Where did they go, All the Bloggers ... Hvor blev de af allesammen ... ~ A. B. C.

I've begun sorting through my unpublished blog posts. Some will be posted as is, some will be finished and published, most will be deleted. As I have more that 100 drafts expect lots of crazy, dizzy, angry, happy and hopefully funny posts to pop up over the coming weeks.

An Autumn Blog Cleaning post

Jeg er begyndt på en efterårsoprydning på min blog. Der ligger mængder af kladder. Nogle få bliver udgivet som de er, flere vil blive udgivet efter en omskrivning, og langt de fleste vil blive slettet. Da jeg har næsten 200 kladder liggende, kan I se frem til vanvittige, rundtossede, vrede, glade og for det meste morsomme  opslag den kommende måneds tid. 
    De vil få etiketten A.B.C. for Autumn Blog Cleaning = Efterårsblogoprydning (E.B.O. lyder ikke helt så sjov, vel 😉)

Et A. B. C. opslag

DANSK
Der er så mange mennesker omkring mig - både i den nærmere, fysiske omkreds og ude i internettets mang afkroge - der bliver ramt af uhelbredelige sygdomme, uheld, død, og ulykker. Det, den tilstundende vinter og livets almindelige ugunst har gjort mig forstemt.
     I går satte jeg mig ned for at rydde op på bloggen, og fik i den anledning fat i mine gamle blogrolls med links til alle mulige blogs, jeg fulgte levende med i engang. For da jeg begyndte at blogge, den 31. januar 2012, var blogospheren et myldrende sted.
    Det er den ikke længere. for der er mange, man bare ikke hører fra længere. Hvis jeg kigger på gamle blogrolls, forundres jeg. Det jeg forundres over, er så mange, der ikke siger farvel?
- Der er selvfølgelig bloggere der siger farvel og så stopper med at blogge.
- Nogle er døde og enten de selv eller deres efterladte har sat et sidste punktum. 
- Få er kronisk syge, og energien til at fortsætte er der bare ikke, efter et par forsøg, der kan læses som farvel stopper det bare - og det er helt OK.
- Men det store flertal ... de forsvinder bare i et tomrum, uden farvel, uden forklaring, uden noget. Nogle blogge bliver efterhånden overtaget af sære hjemmesider, men langt de fleste ligger der endnu. Der er så en sidste blogpost i 2020, 2023, 2025, med titler som: I morgen, Nyt projekt, Ventetid, Lige om lidt, ... Eller måske allerunderligst: Hej igen ...
Kunne men ikke forestille sig at skrive et farvel-indlæg?
      Jeg har ikke lyst til at lede efter folk på FB eler Insta. Mit forhold til FB er lidt anstrengt ... det er for svært at få lov til at se, hvad jeg gerne vil se, i stedet for det FB gerne vil vise mig. Jeg elsker mine grupper der, med inspiration, hjælp og støtte til kreative projekter af enhver art. Og jeg kan også se berettigelsen af Messenger - der kan man lige smide en hurtig besked. Men på grund af FBs algoritmer er det ikke der man kan følge sine venners liv uden at gøre en overmenneskelig indsats.
      Instagram ... de bliver ved med at slette min konto, fordi jeg overtræder deres retningslinjer (4 eller 5 gange allerede). Det er lidt komisk, for jeg har ikke en Smartphone, så jeg lægger ikke billeder op i tide og utide, jeg følger mine venner og børn og til dels deres venner, og smider dem et like eller en smiley i ny og næ. Og det er åbenbart helt galt?

      Men jeg synes faktisk også at en blog kan noget andet og mere. På en blog kan man læse i ro og mag, føle at man lærer andre mennesker bare lidt at kende, og følge deres liv gennem længere tid. Det bliver stående på en anden måde, lidt som en bog.
      Og på en eller anden måde synes jeg at vinden er ved at vende. At flere forlader Instagram og vender tilbage til bloggeriet. Det håber jeg altså er rigtigt, og jeg har tænkt mig at gøre en indsats for at komme ind i den danske blogosfære igen.
      Derfor har jeg besluttet mig for to tiltag:
- Alle mine blogindlæg bliver nu igen tosprogede dansk/engelsk med ganske få, helt specifikke undtagelser.
- Jeg har oprettet en ny blogliste med alle de danske bloggere, jeg har fundet (forslag modtages med tak!), så jeg bedre kan følge med - den vil forhåbentlig gro i den kommende tid - så vil jeg læse flere af dem og kommentere på flere af dem, og håbe på bare en lille sneboldeffekt.

