple of times and then the light went out. Broken!
I mean... hów did I know?

When hubs came home that evening I had forgotten all about it. He went outside with the dogs and when he returned mentioned that the light in Nufnuf and Tumtum's stable didn't work.
Suddenly I remembered the strange thing that morning and told him. He wasn't surprised at all. 'Typically you', he said. 'You just know these things.'

Have I not convinced you?
Okay. Another example. I have mentioned it in an earlier post.
Last year, a week before little Evie was due, a friend who had some experience with pregnant horses came over for a cup of coffee (or tea). She didn't stay long, and when she wanted to go home I said that if she waited a bit longer she could see Naloma's foal being born. She looked at Naloma and said: "No, she doesn't show any sign of being in labour. She's far too calm. Your foal isn't due for another week and it won't be born tonight.'
'I just have a feeling that it will', I said.
Friend didn't believe me and went home.
Ten minutes later Naloma went into labour and an hour later little Evie was born.
I just knew.

No? Not convinced?
Another example then. A very different one.
Once upon a time, long ago, hubs and I spent about two weeks in Scotland. We visited Glamis Castle, and did a guided tour with a large group of other tourists.
Part of this tour was a visit to 'the Queen's bedroom'. There was a stone seat just behind the door that was looking really tempting, because my feet were killing me. But I couldn't bring myself to sit down on that ever so appealing looking seat.
Then the guide told us that the seat was haunted by the ghost of a little boy servant.
Hmm.

Also part of the tour was a visit to the chapel and we were invited to take a seat (finally!). Hubs and I shuffled into the back row and sat down. There were more people than chairs, so a couple of people were left standing. For some reason I had left the last chair in our row, the one next to me, empty. For some reason I didn't sit on that chair. Although there were people who had to stand up because there weren't enough chairs. I offered to the people who were left standing to move to thát chair so one of them could also sit down, but they all declined the offer. So I stayed put.
The tourguide did his talk about the chapel and mentioned the ghost of 'the Grey Lady', who apparently always sat in the last chair of the last row. The chair next to me. 'And', he said, 'as long as I'm tourguide, no one has ever sat in that chair! No one.'
Everybody looked at the empty chair next to me.
As did I. And although I couldn't see a 'Grey Lady', I knew that thát was the reason why I had left the perfectly good chair empty.
A couple of rows in front of us a woman stood up and said: "It's true! This is the third time in about five years I'm doing this tour (she must have really liked it), and it's true. I have never seen anyone sitting in that chair!'

Okay, so other people know things too. You may know things.
Who knows?

But where's Captain Jack Sparrow?

This shabby looking sailing boat appeared from the mist when we were on our sort of photohunt around the shores of the Hoornse Plas in Groningen. The thick mist and the fresh snow that covered land and ice made it difficult to see where the land stopped and the lake began. A matter of keeping our fingers crossed and treading carefully.

On closer inspection it turned out to be a work of art. With metal sails. I'm guessing it lies on the sandy beach that is created on this side of the lake. It could also be in the water. I didn't have the heart to examine that any further.
It's just big enough to seat two persons. Me and Johnny Depp? But where is Captain Jack Sparrow when you need him?

(I have it on good authority he's alive and in France. Perhaps I'll try again this summer ;-))

Uncomfortable bike

Been Sniffing Snow?

Three simple questions

- What is it with tomato sauce and it's incontrolable urge to nestle itself on my clothes?
- Why do I find Charley Boorman so attractive?

These are only two of the questions I ask myself almost daily.
Recently another question has been added to the headache-provoking list:

- How does one pronounce Evie?

We, hubs and I, pronounce it with both E and ie sounding like e. Which, we think, is the English way. In Dutch we would pronounce it like Avee. But we prefer the, what we think is, English way. But since 'nameplategate' and one or two of you native English speakers commenting that at least Evi is pronounced the same as Evie, I'm totally confused.

I'm no longer fussed over the art of avoiding tomato sauce spekcled clothes. (I have tried wearing an apron, but the sauce never lands on the apron. Always on the clothes.)
And Charley Boorman's attractiveness has been shoved to the background, which is quite an achievement, because I dó consider him to be one of my many future husbands, one should always keep dreaming.
Evie/Evi has taken over.

And I ask you, dear readerfriend, how dóes one write Evie the way we pronounce it?

Because I would say, but I am not a native English speaking person, that one would pronounce Evi as in Levi, with the i sounding like... well... i.
And Eve would be pronounced as Eev. Or not?
I can think of Evy, but would that not also be pronounced as Levi?
And suddenly, literally as I'm writing this, the light in my brain switches on. We should probably write it as Charley, but in stead of Charl - Ev, so Evey.

Life can be so simple. Although Charley can of course also spelled as CharLIE. And you wouldn't pronounce the LIE of Charlie as 'lie' now. Or would you?
( 'Char' and 'lie'? But that is a whole other can of worms.)

Have you lost me yet? Or have I lost you? It all makes sense to me, but I'm still not sure how one should write Evie to be pronounced as Evee. Could it be thát simple? But the spelling of Evee doesn't look as good as Evie. And in Dutch one would pronounce Evee as... uhm... well, with both E and ee sounding like 'a'. Not as in Ava though.
Are you still here? Gosh. So, just to sum this quite confusing piece of 'writing' (ahum) up:

three simple questions:

1) why does tomato sauce always land on my shirt,
2) what makes Charley Boorman such an attractive guy,
3) how should we write Evie/Evee/Evey/Evi/Eve to be pronounced the way we do?

If you could only answer question number 3, I'd be very happy ;-)

(Oh, hehe, and I just let hubs preread this piece before hitting the 'publish' button and he spoke the following winged words: "who the fuck is Charley Boorman?")

(And I dó know there are far more important problems in this world. For instance: why is it that journalists and camera crews always manage to get to troubled places in this world easier and earlier than aid workers and - goods?)