tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23172329321643813682024-03-13T15:37:50.770+01:00Views from my kitchen windowIn August 2009 I moved back to Stockholm after having lived in Brussels for more than ten years. This blog describes my fresh impressions from the agreeable landscape surrounding my new apartment in Hammarby Sjöstad, so easy to catch on camera from my kitchen window.Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-60718324925022651972024-02-27T20:25:00.009+01:002024-02-28T16:17:50.587+01:00BAYES’ RULE TO THE FORE!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7sAOyj7wY4FZY2-4DanlxZ0wDkfDcEIX0rAGy460z1NiP8Kukr-CmLoqbYrQ-ko9wz69_qTtVnh9dwRkyvBTsjBEzJ7qVn_fZt4lO-9vK_vqmavu4LQmR7HMGm4_XE-zrpJQpojlCTEzFZ6u8X9_2pAMk1iGMSrfRhPr87sHNueGTE6z-7_D74X38SYw/s1200/DSC_0004%20Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="1200" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7sAOyj7wY4FZY2-4DanlxZ0wDkfDcEIX0rAGy460z1NiP8Kukr-CmLoqbYrQ-ko9wz69_qTtVnh9dwRkyvBTsjBEzJ7qVn_fZt4lO-9vK_vqmavu4LQmR7HMGm4_XE-zrpJQpojlCTEzFZ6u8X9_2pAMk1iGMSrfRhPr87sHNueGTE6z-7_D74X38SYw/w400-h253/DSC_0004%20Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Our world is one of uncertainties, Dear Readers! And those uncertainties certainly do not behave in an orderly manner. However, that should not prevent us from keeping a clear mind about it. Dare I say: we should remain rational thinkers even in a world that is behaving with uncertainties that are most of the time impossible to quantify. </p><p>Statisticians have their own way to help us with this endeavour. They do their utmost to make us believe that there is order after all in the general chaos. Their basic assumption is that most occurrences in the real world behave as if they were distributed according to the so-called “normal distribution.” Given that assumption, they suggest we relax and return to believing in a world behaving as it should. It is just that many things will be uncertain but still orderly.</p><p>Me, I do not count myself as a believer in that assumption, except in the (let’s agree) many facts of life that actually behave as if distributed normally. The remainder, which pop up now and then, are important and can even be life-threatening, I have my own kind of rationality to apply to those cases, one I have established already in my Ph.D. thesis, which in turn is based on a venerable mathematician by the name of Bayes.</p><p>Staying with Bayes, rather than showcase my own proficiency, this eminent mathematician developed the basic aid for rational decision-making under genuine uncertainty. It is called the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bayes%27_theorem" rel="nofollow">Bayes’ Rule</a>. But do not worry, Dear Readers. His theorem looks a bit strange for those not versed in probability mathematics. Still, its meaning is, at the same time, profound and simple. In ordinary man’s words, it simply boils down to: “Use your common sense! And be prepared to adapt your views, if new facts of life become known to you!”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgi7ynhfbDjKBpwnbmd9XdamnNFrF8kU-uR_B2v3YltkJgC-F0gj_A-_uwF1-27qU4lcU25x4TkXAA89tEKOL0lFBZASS09WQy0tH6rZapxSnXXYZVkL2Putp0J0Iloqhn1EOyy59u8sqb2u3xHdjNoM4MIP4ZNb5T4N5jbz2EOgOOkrh6umrIAy7ytmc/s1200/DSC_0018%20Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1200" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgi7ynhfbDjKBpwnbmd9XdamnNFrF8kU-uR_B2v3YltkJgC-F0gj_A-_uwF1-27qU4lcU25x4TkXAA89tEKOL0lFBZASS09WQy0tH6rZapxSnXXYZVkL2Putp0J0Iloqhn1EOyy59u8sqb2u3xHdjNoM4MIP4ZNb5T4N5jbz2EOgOOkrh6umrIAy7ytmc/w400-h208/DSC_0018%20Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>You may wonder why I am starting this blog with the philosophy of knowledge gathering. But recent events have forced me to reluctantly do exactly what Bayes’ Rule prescribes. It concerns the new type of vaccination that has been introduced as a lifesaver in these times of the Corona plague. When vaccination had gone on for a while, I considered the information available concerning possible side effects, known by then and until recently, and judged them to be of relatively minor consequence compared to the quite real death risk for us elderly, when getting the disease without prior vaccination. Not only did I take the vaccine the first time it was offered, I even continued taking the updtates and, till now, have received fully four boosters to the first one. </p><p>But new information has arrived, and, like Bayes, I am forced to adapt my views to these new facts. It started with a series of videos on Youtube that showed a strong increase in a new form of blood clots in the bodies subjected to balsamation after death. A new fact of life that certainly got me thinking about whether to take yet another booster shot when offered. Still, it was explained away by the good old doctors being on the forefront of the public mind. The explanation was still somewhat plausible: “These blood clots of abnormal type, occuring in a great number of bodies balsamated after 2020, have been formed after death and therefore are nothing to worry about!”</p><p>But new facts start popping up. And this time, the same type of completely new blood clots, never seen in human beings before 2020, keep being mentioned by medical technicians working in laboratories that deal with eliminating blood clods in humans seriously threatened by their occurrence. So, we have to start accepting that they also form in living bodies. Don’t worry, Dear Readers, you don’t have to take my word for it. Granted that the medical establishment still believes in the normal distribution and, unlike Bayes, remains undisturbed by new facts popping up outside this venerable curve, there is the odd practitioner and their assistants that start to get worried and let the general public know about this new abnormality. </p><p>I do not have to await years of patient, albeit slow, research to adapt my view of the world. I am ready to change my position vis-á-vis vaccination of the new type right now. Till further notice, that is. Until the cause for this new pathology has been duly researched and the new method of vaccination has been modified to minimize these new side effects, I will most certainly abstain from any more booster shots against Covid! Not only that, any new application of this new so-called RNA-technique on vaccination, be it against influenca, RS-virus or whatnot, will be categorically refused by me.</p><p>You are, of course, entitled to your own opinion. Bayes’ Rule just states that you shall adapt your views to new facts popping up in real life. But it does not tell you exactly how! So I won’t hold it against you if you, even in view of these new fasts, stick to the good old RNA-booster shots. The only thing I am asking you is to look at the enclosed video, imbibe the new facts, and make up your own mind!</p><p><a href="https://philipmcmillan.substack.com/p/are-the-embalmers-clots-occurring">https://philipmcmillan.substack.com/p/are-the-embalmers-clots-occurring</a></p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-85813177330474637522023-12-24T09:00:00.004+01:002023-12-24T12:01:23.583+01:00ALL IS WELL IN EMIL’S SMALL WORLD!<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FbBh6RaR-wMN6NQcW43stneF-iQaxTRZgJrg6cpoqhgKujUZWWEz3CnFaEnHPU1dnjAZxtA6NC6pkcYoBD7vkBw76ZUbjJTtr4WzCw9jmNwDZO4VTr5__jD6KhhNp9nl10PvQ0WmhFwy7sxbkmipG8uSBDldHN3EXz5VXPM1IlNZY6wuaiyAVM_63Ro/s1200/image001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="974" data-original-width="1200" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FbBh6RaR-wMN6NQcW43stneF-iQaxTRZgJrg6cpoqhgKujUZWWEz3CnFaEnHPU1dnjAZxtA6NC6pkcYoBD7vkBw76ZUbjJTtr4WzCw9jmNwDZO4VTr5__jD6KhhNp9nl10PvQ0WmhFwy7sxbkmipG8uSBDldHN3EXz5VXPM1IlNZY6wuaiyAVM_63Ro/w400-h325/image001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I am sitting at my kitchen table for a solitary and quiet meal, munching contentedly on a walnut roll, adorned with good Gruyère.</p><p>Earlier, on my way to the café to buy te rolls, miracle upon miracle! All the sidewalks on the way were completely cleared of snow, and that on Xmas evening day! A rash and brave support indeed from our public services! As you may have seen on TV yesterday, most recently, blizzards have plagued the Swedish countryside and desperate travelers fought the forces of nature in hard road battles to reach their loved ones in time.</p><p>The more pleasure to enjoy this beautiful and cosy morning! As I am looking out the window, at 9 am sharp, the first lazy sunrays barely manage to stroke our church on the hill with a rosy shimmer, whilst the lower echelons are still resting in twilight mauve. It appears, as if providence were beckoning and indicating that the world would heal again after all the troubles it is going through lately. </p><p>Be that as it may; let us forget the travails of the world at least during these holy days, which are starting so rosily, and celebrate this happy occasion as long as it lasts.</p><p>From solitary me to all of you</p><p><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS</span></p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-50356988808069725792023-03-13T11:37:00.009+01:002023-03-14T16:36:23.865+01:00IS THIS CLIMATE CHANGE?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag3rBngN1IFSwpEinlBo_VxYb3a-mu5woXnVE0VT0zmC-_A7OXPJJnz25UwD9XCfD2rikD28Niq43ZY6osedA2h8weXCbcW8QfpgKDYptU7q96hdyRrJiW6PgTYcaRGtIaNPYhkr187VRH8jJy4McvRT0MffxYBVrsPwXhx9UBYhzbLQnW0q2q9mi/s1200/DSC_0120%20Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="1200" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag3rBngN1IFSwpEinlBo_VxYb3a-mu5woXnVE0VT0zmC-_A7OXPJJnz25UwD9XCfD2rikD28Niq43ZY6osedA2h8weXCbcW8QfpgKDYptU7q96hdyRrJiW6PgTYcaRGtIaNPYhkr187VRH8jJy4McvRT0MffxYBVrsPwXhx9UBYhzbLQnW0q2q9mi/w400-h325/DSC_0120%20Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Of course it is! Educated as we are, Dear Readers, we understand that climate change means a steady but slow increase in earth surface temperature over decades, with wide yearly variations around the trend. <p></p><p>Still, I was up for a big surprise last Wednesday morning. Having slightly overslept, and being caressed awake by the first rays of sun tickling my nose, I dragged myself out to the balcony to get a fresh overview of the rosy morning. Hardly had I put out my nose into the air, than it felt like being frozen solid! I hastily retreated and put some cloths and shoes on before venturing outside again. The temperature lingered around -15° C! </p><p>Ice had formed on Hammarby Canal overnight and a distinct noise like breaking glass disturbed the morning peace, with the ferries banging through the thin morning ice further along. All of this being bathed by the pastell coloured rays of the rising sun, mitigated by cold hazened air. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6XKs3QAnjPoIZ-gnSUv9nRifoo84WiDHhRW0rAHmEFP6JWfXXOBIqldXj0lNC__wmhEOqJcvkSHwULAA-ZlfXaXv98mpkX0dvQBx_lNh4ZmsUA76yCKB4AQtBS_oilB2R_H7WqZ-rF9cWJfANw-y9aCeaULLSfLEdZxHGWAQ3Vn6ECxwfN6eTuix/s1200/DSC_0114%20Triplet%20Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1135" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6XKs3QAnjPoIZ-gnSUv9nRifoo84WiDHhRW0rAHmEFP6JWfXXOBIqldXj0lNC__wmhEOqJcvkSHwULAA-ZlfXaXv98mpkX0dvQBx_lNh4ZmsUA76yCKB4AQtBS_oilB2R_H7WqZ-rF9cWJfANw-y9aCeaULLSfLEdZxHGWAQ3Vn6ECxwfN6eTuix/w380-h400/DSC_0114%20Triplet%20Display.jpg" width="380" /></a></div><p>In all my years in Hammarby Sjöstad, ever since 2009, I have never experienced such a cold spell in the first half of March! Thus, we are witnessing a rare extreme in the yearly variations around the warming trend! On the other hand, thinking back in time, it was far from unusual to have such frozen instances in March many decades ago. Back in 1976, for instance, my wife and I ventured into the Swedish foothills, some 400 kilometers North West of Stockholm (as the crow flies), for some cross country skiing. It was the second week of March. Temperatures reached rarely above -25° C there in <b>day-time</b>. </p><p>Fortunately, the air was dry and the sun was shining, so we took some extensive tours into the beautiful reaches thereabouts. One day, we read in the newspapers that a herd of muskoxes had been sighted in the vicinity, and, with youthful enthusiasm, we undertook to pay them a visit. This was much easier said than done; no oxen were to be seen as far as the eye could discern all of the morning of that tour. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1tv3FuiNpK32J8rKIoqzSLx--LeEiCFTdaRhS3K6U2B-DEfwxvsAjF03vy_tNCoSG9pRjsS1QhjPYiuavjefjY6oE9Q6PpisUr1lLDAt1Xk3P_VOMzws20XX-Q4f32oGIo6-jwxomvDcyEWZpybuuEuofpJoeAtesJOpW-ZMA8pbhDwgmdPFj0zQ/s1094/Myskoxe.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="1094" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1tv3FuiNpK32J8rKIoqzSLx--LeEiCFTdaRhS3K6U2B-DEfwxvsAjF03vy_tNCoSG9pRjsS1QhjPYiuavjefjY6oE9Q6PpisUr1lLDAt1Xk3P_VOMzws20XX-Q4f32oGIo6-jwxomvDcyEWZpybuuEuofpJoeAtesJOpW-ZMA8pbhDwgmdPFj0zQ/w400-h324/Myskoxe.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muskoxes <i>Source</i>: Jaktjournalen</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Luck came to us, however, after a short lunch break, when we mounted a broad mountain shoulder and, just on the other side of the crest, discovered a herd of 5 of these ice age creatures sunning themselves on the Southern slope. A memory to treasure forever, and now also shared with you, Dear Readers. Alas, with climate change, those herds will eventually be gone from the Swedish Northern wastes!</p><p>In the mean-time, we can still treasure the memory of the coldest week on Hammarby Sound in March since decades back. Occasion to return to this blog in Summer time to cool us off, when the next heat wave will embrace us like a sweltering blanket!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-H1voNcgiKZBQ-9yMxc7MaUkFjVCh5FjV1pjjVL08HtC55q9m8KN1-iet_7oGsxygh5HqU8P21brKy-F2m36HA9JNGxZx-ilu_hjJn0lbJw0QvSnYzsnD0kx2_BB3pMFjqVIsdA1LuojnZD9liUWYJUOhfMKUIh-Q3nqgKP_xS-EO5u1ZlS2_MDGq/s1200/DSC_0113%20Duplet%20Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="1200" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-H1voNcgiKZBQ-9yMxc7MaUkFjVCh5FjV1pjjVL08HtC55q9m8KN1-iet_7oGsxygh5HqU8P21brKy-F2m36HA9JNGxZx-ilu_hjJn0lbJw0QvSnYzsnD0kx2_BB3pMFjqVIsdA1LuojnZD9liUWYJUOhfMKUIh-Q3nqgKP_xS-EO5u1ZlS2_MDGq/w640-h339/DSC_0113%20Duplet%20Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-47130826610235852222022-12-31T09:36:00.123+01:002022-12-31T10:48:28.418+01:00GOOD NIGHT SWEDEN?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1m7EL-vMDvAFnORA9jC9iMv2Xsq840D0p6nrtTYGlLJORPUBb6lznU_ebwad1GeuMSZlWv2spdhwbhDuEP3UCie_uxX71MSUm9nJ787RhNMGXjZ_OOqBRrEnbKNDZLndDn9KuA0F5srydQV2_JdD4Vgv5qwehOFziNPg8WwGmnw9yPqDYtV9IHD-/s1200/Godnatt%20Sverige.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="889" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1m7EL-vMDvAFnORA9jC9iMv2Xsq840D0p6nrtTYGlLJORPUBb6lznU_ebwad1GeuMSZlWv2spdhwbhDuEP3UCie_uxX71MSUm9nJ787RhNMGXjZ_OOqBRrEnbKNDZLndDn9KuA0F5srydQV2_JdD4Vgv5qwehOFziNPg8WwGmnw9yPqDYtV9IHD-/w296-h400/Godnatt%20Sverige.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">“Good night Sweden!”<br />Frontpage of DI (Sweden’s Business Journal) 25 August 1992</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A country’s collective memory is notoriously short. Only those of us older than 50 have a clear memory and understanding of what happened in Sweden in the disaster year of 1992, exactly thirty years ago. The country was standing on the brink, staring into the abyss! The largest financial and economic crisis since the great depression exactly sixty years earlier was in the making. A complete melt-down of the financial system was impending. Only resolute actions by Government, Central Bank and Parliament could save us from the worst. Still, unemployment soared far above 10 per cent, the public deficit rose to more than 10 per cent of GDP, the Swedish crown had to depreciate by thirty per cent, and three of the major banks (of which there were only 6) had to be bailed out by the Government. </p><p>Doesn't the above graph, taking stock of the situation just before the great storm arrived, look uncannily similar to the situation in Sweden this year? Like thirty years ago, the stock market by August has sunk like a stone by som 25 per cent. Fortunately it has regained ten per cent since. Like in 1993, short term interest rates have risen by 2.5 percentage units. So what does next year have in store for us?</p><p>Of course, I am old enough not to attempt to prophesy. Rather, let me try to picture some possible scenarios, depending on the role the Swedish Central Bank is playing as guardian of monetary policy. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrST1lRC6zvprQvVdAUSAUT6on4I_PFCweGpNhrIfFuWlQ4rglecZH2NCSuOKa8xuo0JceJHFXqW9v1LABHWPItudDaIbmHcQ2lO-L2wggPL8CqO5xs5RyQe6wdQS5aHEZfnaALzfXhEzFaD3jin74R11C_aaYcL2Idqilt-_jjts3GMzUV1lYva5Q/s1200/DSC_0082%20Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="1200" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrST1lRC6zvprQvVdAUSAUT6on4I_PFCweGpNhrIfFuWlQ4rglecZH2NCSuOKa8xuo0JceJHFXqW9v1LABHWPItudDaIbmHcQ2lO-L2wggPL8CqO5xs5RyQe6wdQS5aHEZfnaALzfXhEzFaD3jin74R11C_aaYcL2Idqilt-_jjts3GMzUV1lYva5Q/w400-h309/DSC_0082%20Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Back in 1992, the Riksbank was not independent, as it is now. The country entertained a fixed exchange rate regime, with the Krona fixed against the Euro (called ECU in those days) and the Bank being entrusted with the <i>task of maintaining the fixed rate</i>. As the crisis evolved, the krona was increasingly put under pressure by foreign financial institutions and had to be maintained by an ever increasing discount rate. Eventually, the latter had to be raised to 500 per cent, in order to keep the krona from falling. First in October that year, Government realised that the situation was untenable and instructed the Bank to let the krona float. This led eventually to the ebbing out of the crisis.</p><p>In contrast to this, the Riksbank nowadays is independent of the Government and has “sovereignty” over monetary policy. Its <i>task is to keep inflation around the target of 2 per cent</i>. Since inflation erupted a year ago and has reached levels unheard of in the past twenty five years, the Bank felt forced to increase its discount rate from initially 0 per cent to at present 2.5. This does not seem much, but it implies a <i>doubling</i> of the cost of borrowing money to finance real estate purchases and similar investments. As a result, values of all assets, foremost shares and real estate, have fallen drastically within 2022. Inflation, in contrast, has only begun to stabilise at its unusually high level.</p><p>If we are to believe the Bank’s analyses and reports, the Riksbank will taper its rate increasing 2023. Only another 0.5 percentage unit rise is foreseen early in spring and inflation is then expected to abate and eventually fall back to 2 per cent again. This is broadly in line with the forecasts of the US and EU Central Banks. If those rosy expectations come true, we can foresee only minor additional decreases in asset values in spring and hope for at least moderate recuperation thereafter.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI46flB5FlzmG-KZvcQKykl0GvBaRnFh20RTuC5Qmy7QO2_oY9Ykfl90oGTkCsB2sx62yXTiMJ7Jqnt02qNv1OMVe5O-TXphiCNrvE8aDy2ko92VRDmfaLUtXnDSfVe-iVZckW_rrIrSb-sdZgNM7fN_wl26OzRRHJ9_dX185SPAAR2aBHsYkxm1o/s1200/DSC_0099-Pano%20Display_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1115" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYI46flB5FlzmG-KZvcQKykl0GvBaRnFh20RTuC5Qmy7QO2_oY9Ykfl90oGTkCsB2sx62yXTiMJ7Jqnt02qNv1OMVe5O-TXphiCNrvE8aDy2ko92VRDmfaLUtXnDSfVe-iVZckW_rrIrSb-sdZgNM7fN_wl26OzRRHJ9_dX185SPAAR2aBHsYkxm1o/w371-h400/DSC_0099-Pano%20Display_1.jpg" width="371" /></a></div><p>In contrast to the Central Banks, I am not forced to paint the future in moderate terms. In my view, it is quite uncertain which of the two main economic variables involved in shaping the future, inflation and economic growth/activity, react more eagerly to the interest rate increases. If inflation falls more quickly than economic activity goes downhill, we will see the above mentioned rosy scenario unfold. If inflation tends to be more sticky and economic activity more responsive to rate increases, the result will be quite different. I am by nature a pessimist, so let’s say that there is at least a fifty/fifty chance that the second scenario will be the one to plague us. </p><p>If so, we realise that the Riksbank, as other Central Banks, will be put in quandary. On the one hand, keeping to its task, it will be forced to continue raising the discount rate, further strangling economic activity and driving down asset values to hitherto unseen low levels and possibly inciting a financial crisis. On the other, if the Bank blinks at the edge of the abyss, draws back from its task, and starts lowering rates again to preserve economic activity, inflation will not return to the desired level. As result, we may well slide into a long lasting period of the economy stagnating, inflation recurring and wane interest rate actions being carried out by the Bank of the type we saw in the ‘seventies, a period adequately characterised by the word “stagflation”. The Japanese experience in the ‘nineties alos comes to mind. </p><p>Whatever scenario will actually unfold, I doubt it that we will return to an economy with Central Bank money being supplied free of charge, at 0 per cent interest. The grand experiment of keeping rates low or even negative, and letting them be accompanied by aggressive expansion of Central Bank money, an experiment that has gone on for a decade now, has reached the end date of its use. The new normal may well be a Bank discount rate, in Sweden, of at least 2 per cent and lending rates in future remaining about twice those we experienced as recently as a year ago. Asset values will eventually recuperate, but may not for many years experience a strong upward trend like that of the last decade. </p><div style="font-family: times; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">-o-</span></div><p>I see that this blog post is turning into a dark tale of worry. This was not my intention. Rather, to explore alternative futures so that we can be “prepared for the worst whilst still hoping for the best!”