-- 🖊 --

ENGLISH
There are so many people around me – in my immediate, physical surroundings as in the internet – who are affected by incurable illnesses, misfortune, death and accidents. This, combined with the approaching winter and life’s general adversities, has left me feeling downcast.
     Yesterday I sat down to have a clear-out of my blog, and doing so I came across my old blogrolls with links to all the blogs I used to follow. Because when I started blogging, January 2012, the blogosphere was a bustling place.
    It isn’t like that any more. There are so many people not blogging anymore. When I look at old blogrolls, I’m amazed. What amazes me is that so many people didn’t say goodbye?

• Of course, there are bloggers who say goodbye and then stop blogging.
• Some have died, and either they themselves or their next of kin have brought things to a close.
• A few are chronically ill, and after a couple of attempts – which can be read as a farewell – they simply stop because they just don’t have the energy to carry on – and that’s perfectly OK.
• But the vast majority… they simply vanish into thin air, without a goodbye, without an explanation, without anything. Some blogs are eventually taken over by strange websites, but the vast majority are still there. There’s that last blog post from 2020, 2023, 2025, with titles like: Tomorrow, New project, Waiting, In a bit, … Or perhaps the strangest of all: ‘Hello again’...

Couldn’t they have brought themselves to write a farewell post?
      I don’t feel like looking for people on Facebook or Instagram. My relationship with Facebook is a bit strained… it’s too hard to see what I want to see, as opposed to what Facebook wants to show me. I love my groups there, with inspiration, help and support for creative projects of all kinds. And I also get the point of Messenger. But because of Facebook’s algorithms, it’s not the place to keep up with your friends’ lives without making a superhuman effort.
      Instagram… they keep deleting my account because I’m doing something against their guidelines (four or five times already). It’s a bit comical, because I don’t own a smartphone, I don’t post photos left, right and centre; I follow my friends and children, and to some extent their friends, and throw them a ‘like’ or a smiley every now and then. And apparently that’s completely wrong?

      But I actually think a blog can offer something different, something more. On a blog you can read at your leisure, feel thah you kind of get to know other people, and follow their lives over longer periods. Blogs stay in a different way, a bit like a book.
      And somehow I feel the tide is turning. That more people are leaving Instagram and returning to blogging. I really hope that’s true, and I intend to make an effort to get back into the Danish blogosphere.
      That’s why I’ve decided on two steps:
- All my blog posts will now once again be bilingual (Danish/English), with very few, very specific exceptions.
- I’ve created a new blog list featuring all the Danish bloggers I’ve found (suggestions welcome!), so I can keep up to date more easily – hopefully it will grow in the coming months – and I’ll read more of them and comment on more of them, in the hope of creating even a small snowball effect.

Words for Wednesday, September 16 :: June, the Solitary Hero ~ 6

Even though our blogrolls are STILL not updating,
River at Drifting through Life
has given us the new Words for Wednesday.

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.

This month the words are given by River at Drifting through Life

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today we were given:
Extravagant
Koala
Plane
Charged
Potatoes
Alone
I continue my story about June, the Solitary Hero from here:
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 3
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 4
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 5
I used the words almost in the order they were given.

June got up from the chair before the memories overwhelmed her. She walked quickly to the hallway to get her winter-coat in preparation for a calming walk down to the beach and along the coastline. This winter coat was one of the extravagant things Dennis, her movie star husband had given her, and one of the few things left over from her former life. The lousy flat has been cheap, and Dennis was kind of wealthy, they could afford a big car, luxurious clothes, nice things and good food. Life had been good, apart from her parents' unrelenting and undisguised disdain for Dennis.
    She put her hands deep into the pockets, and her left hand touched something soft. She pulled it out, and blinded by tears she sank down on the small bench in the hallway. It was Brian's stuffed Koala toy. It had belonged to Carla first, but she never loved it like Brian did. On that last day he had imagined that it was riding a plane back to its jungle-homeland, and repeatedly rammed Koala into Carla's head and the car seats. In the end she had told him that Koala had to hide away in her pocket until it had learned how to fly a plane. With Koala forgotten in her pocket she had left the car at grandma's and granddad's place. She had walked into the garden with Dennis' mom who wanted a hand digging up potatoes for dinner. Dennis and his dad had walked down the driveway to get a big parcel left there by the mail-man, while Carla and Brian were charged with collecting their stuff from the car. Nobody ever found out how it happened, which of the kids released the hand brake, but suddenly the car began rolling down the steep driveway with both kids inside. Dennis and his dad both were run over by the car, which continued out into the busy street, being hit from both directions, and causing a big accident. Dennis' father, Brian and Carla were killed on the spot, Dennis lay for days between life and dead before he left this world. Dennis' mother had a stroke the day after the joint burial, and never really recovered before succumbing to the next one a few months later.
    June's parents never even once wrote or 'phoned her during this period. She was left practically alone and moved north to get away from it all.

