@AWiderberg Ska såklart lyssna (har flera på listan, bra sällskap i bilen till/från jobbet), känner ofta att jag vill kommentera/fråga men inser såklart att det inte är live. 😁
Följ med ut i rymden och ett samtal om SJ:s dörrar, om en kaskelots korta liv, om hejiga datorer, dörrar som suckar av välbehag och den stackars roboten Marvin. Vi finner dessutom den motkraft vi behöver i en orolig tid. Kom, så åker vi!
open.spotify.com/episode/4trwFo…
Varmt grattis till gode kollegan Joel Widerberg.
En chef på VLT har chans att kamma hem det prestigefyllda priset ”Årets Medieledare” i tävlingen ”Årets Dagstidning”, vars första nomineringar har presenterats.
vlt.se/2026-01-21/vlt…
One of my favorite lines ever.
We burn with longing.
We have a memory of another world.
We long for it and search for it in everything.
A far off country, a better land, our true home.
Rest in peace, Patricia Routledge 🙏🏻
In memory of her, I encourage everyone to read these words of hers from February last year.
Whether young or old, you're bound to get something out of it.
*****
"I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.
My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found.
At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.
At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.
At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.
At 80, I took up watercolour painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever.
I’m writing this to tell you something simple:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years ahead be your TREASURE YEARS.
You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
Patricia Routledge
*****
Once more, rest in peace. 🤍
“Political language — and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists — is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”
— George Orwell
The Elves greet the three hobbits. ‘I am Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod.’
Pippin asks the Elves about Black Riders. Gildor doesn’t answer—but does make an exception to the usual Elven custom and lets the hobbits join his company. They walk east together along the road.
Frodo sees the horse’s rider approaching in the dark and almost puts on the Ring, but the man flees. Frodo listens. He hears Elves singing!
’Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!’
With the stars bright above them, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin sing one of Bilbo’s walking-songs.
‘Upon the hearth the fire is red
Beneath the roof there is a bed
But not yet weary are our feet…’
Just as they finish, they hear hoofbeats approaching from behind. They hide.
CS Lewis wrote that we write not to be understood, but to understand—we write to work through our confusion, untie spiritual knots, and resolve existential dilemmas. This is one of the main reasons AI prose feels so empty: AI has no existential dilemmas to work through
The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.
— J.R.R. Tolkien
Naturskyddsföreningen borde veta bättre. Naturen försvinner inte, den tar över så fort vi slappnar av det allra minsta.
Brad Harris resonerar intressant om detta i senaste episoden av Context.
open.spotify.com/episode/0tvPjY…
6 Stoic don’ts:
1. Don’t look outside yourself for approval (Epictetus)
2. Don’t suffer imagined troubles (Seneca)
3. Don’t care what other people think (Marcus Aurelius)
4. Don’t seek fame (Marcus Aurelius)
5. Don’t be a know-it-all (Epictetus)
6. Don’t put stuff off (Seneca)