How do pics of mine look framed?

Have you ever wondered how your fabulous pics & photos would look like framed? Well, I did and here is the result of a few of them which i did. I have joined a site called RedBubble where one can show and sell one’s stuff since four days ago.
Here is my site over there:

cardo framed bubble

The Cardo was Jerusalem’s main street during the Roman (63-324 CE) and the Byzantine era (324-638 CE). Today, the street is lined with elegant boutiques and shops. (Wikipedia; Israel-

cardo pillars bubble

In ancient Roman city planning, a CARDO or cardus was a north-south-oriented street in cities, military camps, and coloniae. Sometimes called the cardus maximus, the cardo served as the center of economic life. The street was lined with shops, merchants, and vendors.

white frame pillars at cardo

  © Photos by Riihele. All rights reserved 

Do have a grand weekend. Rii 🙂


Simon de Pud shows the way to be when one is feeling jaded! I love this picture of him for he is so knackered and peeved looking…

I do not know what happened before the photo was taken as I wasn’t there at the time. Let us just say that he ain’t happy!

I put this photo here today because I am under a dreadful dose of a cold that is trying to knock me out…

And this is the way I do feel, too, you know. No joking matter. Nope. I have not a had a cold nor flu for well a over year in fact.

Keep so well and safe. Rii –coughing away

Photo: Family archives. All rights reserved.



How do you get an one-armed Blonde down from a tree?

By waving…!!

Tis for now from Da Blonde, Rii

Photo: Riihele. All rights reserved.

Looking Good: HAIR


“I’d luv to kiss ya, but I just washed my hair.”

Bette Davis
(American actress 1908-1989)

All of the females know the saying: ‘To have a Good Hair Day’ when everything of you and on you looks absolutely a million dollars! The opposite is also so familiar to us. I came to think of this subject because my hair is showing signs of needing a good crop, a sprucing up and a re-styling. Planning to get it done ASAP; i.e., the hairdresser will have a time slot for me.

Talking about hairdressers; the worst ones ever to cross my path were in Sweden, who simply had no clue as how to cut hair. I went to several highly recommended ones but to no avail. Disaster after disaster, I am telling you! My hair is silken in texture but thick and naturally curly – I keep it as straight as I can manage it, so when a hairdresser sees it, they think ‘ooh, easy-peasy…!’ But it isn’t, and shocking hairdos are dished out to me time after time.

My approach to a new country, to a new town and a new hairdresser therein is with the outmost caution these days – after so many woeful shocks what else could I be?! The very best hairdressers I have had, have all been in Ireland, in particular. Even there anytime my familiar hairdresser moved on or changes to another town, I bid them a sad farewell, thinking:

‘ Where to next?!’

In Israel the early adventures of my haircuts there were not positive so while living there the last time I fine combed – – an enormous amount of them before I trusted anyone to touch my hair. Why? Well, the last haircut I had in Eilat one time before travelling back to Scandinavia was the one where I was given a happy zig-zag all around the head in the various lengths et cetera. More of a very, very bad hair day in a nightmare. So this time while there my caution paid off as the ‘research’ – which was letting them wash my hair at the most in places, sometimes not even that, but it did give a feel of the place.

Finally I walked into a very stylish and posh looking place thinking that this could be it and saw four hairdressers sitting there and asked them in a friendly but no nonsense style:

Me: “Are you all hairdressers?

They : “Yes.”

Me: “Who is the best of you to cut hair?”

They: “Zvi is.”

So that was that. Zvi, the owner, became my hairdresser and Hanan, his sidekick, too, as they were both equally talented at the art of haircutting and styling. The salon gave Lattes, Cappuccinos and sodas on the house. Nice touch. My beverage of choice there was Espresso, which was done in a real machine, no instant packet stuff there. In Ireland one could have a cup of tea or the instant coffee-powder coffee. In Finland not even the packet stuff is offered in any of the salons that I have been in. (Anyhow, offering an instant coffee to a Finn would be considered an insult. This country takes its coffee very seriously.)

Now I am back in Finland and here again the research was done with a comb so fine that I thought that there was none to do the hair until I found Lea. And does she know how to cut, indeed, she does, and with such a flair to boot!

Do Have A Good Hair Day!

Tis for now. Riihele xx.

© Photo: By Riihele. All rights reserved.

Tips on hairstyles and such like in this link and this here.

