Tentative attempts to touch Emma

Mirinda decided today was a day of rest. Her decision had nothing to do with it being Mother’s Day (mors dag) here in Sweden. It had even less to do with the fact that it was a Sunday. While not exactly certain why, I think it was probably just because she wanted to not do anything given the last few days.

That’s not to say that we didn’t do anything at all.

Mirinda had a couple of Skype sessions and I installed a few things we bought at the Quarter Professional Fleamarket. Oh, and we may have gone to Tre Små Rum for brunch.

Don’t be fooled by the fact that the photo above implies there were few customers there. Not long after this was taken, a few larger groups arrived and, soon, the outside space was alive with customers. Inside, though, it was empty. This was as a result of the wonderful weather.

One of the customers was a small girl who was intrigued by the girls, especially Emma. It was as if she’d never seen a dog before. Her tentative attempts to touch Emma were mystifying and confusing. Mirinda kept demonstrating how she should do it properly but it took ages for the child to get over her fluffy puppy fear. Her Cockerpoophobia, to give its technical term.

Freya just hid under my chair, staying out of reach.

I felt sorry for a large group who were being ordered around by one of them when it came to seating. He decided where they would sit and next to whom. He was almost a male version of Sarah in The Norman Conquests. He even fussed around making sure every bottom had a soft felt pad beneath it. Mind you, the group managed to get back at him by deciding to move while he was inside, ordering his food. He looked almost heart broken upon returning.

Then there was the woman with the giant räksallad. She, and the woman she was with, were astounded at the size. I am convinced that there are no longer any shrimp in the sea.

Back at the house, Mirinda chatted to Fi for a few hours while I beavered away, improving a couple of faffing stations. Two items from the fleamarket were a hat and coat rack for the stuga and a shoe rack which wouldn’t fit in the stuga. Both needed to be screwed into walls. Both items had varying degrees of awkward issues but, eventually, I had them both installed and in use.

For irregular readers of this blog, a faffing station is the place, usually by the front door, where you divest yourself of shoes, coats, coins, keys, etc before entering the house proper. It is also the place where you collect it all when you need to leave the house. Mirinda christened such places, Faffing Stations. They are generally in a vestibule and are essential in winter.

Finally, while Mirinda chatted to Sophie, I made pork with green butter for dinner while singing far too loudly with all the doors and windows in the house, wide open. I’m sure the neighbours preferred Mirinda’s concert yesterday to mine tonight.

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