The web-log of Beorn the Reluctant.   (character of Beorn, Blogiţrótta, and text © 2003, Kirstin Wright. :) )

HwaR Beorn?

 

Tiw's day of twenty fifth three month nought three.

It was a perfectly good watermelon. She said, "give it to me Beorn, I will pulp it and we shall drink its juice." I think I have misgivings at this point.

She pulps the watermelon in the whirring machine with the little knives. So far, all is good. But then she decides to add mead. "Meadori" she says, and laughs. I don't understand why.

It is not a good taste.

She agrees, but then she adds a banana, and green liquid "health drink". More whirrings. The result is otruligr disgusting. I am not drinking any more of the once good watermelon. I think she is wondering if any of it is salvageable.

It is not. She would never get work in a mjöd-halle with such unspeakable behaviour as this. A waste of a perfectly good watermelon. My stomach is making a gurgly noise. There was nothing wrong with the watermelon. Manna-vist!

Now she is looking at the berries. This must be stopped. I go now.

~B.

Suttur's day of two twos , secondr month, zero three.

More talk of hjarta.

Myself and Kirstin were having discussings of where mind is.

She says she think from here (tappings head). I know that is where the small electricals that make up "think" happens, but what I am meaning, I say, is where does she feel her mind to be?

Is a tricky thing to explain. But I try. Take hand, for example. If I touch something, touchbits from my hand tell me I have done this. The head has touchbits too - like hit head and ouch - But the mind has no touchbits, so what keeps it in head once thought has been made? Kirstin says is thing called "concept of where mind is".

Kirstin still say that once her thought has been made, it float about in her headspace - she has always imagined her mind to be in her head squashed in with brain. Is okay for her, I say, she has little brain and plenty of space!
Apparant I am having small brain problems of my own, for saying so - now she makes me type all this as typing practisings. Big sighs.

So - she ask me where I think from. I tap my chest. She calls it "thinking from the heart", and I say not quite, because thinking is still a brain thing. But "Beorn" - the feeling of me, is in area called by old word "munstrřnd" - it means "shore of the mind" - the breast or heart. That is why I tap my chest. Mind is too big for anchor in small body - too much thinkings there are, in the world. So instead, a shore - where mind can touch self and touch world, like Beorn is small ocean among many oceans.

My thinkings made in brain, come through the feeling of Beorn - of me - to world from munstrřnd. Informations are like a piece of wood cut from a tree. You check that the tree is sound, and you make a thought boat from your informations.

But sometimes boats are re-used again and again by others without the first thinker involved. I often wonder if the new rider truly understand the ship like the first thinker did, or if they are just taking a laziness. Too much to consider with these imaginary boats and oceans. I say if you want to make good boat, you have to think it for yourself.

Kirstin ask me where plastic floaty toys come into it. Easy, I say. Is for small children who have not yet learned to make boat. And sometimes it is fun to play with plastic floaty toys! I am partial to ducks that go squeaky squeak.

Kirstin say enough - analogy is big confusing. She tell me she is off to find nice island to sleep on. Truly this woman is confusing.

And so this - like a very small ship, my thoughts sail from my mind's shore. And see how it has become caught up in the nets of the Inter! Ótrúligr!

Day after day of not getting flowers.

I do not see Kirstin sulking because nobody buys for her the sweeties and flowery things yesterday.
She is very capable sort who can buy her own sweeties, whenever she want! Sometimes I eat them when she is not looking so hard. I especially like the little chocolates with strawberry middling.

Kirstin ask me if I thought to buy flowers for her. I reassure her that I did not.

It is good that she feel no need to talk for the rest of the day.
Such blessings a man cannot overlook! It is good.

I don't think such a day is around anymore, but I remember Ţing-days, with giftings sometime given. People met and talk of many importances and littlings. More often than not, it was a good occassion. At a big Ţing, which might take place over some days, we would eat together, and hringr sometimes were given to us as value of loyalty. Sometimes there would be storytelling and occasional a fights.
But if I try to imagine a konung gifting his loyal men with chocolate sweeties and inflated hjarta-shape bladdering... I cannot see it. Such would make outrage! Give me a good arm-ring any day.

~ B.

Day of Sunning, twenty and six, two oh oh three.

Kirstin has new car. New old car anyway. It is not a horse, but I think people are always wanting faster faster things. Cars are spoke of as having Horse powers - it is only a pity some drivers have not Horse senses to match.

I think of Ţórr, who was closest to Ćsir wheel drivings and even then Óđin only trust his eldest son with goat-power. Today I think he would have a rauđr Ford. ( It would be his Fjord Escorta.. Hah - Beorn make little joke! Ótrúligr!)