... to be continued, words willing

PÅ DANSK
Denne historie, der er skrevet med udgangspunkt i ordene fra Words for Wednesday - en blogudfordring. Den kan læses i sin fulde længde i fanebladet June

June, the Solitary Hero ~ 5

Now, before the next batch of Words for Wednesday will go public tomorrow, I sat down and used them. I continued my story of June, the Solitary Hero from
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 1
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 2
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 3
June, the Solitary Hero  ~  Part 4
and as I often do, I used the words in the order they were given. The Words were:
Klutz 
Cream cheese 
Twilight/gloaming 
Buzzing 
Trouble 
Dominoes

June had seldom felt more like a klutz. No matter how much she studied, she could not get the hang of the Morse code. Suddenly she remembered the verses she had been taught as a girl scout:
A is for apple, brown is the bough   ·-
B is a bear with three cubs in tow   -···
C is two pins that fell where they stood   -·-·
D is a dagger with two drops of blood  -··
... and so on all the way to Z. The verses were not very good, but easy to remember, and she recited them while cleaning, picking, baking, shining, polishing and whatever else she did that day.

The mail-man arrived, bringing more bills for the house, and she treated him to a home-made apple-and-blackberry pie served with a vanilla cream cheese sauce. He preferred tea to coffee, and June was happy to comply, as this would have been her choice as well. They talked of the former owners, nothing very deep, but the mail-man confirmed that the wife, Anne, had indeed been tiny and fragile and never born them any children, and that Charles had lost the will to live after her death, and quickly descended into senility.

After the mail-man had left, June sat for a while in the garden, and soon the soft, late September twilight descended. She recalled that her granny had called it gloaming. She had found it a depressing word as a child, akin to gloomy, whereas twilight had an elfin sound to it. She liked the sound of that word. Granny had died many years ago, but June still missed her. She was the only person in the family who had understood her liking for languages and the arts in a family of technicians and accountants. She had married a man Granny did not like, and set the while family buzzing with outrage. He had been a movie star in his teens, starring in X-rated movies. When June met him, he had already stopped acting and was the lead singer in a heavy metal band. They had had endless trouble with his reputation and tattoos. Landlords did not want to rent them even the tiniest flat. As if his money was somehow worth less than other peoples'. In the end they had found a shabby flat and there they had lived happily with their two kids until that dreadful day when her whole life fell over like dominoes in a row.

Poetry Monday :: Beach huts Mandagsdigtet :: Badehuse

Poetry Monday is a blogging challenge started by Diane @ On the Border in February 2017; later it was picked up by Delores @ Mumblings and Jenny @ Procrastinating Donkey.
    Then Dolores took over the hosting duties; but when Dolores left the internet, Diane returned and took over hosting duty again with her and Jenny taking turns suggesting a topic.
    Now Mimi @ Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over, as Diane seems disinclined to take up Poetry Monday again.

The prompts are now taken from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a (drawing) prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog. And they mostly lend themselves perfectly for poeming as well. 

  I have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
  Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.

Today the prompt is Beach huts  which fast turned into Little beach huts, and then this happened. We do have beach huts in Denmark as well, and like almost everything here they are strictly regulated. No enlargements, no additions, no electricity, and no running water. I never really got the point in having a beach hut. After reading more about it, I still do not get it.


Beach huts
Little beach huts by the seaside,
little beach huts made of wood and timber
little beach huts by the seaside,
little beach huts colourful.
There's a blue one, and a green one
and a striped one and a yellow one,
Painted houses made of timber
and they seldom look the same.

But the people in the beach huts
they go bathing just like you and me
All the people in the beach huts
little people, all the same.
There's a tall one, and a short one,
and a thin one and a flabby one.
Little people in the beach huts,
little people, all the same.

Why do people have a beach hut
not a towel just like you and me.
Are the worried we'll see them
we are people - all the same.
There's a short one, and a tall one
And a fat one and a skinny one.
Little beach huts by the seaside
Little people, all the same!


Og så på dansk!