</p><p>Looking up from the computer screen and looking out from my kitchen window here in Hammarby Sjöstad, I realise that the New Year is speedily approaching. Fireworks have already begun to lighten up the sky and people are starting to assemble at their balconies, to watch the spectacle, to cheer and soon to toast in the New Year. In this spirit, permit me to extend to you</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: medium;">My very best wishes for a Happy and Successful 2023</span></p><p>May this little song put you in the right mood for a hopefully rosy scenario!</p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_9VQ6f3jzEw?controls=0" title="YouTube video player" width="400"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-67483283214558816992022-01-21T18:15:00.020+01:002022-02-20T00:24:45.002+01:00OF MICE AND MEN<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFv1CGra97fl2pAhCiLQcaqXQ2Eau7whyDDhFhYnkn65vPs5qbI2H3NCGcCFx4OT7DOk9w0yAUfpf76pHcOYQSvpYVpgwG3WhE6S0xW103EQ_dAKaGMYtbqyeDTbnN5b3Ahouv7J0vnko3FKmj92x7W3lGZfABY4v75tY75X-gqPWOL9VRVeBPHXMr=s803" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="803" data-original-width="567" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFv1CGra97fl2pAhCiLQcaqXQ2Eau7whyDDhFhYnkn65vPs5qbI2H3NCGcCFx4OT7DOk9w0yAUfpf76pHcOYQSvpYVpgwG3WhE6S0xW103EQ_dAKaGMYtbqyeDTbnN5b3Ahouv7J0vnko3FKmj92x7W3lGZfABY4v75tY75X-gqPWOL9VRVeBPHXMr=w283-h400" width="283" /></a></div><br />Some of you know it already: I am having a nice sojourn on Gran Canaria at the moment. The sad thing is that it ends tomorrow. So, back again to the dark Northern ranges, battered for the moment by the (last?) onslaught of the Plague.<p></p><p>What can I say about these fourteen days of relief from darkness and coldness? Well, it's a repose and a most welcome at that. Even if the weather did not quite live up to expectations. Only four days of sunshine; five days of calima (sandstorm) and five days of rain and cloudiness. Do I complain? Far from it! I am not here to experience eternal sunshine. I am here to EXERCISE, more precisely to get my feet back in shape through walking barefoot on the beach each morning. And this I can do come rain or sunshine! And my toes, curling comfortably as I am writing this, are thanking me for it. By the way, if you want to learn more about this type of home-cooked cure, permit me to refer you back to an older blog of mine, <a href="https://emilsfelicitousisle.blogspot.com/2011/01/walking-beach.html">Walking the beach.</a></p><p>Still, walking the beach all morning leaves the afternoon free for other activities. Now and then, I am perusing my laptop to receive the latest scientific advances to cope with the Plague. I am always amazed by the sheer bulk and timeliness of new insights that keep popping up from the scientific wondermen and -women. A recent scientific article from South Africa got my attention. It dealt with a study involving mice (thereof the blog title), since it would be unethical to carry it out with humans. Half of the critters were being vaccinated with Astra Zeneca vaccin (as I recall) injected directly into a vein. The other half got their injections into muscle tissue. The former got side effects in the form of blood clots and capillary leak symptoms, the latter did not get these side effects.</p><p>Since it is always delicate to apply results from animal studies to human conditions, I suspect that this study will go the way of many others, that is, into oblivion. Even I would have put it aside, hadn't yet another study rekindled my interest. That one was carried out by a Norwegian scientist, who studied all youths having been vaccinated (against Corona) in Norway and Denmark, respectively. He found out, to his surprise, that there were more than four times as many cases of myocarditis (heart muscle inflammation) following vaccination in Norway than in Denmark! What could explain this difference? The only valid difference the good doctor could find was: the Danish vaccinators aspired prior to vaccination; the Norwegians DID NOT!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEuqbqNSPCXlb3s4MVfGHh6NfbpDUKCyb2h5tM8wr0hzUxPhKWuq3yA4tE0b6v4bjxLE2bBFxb7LjxUeHBxVuFQP-m499vyEMGZa6UY0UjBI6TqJHnOili-zVaTNO73msugy0qW_52NF4B7Iv6B9yypQj1PlocghivlQ2X6AKkrWK0kxyOo6JkrXVx=s900" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="755" data-original-width="900" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiEuqbqNSPCXlb3s4MVfGHh6NfbpDUKCyb2h5tM8wr0hzUxPhKWuq3yA4tE0b6v4bjxLE2bBFxb7LjxUeHBxVuFQP-m499vyEMGZa6UY0UjBI6TqJHnOili-zVaTNO73msugy0qW_52NF4B7Iv6B9yypQj1PlocghivlQ2X6AKkrWK0kxyOo6JkrXVx=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>I had to look up the term "aspiration" in a medical lexicon. In the context of vaccination it means that you pull out the plunger slightly <i>before administering the vaccine</i>. If the syringe shows some blood, you have inadvertently pushed the needle into a blood vessel and shall withdraw it! If no blood shows, you can go ahead and push the plunger as far as it can go.</p><p>I am not a doctor but have several old friends who are. They all assure me that aspiration before vaccination is good standard practice and should always be done. So, why do the Norwegian vaccinators desist from doing it? Come to think of it, NONE OF THE VACCINATORS that gave me my three shots did either! So, why do Swedish vaccinators also desist from doing it?</p><p>I leave it to the Swedish Health Authority and the Swedish Health Administrations to address this issue. To me, the whole affair resembles a playback of an old theatre piece, played in reverse. More than a hundred years ago, a young doctor called Semmelweis had to explain to his older colleagues that washing their hands before delivering babies was good standard practice, to prevent serious side effects of delivering. Nowadays, it is the <i>old guard</i> that knows what to do and has to explain to the <i>youngsters</i> that sloppiness in vaccinating can cause harmful side effects in youngsters (and possibly some oldsters). </p><p>I rest my case and leave it at a message to all you youngsters in health care:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">DO NO HARM; ASPIRATION BEFORE VACCINATION!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">Important update </span><span>(on 19 February 2022):</span><span style="color: red;"> </span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">As you can see in the comment below by Franz (an Austrian medical doctor friend), the German Health Authority (the Koch Institut) had hitherto not found the need for aspiration in Corona vaccination. I was a bit surprised by this conclusion, but am now pleased to note that the Institute, in its latest published <a href="https://www.rki.de/DE/Content/Infekt/EpidBull/Archiv/2022/Ausgaben/07_22.pdf?__blob=publicationFile">bulletin of February</a>, has changed its recommendation. From now on, all Corona vaccination is to be carried out with prior aspiration, with special reference to recently published research. I have not seen a similar change in recommendations issued by the Swedish Health Authority. Therefore, I would appeal to my Swedish medical doctor friends to use their influence to get our, as always sloppy, authorities moving and doing the right thing, as the German authorities have done. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">And to my other friends: I would advise you to explicitly demand aspiration before vaccination. If the vaccinator would refuse or not understand what this means, it is advisable to use another clinic that is better informed about how to avoid the risks with intramuscular vaccination. </span></p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-64630954324075730512021-12-31T23:14:00.005+01:002022-01-02T13:05:38.908+01:00WENN DIE NOT AUFS HÖCHSTE STEIGT ...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKWYos1vbvFfkQ6jjJbT1bhpZE9I6iukS0rmOruWB1KvNZOHMVXAPS5a3O-WPxHj8zovYe-tre682qCaQx9DmcsACRUr2-SSbbYUzOFT9e2xdrohy7VcmdJZPJ46sEsT-fa0bSgBBl6GJCy4-V902dWvpvdEnHG7b6qpcvfrBGRJBftzTNs1IUsLIv=s900" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="694" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKWYos1vbvFfkQ6jjJbT1bhpZE9I6iukS0rmOruWB1KvNZOHMVXAPS5a3O-WPxHj8zovYe-tre682qCaQx9DmcsACRUr2-SSbbYUzOFT9e2xdrohy7VcmdJZPJ46sEsT-fa0bSgBBl6GJCy4-V902dWvpvdEnHG7b6qpcvfrBGRJBftzTNs1IUsLIv=w310-h400" width="310" /></a></div><p>During the past two years, I have touched upon the Plague in no less than ten blog posts. Hopefully, this time will be the last one for me to extemporise around the theme. </p><p>Why am I into it again? Well, to judge from recent events in South Africa, and increasingly in our parts of the world, the worst mutation of the Corona virus hitherto is already upon us. It is by far the most infectious, maybe ten times as much as earlier versions of the Plague. It will blaze like prairie fire through the global population and affect virtually everyone in its path. As I am writing this, at least a million persons a week are being infected in the UK, which is a foreboding of things to come in our own countries, even in Sweden here in the North.</p><p>As far as can be glimpsed, no one is fully protected against its infection. We may now all get the disease, whether vaccinated or not, whether having been already through the disease or not. It is safest to assume that we have to go through this hand in hand. </p><p>Whilst I am writing this, I can not keep from smiling and nurturing a rather rosy view of the year to come. Am I grasping at straws in desperation? Quite the opposite! At long last, the virus has reached a development stage that, with all probability, will lead to a timely ending of the pandemic, turning it into a relatively harmless yearly affliction, easily countered by recurring vaccination.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisy6d5WNMZtZFvg8zp1do02vK55qpF9hWlDzvmlVyRAnZvVnYZUbUGv8XM6HQW3-yV3luDx7kcVS7B0gAb7gerfIARiKUA-KOeI9IJDOaSRsUpT-wSDOD9rux2yeQtoIAjqG72EzGyh2kyc7B4H2E7ZnUOB92sDoGRmjyqOJTPcpFTgP20FDCmNm85=s900" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="656" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisy6d5WNMZtZFvg8zp1do02vK55qpF9hWlDzvmlVyRAnZvVnYZUbUGv8XM6HQW3-yV3luDx7kcVS7B0gAb7gerfIARiKUA-KOeI9IJDOaSRsUpT-wSDOD9rux2yeQtoIAjqG72EzGyh2kyc7B4H2E7ZnUOB92sDoGRmjyqOJTPcpFTgP20FDCmNm85=w291-h400" width="291" /></a></div><p>The reason for my prediction is of course the insight, that the new Corona variant does not affect us already vaccinated (or having gone through the disease) to a large degree. Don’t misunderstand me! People not enjoying the above protection will be as badly hit, when infected, as with the earlier variants. Therefore, the risk for them of getting severely ill or even die from the disease will drastically increase (compared to the earlier waves) in the one to two months to come. But once the wave has abated, most of our populations will have at least some kind of immunity</p><p>In that context, permit me to address those of my friends who have chosen to abstain from vaccination. I respect your decision, with the understanding that grown-ups should be free to make their own choices. However, you may wish to take a closer look at the situation and put your affairs in order whilst there is still time, including writing your last will. It is only too easy to fall into the trap of “dependence between taste and belief”, so please stay rational. By this I mean to be aware of the greatly increased risks befalling you within the next two months and act upon that awareness.</p><p>The rest of us, a great majority after all, don’t need worry too much about the great wave to roll over us within a month or two. We will most probably be infected, but almost none of us will get seriously ill. The risks involved for us may not be greater than from getting an ordinary flu.</p><p>This brings me to the title of this blog post. It refers to some wordings by a German poet that got popular through the melody added to them. The content appears particularly relevant in the present context. Why not experience it in the enclosed video, as being sung at a grand finale. The text is as follows:</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Wenn die Not aufs Höchste steigt,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Gott der Herr die Hand uns reicht.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>When desperation is at its utmost,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>God Almighty will reach out to us.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">[<i>things will soon start out improving</i>].<i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;">(alternative last line for us atheists)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JnMEI4aoUfo?start=6366" title="YouTube video player" width="400"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>With this edifying divertissement, all left for me is to wish you, Dear Readers of this blog, on this after all calm and serene last evening of the year,</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;"><b>A Very Happy New Beginning!</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-51944891196666813252021-05-13T12:19:00.084+02:002021-05-15T16:10:57.517+02:00DEN BLOMSTERTID NU KOMMER ...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJEBifzokt_Rof0UAAhqbzv5kP7_VzHGVBRzyXimRVw_abQCFoHLJESr-E8NSntFC4m0FyP_q2hBx7X7xV7LPq4S0VP8yIUK886G8_FSxEpq3_3zUwhLSFdDFSD47X3RXkJTtomf0S54/s1200/DSC_0086+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqJEBifzokt_Rof0UAAhqbzv5kP7_VzHGVBRzyXimRVw_abQCFoHLJESr-E8NSntFC4m0FyP_q2hBx7X7xV7LPq4S0VP8yIUK886G8_FSxEpq3_3zUwhLSFdDFSD47X3RXkJTtomf0S54/w400-h266/DSC_0086+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Even if Sweden has been secularised since some twenty years back, Lutheranism, the former state religion, is still firmly entrenched in its culture. Every spring, when youngsters assemble to celebrate, one tune always reverberates through the air in jubilant buoyancy. Only a few of the jubilants are aware of singing a Lutheran choral, listed as number 199 in the Swedish Church Hymnal and sung in Church ever since 1695. I won’t let you be ignorant of the lyrics, at least the starter:<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Den blomstertid nu kommer</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">med lust och fägring stor.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nu nalkas ljuva sommar,</div><div style="text-align: center;">då gräs och gröda gror.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Blooming season now arrives</div><div style="text-align: center;">with sheer joy and beauty both.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lovely Summer soon then follows,</div><div style="text-align: center;">lets the crops and forage thrive.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(<i>Home cooked translation:</i> Emil Em<i>s</i>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This song resounds with particular timbre this year. Many of us now tend to interpret it figuratively. After a loong winter of troubles, with the plague forcing ever more caution and isolation upon us, suddenly, with the help of technical miracles, we are relieved of this terrible burden and can begin to hope for a more joyous future. Just yesterday, the news told us that one third of our population has already been inoculated at least once. Even if the rate of newly infected is still surprisingly high, the death toll is decreasing and intensive care units are getting a long awaited relief. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9uFJUuzjjk6KRcQE7NCyJx32OMYjql9E_rfaACDzeqC3DruAlrtTGpS1dd9R2ex341Rl3FTbf27ODoBPDWa6HnizwFTz-bb6LLXrjpf1mdQwohJ3C5N-Mkt4V1vTc0f3B646XN2JZxg/s1200/DSC_0064+Display+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="1200" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9uFJUuzjjk6KRcQE7NCyJx32OMYjql9E_rfaACDzeqC3DruAlrtTGpS1dd9R2ex341Rl3FTbf27ODoBPDWa6HnizwFTz-bb6LLXrjpf1mdQwohJ3C5N-Mkt4V1vTc0f3B646XN2JZxg/w400-h179/DSC_0064+Display+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As if to underline this new beginning, we have enjoyed an especially bountiful cherry blossom season here in Stockholm this year. Cherry blossoms as far North as Stockholm? Yes, indeed! Although not the original Japanese delights, our cherry trees here are of an especially hardy strain, cultivated to endure Northern climates. But, looking at the flowers, you would not notice a difference to the Japanese originals.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In fact, the Japanese community in Stockholm is pilgrimaging to Hammarby Sjöstad (my part of town) in droves every spring to satisfy their cravings for picnicking under a pink flowery ceiling. We ordinary Stockholmers gladly join in, even if most of us are content with ambulating around the trees and taking pictures.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Photographer as I am, I have lived in Hammarby Sjöstad for twelve years now without ever documenting the pink abundance. But this season is different. A new beginning, so to speak, apt to be feted with plenty pictures. So, without further ado, here it is, a small video showing off my home district at its flowery best, accompanied by the venerable Lutheran choral. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gT5cx8oTUs4" title="YouTube video player" width="400"></iframe></blockquote><p> </p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-62402155606906510442021-04-04T20:09:00.161+02:002022-01-01T21:33:15.193+01:00LOOKING FOR THE SILVER LINING<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUqqdHI1V-mB_rlBVaUWu9JKrgnLq7DzpdnLc75hXK2oqds8SavhPpbVRsATYx7L751x1U0b_eLym0K67INqaHhF-po2X5rUSYMOvp-6QRsRlHzk7RIki5_A1LpNxn9GU-uctIYPEqTg/s900/DSC_0016-Pano+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="885" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUqqdHI1V-mB_rlBVaUWu9JKrgnLq7DzpdnLc75hXK2oqds8SavhPpbVRsATYx7L751x1U0b_eLym0K67INqaHhF-po2X5rUSYMOvp-6QRsRlHzk7RIki5_A1LpNxn9GU-uctIYPEqTg/w317-h320/DSC_0016-Pano+Display.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This winter has been a rather peculiar one. It got off to a good start. Most of January and half of February were being blessed with reasonably cool temperatures, hovering moderately below 0° C. With this, a nice cover of glittering snow mirrored a sun never failing to appear in the mornings. As made for nice walks in the proficient neighbourhoods of my home!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnUpreeJgwqizfKLIHYuH_hDiRp_0VThaZmZgV4gmHhfFu-1V3eDjPwhyphenhyphenYhBpdiY6-QUaeCYAqT5Ek-2eQNwXkcPivX0HuvLEKy4HeRhEQIVTibbId-3FR8KmeybwMreoS1320L_NcHg/s900/DSC_0091+Triplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="756" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnUpreeJgwqizfKLIHYuH_hDiRp_0VThaZmZgV4gmHhfFu-1V3eDjPwhyphenhyphenYhBpdiY6-QUaeCYAqT5Ek-2eQNwXkcPivX0HuvLEKy4HeRhEQIVTibbId-3FR8KmeybwMreoS1320L_NcHg/w336-h400/DSC_0091+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worse after that, and a loong period of drabness ensued. Day after day laboured on, with grey skies and temperatures varying just around the zero-mark. It was as if a grey blanket of morosity had decided it proper to cover Hammarby Sjöstad. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-o0ZorsDyhypaJBIL2gwEgXFwf_pUINsEVQqbE4YwZqBVYlft0zrUrUxdzkE9hbeKeEdrOsDI9d-gBow5OPfSPGc-_L9oAzopW7A_tA05K33lWnyGyrz5lVW_xThLu27lrLKF9K-8rlU/s900/DSC_0077+Duplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="839" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-o0ZorsDyhypaJBIL2gwEgXFwf_pUINsEVQqbE4YwZqBVYlft0zrUrUxdzkE9hbeKeEdrOsDI9d-gBow5OPfSPGc-_L9oAzopW7A_tA05K33lWnyGyrz5lVW_xThLu27lrLKF9K-8rlU/w373-h400/DSC_0077+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But why did I find this peculiar? Isn’t this the usual state of affairs in Stockholm, around February/March, before the sun is deciding to make a definite breakthrough to announce the advent of spring? It took me some time to find out why. Finally, I got it. The drabness I experienced was not that of the sky above us, rather usual this time of the year. No, it was the dread I felt <b>within</b>, in my mind as well as in my bones!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JgrFd94Dt_D3SNPCbkbzayV0-1J10t8GHyHMhbHBf3H4S5WysxZyMUhj9xQlfYdFJGyikbEVdkRVNNVVRyQ0hcEj78GIBCMi7UQcVyeqrjKX3t7Glu4CFQlo5hOLj27QE2n90qyIJK4/s900/DSC_0071+Quartet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="900" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JgrFd94Dt_D3SNPCbkbzayV0-1J10t8GHyHMhbHBf3H4S5WysxZyMUhj9xQlfYdFJGyikbEVdkRVNNVVRyQ0hcEj78GIBCMi7UQcVyeqrjKX3t7Glu4CFQlo5hOLj27QE2n90qyIJK4/w400-h268/DSC_0071+Quartet+Display.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Back in January, life seemed to get honky dory again. Didn’t the authorities announce that vaccination of us old-timers was imminent? I already made plans for a quick trip to the Canary Islands in March, lapping sun on the marvellous beach of <a href="https://emilsfelicitousisle.blogspot.com/2011/01/walking-beach.html">Playa del Inglés</a> and ambling along, with my toes sunk in the sand. Alas, it wasn’t to be. Week by week, announcements came of the need to postpone the desired relief, and, in lock-step with the grey skies appearing regularly above my head, the mind started to dive into deeper and deeper folds of despair. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJyu_-4xHZVrZOkbRDqlZpSDRCdDiRLBZ4O9RspUmhmoiswygOfydv3xcVtlUy7axEUc_VSK3FWNF5vmGuE3eKFLyqVmjfoIsibFEA3PxnPH4cjqWDqrn9-BWuLbKtgfkzeeHawZpn4Q/s900/DSC_008+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="894" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJyu_-4xHZVrZOkbRDqlZpSDRCdDiRLBZ4O9RspUmhmoiswygOfydv3xcVtlUy7axEUc_VSK3FWNF5vmGuE3eKFLyqVmjfoIsibFEA3PxnPH4cjqWDqrn9-BWuLbKtgfkzeeHawZpn4Q/w398-h400/DSC_008+Display.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, two weeks ago, the long awaited announcement came. Time to register for vaccination at long last! Three days ago, on Easter Monday, it was time for me to get relief. My first shot of the AstraZeneca miracle lotion! Still, nine more weeks to get the second shot. And first two weeks after <b>that</b> will I be fully protected (to 95%, that is) against the current strains of Corona. This brings us to mid June!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSS6UlY7JLL3PSUUXaCAcl2csnyf8TzmBwBEEE23g-YLCzJ12j_JONc1igZrzl5ElnosUGn8a7C11-dKjz2IWPXTxUk1AKx_duCg-jq4gNu5tKTekKIeWfrqPZ4-eWW-9dGUKfmMdiFs/s900/DSC_0013+Duplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="798" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSS6UlY7JLL3PSUUXaCAcl2csnyf8TzmBwBEEE23g-YLCzJ12j_JONc1igZrzl5ElnosUGn8a7C11-dKjz2IWPXTxUk1AKx_duCg-jq4gNu5tKTekKIeWfrqPZ4-eWW-9dGUKfmMdiFs/w355-h400/DSC_0013+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Still, who am I to complain. Hitherto it was unheard of that a vaccine could be developed and applied whilst a newly arriving pandemic was still in full swing. We should be amazed at the progress in science that made it possible! Harken, you people who can but complain over the tardiness of vaccination and blame both companies and authorities for undue delay. We got the shots at an unprecedented speed! Time to relax and be content!<div><br /></div><div>Still, even if the period of dread is passed, I feel its after effects. It is as if I suddenly have aged 5 years in the short period of the plague. Isolation and hopelessness have a price. Hopefully, this decay can still be reversed, once I have my trip to the Canaries!</div><div><br /></div><div>In the mean-time, why not have a go at a nice tune I recently discovered, which seems to mirror my sentiments exactly. But in a much more humorous fashion. Enjoy!</div><div><br /><div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="252" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UFITLxanHoU" title="YouTube video player" width="400"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-66785453170805087092021-02-07T23:13:00.484+01:002022-01-01T21:31:39.727+01:00MIDWINTER<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnWnpVOGNFdNAoNs5nvKI7Ntnq9Uxjey73Oq4NjDKUxRLvmCQLQkiZll05xlGsJgTu6RAxLDWMpztuSxwcCHqeuJNxRvuvIcVP12g9VhRQAGbkWN0V7xtKyeKSj787FLnFdcqBsAHgfk/s900/DSC_0046+Tripleet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="820" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnWnpVOGNFdNAoNs5nvKI7Ntnq9Uxjey73Oq4NjDKUxRLvmCQLQkiZll05xlGsJgTu6RAxLDWMpztuSxwcCHqeuJNxRvuvIcVP12g9VhRQAGbkWN0V7xtKyeKSj787FLnFdcqBsAHgfk/w365-h400/DSC_0046+Tripleet+Display.jpg" width="365" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>This time of the year we sometimes are subject to a peculiar phenomenon occurring in the Northern regions. It is February and, whilst the morning sky is getting brighter, day by day, the air keeps getting colder and colder. The days are often sunny and dry, but very cold, with temperatures having difficulty to rise from nightly lows of around -15° C. All in all, these are conditions far preferable to the ordinary Stockholm winter, when temperature is alternating between +1° and -1°, with a lot of slush to wade through, and icy spots to break your bones on, whilst taking your daily walk. </div><div><br /></div><div>The above experience appears to me an apt metaphor for the present Corona malaise. On the one hand, more and more people are getting vaccinated and saved from the Plague; on the other, a recent mutation of the virus, much more aggressive and deadly, is getting closer and closer, having engulfed all of Albion to the West already, washed up on the shores of Ultima Thule and led Svithiod (Sweden) to close its portals to the outside world; in vain, it turns out, since the fiend is harrowing us already from within. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGGmbAxwf7GSkxIbDsxBk4DMBERvAF0Ge5PBP8MHw-Lbuscav2RYv0lQ_ngu3_ZhCqJyqkOmGnGBLvU5YxH6iELDOCT8S3ZvTl4Q3NnHyLmLAUMcYwMV9ZEtThQam7_UxP-KEihasJxU/s900/DSC_0032+Triplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="900" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGGmbAxwf7GSkxIbDsxBk4DMBERvAF0Ge5PBP8MHw-Lbuscav2RYv0lQ_ngu3_ZhCqJyqkOmGnGBLvU5YxH6iELDOCT8S3ZvTl4Q3NnHyLmLAUMcYwMV9ZEtThQam7_UxP-KEihasJxU/w400-h286/DSC_0032+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 February at 8.25 am ...</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>But back to reality: the other morning, I noticed a peculiar apparition from my breakfast table. On Hammarby Canal, towards its West, a huge ice floe had formed, finely powdered by light snowfall in the night before, and moving slowly but surely Eastward towards Hammarby Sound. The water in the Canal is essentially freshwater, since it is being replenished periodically from Lake Mälar, whenever the large lock between the two is being operated. Thus, it tends to freeze over sooner than in the Sound, which contains mostly brackish water from the Baltic. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZnhjoH7r1cC-25IIE-LdUbaly33CaVCpMo8RVj2kEr0mKAZOLLAjIVt2YfmdJGroNAvDmAkSlNIVOwvjIfXE0dPyi8rXDB9aKLnzStQ-J9XZM8tpHg0qZef_H6ADCHN-J7dQmpiMw3s/s900/DSC_0038+Duplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="900" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZnhjoH7r1cC-25IIE-LdUbaly33CaVCpMo8RVj2kEr0mKAZOLLAjIVt2YfmdJGroNAvDmAkSlNIVOwvjIfXE0dPyi8rXDB9aKLnzStQ-J9XZM8tpHg0qZef_H6ADCHN-J7dQmpiMw3s/w400-h316/DSC_0038+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... at 8.50 am ...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>As I was geting on with breakfast, 25 minutes later, the wandering floe had already entered the Sound ...<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVeE2aB-I5Kj2c13AQIL-zPqjcKPNZ6CuALU2m9MqcGVA9wfRPkBLVxMwh3urTMXmhL4xQSXscPpWIhDstr6_ak2VF58IAI5YM0h2jviAZ58LwQOzaTDQ6tnh8nN9hUS2aH_0d9ACX1g/s900/DSC_0042+Duplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="900" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVeE2aB-I5Kj2c13AQIL-zPqjcKPNZ6CuALU2m9MqcGVA9wfRPkBLVxMwh3urTMXmhL4xQSXscPpWIhDstr6_ak2VF58IAI5YM0h2jviAZ58LwQOzaTDQ6tnh8nN9hUS2aH_0d9ACX1g/w400-h315/DSC_0042+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and at 9.00 am</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>... where, after another ten minutes, the ferry crossing over had to traverse it. With some crunching, the ship was cutting it in half. At the same time, it forced the floe along towards the opposite shore, where it joined the firm ice already hovering there due to freshwater being fed into it from the upper lakes on the plateau.</div><div><br /></div><div>Only rarely can we witness a complete freeze over of Hammarby Canal; it occurs usually on a calm Sunday morning, when temperatures in the night before have hovered well below -15° and no vessel has yet trafficked the narrows. The picture below was taken five years ago and I was lucky to catch it with just one small boat cutting up the flat surface. </div><div><br /></div><div>Looking at that picture now, it appears to me as another apt metafor for life in the times of the Plague. Each and one of us has to labour on, in self-isolation, looking forward to reaching the “open waters” of the company of others and social togetherness. </div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga7UH799OV5OAErZVjlawHPtKMBOXlwBwvlJ3kphtLfGqLKq1H8Ck6fqlhbIo764QrR4KPjuQQbVcTF-XQi4IRpSP0OdZw_nxSsoqsRNtB0Zp7PcPo_0LXzEEM7SIBVW_XdH4x-upbFJM/s800/DSC_0028++Display.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga7UH799OV5OAErZVjlawHPtKMBOXlwBwvlJ3kphtLfGqLKq1H8Ck6fqlhbIo764QrR4KPjuQQbVcTF-XQi4IRpSP0OdZw_nxSsoqsRNtB0Zp7PcPo_0LXzEEM7SIBVW_XdH4x-upbFJM/w400-h400/DSC_0028++Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An apt metafor for life in the times of the Plague</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Let me take the occasion to deal with yet another facet of living with the Plague as a solitaire. Even if aspiring to be a world citizen and being, admittedly, a Swedish national, I feel drawn back to my place of birth off and on. To me, self-isolation has no great disadvantages in daily life, since I am a loner by nature and live by myself anyhow, even in ordinary times. But, I would age prematurely and certainly have a shorter life span if I were permanently prevented from revisiting my place of origin at least once a year. Last year it proved impossible to go back there, and it may remain impossible this year as well. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, as consolation, I listen from time to time to a tune that deals with the issue. I admit that many of You Readers will have difficulty understanding the impact of this song. But, rest assured, it means the world to a lot of the German speaking people in Europe (about a hundred million all in all), just as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbVNgV5cz-k">this song</a> means the world to the Swedes. Its refrain goes like this:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f1c232;">I wüll wida ham.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f1c232;">I fül mi do so alan.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f1c232;">Brauch ka grosse Wölld.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f1c232;">I wüll ham noch Firscht'nfölld.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to go home again.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am feeling so lonely here.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Don’t need the world at large.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just want to go home, to Fürstenfeld.</div><div><br /></div><div>For most of the about 100 million impacted by the song, the word “Fürstenfeld” just stands for “Heimat”. For me, it stands for exactly what it is. It so happens that the hamlet of Fürstenfeld lies just half an hour on bicycle away from my place of birth. So I trust you understand that this tune means the world to me as well. Enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="252" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eeWWZ5J31M4" width="448"></iframe></div></div>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-83695562278039119472020-12-31T22:41:00.004+01:002021-01-01T10:33:17.779+01:00EL SENDERO LUMINOSO<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig19t-8And05AXJUXi6muRnBeWFxCY4JGj5-3SYcFVg4s1U-ci9XBc7UXOncYYiL2rsZrogAzcKfgQPLrP7qelFTta7XlGWpAaunKjLu5mSp6oYn-EaCDA1XNvz5dDTwYfQW1fnu4_8ho/s900/DSC_0036+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="874" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig19t-8And05AXJUXi6muRnBeWFxCY4JGj5-3SYcFVg4s1U-ci9XBc7UXOncYYiL2rsZrogAzcKfgQPLrP7qelFTta7XlGWpAaunKjLu5mSp6oYn-EaCDA1XNvz5dDTwYfQW1fnu4_8ho/w389-h400/DSC_0036+Display.jpg" width="389" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p>No! I am not referring to an ominous party in South America. Neither to a famous climbing path in the mountains of Mexico. Rather, to my daily elations when treading the paths on my morning walking round.</p><p>This time of the year, I nurture the habit of going to bed way after midnight. This way, I can convince the body to awaken first around 8.30. when the first light of dawn is tickling my nose. A lazy breakfast later, I am ready to step out into the world, around 9 am, when the sky has definitely lightened, although retaining its blanket of greyness.</p><p>Right midway on my morning round, I have to climb a series of steps to gain access to my favourite nature spot: Sjöstaden’s oak grove, the only one remaining within the city limits. You of course remember that I have dealt with it before (see <a href="https://emilskitchenwindow.blogspot.com/2020/11/serendipity.html">Serendipity</a>), but, passing through it every morning, I cannot keep from mentioning it again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUm1Eif7a1SRFT4MfXFp1lYlVSMGdO1cLUMZtjy7Dwx2g1NINzAD5giVJ66xdPCk5DotKuTFcAyxZAZrwqGCUXp5FaRpPyz8rRCsam3f5eAfu1M4ew-eU8FsHl7W27wOGfJiE4FKs686M/s900/DSC_0022+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUm1Eif7a1SRFT4MfXFp1lYlVSMGdO1cLUMZtjy7Dwx2g1NINzAD5giVJ66xdPCk5DotKuTFcAyxZAZrwqGCUXp5FaRpPyz8rRCsam3f5eAfu1M4ew-eU8FsHl7W27wOGfJiE4FKs686M/w290-h400/DSC_0022+Display.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><div><br /></div>This time of the year, infallibly, when I pass the giant oak corpse seen above, I am enticed to start meditating. This morning again, my mind began wandering, musing about the effects that solitude has on our psyche, in particular the forced one imposed on us by the plague. <div><br /></div><div>For me, surprisingly, living isolated for a prolonged period of time has the particular effect of retrogradation. This may sound ominous, but really isn’t. Rather, it effects me like being peeled as an onion, or, if you prefer, being bereaved the bark like the tree you see above. In other words, the personality I was born with and which stayed with me when a child, and a bit into adulthood, is now slowly but surely reappearing from the shadows.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thinking back, I can just about recall that I was a rather solitary youngster, quite content to play by my own and let my imagination be my favourite companion. And what a rich imagination I had! When becoming adult, I started to realise that I was an outsider with this propensity and tried to fit in with people my age. It now dawns on me that this must have taken a lot of effort, which may explain a certain decline in internal life, with its imagination and creativity. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9tbxoq1U8XA039X-OVpmyAm8YyQE9CsGmP1Vp9nFt3XvAI_fKUDFPCaj_NpyPRcrYGs9jgh0vpKznndBNJlQYeSXrTGJqprvn8RpWnBzvYb3hGcFzAp4AFX_K1fLkTcBQCOk7K8B-UY/s900/DSC_0015+Duplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="871" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9tbxoq1U8XA039X-OVpmyAm8YyQE9CsGmP1Vp9nFt3XvAI_fKUDFPCaj_NpyPRcrYGs9jgh0vpKznndBNJlQYeSXrTGJqprvn8RpWnBzvYb3hGcFzAp4AFX_K1fLkTcBQCOk7K8B-UY/s320/DSC_0015+Duplet+Display.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div>But never fear! It now all comes back to me. And even without giving me a bad conscience for preferring to be alone! It is, as if an enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and imagination now can come to the fore again without being suppressed. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am glad that the plague came at a propitious time, precisely when I needed that extra boost of imagination. Thanks to it, I was able, this year, to complete fully <i>six </i>chapters of my magnum opus, the <i>Emser Chroicles </i>(see <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7764411951522721948/2328128448887457927">Three Men in a Car ...</a>), a tale spanning more than a thousand years and now, thanks to Corona, already two thirds finished!. Will I be able to untangle the thread fully before the end of next year? I better hurry! Soon vaccination will put an end to solitude and may speedily force me back into my normal and more bland adult personality. </div><div><br /></div><div>But we are not really there yet! Permit me to enjoy solitude as long as it lasts! Still, whatever the future will bring, we can join hands now and wish each other</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b>A Very Happy New Year!</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOt4sWU5e2iPnKpDP91KG1i9QlKVgSAG1fnWSAFEh8k19Wm-ggrRtFn7CzR1CpVjHInddwlR8Ww4j-gddHG6VxEjRMEvf72OBI9sQeYsodwTG2cUyeDw2rsgIZS3KHFVk0NwvR7QYO4A/s838/DSC_0030+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="838" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOt4sWU5e2iPnKpDP91KG1i9QlKVgSAG1fnWSAFEh8k19Wm-ggrRtFn7CzR1CpVjHInddwlR8Ww4j-gddHG6VxEjRMEvf72OBI9sQeYsodwTG2cUyeDw2rsgIZS3KHFVk0NwvR7QYO4A/w640-h442/DSC_0030+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p></div>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-53937331089771456462020-11-07T11:56:00.015+01:002022-01-01T21:28:28.759+01:00SERENDIPITY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQfCILXxhcT6XmmubEpZZIAI7DyBjcRm8654xmT6YTQ4DlwB6CCsLvbhT3OC64w7kgq91_h58KXT0t01Twoyk2W2gqIEaHJDl-MLgmZbNnKJCY9DhhFZnpekajlPR9Xp53gK8yA4jihc/s900/DSC_0055+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="900" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQfCILXxhcT6XmmubEpZZIAI7DyBjcRm8654xmT6YTQ4DlwB6CCsLvbhT3OC64w7kgq91_h58KXT0t01Twoyk2W2gqIEaHJDl-MLgmZbNnKJCY9DhhFZnpekajlPR9Xp53gK8yA4jihc/w400-h275/DSC_0055+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>It is the first week of November now, and the world appears to be completely held hostage by the drama evolving in various US States. Will they ever again get a democratically elected President over there? Here in the calm North, events evolve with considerably more serenity. Granted, the plague has taken off again, but even this abomination seems to respect the peculiar Swedish way to procrastinate. </p><p>Even if hospitalisation is doubling by the week, and deaths are increasing, they do this from very low numbers. This allows the authorities to issue their usual mumblings, including noncommittal advices to us commoners. We oldtimers, on our part, have learnt our lesson and take care not to get too close to the youngsters, who continue with their life as usual.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-VIs6Luc9O3o5m75aBqJEKsJq92aMQcRm3HKxLUiYucWjGbGTisR4S1QXrZ3-JT_ggq4JWZD7hU61WU43eBVumllJW1-uvjN_tCy-7tATFnAUUwIEy5_J-uO_LevZC7SgvEFTo6yjdU/s1200/DSC_0008+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1200" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-VIs6Luc9O3o5m75aBqJEKsJq92aMQcRm3HKxLUiYucWjGbGTisR4S1QXrZ3-JT_ggq4JWZD7hU61WU43eBVumllJW1-uvjN_tCy-7tATFnAUUwIEy5_J-uO_LevZC7SgvEFTo6yjdU/w400-h221/DSC_0008+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>For us seniors, this prolonged state of self-imposed isolation, which certainly will last well into next spring, is not without its consequences for the psyche. Routine tends to evolve into dread, and dread into depression, if contacts with our fellow humans are being kept at minimum. </p><p>Fortunately, there is video-conferencing, which allows us to keep in contact with whomever we wish to share our solitude at the moment. There is an intriguing programme, called Zoom, which has bewildered many an old-timer, but, once reasonably mastered, gives us access again to all our family and friends. Many a birthday song has been sung on Zoom these days, and many a friendly congregation held, wine glass raised, in virtual conviviality. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bolpFNutbbG-BjLyWVk6LtRXxd7zrkoQyKgf9Wq2JV4_Bhnx7f8WpWCeXbwJfhzsD5XskYqegU0Rfo7iPVFRhjinN86n6-_MLAiSMmjjhF04fHDHixisBIjnrahIIfZupSEjo5DkG0k/s900/DSC_0019+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="900" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bolpFNutbbG-BjLyWVk6LtRXxd7zrkoQyKgf9Wq2JV4_Bhnx7f8WpWCeXbwJfhzsD5XskYqegU0Rfo7iPVFRhjinN86n6-_MLAiSMmjjhF04fHDHixisBIjnrahIIfZupSEjo5DkG0k/w400-h314/DSC_0019+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Despite these virtual activities, social isolation reigns supreme. How deeply does it affect me? I am a bit surprised over my resilience in that regard. But, being a solitaire by nature, the difference to ordinary life is not that large for me. Still, I am missing the daily roundtrips to cafë and restaurant, with their opportunities for short but still well-needed social contacts. So what has come to the rescue in this time of need?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiygIAaiV7wYvVizHUEb3X9IaEw-zRKoiCQJPlwhJNZIyXelrvIWiGUaVezn89tK80BJpAntaDMlehTtpu4IbJNe0r3JTxvW_-0cDDVsY4nM0ljbw70ee5MRNYhbtCh52S1wGl8ONIqA/s900/DSC_0036+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="900" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiygIAaiV7wYvVizHUEb3X9IaEw-zRKoiCQJPlwhJNZIyXelrvIWiGUaVezn89tK80BJpAntaDMlehTtpu4IbJNe0r3JTxvW_-0cDDVsY4nM0ljbw70ee5MRNYhbtCh52S1wGl8ONIqA/w400-h269/DSC_0036+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p>Surprisingly enough, it is a resurge in photographic activity. Surprisingly, since I have thought for some years now that my ability in that regard had faded away, that I had outlived my creative years. But, the mind works in mysterious ways. If laid shallow, through social inactivity, other parts of the brain take charge and force you to adapt. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrdH-lV022_nZBrEzmTtw-nNBIvffqCjb9kf4HtSba9J4k7iU2ARi31xsVq-aYLrUP-S1JlMtSKvFtrtMXhCbhPuzM-3A79z9YnxJ9Gj4bkkH1Gk9gpkcAVW40m4U-sFp-S4l20aNVUQ/s800/DSC_0046+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="757" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrdH-lV022_nZBrEzmTtw-nNBIvffqCjb9kf4HtSba9J4k7iU2ARi31xsVq-aYLrUP-S1JlMtSKvFtrtMXhCbhPuzM-3A79z9YnxJ9Gj4bkkH1Gk9gpkcAVW40m4U-sFp-S4l20aNVUQ/w379-h400/DSC_0046+Display.jpg" width="379" /></a></div><p>Come to think of it, renewed photographic vigour should not have come as a surprise to me. Looking back the past fifty years, I have always been active in this art only with short outbursts, interspersed with long years of inactivity. Had I not written about this insight already in my book "<a href="http://emsvision.com/SB%20PAGES/SB%20book.html">Brussels/Stockholm...</a>"? Well, yes, as the citation below bears witness to:</p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"<span style="text-indent: 36px;">... one notices that my photographic life has not been marked by continuous activity. Instead, short-term periods of hectic picture taking in great creative bursts have been lodged within long years of inactivity. These short active periods have been linked to times either of great stress, illness or change. This may have reinforced the inclination to produce serene calm in my pictures, as a way to find solace in a hobby removed from the ordinary way of life. The photographic activity in itself may have helped me resolve difficult circumstances in my life, sparing me from seeking help and solace from outsiders."</span></i></span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12px; text-indent: 36px;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GWyvcyPBC5O5Dg9ftj_QSIWTSV3Iuinswx8vPoFFm2zn4Wu8DUMoQcwlR4bX_ZUz92qxbq_2DgLO8kt7vKdGZqS0M_vmUEL53prGXQAnoTXMxgw3VfHivlm4hA1FShBTxQRGkKW2Krc/s800/DSC_0076+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="777" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GWyvcyPBC5O5Dg9ftj_QSIWTSV3Iuinswx8vPoFFm2zn4Wu8DUMoQcwlR4bX_ZUz92qxbq_2DgLO8kt7vKdGZqS0M_vmUEL53prGXQAnoTXMxgw3VfHivlm4hA1FShBTxQRGkKW2Krc/w389-h400/DSC_0076+Display.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><p>There you have it! The brain forces through photographic creativity as a way to coping with a time of troubles like the present one. Encouraged by this renewed insight, and asked by a Chinese friend to document Stockholm Autumn for her, I went forth with my camera last week, on a day as made for catching the coloured scenery of autumn.</p><p>I did not have to search far for motives. On that very day, "the light was right", as we fellow photographers use to say, and I just ambled along my usual morning trail, pointing the camera hither and thither, never failing to catch a serene scenery. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyTObs3AKWTSsLYZjzQLqqSP83Gr5CZEMLmaO9db-S0_vRL4rOy18EoBBAiin9GFTbj8sSNzb8hY1CAhwK2euc6vd-XHphhNUCx6LLKoDsk3b0Hs4LCSdpf5QACQF8w96yKnuAuaJK1w/s800/DSC_0073+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="800" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyTObs3AKWTSsLYZjzQLqqSP83Gr5CZEMLmaO9db-S0_vRL4rOy18EoBBAiin9GFTbj8sSNzb8hY1CAhwK2euc6vd-XHphhNUCx6LLKoDsk3b0Hs4LCSdpf5QACQF8w96yKnuAuaJK1w/w400-h368/DSC_0073+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At about the mid-point of my morning round, I always have the pleasure of entering an embracing and soothing piece of wood, which actually is a marble of nature: the only remaining grove of mature oaks within the city limits of Stockholm! Every time I pass through this enclave, my heart slows down its beatings and calm enters my whole being. This is what it was like to experience nature hereabouts when men's history was just beginning.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I first saw this sacred place of gnarled and crooked oaks, ten years ago upon my arrival in Sjöstaden, it was still a rather unspoiled piece of nature on a hill, criss crossed by a few nature paths and quite fathomable to the walker.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQ00rY_OGNkkm3h2_SnLhWxnvmcmYSv6r9zm99OgDsjSKxDdVn0RBX1lIjIseFVljtc4U8IO5Q89r4YSvWcq2KCSH5AOn4WCLupLf7_5Nabjb3iRt78Nfag3BscjMfd22onGJmgXh9pc/s900/DSC_0101+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="900" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQ00rY_OGNkkm3h2_SnLhWxnvmcmYSv6r9zm99OgDsjSKxDdVn0RBX1lIjIseFVljtc4U8IO5Q89r4YSvWcq2KCSH5AOn4WCLupLf7_5Nabjb3iRt78Nfag3BscjMfd22onGJmgXh9pc/w400-h246/DSC_0101+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Since then, already almost half of it is gone! Three new schools and several daycare centres have been built on its fringe and a substantial piece of it cut down and converted into play grounds, with just the odd old crooked witnessing about the site's former glory. </p><p>The other half is still standing, "Thank God!", but is now being heavily "attacked" by some serious asphalted hike and cycle paths. I fear the worst for the grove's future, being loved to death as it is, by myriads of small trampling shoes, carrying horde after hord of small children through nature. It will do the children a lot of good to sample creation at its best, but it forebodes the demise of a truly natural habitat. A sign of the times in our age of overpopulation and demise of species!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpBKFyVw2qFfd3DFZg7RPiUdh3tXf40hdRVbla8xcgdJo-tV6-Efoc2gm-U34-mwUgQkPvcTHFmGq8fv_oCCzYuNKJ5KGYfxHMTCC5ex9uDiFmL8bpAIfrPmBqPsnYwZPi8BEn-oiv94/s800/DSC_0105+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="621" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpBKFyVw2qFfd3DFZg7RPiUdh3tXf40hdRVbla8xcgdJo-tV6-Efoc2gm-U34-mwUgQkPvcTHFmGq8fv_oCCzYuNKJ5KGYfxHMTCC5ex9uDiFmL8bpAIfrPmBqPsnYwZPi8BEn-oiv94/w312-h400/DSC_0105+Display.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><p>Back out from the grove, the camera kept clicking away! Almost back home again, another angle at coloured bounty waited to be covered! What a piece of luck that I had my camera with me that day! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Nh7JziT_PjVMuFVbqNWDV3veczsSzM_e-bdfcoI3HIIcuXFa3J94kTOB_aH8v7936Vp_LbVojkBWBJuA2yNVfBMdmKowVJKzfXW70TW4nCWvL1cUFSR4ecZ7bLsistRq8BBkh9nQ20A/s800/DSC_0166+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="635" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Nh7JziT_PjVMuFVbqNWDV3veczsSzM_e-bdfcoI3HIIcuXFa3J94kTOB_aH8v7936Vp_LbVojkBWBJuA2yNVfBMdmKowVJKzfXW70TW4nCWvL1cUFSR4ecZ7bLsistRq8BBkh9nQ20A/w318-h400/DSC_0166+Display.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Just a week later, when I am writing this, hardly any leave is left on the trees. Neither is coloured bounty covering the grounds, since caterpillars, gasoline spewing blowers and rakes have done away with it with a vengeance.<br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAR4IKn2cykhV78xjU5Vecjr8bOGyW8I8rxTKWOQ5rjrKmYfWDuk7OE_o2YcabSs4J3WB_pTN8xvKtv3TqNWg5jRQaGbFpwlMM05nUDzC7QzJC_dea7dMZD0s0bnGqm4bNvkW1WQrjPg/s1200/DSC_0129+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="1200" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAR4IKn2cykhV78xjU5Vecjr8bOGyW8I8rxTKWOQ5rjrKmYfWDuk7OE_o2YcabSs4J3WB_pTN8xvKtv3TqNWg5jRQaGbFpwlMM05nUDzC7QzJC_dea7dMZD0s0bnGqm4bNvkW1WQrjPg/w640-h282/DSC_0129+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>After all this largesse of colours, I cannot find a better way to finish the blog than to present you with a tune as accoutrement. Let the super smooth voice of the crooner render the rest of the day yet more palatable!</p><p><br /></p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DL0sHGqBllI?controls=0&start=7" width="400"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-87656126572173523312020-10-24T17:36:00.213+02:002020-11-12T22:55:36.472+01:00"WINTER IS COMING!"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlglCcbcKIjh4IV69x5n_grv25x_Fl1a7-21fQrsEzN4NaqSVpXzKtb41dis-ppihT5w4GEuzIxkbeoD9nkF6B_-Q_vWeq7T8HSBZk_Ycsz9tOcFBHanor4yHj9_3qMrcZFPxg7Ndp9E/s900/DSC_0149+lDisplay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="900" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlglCcbcKIjh4IV69x5n_grv25x_Fl1a7-21fQrsEzN4NaqSVpXzKtb41dis-ppihT5w4GEuzIxkbeoD9nkF6B_-Q_vWeq7T8HSBZk_Ycsz9tOcFBHanor4yHj9_3qMrcZFPxg7Ndp9E/w400-h338/DSC_0149+lDisplay.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Don't take the page title seriously! Winter is not coming yet, not today at least. Rather, I am at present immersed in a wonderland of medieval type fairytales, enshrined in some forty shiny silver disks that I have to insert into a black box in order to be completely captivated for hours on end. The name of this wonderland is called WESTEROS, and the story is about a multitude of strange but intriguing figures playing GAMES about a THRONE. 'Nough said about it; you know what I am talking about. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am writing this on the last official day of Summer, this 24 October 2020, in the eighth month of the plague. We have had a pleasant Summer climate this year and mild weather has followed us throughout September and a great part of October. Only just a week ago, temperatures have been falling, but they are, in Stockholm, still comfortably above zero (Celsius), even during the nights. Why am I still calling it Summer? Well, we are yet abiding by Summer Time, changing to Winter Time only at 3am tomorrow! </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoy3mMf7VO0LCimLE1UPOQyhfMSrL8EL9MoRrOFxEX_fMORtnuij75RKNLgpmLz3-gZ9qKqqOP2eE3zBhpDO6Gxw_Pg7OFF-lbjLorFQCMMjSbNEFuKOtoIRPKXlc4VsFDick09ZfQRqE/s900/DSC_0119+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="900" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoy3mMf7VO0LCimLE1UPOQyhfMSrL8EL9MoRrOFxEX_fMORtnuij75RKNLgpmLz3-gZ9qKqqOP2eE3zBhpDO6Gxw_Pg7OFF-lbjLorFQCMMjSbNEFuKOtoIRPKXlc4VsFDick09ZfQRqE/w400-h309/DSC_0119+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The mild weather lasting until a week ago was ended by a strong battle between cool air from the North and mild/wet air from the East. Views from my balcony started to get interesting again. So, out I stormed with my camera, to benefit from the atmospheric unrest thus created. I trust you agree with me that it was worth my while. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, let me come to what really causes me to write this blog post. Day before yesterday, a quite unexpected announcement reached us from television. At the public broadcasting news, the Swedish Public Health Authority, represented by its Chief Epidemiologist, the tight lipped Anders Tegnell, pronounced that it was time to ease the Corona restrictions on us old-timers. As of beginning of November, we would be allowed to relax and to socialise again with our children and grand children; we may even start to hug them again. Under our own responsibility of course, and making sure that we understand and take into account all the risks arising with such activities. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPIXkBZ53sM2geftnmNga8r9CmnezlEhxWS8EfyHFFLpBhjeytpDf0Y5JGVJ0tegcxBo1vJlpZpge5iGDbxftkrdIwu4ygX6D_dCttIipoi6_i4CwMVBpHscMO1NbSCSBRyVS_3paZLM/s900/DSC_0141+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="900" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPIXkBZ53sM2geftnmNga8r9CmnezlEhxWS8EfyHFFLpBhjeytpDf0Y5JGVJ0tegcxBo1vJlpZpge5iGDbxftkrdIwu4ygX6D_dCttIipoi6_i4CwMVBpHscMO1NbSCSBRyVS_3paZLM/w400-h272/DSC_0141+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was a bit confused by this message. In particular, since it was accompanied by strong warnings. The plague is not over yet and everyone, even us old-timers, are being advised to do as always recommended: (1) keeping social distance; (2) washing our hands; and (3) staying self-quarantined at home at the least sign of a cold. Furthermore, statistics show that the plague is still alive and kicking, with the number of infected rising and hospitals in some regions already getting crowded.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How come, I asked myself, that many an old-timer expressed stark relief at Tegnell's announcement, when I myself did not see any difference in the restrictions imposed on us elderly. There are some restrictions of course, mainly that crowds are limited to 50 people, visits to nursing homes are not allowed and restaurants and bars have to obey strict rules of distancing. None of them should be of concern to people like me, that is, people older than 70, living alone in their apartments. I have always respected the public recommendations, finding them sound advice that I gladly follow. So why did Tegnell announce a change in restrictions for elderly that, in fact, did not exist in the first place?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5A3CfyfIQNp5_oemKEfhBwTyvGhBg6If4O-BfMLmCSDyraWtAkXDAey33OX4Zr1OJQjtXJVcbmwTLigq9KcE_FYF_cYqSGKxBs1kXBZ5pESTEPk_X_aUiqMY8SmwxtOyMt-IMSEXIlc/s900/DSC_0184+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="900" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5A3CfyfIQNp5_oemKEfhBwTyvGhBg6If4O-BfMLmCSDyraWtAkXDAey33OX4Zr1OJQjtXJVcbmwTLigq9KcE_FYF_cYqSGKxBs1kXBZ5pESTEPk_X_aUiqMY8SmwxtOyMt-IMSEXIlc/w400-h324/DSC_0184+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Having pondered this issue for a while, I now think that I have the answer. It lies in the fact that I myself, as Austrian born, do not see any marked distinction between the concepts of "advice" and "recommendation". Both are non-binding statements, inviting you to make up your own mind and act accordingly. But, obviously, the native born Swedes must see a difference. How come, that advice by them is considered non-binding, but recommendation seen as a quasi-mandatory ordinance, causing them relief when it is being lifted? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think the reason for this can be found in the inner moral of the Swedish mind, a bit different from that of us Austrian borns. Sweden has for centuries been adorned by a State Religion, headed by the King, and with rather strict moral codes. Furthermore, religious and state power have always been strongly interlaced, with the Church acting as the prolonged arm of the executive. As an example, when I arrived in Sweden almost sixty years ago and received my residence permit, I was immediately listed in the population register managed by the Church, became a Member of the Church with obligation to pay Church taxes and obtained my social security number from the Church.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELj1IIHpns5fc2CiikvmV-bRjy4WxXUbaTjH8L5ySeXftIR3aJS6Pld1s-t_iMQ9rZ2KZs85ZMXQq-LUmui2xkyZMVjzkqVlthufDJFBjcslr22cYjqCtlsWG4xuQK5Lt9HSrIj9Qryk/s900/DSC_0171+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="598" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELj1IIHpns5fc2CiikvmV-bRjy4WxXUbaTjH8L5ySeXftIR3aJS6Pld1s-t_iMQ9rZ2KZs85ZMXQq-LUmui2xkyZMVjzkqVlthufDJFBjcslr22cYjqCtlsWG4xuQK5Lt9HSrIj9Qryk/w426-h640/DSC_0171+Display.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Swedish State Church, of Lutheran leaning, has always taught its congregation that it is the responsibility of each and one of us to behave in a moral way, even if salvation would be obtained by the Grace of God. At the outset, since the Church was the prolonged arm of the State, State edicts were pronounced by the Priest at service, and abidance by the edicts seen as a moral duty. To me, it seems as if a shadow of this system, long out of practice and formally abolished twenty years ago, is still lingering in the minds of the elderly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To them, a recommendation issued by the State Authorities, would appear as a moral obligation to be followed, not to be neglected lightly. Thus, when the Authorities pronounce that a recommendation, which an elderly Swede could not consider to be fully relevant, would be lifted, a moral burden would be lifted from the mind as well. For me, who was born Catholic but has left religion aside already as teenager, no such moral obligation exists in my mind. So I don't see any change in binding policy and cannot, to my regret, feel any relief due to Anders Tegnell's intriguing announcement.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-74741587102616361392020-09-16T10:47:00.342+02:002020-09-18T11:29:11.132+02:00LA ROUTE ETAIT DROITE<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3rroEK8esBK0v-sauRtaj9Tk2nE2mUuPiUZHX0fncF-zTW4n6Ld_8aYiBcS7F-0DtzED0n8Vj1GDOuFsvi44wU-HCR9vzFW5E6ErmQZm0-GVgUCUCoeW8AvS4OVK_kfNVQC_H64Gy7Q/s900/DSC_0061+Triplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="626" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3rroEK8esBK0v-sauRtaj9Tk2nE2mUuPiUZHX0fncF-zTW4n6Ld_8aYiBcS7F-0DtzED0n8Vj1GDOuFsvi44wU-HCR9vzFW5E6ErmQZm0-GVgUCUCoeW8AvS4OVK_kfNVQC_H64Gy7Q/w280-h400/DSC_0061+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="280" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The other day I had some errands in town. This is a bit of adventure nowadays, since it involves cruising in between and avoiding hot spots of the plague. No bus or subway for me to carry me on to the centre! Fortunately, Stockholm is a seaside "resort", so I could take the trusted ferryboat "Emelie" straight into town.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I was ready to make the return trip, there was a fifteen minutes' waiting time, which I used to loaf through the neighbourhood around the ferry berth. I had done so many times before, but this time "the light was right", with clear late morning sunshine. Suddenly, I came to an abrupt stop: before me, a mysterious pathway was spreading out, leading straight into the courtyard of the Stockholm Synagogue. It looked a little bit like a railway track, with the rails gleaming in the shadows. Bringing glamour to it all, the temple's exotic facade was blazingly light, as if a higher power were beckoning us to savour its glory and enter its domain. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQBVUFBFpJnvMcY9WfTz6YWvxrnljpbFGJV86mM6saYwaW8fonkSU5nt5tqOJ0wgEDaZpCuqU0kiKXQouFuRTXZo18JL3R-P9zUMOBsX1KUmr5y9W2P7369Ffk8rBB0G5R_4PlxVqSgo/s900/DSC_0021+Duplet+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="646" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQBVUFBFpJnvMcY9WfTz6YWvxrnljpbFGJV86mM6saYwaW8fonkSU5nt5tqOJ0wgEDaZpCuqU0kiKXQouFuRTXZo18JL3R-P9zUMOBsX1KUmr5y9W2P7369Ffk8rBB0G5R_4PlxVqSgo/w289-h400/DSC_0021+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Turning around, the path suddenly changes shape, becoming more like the paved path of a medieval churchyard. At its end, a huge ball of granite seals the passage, as if reminding us that everything on Earth comes to an end. All in all, an impressive – and intriguing – piece of art. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Looking closer at the granite globe, it appears that it is fully covered by script, a bit like a modern time rune stone. Not only that, it is also polyglot, showing the same sentence over and over again. By now you have grasped the rationale of the blog title, I gather! The sentence is alluding to the fact that railroad tracks mostly run straight ahead, as indeed they did when transporting gaunt and parched victims by the million to barbaric oblivion. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdLkR49RSFsVpp0oQKyKZrZhgdTrUhTdA0No8knFKGwn03ds0VJ4v7zRn5_Vre1rcxZxFDMGXFTH32tNICxK5qCSuM6qWAOzXMYCL_SarDTBpkH56qUVR2QrEqdmdirF3DkkariPErAM/s900/DSC_0012+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="900" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXdLkR49RSFsVpp0oQKyKZrZhgdTrUhTdA0No8knFKGwn03ds0VJ4v7zRn5_Vre1rcxZxFDMGXFTH32tNICxK5qCSuM6qWAOzXMYCL_SarDTBpkH56qUVR2QrEqdmdirF3DkkariPErAM/w400-h274/DSC_0012+Display.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We are investigating a monument, a piece of art really, that the Government had built in honour of the victims of the comprehensively planned slaughtering of a whole tribe of humans by the Teutonic "Übermenschen". To my mind, it is a rather fitting and decent composition. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A large inscription on the globe, where it faces the "route droite", reads as "Aaron Isaacs Gränd" (Aaron Isaac Lane). This lane is a narrow passage between the synagogue and its adjacent building, starting about where the path goes into the gated grounds (see the title picture). On its walls, some 8000 names appear, chiselled in with love. These are none other than the slaughtered relatives of Jews having escaped the Holocaust by fleeing to Sweden. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Returning to the globe, and contemplating its large inscription, we begin to grasp more fully the decent humility of the monument. Its task is simply to <span style="color: #f1c232;">point</span><span style="color: #f1c232;"> to the memorial in the lane</span>. Thereby, it acknowledges that the mourning of dead relatives is owned by the survivors, not by the uninvolved bystanders. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYzxp5TwU01sNwuqHZHSQNb3rkbwdB-q_Pv6cw-5xl9_GX_7Nog9s83lX91KhN_mGvCPHiW4MfG21t8R1iuGn_qNGaekSFQVXOBLjY_AfxCkw5X8NqdYEEmTlaVx-XvjGr02W_CMQaiY/s900/DSC_0047+Duplex+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYzxp5TwU01sNwuqHZHSQNb3rkbwdB-q_Pv6cw-5xl9_GX_7Nog9s83lX91KhN_mGvCPHiW4MfG21t8R1iuGn_qNGaekSFQVXOBLjY_AfxCkw5X8NqdYEEmTlaVx-XvjGr02W_CMQaiY/w400-h320/DSC_0047+Duplex+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stepping outside the confines of the monument, we see that the large inscription on the globe's backside now reads "Wallenbergs Torg" (Wallenberg Square). We realise that the ground here was found appropriate for honouring one of the precious few that stood up for the persecuted tribe. Raoul Wallenberg was a Swedish envoyé in Budapest during the last year of the War and heavily engaged in saving as many Jews in Hungary as he could get hold of, that is, thousands of them. He did this by issuing them Swedish Passports, and thus granting them immunity from persecution.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is an irony of history that the Soviets took him for a spy and ferried him off to Lubljanka, to eventually let him fade away in those dungeons. The hapless Swedish Government led itself be deceived by the Soviets and did nothing to relieve him. Neither were his noble deeds notably acknowledged in Sweden, that is, not until the US Government publicly honoured him as one of the heroes standing up to the perpetrators. He was made Honorary Citizen of the US by Congress in 1981. Thereafter, the sluices were open and honour after honour has been bestowed upon him all over the world. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Naming a square after Raoul Wallenberg here in Stockholm, albeit belatedly, and adorning it with a <a href="https://www.sjobergbildbyra.se/fotoweb/archives/5000-Alla-bilder/Imagearchive/Imagearchive219/PS1171.jpg.info">collection of bronze sculptures</a>, appears to me a fitting way to make up for hitherto neglecting a truly heroic Swede. </div><br /> <p></p>Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-58537125438252055182020-08-31T09:46:00.024+02:002020-09-04T13:44:01.470+02:00AURORA TO THE RESCUE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hammarby Lake on 5 July at 7.45 am</td></tr>
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In these Corona times, with the plague approaching its fulfilment, I have to admit that dreariness is setting in more and more. Day after day goes by without any change in diurnal routine. Fortunately, I possess a large library with some thousands of books, so I can at least console myself with re-reading stories from so far back that I can't even remember having read them in the first place. </div>
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Yesterday, a charming little book sneaked itself into my hands, enticing me to discover its delights. Its intriguing name was <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/491887.The_Anything_Box">The Anything Box</a>. </i>As soon as I started to read it, I was completely captured, putting it aside first in late evening, after having digested all its stories.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 July at 3 am</td></tr>
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The book's tales full of wonder, and my delight at pursuing them, got me thinking. What is it in your life that gives you the most pleasure? For me, it appears, it must be a kind of rather elusive happenings, which I best may describe as <i>Magic in the Unexpected</i>. </div>
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The "unexpected" part of it is easy to grasp. Something must happen that you, well, do not expect, and which at the same time gives you unique insights in the world around you. The "magic" part of the concept is more difficult, since it has more to do with your state of mind than with the outside world. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">26 June at 3.45 am</td></tr>
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What's most important is that you have an open mind, ready to take in whatever comes to you in form of new experiences. But this is not enough. You must also have nurtured very carefully a certain <i>sense of wonder</i> that comes naturally to you as a child, but tends to get lost as you mature. </div>
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I plead guilty to having lost this childlike sense of wonder first at an advance age. Even upon retirement, I still possessed it. Better still, it got greatly rejuvenated, with my working travails gone and a vast amount of time and leisure at my disposal to make the best of it. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">22 July at 4.20 am</td></tr>
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Thus it came to be that I made a long journey, in miles and time both, and came back from it with a treasure chest full of wonders. These months of travel filled med with such joy and well-being that even its afterglow left me a happy and creative pensioner for years to come. It even induced me to let others in on it by preserving my joyful experiences in a quite heavy tome, which goes by the name of <i><a href="http://emsvision.com/DOCUMENTS/FL%20Description%20Page.pdf">Fiat Lux!</a></i></div>
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During those my travels to California I could conceptualise for the first time what hitherto had been only an intuitive insight: the <a href="https://emilems.blogspot.com/2012/07/magic-in-unexpected.html"><i>Magic </i><i>in the Unexpected</i></a>. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">13 July at 4.20 am</td></tr>
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Having now brought to the surface what has earlier been only vaguely grasped, I can go back in memory and seek to identify the moments in life that provided me with the greatest pleasure. And, sure enough, they all had some elements of the unexpected in them. To name a few:<br />
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When, as a doddler, throwing sand in a bucket full of water, only to discover that fluid turned to mud; when I first met my wife, laughing at me and immediately drawing me in like a beautiful flower full of nectar attracting a bee; when seeing the azure blueness of the sea for the first time from a hill close to the Neretva Estuary; when standing at the abyss and watching the last rays of the sun reaching down into the (Grand) canyon ....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">13 August at 5.45 am</td></tr>
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Alas, these are only memories now. More than ten years into my retirement, and on my way to becoming an octogenarian, the intensity of feelings has burned out. What little remains, is a certain warm afterglow, reminding me of magic once experienced and felt; but at the same time bringing me the bitter awareness of never again being able to directly experience the sense of wonder when meeting magic in the unexpected.</div>
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What comes instead as you grew closer and closer to that emeritus state, which finally causes you to fade away into oblivion?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9 July at 5 am</td></tr>
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The answer to this question came to me quite unexpectedly. And it came precisely out of this Corona dreariness I mentioned initially in this post. As day after eventless day is unfolding without fail, this tends to affect also the quality of sleeping. Nowadays, I have to get out of bed at least once a night, whereas, in earlier times, a full night of sound sleep tended to be the rule. </div>
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You may be surprised to learn that I often used, this Summer, those unwelcome interruptions to trip out to my balcony, bare food and with camera in hand, half asleep, with eyes half shut and not even my glasses on. Without further ado, I then clicked off a number of shots, hardly even looking. In the morning, when fully awake after breakfast, I just transferred the new load of pictures to my computer without any ambition to ever bothering with them again.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14 July at 5.15 am</td></tr>
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But dreariness again came into the picture. With little else to do, I have lately started to look at the outcome of this hapless clicking away and was astounded to find some hidden treasures in all the drab views I had happened to take in. So I have spent the last two weeks with making those precious few examples presentable to you. And here they are, shining like pearls in the overall haystack of early morning views! </div>
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Contemplating them right now, as you also will be doing shortly, it occurs to me that even we oldtimers are empowered to experience joy and satisfaction. The difference is that our feelings do not come from unexpected experiences. After all, sunrise is the most common event possible and cannot surprise any septua- or octogenarian. Our feelings are more like that of a gourmet´s or vinologist's. With our mind sharpened through decades of experience, we can appreciate the fine details of events, and even polish them in our mind to a rarified gleam. I hope you agree with me on this, after having glanced at these early morning sceneries. </div>
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If not, let me bail you out with an engaging tune, which could add a spicing to what otherwise may appear to you as just an everyday dish.</div>
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com14Hammarby kaj, Stockholm, Sweden59.3042393 18.086100330.994005463821154 -17.0701497 87.614473136178844 53.2423503tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-54714690704647641542020-05-24T11:49:00.001+02:002020-09-04T12:31:25.573+02:00TO MASK, OR NOT TO MASK ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Even if the Corona virus continues to create havoc across the globe, isolating yourself at home becomes more and more cumbersome. Of course, only in your mind, less so in reality. What you can endure for a month or two, gets irky thereafter, in particular since the authorities see no end to it.<br />
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But this blog is not about complaining about self-isolation. Far from it! We have to look the grim reaper squarely in the eye and deflect the scythe he is swinging at us. Instead, let me spend som moments on the plague strategy exercised by the Swedish authorities, in particular, to what extent it is helping us elderly to avoid the death stroke.<br />
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The reason I am writing about this at all, is, of course, that many a foreign friend has contacted me about the subject, wanting to know more about our ways of dealing with the plague, at the same time informing me about the status of research in their own countries and querying me about progress in that regard here in the land of the all-knowing.<br />
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Sorry to say, my answer to them is, at present, that the Swedish authorities seem to be committed to a specific conception of the plague, which they reached early on in their actions and which they have been clinging to, without blinking, ever since. This conception is based on the vision, that this plague is being spred in analogy to the recurring invasions of influenca virus, with a virulent beginning and a relatively timely end, once a sufficient rate of the population has been through the ordeal and has developed anti-bodies. And indeed, in the case of influenca so called "herd immunity" will be reached eventually, which will greatly slow down and ultimately stop the disease.<br />
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Although the Swedish Public Health Authority denies that it relies on a timely reaching of herd immunity in enacting its strategy, this idea is still permeating the authority, shutting down its eyes to alternative findings from research abroad, which would oblige it to change its messages to the general public. To find a reason for this, look no further than to Professor Johan Giesecke, the former Chief State Epidemiologist, who acts as adviser to the authority. In contrast to the present State Epidemiologist and his colleagues, he is rather outspoken about the above mentioned vision inspiring the Swedish strategy. With his mature age and a certain self-imposed authority he has no qualms about speaking out what the agency is holding close to its chest. Why not listen to him in person in the video below:<br />
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I am no medical or epidemiologic scientist, but let me put forward an alternative vision of the spread of this virus. You may not be aware of it, but humanity has lived with a special sort of Corona virus since ages past. It is one of the viruses behind the "Common Cold", "Schnupfen" in German and "Snuva" in Swedish. Scientists without Sweden are increasingly looking at the properties of this illness to try to understand how the present plague is spreading and what could constitute its eventual demise. With the common cold, humans apparently do not develop anti-bodies against the virus involved; the general immune system deflects it within a short time period. This is of course no long-term remedy, you will get it again next year!<br />
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Compared to this, the present Corona virus is developing anti-bodies in some of the cases, mostly the more severe cases of illness, whereas probably a majority of the infected recovers without developing anti-bodies, many of them without even experiencing any symptoms – <b>but still spreading the virus</b>. This means that, increasingly, scientists abroad question the possibility of developing herd immunity against the disease; we may have to reckon with, on the one hand, a drawn-out first wave of the sickness and, on the other, recurring waves of new infection. Developing a vaccine against the virus becomes adamant in getting rid of the virus.<br />
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Seen in this light, it seems to me that the Swedish authorities have completely overlooked one major and all-important difference between its strategy and that in our Nordic neighbours and, indeed, the rest of the world: the obligation to wear a mask in confined quarters, such as, shops, restaurants and service centers implying close contact between people. By now, there is<b> a lot of research</b> showing that a mask diminishes the outflow of virus-laden mucus by up to 50 %, drastically lowering the infection rate in close quarters. For me, not prescribing the use of masks in Sweden accounts for most of the difference in the death rate between us and the other Nordic countries.<br />
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We have to realise that a simple <b>recommendation</b> to wear a mask in close quarters would not be enough to get the Swedes to actually do it. The simple reason is that a mask does not prevent you from getting infected, it only prevents you from spreading the disease <i>if you are infected</i>, so there are no incentives to do as the state recommends. This means that <b>it takes a legal obligation to get everyone to wear a mask</b> <b>indoors</b> in close quarters to reach an appropriate mitigation of the disease.<br />
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To me it seems, that the Swedish authorities are paying lip service when they claim that their main goal is to protect the elderly from the disease. By stating that wearing a mask has no great preventive effect, as is being repeated by them at regular intervalls, they may be directly responsible for the premature demise of maybe <b>thousands of elderly</b> in Sweden to date. And the number is rising by the day. Shame on you, you Swedish Bureaucrats!<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-65363733718900325622020-05-08T11:55:00.001+02:002020-09-04T12:33:12.566+02:00THE "BRANDSCHATZUNG" OF GLEISDORF<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another "Brandschatzung"<br />
Valdemar Atterdag brandskattar Visby (pillages and plunders Visby)<br />
<i>Source</i>: Nationalmuseum <i>Artist</i>: Carl Gustaf Hellquist</td></tr>
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The word "Brandschatzung" exists only in German and in Swedish. There is no English counterpart to it, thereof the title. It means that a conquering army leaves a city open for pillaging and plundering. Such an event is as terrible to the population as the word itself. So why do I bother to write about it this sunny day of May 8. It so happens that I lived through such an orgy of violence exactly 75 years ago.<br />
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It was in the last trembling vestiges of WWII. Just the day before, the German Army had capitulated and the war was over. But before that, In Winter and early Spring 1945, the army still nursed hopes of a last defence against the Soviet onslaught, hovering behind a rashly raised Südostwall, a series of helter-skelter barricades ranging from Bratislava South all the way to the river Drava, along the border between the former Empire of Austria and the Kingdom of Hungary. I was born in a small village (Neudau) just West of the Wall, on 23 December 1944. The four following months were a terrible ordeal for my mother Maria, who was only 22 years old.<br />
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At the end of April, the Eastern sky went red and the terrible thunder of bombardments came closer and closer to our village. My mother feared the worst, took me on her back and fled westward over the hills and through the forests, until she finally, after several days' ordeal, reached the town of Gleisdorf, where her parents lived.<br />
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This did not help her much. Just after her arrival in what she believed a safe haven, the Soviets caught up with her, having broken through the Wall in a matter of just a day or two. Since the armistice was already in place, the inhabitants took care to arrange a peaceful welcome. In all haste, a red flag was fabricated (<b>without the Swastika!)</b>, and Members of the resistance entrusted with the task to welcome the invaders. All appeared well and it promised to be a relatively calm occupation and hopefully quick pass-through by the Soviets.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gleisdorf, not yet "gebrandschatzt"</td></tr>
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Unfortunately, a few fanatic SS soldiers had taken a last stance in the church tower. As the Soviet platoon was marching by the main square, they started shooting, trying to kill off the commander. To no avail, and the attackers were quickly annihilated. But, in reaction to this last defence, in fact a breach of the armistice, the commander declared the town open to "Brandschatzung" and let his soldiers pillage and plunder at will for the whole of <b>two days</b>. These days rested forever burnt into the memory of the victims, although none of them ever cared to talk about it.<br />
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As a child, I gathered only small bits and pieces of the event. My grandfather once told me an uncanny story: two soldiers had entered their apartment. In the living room they found me alone, playing on the floor. One of them raised me up and was about to throw me against the wall, when grandpa entered, having collected all the watches the family possessed and offering them to the marauders. They of course went immediately for the watches and released me to fall on the floor (without any harm, I am glad to say). Nothing more was said about this. What happened to my mother and grandmother in the mean-time I don't want to even think about.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria, and Child Emil happily unaware of "Brandschatzung"</td></tr>
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I had suppressed this story for many years; Grandpa had told it when I was only maybe six or seven years old. It came back to me, though, when, at the ripe age of sixty, I happened upon a witness report from the event in a book about my homeland, really a catalogue of architecture and types of settlement. The witness described the story as I summarised it above, which gave me the background needed to let resurface and understand the tale of miraculous salvation by two watches.<br />
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Ever since, whenever someone wishes to entangle me into philosophic discourses about the value of life, I am able to provide him with a firm and definitive answer. A life, at least mine, is worth <b>exactly</b> <b>two watches</b>.<br />
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Some eye-witnesses, rather circumspect about the event<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-32251924164752099092020-05-05T13:03:00.000+02:002020-09-04T12:35:37.530+02:00TWO PRONGED PERDITION<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In these days of subdued social contact, when many an hour is spent in splendid isolation, and daily reports abound about the progress of the new plague, it is far too easy to fall into the trap of depressive despair.<br />
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Here in Stockholm, the authorities estimate that about one third of the population is already infected, and the death count is speedily surpassing 1500. By end of May, about half of us will have been smitten and the death toll approached the three thousands. I am sorry to say that the risk of being infected is at its maximum at the moment, forcing me to all kinds of evasive manoeuvre to keep my two meters' distance on the sidewalks and in the shops. Only us elderly seem to understand what this means in terms of keeping abreast of each other, the rest of the loiterers being happily unaware of the distance needed to avoid calamity.<br />
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So how to keep a serene attitude towards the catastrophe, in particular since one's existence is at stake? After all, the odds of me dying before the end of the year could well amount to one in twenty, a sizeable risk of a sad ending! How can I avoid getting bogged down in a spiral of negative thoughts, forever wallowing in despair? Yesterday, it occurred to me, that it may help to determinedly "fight fire with fire", so to speak. If I could imagine a catastrophe far worse than the one experienced at present, this might well liberate the mind of its wallowing and the body of its getting stressed.<br />
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It so happens that we do not have to look far to find a candidate. The scientists' word for it is "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Global_dimming">Global Dimming</a>". This expression describes the fact that burning of fossile fuels sends up particles in the atmosphere, which in turn shelter the globe from part of the sun's heating rays.<br />
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This phenomenon has not received a lot of attention in the popular debate on climate change. If you would like a short survey of the issues involved, I invite you to have a glance at the video below. Suffice it to say, that global dimming is usually neglected when describing the effect of various climate strategies aiming to keep down the amount of carbon dioxide in the air.<br />
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That notwithstanding, its influence on global warming could be underestimated. Some natural scientists apprise the resulting tapering down of the greenhouse effect as high as 1° Celsius! Even if the jury is still out on this number, permit me to use it as a basis for my private deliberations.<br />
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As an aside, the Corona plague has provided us with valuable indices for this tapering down. Since the use of fossile fuels certainly has diminished by at least 25% in the last three months, it may be useful to study the concurrent change in temperature on the globe, in particular in Eurasia, North America and the Arctic; these being the areas directly affected by the clearing of the skies. It so happens that the first three months of the year were characterised by warmer-than-average conditions across the globe. In particular, record-warm temperature departures (from the average) were present across Europe and Asia, where temperatures were the highest in the 111-year record (<a href="https://www.climate.gov/news-features/featured-images/march-2020-continues-hot-start-year">NOAA</a>).<br />
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Moreover, consider the diagram below. It shows the seasonal melt-off of the Arctic ice shelf. This spring, the melt-off is particularly pronounced, compared to the average rate of diminishing ice. Of course, all this evidence is far from conclusive, but at least does not contradict a possibly large mitigating effect from global dimming.<br />
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Now back to my catastrophe scenario, with Global Dimming diminishing the greenhouse effect by 1°C. Let's say that humanity were to succeed in a strategy of abolishing all use of fossile fuels within the next twenty years. Alas, since this would end Global Dimming, the resulting warming of the globe would surely hoist us above ICC's permissible 2° limit of global warming, putting an end to human civilisation as we know it.<br />
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I trust you understand that human civilisation would be doomed under all circumstances with such a high dimming effect. I simply cannot envisage any climate strategy under this assumption, which will allow humanity to escape this morbid outcome. To underpin this, let us outline another strategy. This one would consist of maintaining the present level of fossile burning, but prohibiting further increases. Such a programme would maintain the present amount of Global Dimming, but at the same time continue to augment the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. This would also lead to surpassing the 2° limit of global warming, even if it would take longer, say thirty years instead of twenty.<br />
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Now back to reality: a host of scientific articles in natural science attempt to estimate the tapering effects of Global Dimming. The results vary widely from 1° C and even higher down to the almost negligible. Surely, the IPCC must have found it probably to lie on the lower side. Why otherwise would the organisation ordain to <i>reduce</i> global carbon dioxide emission?<br />
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Me, I just prefer a large tapering effect in my personal "war game", just to keep my imagination off the present plague issues. Compared to the end of civilisation within a few decades, the Corona crisis appears like a small breeze in springtime. Thus, miraculously, my Corona concerns are evaporating. I clearly can have worse things to worry about than a few million deaths by a new virus. So why not make the best of the years left to us and, for instance, spend a few enjoyable moments listening to a young and spritely group of musicians, who lets us dream of a past far more promising than the future?<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-7728524668505986692020-03-24T15:43:00.004+01:002020-11-07T12:09:22.528+01:00A MOMENT OF SERENITY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In these turbulent weeks, it is getting more and more important to cultivate a solitary home life. This does not come easy for me. Granted, that I am usually working at home anyway, but staying put would prove intolerable, were it not for the thrice a day visits to café, restaurant and falafel haunt. All of these will have to go, I am afraid, since the number of infected by Corona is approaching the tens of thousand in Stockholm. Gradually, I am adapting to a new life style, with preparing meals at home – that is, putting deep freeze dishes into my newly bought microwave oven and capsules of ground into my new Nespresso machine – and planning for three hiking outings a day to alleviate the plight.<br />
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This morning, I am sitting, as now is the norm, at my kitchen table at 7 am, enjoying my cup of Nespresso, when it dawns on me that this new life may not be so bad after all. It certainly helps that the view presenting itself in front of me, with Hammarby Lake spreading out its serene calm, and the ferry boats cruising slowly to and fro the quays, invites me to contemplate life and inner self.<br />
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Permit me to let you in on a secret of mine. I am a habitual foreboder. Foreboding rarely fails me, when a major calamity appears on the horizon, and often even before its first symptoms arise. It usually takes the form of diffuse worries that entice me to envisage all kinds of scenario for bad things to evolve. For instance, this happened to me in 2006, in good time to become worried about the Great Recession, and again in 2017 (<a href="https://emilskitchenwindow.blogspot.com/2017/06/long-days-journey-into-night.html">Long day's journey into night</a>). Ever since that last foreboding I have been worrying about all kinds of crisis scenario to evolve, especially since I could not visualise the precise fuse to get the carnage going.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnXQgVg3lj3hRajShoQ9j69ytQM-Wx5Q6ufjGMc-lsBvfmOEFu0quLp_g-UQZV0iGbdIRnIduV9JFWYKrp8X8SFRS1yAr-FDgnZ4NMGu1MxhTg7kq0xDoyb3dD4ik399nbPypfcQl3PM/s1600/DSC_0018+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="874" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnXQgVg3lj3hRajShoQ9j69ytQM-Wx5Q6ufjGMc-lsBvfmOEFu0quLp_g-UQZV0iGbdIRnIduV9JFWYKrp8X8SFRS1yAr-FDgnZ4NMGu1MxhTg7kq0xDoyb3dD4ik399nbPypfcQl3PM/s400/DSC_0018+Display.jpg" width="387" /></a></div>
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Thus, when I first heard about the plague erupting in China, my mind was well prepared to take in the calamitous news. Ever since end January, this has led me into a substantive depression, rendering me completely unable to do serious work, just leaning back on my couch and playing out in my mind one terrible scenario after another. How could I possible invent such scenarios in advance, you may well ask. This is easy. I have a reasonably good grasp of history, from my study days, and can sample freely from this immense well of facts and stories. While pondering the present situation, the <a href="https://emsfields.blogspot.com/2019/05/the-king-is-dead-long-live.html">Great Plague</a> came to mind and I envisaged billions dying, civilisation coming to an abrupt standstill and convalescing only after a decade or two of painful reconstruction.<br />
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Now, the plague is upon us. To my great relief, it will not be as severe by far. There will be only millions of dead, maybe tens of million globally, and this will affect mainly the elderly, thus rendering recovery a rash affair. So, paradoxically, I feel rather relieved and rejuvenated; this decease will be dealt with by humanity with relative ease. It just forces me to forego visits to eateries, a small price to pay for trying to evade the otherwise inevitable.<br />
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Having thus gained a healthy perspective on the present situation, let's get back to my kitchen table, watching the ferries dancing their merry dance, and leaning back on my chair in all serenity. Why not take a glance at this small video of mine, which allows you to share my morning view?<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HHEb3TJcKzk?controls=0" width="400"></iframe>
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As an aside, in these days of self-induced isolation, it would be a great consolation to hear from you, Dear Readers. I would be immensely pleased to get your comments on this blog, where you can tell us how you are coping with the situation. Google is a bit finicky, so you can send my any possible comments by e-mail. I will make haste to put them in here, either in your name, or as Anonymous, whatever you would prefer. Thank you kindly in advance for taking the trouble.<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-87699664969118789872020-03-09T15:51:00.001+01:002020-11-07T12:06:21.516+01:00IN A MIST<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last Saturday I returned home about 7 pm, after having visited downtown for an intriguing movie called <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Officer_and_a_Spy_(film)">An Officer and a Spy</a></i>. Still rather pre-occupied with the film's tale, I hardly noticed the weather conditions, at least not before reaching the quay along which my apartment lies. There, I came to a sudden halt, shivering in the miserable and humid cold and squinting at the nearby buildings that barely made it through the fog.</div>
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It was as if trying to get a close look into the future, I thought. Most of it is hidden from us, even if some details are emerging from the mist to haunt us. Is it not that we humans are facing yet another onslaught of the plague, without being able to gauge its scope and duration? A new virus has appeared on the scene, threatening to extinguish a substantive part of humanity. So let's give it a go and try to penetrate the veil that covers the coming weeks and year.</div>
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Back in 1992, when Sweden underwent its latest crisis (2008 was only a calm breeze compared to that one), I was engaged at Sweden's riksbank as Head of structural banking issues. There, I learnt the bank's motto "Expect the best, but prepare for the worst!". So let's look at the best and prepare for the worst ahead of us in the near future.</div>
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For the best case, look no further than to Anders Tegnell, Sweden's official state epidemiologist. With a stern mien, hardly opening his lips when speaking, he directs messages of calm and comfort at an anxious population. "The peak of the plague is reached!", he keeps tellings us, even if the number of infected keeps rising in Sweden. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNpkWT5ituNTWLTqEZR7z1cUCxHVgh0C_u35x22iGAQDd1fVNeZu-TrvikjJqzmTo6hse5Qy-9Ow8n3uns7c2K70H2o-ss8tzSmXcZRMAEMC2UPyJVFhmo_bRv1GPlbVMq7EOnQhjeXY/s1600/DSC_0041+Display.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="900" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNpkWT5ituNTWLTqEZR7z1cUCxHVgh0C_u35x22iGAQDd1fVNeZu-TrvikjJqzmTo6hse5Qy-9Ow8n3uns7c2K70H2o-ss8tzSmXcZRMAEMC2UPyJVFhmo_bRv1GPlbVMq7EOnQhjeXY/s400/DSC_0041+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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For the worst case, we just have to listen to other epidemiologists, preferably without Sweden's borders, so as not to be influenced by our country's professional soothsayer. There it sounds more like the plague may infect up to 25 per cent of world population, lest an effective vaccine be developed within the year. For Europe alone, this could translate into as much as four million people dying from the plague (at a death rate of 2 per cent).</div>
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How will financial markets be affected by the plague? The optimistic scenario has already played out. It led to an abrupt downturn in stock markets around the world, to the tune of some ten per cent. Another ten per cent appears to me already in the cards within the next few days or week. Beside the fear factor driving it, there is also a marked down-turn in the world economy to take into account, with sizeable production-chain disturbances, starting with the Chinese lock-down and continuing with the reactions in the rest of the world.</div>
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But what about the worst case scenario? Suppose no vaccine has been developed within the year and prospects do not look rosy. That the number of infected and dying ever keeps rising? This may lead to a break-down of the international financial system, only partly prevented by Central Bank and Government expenditure expansion. For us in Sweden, this may well mean an annihilation of all the gains in asset value accumulated over the past ten years. More modestly, stock prices may crash by at least 50 per cent and real estate by about as much, not to speak about company bankruptcies and bank failures. Seen in that light, I can sympathise with our chief epidemiologist, whose issuances more and more look like <b><span style="background-color: red;">invocations</span>!</b></div>
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So, let's join the happy conviviality of diners in our restaurants, let's stay calm and content for the time being. We may yet need som cheerful memories when the tide will be rising!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhglgxtHyMeBZOYKjYAHt_JtdqPLRTkwAKPBdlvxx6xFmAzjoJXS6sR6npxJVWGfqpw9Mov9I_C5ZWjo58RFZo1baKcmNOB9gp1epbdcixA9QyuxLjfT2plHO_jIdp0do-ejR4T3Ac9Et0/s1600/DSC_0037+DisPlay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="900" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhglgxtHyMeBZOYKjYAHt_JtdqPLRTkwAKPBdlvxx6xFmAzjoJXS6sR6npxJVWGfqpw9Mov9I_C5ZWjo58RFZo1baKcmNOB9gp1epbdcixA9QyuxLjfT2plHO_jIdp0do-ejR4T3Ac9Et0/s400/DSC_0037+DisPlay.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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But wait! Before leaving you to your frolicking, Dear Readers, let me remind you that an eminent musician wrote a cosy little piece just before the big crash of ´29, which in a remarkable way appears to mimic the softly-softly pronouncements of our state epidemiologist!<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="230" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4yiSutF9suw?start=4" width="410"></iframe>
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-79074542668504198472019-12-31T11:27:00.000+01:002020-09-04T12:41:21.887+02:00DES ABENDLANDES ABENDROT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0FfUHxOy4mL0HWQOyPNeads3HhjZZY3L3TTG4VXUUgptnkMsSmgoj__C4mXe9qp2UY4x6CtceLzdEqrhlcvq7Js6yTBSUOELZ-XTiBhK024khmmWV9AIuuCGtyPjzDYKAHG7VAgs4-M/s1600/DSC_0009+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="757" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja0FfUHxOy4mL0HWQOyPNeads3HhjZZY3L3TTG4VXUUgptnkMsSmgoj__C4mXe9qp2UY4x6CtceLzdEqrhlcvq7Js6yTBSUOELZ-XTiBhK024khmmWV9AIuuCGtyPjzDYKAHG7VAgs4-M/s400/DSC_0009+Display.jpg" width="377" /></a></div>
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It was Friday 29 November, around 4.30 pm. I had just come home from a visit to town, when this Caspar-David-Friedrich-like view enticed me to step out on my balcony and fire away a shot. Such scenery late in the year is quite uncommon at our Nordic latitude, which got me thinking. Soon my musings took some quite philosophical, if not melancholic turns, centering around the German words Abendland (Occident) and Abendrot (Sunset glow). There is no good way to translate these two alliterating words, which explains the German title of this blog.<br />
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The Teutonic language may appear rather unwieldy to outsiders, but, in the present context, it seems a bit prophetic; don't you agree? In literal translation, Abendland stands for "evening-land", which rather aptly describes the state Western civilisation finds itself in at present. Just a decade ago, Western supremacy appeared almost self-evident, whereas, at the beginning of the new decade, serious doubt is creeping in and the Orient (aptly called Morgenland, "morning-land" in German) seems on the rise and on the verge of take-over. This would be quite acceptable, if the change in leadership took place in an atmosphere of peaceful competition, guided by international consensus, but, increasingly, a more morose future may unroll, with increasing risk of violent confrontations between the winners and losers of the global power game.<br />
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Even if such risks tend to frighten me, I usually console myself with the insight that nobody, least myself, can foresee the future; so there is no meaning in getting anxious about possible chains of event that, however worrying, never may materialise in the real world. Especially since, at my age, there may not be enough time left for path-breaking global changes to play out with me being around.<br />
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The more reason to redirect my thoughts to happenings closer in time and to home. In my own time-zone, I have reached more definitely my personal Abendland. At the mature age of 75, which I reached just a week ago, I think it proper to enter into full retirement at long last. But haven't I been a senior citizen for ten years already? True enough, but there is one official position that I have been holding on to and will leave only today, on year 2019's final hour.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOy8lfnZtKTlga6M8f9hgTTkmFeMNTskuN29egdzzVFeM_hxHnS4IE8lUrTOO91G7ZdbS0q55oYxo7YMJAHdMEt8raL-gynu_kn_aev77ADgY4g8YCN0YTxcbQiRzm5-2D7S-wt-khDg/s1600/_1000472+Master2+Display-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="588" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOy8lfnZtKTlga6M8f9hgTTkmFeMNTskuN29egdzzVFeM_hxHnS4IE8lUrTOO91G7ZdbS0q55oYxo7YMJAHdMEt8raL-gynu_kn_aev77ADgY4g8YCN0YTxcbQiRzm5-2D7S-wt-khDg/s400/_1000472+Master2+Display-3.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The author with his book "<a href="http://emsvision.com/PAGES/FL%20book.html">Fiat Lux!</a>"</td></tr>
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To explain what I am talking about, I have to backtrack almost five years. At an event, organised by the Swedish Fulbright Alumni Association (<a href="https://www.fulbright.se/grantees-and-alumni/">SFAA</a>) in early 2015, I happened to bring along some copies of my book "<a href="http://emsvision.com/PAGES/FL%20book.html">Fiat Lux!</a>", and gifted one of them to the staff at <a href="https://www.fulbright.se/about/">Fulbright Commission Sweden</a>. Now, you, Dear Readers of my blog "<a href="http://emilems.blogspot.com/2012/">Déja vu</a>", know already that this book is about revisiting my time as Fulbright Grantee at UC Berkely back in 1976/77. This may explain what happened thereafter. Half a year after the event, out of the blue, I got a phone call from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, asking me whether I would be interested in becoming a Board Member at the Commission. I gladly accepted, had I not been a Grantee myself and benefitted greatly from the study year in Berkeley made possible by my Fulbright Grant? Time to pay back!<br />
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During the four years since, I have been a grateful and diligent Member of the Commission Board, putting my decades' long experience as researcher, university teacher, and Swedish and international civil servant to good use when advising the Commission on its affairs and, in particular, when participating in evaluation and selection of the students and scholars from Sweden and the US to benefit from this grandiose exchange experience. But, all good things have to come to an end, eventually. For me, attaining the mature age of 75 seems a good stopping point, apt at handing over the baton to younger capacities. Still, I will sorely miss the Commission, with all the good work it is doing, and wish it the best of luck for the future.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8qqzGo4NpeAMu0Zh7V7Ai7PiITMT5ZUDaYhRjpYddd6N6yQhIG5qV8b9_D8BO-6evLCl2oWuLTwTVlOhoqZajyUx9NkEia0uW5XGRvNSVhQitHBVfqjFLFJQTy48gYnLjAfUkZI8067Y/s1600/DSC_0005+Triplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="900" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8qqzGo4NpeAMu0Zh7V7Ai7PiITMT5ZUDaYhRjpYddd6N6yQhIG5qV8b9_D8BO-6evLCl2oWuLTwTVlOhoqZajyUx9NkEia0uW5XGRvNSVhQitHBVfqjFLFJQTy48gYnLjAfUkZI8067Y/s400/DSC_0005+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thus relieved from the burden of work, let me move on to more creative themes. At my age, sleep comes lightly, so am always awake and ready to start the new day around 7.30 am. Shortly after 8 am, you will find me sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee in peace and admiring the ever changing carpet of Hammarby Sound rolling itself out before me. The month of December is especially interesting in that respect, since the morning light is fading away ever faster, the closer the days are to their Nadir, on 21 December. So, let me show you what that does to my morning view, as appreciated shortly after 8 am.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJM4RBSk_cyc-203M5HLKKjNmVeo2nUdMi3gQZIgqp_C6nlJKOSCmoe8xdrO14eCEXVyhd3i58Zb-M4zVlislZ0ukqO95PQVyff9gSa06DA26uU0-m9SeYEcJIRTWZwVojy2U6n8V6y4/s1600/DSC_0029+Duplet+display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="1200" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJM4RBSk_cyc-203M5HLKKjNmVeo2nUdMi3gQZIgqp_C6nlJKOSCmoe8xdrO14eCEXVyhd3i58Zb-M4zVlislZ0ukqO95PQVyff9gSa06DA26uU0-m9SeYEcJIRTWZwVojy2U6n8V6y4/s640/DSC_0029+Duplet+display.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 December, shortly after 8 am</td></tr>
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In the beginning of December, there is still clear morning light greeting me with fervour. No need to put the lights on for my newspaper reading. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEged9QUcIVtaWR5VkjvN1FTwkzKxrEJxbu01Xi6_VCCOag38E9yfm4hs8rHn0GmwLLpalF7RipRDXmX4H4heQYlQr0Cjz1aiVfJobIEg7b9YU9-KrLP41Z78KzzYFmeSVDW0zbQTjHKCVg/s1600/DSC_0024+Quadruplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="1200" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEged9QUcIVtaWR5VkjvN1FTwkzKxrEJxbu01Xi6_VCCOag38E9yfm4hs8rHn0GmwLLpalF7RipRDXmX4H4heQYlQr0Cjz1aiVfJobIEg7b9YU9-KrLP41Z78KzzYFmeSVDW0zbQTjHKCVg/s640/DSC_0024+Quadruplet+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8 December, shortly after 8 am</td></tr>
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Four days later, the scenery looks already a bit different. It is not really daylight yet, so I have to keep the lights on, even if newly fallen snow helps to keep the view reasonably clear and fancy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKybvf368KbpbYb7SS03eD2JpYaSquVGCuG9fX-n8wzEwIaqXvSPIngVTsgFWBo29QsNBaSAa6fjDf43z_K33MhM_CMnn7IwTtDy0l8yxktq2LoMFN9Goy9ZPuHZUfgOkUO6Rq-qKqMM/s1600/DSC_0013+Duplicate+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1200" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpKybvf368KbpbYb7SS03eD2JpYaSquVGCuG9fX-n8wzEwIaqXvSPIngVTsgFWBo29QsNBaSAa6fjDf43z_K33MhM_CMnn7IwTtDy0l8yxktq2LoMFN9Goy9ZPuHZUfgOkUO6Rq-qKqMM/s640/DSC_0013+Duplicate+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12 December, shortly after 8 am</td></tr>
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Another four days later you begin to understand, why we residents in Sweden often are in a somber mood. It is not funny to barely see the light when sipping your morning coffee!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeqF4IsRTBNuu-TcXbqpsvW0G7O8qy0pboqUIj7PoC_bwvEUj5D9QmBDwzbgkl27BDgjs0Hpd6QxqyvEEZaWlucxMprtXU_JErg9t49uLg_x3chKgcD0M7v19fWjmyf_xqcJXoDm1TvY/s1600/DSC_0036+Triplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeqF4IsRTBNuu-TcXbqpsvW0G7O8qy0pboqUIj7PoC_bwvEUj5D9QmBDwzbgkl27BDgjs0Hpd6QxqyvEEZaWlucxMprtXU_JErg9t49uLg_x3chKgcD0M7v19fWjmyf_xqcJXoDm1TvY/s640/DSC_0036+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">16 December, shortly after 8 am</td></tr>
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So this is about as bad as it gets, just 5 days before the Nadir. No need to wait for 21 December, it is still night even now, when I am trying to get my act together over coffee.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTOpGum-jVmPhx4ahhNp2YPhptUkYN5rKrupKGpSBMEhhYzM3EsIPlsWpSA1lFzpn5figKTatc9B5yS7cw_Gpc5bBRxuZVEAFpeML9Z-vY96dyM6Qr2qvQYQyZ8VBuboTtMInqgSpZVg/s1600/Dsc_0008+Triplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="1200" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTOpGum-jVmPhx4ahhNp2YPhptUkYN5rKrupKGpSBMEhhYzM3EsIPlsWpSA1lFzpn5figKTatc9B5yS7cw_Gpc5bBRxuZVEAFpeML9Z-vY96dyM6Qr2qvQYQyZ8VBuboTtMInqgSpZVg/s640/Dsc_0008+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">25 December, shortly after 8 am</td></tr>
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"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=6338&v=JnMEI4aoUfo&feature=emb_logo">Wenn die Not aufs Höchste steigt, Gott der Herr die Hand uns reicht</a>". The noble words of Adelheid Wette come unbidden to mind, when sipping coffee and experiencing this first sign of a new beginning. We are just four days past the Nadir, but a partially clear sky permits a "foreglow" of the sun, which is still hovering below the horizon. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5jtqDh69Wt53B-_R5WYALXTCISxirTXy8b6DCadp4g3QAvJta0J18WQANwSa9RPrswIPbXnEFG4EevUMFJljPrvnlVLTtsmAUgBrUSMjhoiLd4Zkk_37oh7tKJAcOU5TXc6Uf0qs2oA/s1600/DSC_0001+Triplet+Diso%25CC%2588ay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="565" data-original-width="900" height="403" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5jtqDh69Wt53B-_R5WYALXTCISxirTXy8b6DCadp4g3QAvJta0J18WQANwSa9RPrswIPbXnEFG4EevUMFJljPrvnlVLTtsmAUgBrUSMjhoiLd4Zkk_37oh7tKJAcOU5TXc6Uf0qs2oA/s640/DSC_0001+Triplet+Diso%25CC%2588ay.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">29 December, shortly after 8 am</td></tr>
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Finally, this fine morning, eight days past the Nadir, brings tidings of a rosy future! Who am I to question such a hearty encouragement?</div>
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But, I see that New Year's Eve is rapidly approaching its finale. The first rockets are already sprinkling Southern Island with light, my neighbours are stepping out on their balcony to admire the midnight firework, and corks are popping out of champaign bottles. So, without further ado, permit me to wish you all, Dear Readers,<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">A very happy Year 2020</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></i>
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-49868619255909248212019-10-07T12:59:00.000+02:002020-09-04T12:46:02.841+02:00AUTUMN LEAVES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5cpuYGmQtlC5UDzMNTGhUWwriGMpneFR18mX6SjxJMU5_fLIVMF6CXy7NeBwpMIvdqhYKlqGaZ2nYTTRMbpC0O9ZGXFR8Uts7kDBla1n0z9LjgsK9gjL-Kk-4x2uCMclUVkQODz-hok/s1600/DSC_0226+Diso%25CC%2588ay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="900" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5cpuYGmQtlC5UDzMNTGhUWwriGMpneFR18mX6SjxJMU5_fLIVMF6CXy7NeBwpMIvdqhYKlqGaZ2nYTTRMbpC0O9ZGXFR8Uts7kDBla1n0z9LjgsK9gjL-Kk-4x2uCMclUVkQODz-hok/s400/DSC_0226+Diso%25CC%2588ay.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Sometimes it pays off to follow the urges of your subconscious, rather than making up long-term plans that tend to disappoint you in their execution.<br />
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Around mid-September, life was starting to become more focused again here in Sjöstaden, since long Summer days were gone and it seemed – for a short while – as if the flow of days and nights had reached an equilibrium, of a kind especially proficient for getting things done.<br />
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Whilst picture taking had been in hiatus for a while, the trigger finger started to itch again and I even took a camera with me on one of these crispy clear Autumn morning hikes. It is amazing that I still manage to "sqeeze out" new perspectives on my closer neighbourhood these days; shouldn't I have gone bored with it after ten years' living in my Sjöstaden? Apparently not, to judge from the two pictures below:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-N4QGvyZ4BLuA2QUgi485qApT_ZOlrDpS3kWMQtqBISdefCN1c4laAFWM9MLFRvubo91X190xd2uhHxkLnj1cYgcef7XQY_0Setnc748Y4BvNdPEcCjJYtaSjDjTesm2XLrTLEqhbfNY/s1600/DSC_0223+Duplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-N4QGvyZ4BLuA2QUgi485qApT_ZOlrDpS3kWMQtqBISdefCN1c4laAFWM9MLFRvubo91X190xd2uhHxkLnj1cYgcef7XQY_0Setnc748Y4BvNdPEcCjJYtaSjDjTesm2XLrTLEqhbfNY/s400/DSC_0223+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The first one is taken where hikers pass the lock between Lake Sickla and Sickla Canal, which in fact consists of two locks in series. The second lock had to be built since the new road bridge crossing the outlet of Lake Sickla happened to be constructed so low that no boats could pass under it!<br />
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The second picture shows the passage under the road bridge connecting the Sickla Peninsula with the main part of Sjöstaden. In the back, you just about can glimpse the red building housing Restaurang Göteborg, the finest eatery in Sjöstaden, located in a romantic fashion along Sickla Canal just below the locks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoPSFVuQafXVVR8ryd4DXlM2kwtRVoElnEdPyEIFYj__NZST5AHeecY0XwOzaY-CPjACQSqXKLJGnNgK54WRZSgye_jbE1wIHeaBnXyZc3MoJ-WBU4uZmheg-nTw8FlW9lqBr4IDWbxU/s1600/DSC_0205+Triplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="1200" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoPSFVuQafXVVR8ryd4DXlM2kwtRVoElnEdPyEIFYj__NZST5AHeecY0XwOzaY-CPjACQSqXKLJGnNgK54WRZSgye_jbE1wIHeaBnXyZc3MoJ-WBU4uZmheg-nTw8FlW9lqBr4IDWbxU/s640/DSC_0205+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Whilst taking these pictures, and generally enjoying life, suddenly, I felt the urge to do something new and surprising, rather than just aching on with my lengthy <a href="https://emsfields.blogspot.com/2019/05/the-king-is-dead-long-live.html">Emsland blog</a>. Thinking about what could appear new and surprising to a septuagenarian who has seen it all, a name suddenly popped up from the caverns of memory, "HOCHOBIR"! It so happened that I had climbed that mountain in company with my wife exactly 40 years ago; why not try it again and see, whether I still could do it? Said and done. I hastened to book a trip to Austria, taking care to combine this adventure with visits to dear friends and relatives.<br />
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One of the later, my younger brother Ludwig, even was so considerate to suggest that he accompany me on the climb. No doubt, he was fearing the worst and wanted to render support, if needed. I gladly accepted his offer and we agreed to meet on 22 September morning in the mountain's vicinity.<br />
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The <a href="https://www.summitpost.org/hochobir-ojstrc/153909">Hochobir</a> is somewhat unique, in that it rises as a solitaire from the South Carinthian <a href="https://www.kaernten.at/reiseziele/sommer/carnica-region-rosental/">Valley of the Roses</a>. It is not especially high, as Austrian mountains are measured; still, it surges a good 1.5 kilometers straight up from the plain. From the top, and on a clear day, one can admire essentially all of Carinthia, from the Karawanken to the South (the border mountains to Slovenia) all the way North to the Grossklockner, Austria's behemoth.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgdP5QwMMD3GUMEszlSux8FRpxmZ9XVYU1r2fIpJMNi6uoljNaFMhujSvHlWptt0s_itr0tf3zQYA_GAdULUixN4lGfVcOJquTGnP3X-GFHXFW_bajXEPQOdGKzeuKP9hAbkxRWXUmRNU/s1600/Rosental+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="900" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgdP5QwMMD3GUMEszlSux8FRpxmZ9XVYU1r2fIpJMNi6uoljNaFMhujSvHlWptt0s_itr0tf3zQYA_GAdULUixN4lGfVcOJquTGnP3X-GFHXFW_bajXEPQOdGKzeuKP9hAbkxRWXUmRNU/s400/Rosental+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rosental (Valley of the Roses) in Southern Carinthia<br />
<i>Photographer: </i>Jörg Schmöe</td></tr>
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On this beautiful Sunday morning of 22 September, we drove a winding small road up to an isolated mountain hut, called Eisenkappler Hütte. From there, it was a question of getting our act together and climbing up, slowly and painfully, some 600 meters of altitude to the top of Hochobir. The Guidebook tells us, rather sprightly, that it would only take some 1,5 hours to do so. And, indeed, I recall that my wife Alice and I considered it a nice promenade (I even had sandals on my feet) forty years ago.<br />
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But this time was different and rather painful. Slowly putting foot after foot, and not looking too much ahead, I kept going, with grim determination, hoping the torture to end at long last. After two hours' labour we eventually arrived at a wide plateau, called "Kragulji<span style="background-color: white; color: #57595a; font-size: 16px;">šč</span>e" in Slovenian and "Napoleon Wiese" in German. Time to take a well deserved time-out! It had to be short, since the we had planned on a mid-day sandwich luncheon on the very top. Fortunately, we could glimpse the summit already, and it did not seem too far off. So on we went, with renewed vigour.<br />
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After another 45 minutes' painful ascent, we arrived at some ruins of a stone mansion, which we learned later were the remains of an old mountain hut, the Rainer Schutzhaus, sadly destroyed in the last battles of WWII. It would have been nice to have a Schnitzel or at least a Lederknödelsuppe at that stage, but destiny had decided otherwise. So we had to trod on. Just minutes later, we glimpsed a large hole in a nearby knoll, which, as brother Ludwig knew to explain, was the remnant of an old lead mine, abandoned already some 100 years ago.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PtGmMfslZbA_lXAkTVPbljAtcJ2ojfUK-ya8T6MiDI0qdFGn4LXgtftIErOZ5oA7YR7_uoahhrIzb545B0sarzvrLKkz4nFspwxSmmzyB5b-cph9NNrDTn71qCOTR58taUGGn2WorYU/s1600/DSC_0009+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PtGmMfslZbA_lXAkTVPbljAtcJ2ojfUK-ya8T6MiDI0qdFGn4LXgtftIErOZ5oA7YR7_uoahhrIzb545B0sarzvrLKkz4nFspwxSmmzyB5b-cph9NNrDTn71qCOTR58taUGGn2WorYU/s400/DSC_0009+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Up to now, I was too exhausted to think about picture taking, but this mine was certainly worthy of being documented, to honour the poor devils who had to toll on this mountain, either hiking up and down every day, or spending the night in the forerunner to the Rainer Schutzhaus (which used to be the miners' cabin), shivering in the thin and cold mountain air.<br />
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But now, at long last, the summit beckoned. Soon we arrived at a kind of precarious crossroads, with two paths meeting on a rather narrow ridge leading to the top. Standing there is to be recommended only for those who are steady on their feet – or, at least, have a third leg to lean on. To your left, an abyss opens up, with an unhindered view down into the Rosental.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtKeHwco5bGvSdR7JKmha2gX5geZlYB4lBohRcqAA1xDdZMxwofGAT_CjEBRcWS9b9JIblTGJ8-62SWiDeLJTH6wfFT6-DYRQSj1GJE8IO8WZNeGyPl2rWJks05Za7srBJPsJooB8VQE/s1600/DSC_0018+Display+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="1200" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtKeHwco5bGvSdR7JKmha2gX5geZlYB4lBohRcqAA1xDdZMxwofGAT_CjEBRcWS9b9JIblTGJ8-62SWiDeLJTH6wfFT6-DYRQSj1GJE8IO8WZNeGyPl2rWJks05Za7srBJPsJooB8VQE/s640/DSC_0018+Display+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Proceeding uwards along this ridge we arrived at the summit, at long last. It had taken us almost <i>three hours</i> to get there. Can we conclude from this that I am now only half the man I was forty years ago? As concerns physical capacity, this is certainly the case; but, I refuse to believe that it also applies to my mental capacities. Have I not in these intermittent years managed to complete my PhD thesis, as well as to produce several literary oeuvres, and met numerous intricate challenges in working career that certainly have honed both planning and problem solving propensity? Thus, being only half the physical man may well, as consolation, be compensated by now being twice the man, mentally speaking!</div>
