Nynorsk

"Eg kjenner ein som bytte frå nynorsk til bokmål då han begynte på vidaregåande. I dag er han einsam, ugift, arbeidslaus, alkoholisert og ute av stand til å gjere greie for seg. Luktar gjer han også. Alle eg kjenner som heldt på nynorsken då dei begynte på vidaregåande, har i dag interessante og godt betalte jobbar, mange gode vennar og ekstremt stimulerande kjærleiksliv. Dessutan ser dei veldig bra ut, alle som ein. Fine tenner har dei også. Eg berre nemner det."
- Are Kalvø

Skummelt... eg har nemlig bytta! Jaja, sånn kan det gå, ein må leva med sine val!

Rettferdig fordeling

Det einaste
som er rettferdig fordelt
her i verda
er vetet.
Alle trur sjølve
dei har fått nok av det.

Fjorårstreff på Valdres

Livet
er den beste skole, men
Valdres Folkehøgskule
tar kortere tid!

Henging i hallen, maten re Rigmor, sitta lenge i matsalen med ein kopp kaffi eller te og den gode samtalen, vannkrig, snø, rangling, handla påskeegg på Meny, alle dei herlige folkå, mimring te den store gullmedaljen med filmar og bilder, treffa lærarane, latter, tårer, ein herlige biltur te Bergen igjen med bla eting av French Fries...

I helgå va det tid for å treffa alle folkå igjen- det va tid for fjorårstreff! Det va akkurat som om me bare hadde vore på ferie, folkå va dei same, stemningen va god, det va godt å komma tebake!

Tårene satt laust i helgå, linjesamling med den herlige spansk-klassen, det måtte skje, tårene spratt samtidig som eg lo, eg har savna dokke jenter! Og når eg fekk brev frå familien min i El Salvador kom i alle fall tårene!

Det blei ikkje så mange bilder frå helgå, hadde ikkje tid te det, men nåken få blei det nå. Uansett, helgå va ein suksess frå ende te aen. Mandag va eg lettare redusert ette ei langhelg med masse rangling, men det va så evig verdt det!

Meg og min kjære Marit i hallenMe har fått brev fra familiane våre i El Salvador, her sitte Inger, min fantastiske (og nyforlova) lærar og oversette for Karoline:)Kari og Lise:) Lise ser eg både titt og ofta, men Kari e dessverre i Trondheim for tiå

Mmmmm, taco!

Karoline med sine nye fine krøller:)

Espen krevde som vanlig massasje...

Therese og Kari:) Godt å sjå igjen folkå som holde te i Trondheim!

Espen, Therese og Anders:)


Eting av French Fries i bilen på vei him;Siv-Iren

Malvin, tidligare elev og stipp

Kjetil, den desidert skumlaste!

Det kjennes litt rart at me aldri ska samlast på den måten igjen, neste gong har det gått 5 år siden me slutta, og møkje har nok forandra seg. Men det va godt å ha denna helgå samen med den fantastiske gjengen eg har hatt det besta året i mitt liv samen med!

Valdres - ¡vengo!

Det begynne å bli ei stund siden 15. mai, dagen eg slutta på Valdres Folkehøgskule. Men nå e ventetidå øve, om et par timar sette eg meg på toget med kurs mot Valdres igjen! Gjett om eg glede meg! Glede meg te å sjå alle dei fantastiske folkå igjen, te å sitta og skravla og eta Rigmor sin mat i matsalen, te å rangla, kjenna snø under beinå, mimra, og rett og slett bare nyta den deilige stemningen som bur i bygningane på Heimsyn! Nå ska eg bare pakka først...

Hah! Bit det i deg mister!

"tippe du oppdatere flittig ei lita stund.. og innen me skrive 2008, så e an lagt på is :p" -direkte sitat Kristian Jørgensen 23. september 2007.

