Zleapy

To wash dirty dishes is boring, sticky, icky and well - boring.

So I don't.

So the dirty dishes form an interesting landscape in my kitchen. Things grow and prosper, not very pleasant.

One day I was thinking about all the dirty dishes in my kitchen and how nice it would be if they could just disappear. Then I wrote this story...

What I am about to tell you is something that happened to me a while ago, it was one of THOSE days - everybody has them. Things are just a bit off, not quite right, nothing works and nothing makes sense.

It began as a normal day, a bit windy but nothing worth getting upset about. I returned to my dear - somewhat disorganised - home about nineisch in the evening. My honourable father had been kind and driven me home in his automobile.

A Citroën to be precise.

Baby blue.

When I opened my door and stepped into my apartment I could sense something was not quite up to its normal standard.

There was a strange smell.

Sounds came from behind my kitchen door.

Hmmm.

A decision forms.

A prompt investigation takes place.

I step into my kitchen. I look around.

How odd!

There is no kitchen.

I try again. Maybe I have stepped into somebody else's apartment by accident.

My name is on the door.

My neighbours name is on the neighbour's door. I go back to the apartment.

Kitchen insists on not being in its place.

How annoying!

I'm not a person to get overly exited over trivial matters, and I try to remain calm under all circumstances. But this is a bit much even for me!

I decide to go to bed and sleep on it.

Brush my teeth, wash my face, put on my pyjamas with the little bunnies slaughtering small children and crawl into bed.

Next morning...

Kitchen is still persistently not there.

Hmm.

This is getting on my nerves - where, I ask you, am I supposed to have breakfast. Where is my coffee?

Now I do realise that anyone reading this who's got a bit of intelligence and who is not yet asleep wonders what has happened to the kitchen? Normally a kitchen does not suddenly decide to go visit its aunt for the weekend.

I can only agree - it is a very good question.

I have no answer.

My kitchen was quite simply gone. In its place there was now a small room with nothing in it except a door standing in the middle of the room.

Not a regular, normal door but a wooden door with a strikingly blue colour. A bit larger than the average standard, approved and tested Swedish door.

Well, not much left to do about it.

I open the door.

I close the door.

The situation demands careful thought and thorough planning.

I call in sick, and then I go downtown to have some breakfast - coffee, yoghurt an apple and a piece of bread. After my meal it's time for some shopping. I purchase what I think will come in handy.

One (1) tent

Hikingboots - 1 pair

Food enough to last two weeks

The biggest, sharpest knife I could find (approx 2 inches long)

One (1) baseball bat

Warm clothes

One (1) sleeping bag

I return to the apartment.

Change to warm, sturdy clothes, put on my new hiking boots, pack the backpack, take a deep breath.

Open the blue door in what used to be my kitchen.

I step into the forest.

I hear a sound.

Turn around.

The door is no longer there.

That is a bit uncomfortable I must admit.

By now I'm beginning to feel a bit annoyed at the situation, it is after all quite ridiculous, who would want to steal my kitchen? And how did they do it?

And where is my coffee?

I march into the woods; I march out on the other side. Good. It was not a pleasant place. In front of me there is now a meadow - not much of an improvement, the grass is dead and crunches under my feet when I walk over it. In the centre of the meadow there is a tent. It is a striped tent - actually the same pattern I have on my other pyjamas, the tent is just slightly larger and with a different shape than the garment mentioned.

I walk up to the tent and step inside.

There is my kitchen.

What is it doing here?

I walk through the kitchen and into my hallway.

Hey! How very peculiar.

I turn around and the meadow is gone. No tent either, with or without stripes.

Ah - well...that is life, sometimes it's just weird.

Maybe I should do some dishes.

I wash up a couple of glasses and go to bed.

The next morning things are back to normal.

....

Almost.

The couch has apparently been replaced by a somewhat upset hippopotamus.

A new day - a new challenge.

Pja, lingon och banan kanske inte ger det godaste resultatet men det funkar och är klart ätbart. Morot gick inte alls (om nu någon skulle ha funderingar på att testa så kan du spara lite tid...), hallon - myyycket gott.

Med frusna bär behövs inget vatten och med färska bär pyttepytte lite bara.

Bild på lingonlädret:



Jag skojsade till det lite med kakformar... börjar tro att jag kanske har liite för mycket fritid.

Fruit Leather

Ca 1 liter valfria bär (eller vad du råkar ha hemma)
socker efter smak
lite vatten

Koka upp bären med en aning vatten (om det behövs) så att de mjuknar och saftar sig.
Tillsätt lite socker om det nu nödvändigtvis behövs. Passera det hela noggrant genom en sil så att bara skalen blir kvar.

Ta en långpanna e.d. och klä den med bakplåtspapper.
Bred ut den passerade bärmassan tunt.
Torka det hela på svag ugnsvärme (50 grader) tills det är hanterbart och kan lossas från underlaget. Det tar några timmar, hur många beror ju på hur blöt bärmassan var från början.
Skär i remsor och ät.

Håll tumme för mig och mitt läder!

Avslutningsvis, en bild som inte har någonting med inlägget att göra, håll till godo: