Not now, not here. In Denmark a long time ago; A village called Rungsted where my family stayed while my father was teaching at the university. It was only for a year. I had thought it was forever after, like in fairy tales. It was, for me a fairytale. I was in first grade and at an age when you can pick up languages without a thought. My mother had felt it too much trouble to send me to the English school, located somewhat distantly, so I was popped into the village school. My Danish was sufficient to have friends, go food shopping and do non-technical translations for my father, who claims I wouldn't let him speak Danish in public. I loved my red Danish clogs and I had my own brand new golden (!) bicycle. I ate strange new things like raw egg yolk with sugar (yum!) and sandwiches on black bread with herring and paper thin chocolate. Who would have thought fish and chocolate to be a most excellent combination. I loved the snow and there was a duck pond for skating within walking distance. The house we had was huge, we had taken over the lease from another American family, it was like living in a castle. Part was kept shut off to conserve heat. This was the best part to explore and run through. The road outside dwindled into a forest path that lead to, of all things, a pink manor house with a fountain. Our Christmas tree was lit, not with strings of bulbs, but with actual burning candles. What a delightful hazard.
During the winter I found it exciting to be trundling around in the dark, but the long, cold, darkness was not so kind to my mother, who, at one hysteric historic point, began to throw dishes in the kitchen so she wouldn't have to wash them. My eldest brother went to the University of Louvain in Belgium, he says he nearly froze to death because my parents neglected to send him money for the heating bill. My next eldest brother, who would have been in his last year of High School spent the year in his room, though he says he did a lot of gardening. I never saw him at it. My father still claims the Danes to be the rudest people in the world because they would not speak English when they were around him. Yes, I think I maybe the only one with fond memories of that year away.
Sydney and Amelia are just hanging out and counting their blessings.
It has been asked if the Spots have been able to replicate Amelia's work with light. Indeed Sydney has been working on some ideas of her own. Here you can see that she is creating light through her special BunSuperPower and is channelling it through the cement tortoise. Although Sydney is not the most social of the Rabbits3 she has some talents not apparent in the other rabbits. For example she has the warmest, most melting, paws and her breathe seems to penetrate so sweetly into whoever is lucky enough to be near.
Here is the latest hottest story in the bonding of Rabbits3. This morning I woke up to what I supposed was chewing sounds. My sleepy brain thought "Somebun is really going to town on the pellets." Soon the realization crept in that no pellets had been served, therefore somebun had broken into the pellets and served themselves. They would eat themselves silly or sick. Switching on the light I shot my glance around the headboard and saw not a feast but a love fest with Amelia as the center of attention; both Tyler and Sydney were working away at her ears while she tooth purred loud enough to wake the dreaming. Having lost an opportunity yesterday to photograph Sydney grooming Amelia, I grabbed camera and shot as quickly and quietly as I could. As you can see the picture doesn't quite capture Sydney's involvement, you'll have to take my word for that. Despite her apparent recognition of Amelia as a fully accepted element of Rabbits3 Sydney still choose to chase and pull out a bit of fur just 20 minutes later. Sydney is a bun of fiery passions.