Vel, nå e me godt inni 2008, og forrige innlegg va nummer 100 i rekkå! Så det trur eg du må bita i deg igjen... for bloggen den leve i beste velgåande den!

A wonderful story!

Nå sitte eg og skrive på ei oppgava om motivering te trening av barn med Down Syndrom, og i jakten på stoff ramla eg øve denna herlige historien. Historien komme fra Australia og handle om en ung gutt, hans inntreden i arbeidslivet og samholdet mellom ham og hans mor. Kanskje kan denna historien læra oss nåke; det går an å vær annerledes, og likavel ha det bra! Historien e ganske lang, men har du tid, så les an. Eg satt med tårer i auene når eg va ferdig å lesa!

This is a wonderful story, hope you enjoy it!

I tried not to be biased in hiring a handicapped person, but his placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. I had never had a mentally-handicapped employee, and I wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy, and had the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down Syndrome.

I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching
some dreaded "truck stop germ;" the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks. I shouldn't have worried.

After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest
of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21 year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a
bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was convincing him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus the dishes and glasses onto a cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a
practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their
social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably
the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home.

That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie had missed work. He was at the Mayo
Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Down Syndrome often had heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine. Frannie, my head waitress, let out a war whoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of the 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked."We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.". "I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?" Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed. "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said, "but I don't know how he and his mom are going
to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on her face."What's up?" I asked. "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting
cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."She handed the napkin to me, and three twenty-dollar bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed
"Something For Stevie".
"Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked
at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply "truckers."

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all
that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in
jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work, met them in the parking lot, and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.
Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate your coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me."

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the possession.We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of
folded paper napkins.

"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it.

I turned to his mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. Happy Thanksgiving."

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

Author Unknown

"Life is about people
connecting with people,
and making a positive
difference"

"Take care of yourself,
... and those you love,
...today,
... and everyday!"

Slik skal du gå i 2008

I alle fall i følge Oslo Fashion Week. Må sei eg e meget skeptisk te det. Trur eg foretrekke litt mær nøytrale klær! Men det va festlig å sjå på bildene i alle fall...

kaffi...om kvelden...søvnløs...

Argh! Kaffi om kvelden når du ska på skulen dagen ettepå... urutinert! Klokkå e nå kvart på to, og eg e ennå lys våken! Greit, de va bursdag men kjenne eg angre litt på dei koppane nå!

Jon Blund - vær så snill og kom kom kom! Hvis du har glømt adresså mi e det fremdeles i "suiten i midten" på salem-loftet eg befinne meg...

Lykkeligst

Forskerar i USA har funne ut at me e lykkeligst når me e 20 og 70 år. Og så langt mine erfaringar strekke seg vil eg sei meg enige, eg har det jo sinnsykt bra! Og vil påstå at eg e lykkelige:)

Forskerane hevde at grunnen e at me har så mange ambisjonaar når me e 20. Når me e 70 blir dei bytta ut med refleksjonar. Så te alle dokke som verken e 20 eller 70 - gled dokke te dokke (igjen) når den lykkelige perioden, eventuelt; gjer det besta ut av situasjonen nå! Me andre får nyta tiå mens me e her.

Dei som e 44 har det forresten verst. Sorry pappa, håpe kje du følge statistikken.

Kilde: Vårt Land

Sukkerspinn:D

Sjøl om formen ikkje har vore heilt tipp topp i helgå grunna et aldri så lite virus-angrep, så har helgå vore finfin den! Og i går drog Kristian endelig fram sin møkje omtalte sukkerspinnmaskin! Resultatet blei veldig bra! Lika søtt og klissete som sukkerspinn ska vær! Ingen sak å vær sjuke når ein blir varta opp med film (Hello, my name is Borat! hahahaha), sukkerspinn og pannekaker (på oppskrift frå Haugesunds Husmorskoles kokebok) ute i Sandviken:)

Full konsentrasjon!

Ekta sukkerspinn, falskt smil...