Mandagsdigtet er en blogleg, som blev startet af Diane fra On the Border i februar 2017; senere blev den videreført af Delores fra Mumblings og Jenny fra Procrastinating Donkey.
    Derefter overtog Delores værtsrollen; men da Delores forlod internettet, vendte Diane tilbage og overtog værtsrollen igen, hvor hun og Jenny skiftevis foreslår et emne.
    Nu har Mimi fra Messymimi's Meanderings og jeg overtaget, da Diane ikke synes at have lyst til at genoptage Poetry Monday.
    Stikordene hentes nu fra 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts. Det er en Facebook-gruppe med et (tegne-)stikord for hver dag i året, men bare rolig, stikordene vil stadig være her og på Mimis blog. Og de egner sig for det meste også perfekt til at skrive digte om.

  Jeg har en opfordring til jer: Hvis I læser dette og andres digte via linkene, vil I så ikke være så søde at skrive en kommentar?
  Halvdelen – hvis ikke mere – af det sjove ved disse udfordringer er at modtage andres reaktioner.

I dag er stikordet Badehuse, hvilket hurtigt blev til »Små kabiner«, og så skete det her. Jeg har aldrig rigtig forstået pointen med at have et badehus. Efter at have læst mere om det, forstår jeg det stadig ikke.

Badehuse
Små kabiner, tæt ved stranden,
badehuse, skabt af træ og tagpap,
små kabiner, tæt ved stranden
Så forskellige de er.
Der' et blåt et, og et gult et
og et rødt et og et stribet et
De er malet helt forskelligt.
Det ser vældig festligt ud. 

Men de folk der er i husene
går i vandet ligesom du og jeg,
Alle dem der er i husene
De er mensker hver og en.
Der' en tyk én og en tynd én
 og en lav én og en rigtig lang.
Allesammen er de mensker,
de er allesammen ens.

Hvad skal folk med badehuse,
når et håndklæde er ligeså godt?
Vi er alle sammen men'sker
vi er alle sammen ens.
Der' en lang én og en kort én
Og en tynd én og en lille prop.
Badehuse tæt ved stranden
de kan kun forundre mig.


- - - - - Coming Prompts - - - - -

September 21 Solstice - Should it be Equinox, I wonder.
September 28 Bonfire
October 5 Rocket
October 12 Contents of the safe
October 19 X-ray vision
October 26 Clam
November 2  Big Birds
November 9  Planes

Uniqueness ~ ~ Autumn-Blog-Cleaning

I've begun sorting through my unpublished blog posts. Some will be posted as is, some will be finished and published, most will be deleted. As I have more that 100 drafts expect lots of crazy, dizzy, angry, happy and hopefully funny posts to pop up over the coming weeks.

My first Autumn Blog Cleaning post

If you're a Jew and I do not like you, I might not be an anti-Semitic nincompoop. If you're a woman and I do not like you, I'm probably not sexist. Because maybe it's not your sex or religion what's putting me off.

Maybe what I do not like about you is your political point of view, maybe your ideas about people on the dole, maybe your aggressive veganism, your view on public transportation, covid19, or a zillion other matters?

I never understood the former way of thinking. If it really is only this one thing that's defining you and who you are, I truly feel sorry for you, because we all are so much more ...

Some of our characteristics are immutable, genetic. For example: eye colour, height, skin pigmentation (the colour may change when exposed to the Sun), the ability to roll your tongue, biological gender, the ability to taste phenylthiocarbamide (FTC), etc. ect.

Others are changeable: the ability to speak Esperanto, a fondness for Brussels sprouts, wanting to have sex with men, being able to stand on one's head, knowing how to swim, having a certain job and many others.

The failure of  most ideologies is that they put a magnifying glass on one of these characteristics - be it genetic or changeable - and say this it is what defines me, what I am. But I do NOT want to be defined by this one facet of me. It is not the only one that makes me who I am.

Once, many years ago I was at a "museum" where we were asked to answer 8 simple questions, each asked by a computer, tied to a worktable, where aids to answer the questions were given. I only remember some of the questions. These were:

Are the hairs on your head straight or curly?

Are your fingerprints whorls or waves? (A magnifying glass and example of fingerprint types provided).

What is your eye colour? (A mirror and - I think - 6 different eyes given).

Can you smell this? (Two test tubes, one neutral, one stinky -  to me, but obviously not to everyone)

Are you a man or a woman (Simpler times then, today that might have to be: Are you endowed with 2 X-chromosomes? to be equally simple and unambiguous).

Each question was asked by a computer, and as you put in your answer - the man/woman one was the first - it told you: "You are visitor number 845,372 since we opened this exhibition, and 410,785 were like you". Every time I typed in my answers at one of the stations, the second number plummeted. Until at the last station I was told: "You are visitor number 845,372 since we opened this exhibition, and 0 were like you - you are unique!" And this was with only 8 simple questions.

How come some people think that gender, or religion, or skin colour, or intelligence, or eating preferences, or whatever, is the only determining factor?