Heimdallr on other hand, I think he would have liked big green bus with rainbow on side of it. Much like one in first movie of the Muppetr. Plenty of room for Gjallarhorn.
I also maybe thinking Baldr borrow it from time to time - much one for helping peoples is Baldr - make a good bus driver, he.
"Baldr sounds like a lang-hár hippy", says Kirstin. She ask if Baldr play guitar. How I supposed to know this? I think she teases me sometime, I am not always sure when. But I think this is one of those whens.

So. Kirstins car is named for the Great White Hippo animal. (Because it is white and big - but I am not seeing the hippo-ness of it.) To me, it is just fjórhvelr málmskokkr (a four-wheeled metal box). Previous owner is so fearful of Kirstins driving, he is moving far over seas. He is wise man indeed.

The car she used to have, I called Ósćtti - Disturbance of the peace. She called it Lightning. Hah! I crawling faster than that car. Still, when it die, it make cloud for a small thunderstorm enough. Entire car engulfed in big cloud of white smokes! It was the gasket of heads.

I am still not driving though - I prefer leave that to Kirstin. It is not much better, but at least I may close my eyes and pretend all is safe.

It is difficult thinking how I would explain things of today to an old time ago, although a car is surprisingly familiar in ways -

"Aka" is old word meaning "to drive".
"A car" is also meaning "to drive"!
And a "kar" is meaning a vessel, or tub. Probably "hvelrkar" then - a wheeled tub!

But how you explain more difficults - like a tele-vision? Smŕrskokkr af sjónhverfing - a small box of ocular delusion - that is the best I can do. Now I go watch an ocular delusion called George of Jungle. I like this film very much.

~B.

Tiw's day of fourteen, first month, two zeros three.

Today I type about the Two Towers film. Kirstin tells me that would be a good thing to practise type with. Kirstin would say that naturally. She would have me type the book of telephone numbers otherwise.

So I type about the Two Towers film. It is a big movie, like a tower is, only wide instead. They have many fine horses, and many swords, I like the swords. But I do not understand this Bearded Tree - most strange!

I think it was a fine fine hall in Eđoras. I would like a hall such as this! Ţeoden konungr is most fortunate. So what is this Aragorn think?! Eowyn is a most fair reisiligr woman, and her uncle has a fine hall! - ć, love is blindr.
He is the crazy man for to want a woman with strange ears instead. Her father has such eyebrows that I have never seen before, except on another man of seriousness, who had much more pointy ears, but with the short hair instead. I have seen that one on the little screen. Maybe they are related.

They are strange people, these elfe - I not sure if I would trust them - half time I do not even know if is man or woman!

I think the pointy eared she go better with the man of long blond hár. They live long and happiness, and have children with little pointy ears all of their own. Beorn knows best.

What to make of the little skinny Smćgoll-person? He does not look like very well to me. But he moves! I see his madness, it is a pity - but I think not to trust him.

I think Frodo is not well also. He threaten his friend, then drops his sword - I wince! I think it best not to have sharp things if you cannot be trusted with them. This is not the first time he has dropped sword for no good reason. It makes me frown.

If it is this ring that is so dangerous to be near, why do they not carry it on the end of a very long stick? Or in a special glove, like Kirstin uses to get things from oven? Wearing it next to skin, is silly silly plan.

I do not like these Urukhe. They are too many! And ill of manner. The battle was very harsh - I do not envy those men. But I think "Where is the horse" moment is a most moving speech. And the horn! I am amazed by sound. But what animal does it come from? Most strange. The Dwarf has the fine playing of it, in any case.

He is a fine Dwarf. Much better than the Gnome that Kirstin has at her workplace. I think if it were me, I would rather have a cave with a dwarf, than a garden with a gnome. The Gnome has too bright clothes and I do not trust the look on his face.

Kirstin likes the Aragorn player best. (I rolling eyes, but then she tease me about the Eowyn person until I look grumpling. Best to roll eyes when she not look.)
She tell me his real name is Viggo, and I laugh. She thinks I mock her and she is getting ready to tell me off in her voice of nagging, but I explain - he is riding horse a lot in this movie, so his name makes the good sense.

It is likely from vigg-ruđr - Its meaning is "horse-tree"- literal, the horserider. That is a good kyn, yes?

~B.





Suttur's day of fourth, first month, new year.

She is making me type again. "Look Beorn", she says, "I have made you an all new pretty page!"
Erfiđr woman.

"What am I to type about?" I ask.
"Anything!" she says.
This is not of great helpfulness.

We ate felafel today. For something of no meat, it is quite edible. Now what do I say? Kirstin has made me very small ravens to play with here.

I gather I am to give many ravens to something I like, and very few ravens to things I don't.

Felafel. 

Typing.   No raven.



~B.


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"Beorn" character, "Blogiţrótta", and text © 2003, Kirstin Wright.