Katarina Andjelkovic

Artemis II just sent this back. structure looks intact

1979. grupa dosta slabih starijih muškaraca dovedena je u zabačeni manastir u Nju Hempširu. Kada su izašli iz kombija, dočekala ih je harvardska psihološkinja, dr Elen Langer. Rekla im je da će narednih nedelju dana živeti u tom manastiru bez ikakvog kontakta sa spoljnim svetom. Dok su se starci mučili da unesu svoje teške torbe unutra, pogledali su oko sebe i shvatili da su upravo zakoračili u 'vremensku mašinu'. Sve unutra izgledalo je tačno kao pre 20 godina. Nije bilo moderne tehnologije, samo stari televizori, radio-aparati i časopisi iz pedesetih. Nije bilo ni ogledala, samo fotografije njih samih od preko pre dve decenije. Dr Langer im je dala jedno pravilo: morali su da razgovaraju o događajima iz pedesetih kao da se dešavaju upravo sada. Tako su narednih nedelju dana pričali o dolasku Kastra na vlast, gledali emisiju Eda Salivena i čitali izdanja časopisa Life iz 1959. godine. Poslednjeg dana boravka, dr Langer je videla nešto neverovatno. Isti oni ljudi koji su nedelju dana ranije jedva hodali uz pomoć štapova, sada su trčali po travi i igrali ragbi bez kontakta. Kao da su se podmladili unazad, i medicinski testovi su to također potvrdili. Bili su 'viši', sa mnogo stabilnijim držanjem. Prsti su im se produžili jer se smanjila upala koja je izazivala artritis. Sluh i vid su im se poboljšali, a kada su nepoznatim ljudima pokazane fotografije pre i posle, rekli su da muškarci izgledaju dve do tri godine mlađe. Pre eksperimenta, ovi ljudi su usvojili stanje naučene bespomoćnosti. Svet ih je tretirao kao slabe starce kojima je potrebna stalna nega, pa su i oni sebe tako videli. Ali za samo nedelju dana života kao da su mlađi, njihov um je prosrp naložio telu da zaista bude mlađe. Taj eksperiment je poznat kao “Counterclockwise” studija (ponekad se naziva i Mind-Body Time Travel Study). Ova studija ju je učvrstila kao pionira u oblasti mindfulness i povezanosti uma i tela. Pokazala je da ono što mislimo o sebi (godine, sposobnosti, ograničenja) ima stvaran fizički efekat, što je tada bilo prilično kontroverzno. Njena istraživanja su kasnije otvorila vrata novim pristupima u zdravlju, starenju i psihologiji (kako percepcija utiče na imunitet, stres i oporavak).✨

Hor Karlovačke gimnazije napustio je obeležavanje Svetog Save , nakon što su na proslavu došli opštinski čelnici. Hor je nastup nastavio na dvorištu, gde su im se pridružili i ostali učenici.

Neverovatno je zaista na kakve se sve načine govori ovih dana o fact-finding misiji Evropskog Parlamenta, posebno koliko je nerazumevanje razlika između njenog političkog i pravnog karaktera a i ovo kolektivno naricanja predstavnika vladajuće stranke o tome kako je ona udarac na suverenitet Srbije i diplomatske protokole. Evo objašnjenja u formi niza, koju odavno nisam koristila, da bi bilo jasnije i preglednije: Dakle, Evropski parlament (EP) i njegov Odbor za spoljne poslove (AFET) imaju institucionalno pravo da organizuju misije za utvrđivanje činjenica (FFM) u zemljama članicama EU, kandidatima za članstvo ili trećim zemljama, u okviru svojih ovlašćenja po Poslovniku EP-a. Ovaj instrument omogućava EP-u da dobije direktne informacije na terenu, bez oslanjanja na druge izvore ili izveštaje. Konkretna pravna osnova u Poslovniku dozvoljava odborima da organizuju fact-finding posete u vezi sa pitanjima koja su predmet njihove nadležnosti, uključujući spoljnu politiku, vladavinu prava i ljudska prava. 1/9

Tred o todlerima i generalno maloj deci do tri četri godine.

Juče je otvoren kafić "Zvuci srca" u kojem će zaposleni biti osobe sa smetnjama u razvoju. Pasaž u Zmaj Jovinoj 22L, popijte kafu i podržite ih. 🤗

Zdravko Čolić & Royal Philharmonic Orchestra Južnjaci

A message from a Kindergarten teacher: After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old: “My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.” No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.” My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me. When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic. But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe. My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown. And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice. They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer. The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.” As if kindness were a weakness. Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure — a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.” a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.” a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.” Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up. But this last year broke something in me. The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival. I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times. So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998: “Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.” I sat on the floor and cried. No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications. I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced. I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers. So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try. Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.