Incidents & Such Like: PUTTY


The fact of the matter is that Donald Duck and I share the same predicament in being persons for whom things happen – whether one is looking for them to happen or not!! Sad things, mad things, glad things, do roll out in a never-ending roller coaster. I have said in another entry that I am rather lively and energetic of meself’ and tis so very true as all sorts of incidents tend to happen me DD-like wherever I go! Never a dull moment in me life, I am telling you.

This incident happened to me when I had just about arrived in Ireland all those years ago. Well, the moral of the story is this:

How (not) to make an unforgettable impression on your in-laws-to-be. And to stand out like a sore thumb, to boot!!

We – that is the mother-in-law, the father-in-law, himself and I, were sitting by the table in the kitchen a January evening after Tea – read: dinner, as it is called in Ireland – and it was very cold and draughty inside because of the single pane, large windows in spite of the heavy-lined curtains, so says this new daughter-in-law-in-the-making:

“Why don’t you insulate the windows
to keep the heat in,

because that is what we do in Finland and Sweden?

I do not know the name of the thing that one uses to do
the job in English,
but in Finnish it is called, ‘Kitti’, and

in Swedish it is called ‘Kitt’ ( – pronounced: s**t).”

For a second there was absolutely no reaction from anybody, then I realized what I had said and burst into fits of laughter!!

The mother-in-law gives an amused chuckle for that one, but says nothing.

The father-in-law is deadly serious, and says nothing.

Himself gives me a good kick under the table, and says not a thing.

Moi says: ” Oooppss… What did I say?!!”

They must have been all thinking, ‘ What have we got here?!!’ Strange people them Finns using such a substance for insulations. It just shows that certain words in one language, can have so very different meaning in another. I did not know that the word I was looking for was, putty. Ever after that intermezzo, I most certainly do!

Tis for now again until the next posting. Riihele xx.

* The in-laws were of the age that they could have been my grandparents, so to say a thing like that in their hearing was just not normally done.
Picture is off the net.

JOKE – Battle Axe

 Battle Axe

This is what happened at Ceres’s blog one day,
where she was writing so beautifully about the ‘ugly’ history of wars and the like
’til Da Blonde came along and said this:

“A quick comment of a sort.

You say:

‘What made people,
such as the ancient Greeks and Romans,
personify war as a woman?’

I say:

Is She not called a Battle Axe?!!”

What would You have said?

Tis for now Rii xx

Da Blonde Ponders On: Education


‘This is lovely but WHEN does it end?’ *
Heli my Baby Girl – age 4 on her first day of school in Ireland.

Once the children begin school, the time takes wings, and before one has hardly had time to blink, out they come off the education system, and move on into the further study. In Ireland the education career for the children – I do see it as a job for them that lasts for fifteen long years – begins at the tender age of three, as this is the age when the most of them start the pre-school – which is private and very costly – then they go on to the ‘big school’ at four that is ‘free’ if the child goes to the national education schools but if he/she goes to the private primary education it is astronomical in cost, when all things are added up.

The Big Girl, Becki, began her pre-school at the age of four, and then she went on to the National School at five, though. We thought that it was better for her but she ended being the oldest in every class that she was in. Becki did not like this, she told me later. Heli began hers at three and then went on to the Primary School at four.

Then there is at the age of 12 until 18 the Secondary Education which was the international and very highly regarded private school called, St.Andrew’s College – in the link is the Headmaster who is still the same great man – which is situated in Booterstown about five miles south of Dublin along the coast. Here is the Wikipedia on the St.Andrew’s School. The absolutely very best thing about the college is that a great number of the students and even some of the teachers are from all over the world. I particularly liked the International Food Fair which was organized by the students every year. The food was always top-notch quality made by the parents and the children themselves. Twas a night that I did not want to miss ever! In this link there is further iNFO on the Emerald Isle in my Travelogue to Dublin which I compiled last year.

Ireland as a country is such a small pond that in order to get anywhere professionally one must have great connections in all directions; connections that are formed during the years in the schools and colleges. The other name for this system would be: the Old Boys Network, sure. In Finland and in Sweden the pre-school begins at the age of 6, and then by 7-years all the children are sitting down to a serious study until they come out of the mill at 18. Or should I say, those who choose to do the whole study thing right to the end.

How is the school system in Your country?

Tis for now. Riihele – in the reminiscing mode. xx

* Heli really did say this very thing to her most lovely teacher the very first day in the Powerscourt National School -picture in the link – in Enniskerry in County Wicklow, Ireland – founded in 1818, by the way.