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Thus fortified in spirit, Ludwig and I lined up at the summit cross, to document the success of our venture. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76d5z4tQvSGB3p8oexcf73uoyM6wWHEdBxVuaKgTkgUrDru12MbDNpI6EOWKtfwQYP33F0Jk0y0iyq7-tJVmXbkNJUop5Tr1Pc5Q1sLrkBhZh7U4QFE7yvDmC34zcWm3VM5ET9HRV08Q/s1600/DSC_0033+Triplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="900" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76d5z4tQvSGB3p8oexcf73uoyM6wWHEdBxVuaKgTkgUrDru12MbDNpI6EOWKtfwQYP33F0Jk0y0iyq7-tJVmXbkNJUop5Tr1Pc5Q1sLrkBhZh7U4QFE7yvDmC34zcWm3VM5ET9HRV08Q/s400/DSC_0033+Triplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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To be frank, Hochobir's summit does not look altogether spectacular, being a small plateau rather than a narrow peak, but don't let looks deceive you! If you dare approach the rim of this small expanse, like the couple with dog in the next picture, an abrupt decline below your feet threatens your equilibrium since, between your shoes and the valley below them, there is nought but thin air for a vertical distance of more than 1.5 kilometers. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBhaa5smTs_3x9WvKxYoAXqigBf56tDqcB-HUYpmSlXWyEjwBcd9HSSFl1HeEm3Ag1i7IpQnFHMU7xit8xiD16o3ZSpFEB9saK01e6Dc5JiwyOt-AbLlrZd73YmVY7WG05jNPueWXyOs/s1600/DSC_0034+Duplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="659" data-original-width="900" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBhaa5smTs_3x9WvKxYoAXqigBf56tDqcB-HUYpmSlXWyEjwBcd9HSSFl1HeEm3Ag1i7IpQnFHMU7xit8xiD16o3ZSpFEB9saK01e6Dc5JiwyOt-AbLlrZd73YmVY7WG05jNPueWXyOs/s400/DSC_0034+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Whilst munching our sandwiches on a sheltered nook at the summit, I started to re-consider my memory of the earlier ascent, forty years ago. How come that I remembered it but vaguely, and as a cosy promenade with sandals on my feet and, furthermore, accompanied by my wife Alice, who was somewhat reticent as concerns mountain climbing? Did we really climb this mountain? </div>
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Upon my return to Stockholm, I revisited my picture collection from the trip of forty years ago. And, low and behold, I found pictures there witnessing our ascent! It may be doubted that we did not go all the way to the top, but rest assured that we made it at least up to the ruins of the Rainer Schutzhaus. From there, it is only a short distance to the summit, so we probably made it. You don't believe it? Well, let me show you some proof. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8sTqozOZmttbXzdIqFCzrns-s3VoK4BjmWyD39b-2-9hAMXY_CSZtMs5CezV9g8klbDq7ATj9rIvZZWleAo2HiCNWTgb3FLgAM5Wm23t3v931KcIQvunIolzxiPSwJofOMJVHtBTpa2A/s1600/DSC_0012-1+Duplet+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="900" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8sTqozOZmttbXzdIqFCzrns-s3VoK4BjmWyD39b-2-9hAMXY_CSZtMs5CezV9g8klbDq7ATj9rIvZZWleAo2HiCNWTgb3FLgAM5Wm23t3v931KcIQvunIolzxiPSwJofOMJVHtBTpa2A/s400/DSC_0012-1+Duplet+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Rainer Schutzhaus Ruin ... taken in 2019</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMWqjbs63KAR6awWcfz5tjxgCgebVzhJyvbfOgsCkqfKhAX03ga09Oue-a8h-kS9YFpLuhOb6KXohKLiC-NveVtIVkFBfsh8x3MSHoLiVSl-eWA0-Ec6OPZl_yU5DhrsA4VMt2Rs1X_rg/s1600/75+055+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="900" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMWqjbs63KAR6awWcfz5tjxgCgebVzhJyvbfOgsCkqfKhAX03ga09Oue-a8h-kS9YFpLuhOb6KXohKLiC-NveVtIVkFBfsh8x3MSHoLiVSl-eWA0-Ec6OPZl_yU5DhrsA4VMt2Rs1X_rg/s400/75+055+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and in 1979</td></tr>
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There is an intriguing difference between the two takes. Whereas the 1979 picture shows the tunnel view of an instinct driven youngster, its 2019 counterpart widens the view markedly. To me, the wide angle view in my more recent pictures appears to indicate an increase in readiness to grasp reality in all the range and complexity it possesses. As we can see, the people in the 2019 picture appear like ants in the greater context, which is about how I am perceiving humanity nowadays. </div>
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Yet another set of pictures shows a rare superimposition of my former wife Alice and myself. This time a bit further down the mountain, on the green expanse somewhat funkily called "Napoleon Wiese".</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A septuagenarian on "Napoleon Wiese", in 2019 ...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and his former wife Alice, back in 1979</td></tr>
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But let's go back up to the summit for a moment. From up there, as I already said, a marvellous view can be had of the Karawanken Range to the South. The top rim of this cavalcade of summits constitutes the border between Austria and Slovenia. In the old days, there were even Yugoslav guards watching the frontier, which we experienced when trying to climb the "Hochstuhl", the highest summit in the Karawanken. The mountain path up to its top was cris-crossing the border and, unfortunately, we did not have our passports with us on the hike; so no summit was reached that day! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSF5DkBcQbhWIFLTyCDSennOWsai8JVtWIUejII0SgsEwI5jYkkgPRj5sKpFmdT_AcF1Lp3LwjRvPl0VNAoFEKAd8lx1eiNR3p7qZ9mrOe2u9KWSqMLUYC5VCJ-yAPquVm9aZq1pdurNc/s1600/Koschutnikturm+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="745" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSF5DkBcQbhWIFLTyCDSennOWsai8JVtWIUejII0SgsEwI5jYkkgPRj5sKpFmdT_AcF1Lp3LwjRvPl0VNAoFEKAd8lx1eiNR3p7qZ9mrOe2u9KWSqMLUYC5VCJ-yAPquVm9aZq1pdurNc/s400/Koschutnikturm+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Whilst looking at the range, I couldn't help noticing the "knoll" in the middle of the picture, which actually is the highest top of the Eastern part of the Karawanken, called "Koschutnik Turm". "Now I remember!" I suddenly felt the urge to shout to Ludwig and some other people standing nearby. "We have been up there in 1979 and my wife almost died trying". And this was indeed the case, so let me tell you the story now. </div>
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It was late August in 1979. We had just come back from a pleasant séjour in Dalmatia and entered Austria via the Loibl Tunnel. Intense greenery welcomed us and the enticing nature of the Rosental invited us to stay for a few days and do some hiking. The first day was dedicated to mount the "Hochstuhl", to no avail due to lack of border documents. On the second day we were lucky to climb the "Hochobir". On the third day we rested or, rather, drove around by car to savour the romantic small valley just below the Karawanken, with Zell Pfarre as its center village. This is when we discovered the Koschutnik Turm, as shown in the picture below.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRp55LN1GyJm1tolehDm5C2dXsKGDQCBAj-_2eQv1fcmPa1TsVezvePp78KUqy2Zgufq1f_4uG4zbda0clkZkzrxBaHlqv1iwxGdB2K1xz0oQ4KVHEZgf75qDnE_pfmIu9LWFJVb629I/s1600/75+053+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="602" height="598" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizRp55LN1GyJm1tolehDm5C2dXsKGDQCBAj-_2eQv1fcmPa1TsVezvePp78KUqy2Zgufq1f_4uG4zbda0clkZkzrxBaHlqv1iwxGdB2K1xz0oQ4KVHEZgf75qDnE_pfmIu9LWFJVb629I/s400/75+053+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Turm did not at all look as formidable as it really was – and as it can be grasped from the top of Hochobir – so even Alice thought it might be nice to hike to its summit. After all, hadn't we successfully ascended the Hochobir the day before? Said and done, early the following day we began what we thought would be a pleasant hike, by driving the car up to the Koschutahaus. From there, about one hour's easy walking brought us to the foot of the Turm, about where the red line is starting to the right in the picture below.</div>
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So far so good: another half hour's walk, in increasingly more demanding terrain, brought us to the canyon to the left of the tower. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alice rounding the foot of the Koschutnik Turm (see red circle above)</td></tr>
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Here, we were supposed to climb steeply upwards, in an increasingly loose steep scree (a rise with very loose gravel), where every two steps upwards slided us one step backwards. Still, we managed to meet this challenge with youthful vigour and arrived eventually at the canyon wall bording the scree on its right, where ascending was easier. </div>
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Unfortunately, after some fifty meters upwards, there was a big red sign asking us to traverse the scree to the other canyon wall. This proved to be a major undertaking. I was crossing first. The scree was now so loose that every step across brought me several meters downwards. After arriving at the left hand wall, I had to climb carefully back up to the hiking path, through rather loose rock. Alice, seeing my travails, categorically refused to follow suit and declared that she would continue upwards on her side of the canyon. So, up we went, with a sea of scree separating us. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hikers crossing the scree ahead of me</td></tr>
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But, our ascent came to an abrupt end. Whilst I was watching a lonely eagle sailing majestically above us all, a low rumble suddenly vibrated my ears. When I looked to my right, where the rumbling had started, suddenly, a huge stone came tumbling down the crevice, aiming straight at Alice! A call of warning from my side, a glance from Alice's side and, to my extreme surprise, my wife suddenly scrambling up the vertical canyon wall with lightning speed like a mountain goat! And well it was that she did! Since, after some loose gravel following the boulder, a whole avalanche of stones came sailing down from a ledge further up, like a rocky waterfall, just about grazing the heel of Alice's shoes as she continued clambering up the wall. </div>
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After this breathtaking intermezzo, I trust you understand that further mountaineering was off the day's check list. Without further ado, down we went as fast as possible. For me, it was a question of descending with my "Seven Mile Boots", that is, sliding down the scree several meters for every heel I dug into it. My wife, more cautious, applied another method of sliding downwards, as can be seen in the picture. The end effect was the same, but, well back in the valley, I had to buy new hiking boots whereas she had to acquire new jeans! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alice's more cautious method of descent</td></tr>
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All in all, our short séjour in the Karawanken Range proved a great success. Not only did we manage to climb to the top of one of the three mountains we had put our eyes on; we also came away from it safe and sound, with only some damage to trouser and shoes! So, by now I trust you understand why I had felt the urge to return to this cosy bit of nature forty years after the fact.</div>
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Just now, I am sitting in my writer's studio back home in Sjöstaden, searching for some apt ending sentences to this adventurous blog post. It is a sunny late afternoon, the air is fresh after a recent rain, but I have difficulties in collecting my thoughts. Suddenly, the room is getting very dark, like night had suddenly arrived, but far too early for beginning of October. I am rushing out to the balcony, to see whether this is the end of the world! Not yet, I am relieved to say; instead, a dramatic view is greeting me, as made for a concluding picture. Thus, nature relieves me of the onus to put in some inspired final words into this blog post. After all, who could outcompete heaven at its most dramatic? </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nature's very own <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gX4CRy5tHk">ODE TO LIFE</a>!</td></tr>
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-65767695751156550582019-03-29T15:15:00.003+01:002020-09-04T12:53:36.143+02:00A VAINGLORIOUS ATTEMPT AT MASCULINITY?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A skyscraper in Sjöstaden – architects' wet dream – inhabitants' bad dream!</td></tr>
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No one living in our cosy little neighbourhood of Sjöstaden (with 25 000 inhabitants, but still cosy) can help notice this "middle finger" being raised at us, whilst we are taking the tram to subway station Gullmarsplan. It is an enigma to me why architects and building companies hunger for raising such an outlier at odd places in Stockholm. This will be the third scraper raised, with at least three more in the pipeline.<br />
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I ask you: why on Earth did the city authorities authorise this extreme case of one-up-manship? It is as if largesse in size is equalled to grandeur in style by the town officials. Anything higher than 20 floors goes, if there is but an empty building site allowing for it. Unfortunately, city officials' understanding of urban aesthetics is hardly shared by us poor suffering citizens.<br />
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Aesthetics aside; did the town planners think about the logistical nightmare being created by this outsized sugar top? Close to where its feet are planted into the Earth, there lies one single small roundabout, which has to accommodate, on the one hand, all morning and evening traffic flowing to and fro our neighbourhood into town, and, on the other, all the cars coming from Southern Stockholm and choosing to travel to downtown, using the small bridge across. Already without the new scraper and surround, with its forthcoming 6000 working places, this roundabout is hardly navigatable during rush-hours, with huge queues backstopping way into our neighbourhood. Imagine what will happen with the abrupt increase in car traffic created by this new development.<br />
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I am sorry to say, that there will be NO ROOM to enlarge the roads around this abomination of a city plan! Every single square meter of the necessary space is already occupied. What were town planners thinking when approving this building project?<br />
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You may conceive of me as being a hopeless nostalgic, forever opposing progress. And I am forced to agree, even if my reaction to this unnecessary and molesting skyscraper appears to me more rational than affective. Still, I think it is better to be a nostalgic, wishing to keep hold of all that is pleasant in the city, rather than embrace "progress" that implies getting rid of what is pleasant and replace it with abominations!<br />
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An old song comes to mind, which will help me to underpin my position. Unfortunately, it is in Swedish, based on an Italian original. But allow me to reproduce and translate here the core lyrics of the tune:<br />
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<div jsname="U8S5sf" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Lyckliga gatan du finns inte mer,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">du har försvunnit med hela kvarter.</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Tystnat har leken, tystnat har sången,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">högt över marken svävar betongen.</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">När jag kom åter var allt så förändrat,</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">trampat och skövlat, fördärvat och skändat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Skall mellan dessa höga hus en dag, stiga en sång?</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">Lika förunderlig och skön som den vi hört en gång...</span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Lucky Street, you exist no more.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You have disappeared with the entire neighbourhood.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The game has ended, the song has subsided.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">High above the ground floats the concrete.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I came back everything was so changed,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">trampled and plundered, damaged and desecrated.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Shall between these high risers one day rise a song?</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Equally wondrous and beautiful as the one we heard once upon a time.</span><span style="font-size: 14px;">..</span></span></i></div>
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Will a song rise around the Sjöstaden high riser one day?<br />
I doubt it!<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-45041288304517071642019-01-01T11:05:00.030+01:002020-12-08T12:18:27.191+01:00FATA SUA QUADRIGAE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PbDVwzDCJmRM-4n6vpnX1nrMkqt4OTVh1OjHnHj0qjCBqF3EZrApETWq24lD-vwpPQRzSu5G1M0LbAAXm7yqWOirSIqbiMRsFNArsTz3AbB1yza2DS2JLW8GLtvd2Bied9oeJWpVNn4/s1600/2+Blasieholmstorg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="900" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PbDVwzDCJmRM-4n6vpnX1nrMkqt4OTVh1OjHnHj0qjCBqF3EZrApETWq24lD-vwpPQRzSu5G1M0LbAAXm7yqWOirSIqbiMRsFNArsTz3AbB1yza2DS2JLW8GLtvd2Bied9oeJWpVNn4/s400/2+Blasieholmstorg.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This time of the year is usually dedicated to retrospection. Typically, you are looking at the past twelve months, at your achievements in that period, your mistakes and disappointments, and make pious pledges to become a better person the following year.<br />
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I will attempt to do more than this. Instead of looking back <b><i>one</i> </b>year, I will try to have a glimpse at most of <i><b>two thousand</b> </i>years in the past. A vainglorious task you may well think. You have, of course, a right to think so. But so do I have a right to make the attempt, being as old and (hopefully) wise as I am. In addition to getting on, I am also a born Austrian and as such always eager to tell a good story. So here goes:<br />
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Last October, I had the pleasure of exhibiting my Stockholm pictures from the book "<a href="http://emsvision.com/DOCUMENTS/SB%20Description%20Page.pdf">Stockholm/Brussels ...</a>" at a vernissage in Vienna. I am glad to say that this met with great interest. Especially glad am I to have seen so many old friends and relatives at the gallery. The picture below shows the "grand opening" with representatives for the Swedish Embassy, the "Österreichisch-Schwedische Gesellschaft" and the gallery, all praising me with nice welcomes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening of vernissage with my Stockholm pictures in Vienna, October 2018</td></tr>
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Inspired by this warm welcoming, I took, in turn, care to talk at great length around the pictures on the wall. The one on top of this blog has always been my favourite, so I went into considerable detail extemporising on the provenance of the bronze horse taking centre stage therein. Afterwards, a young lady was clearly inspired by the presentation and bought the picture straight away, being the <b>very first</b> to acquire a fine print at the exhibition. Hopefully, I have now wetted your appetite for the story behind this horse, since I simply can't resist to let it unroll.</div>
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To be precise, the horse in the picture was not originally conceived as a solitaire. Even now, there are two such sculptures standing on Blasieholm Square, in the centre of Stockholm. But there should actually be four horses standing, since the original was cast as an antique <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quadriga">quadriga</a>, a four-in-hand team drawing a racing chariot. And we are not talking about just any old four-in-hand, it is <b><i>the only quadriga</i></b> preserved from antiquity. You don't believe me? Well, you only have to visit St Mark's Basilica in Venice to see it in all its gilded glory!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQn_VXT4fLLlA4tGH5eWqt0dxhqPcu92E4-SXCrD_9NPixgemq1onyZERTkzid2-LCBleJTMrVKi1M3gso06ZZtnOtpjzYRpkXDe3fawPHSI8gwFHSxfquW6QRk5CY8x1HY7XnHNT4jY/s1600/Horses+of+Saint+Mark+I.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="900" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQn_VXT4fLLlA4tGH5eWqt0dxhqPcu92E4-SXCrD_9NPixgemq1onyZERTkzid2-LCBleJTMrVKi1M3gso06ZZtnOtpjzYRpkXDe3fawPHSI8gwFHSxfquW6QRk5CY8x1HY7XnHNT4jY/s400/Horses+of+Saint+Mark+I.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Quadriga of Saint Mark. Source: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Horses_of_Basilica_San_Marco.jpg">Wikimedia</a></td></tr>
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But how did this quadriga wind up in Venice? You may be surprised to hear that its origin is lost in the dawn of history. Investigations of the sculpture, looking at the way the eyes had been cast and the gilding applied, led experts to the presumption that it must have been forged around the turn of the second century AD. It is most plausible that it had been ordered by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Septimius_Severus">Emperor Septimius Severus</a>, to embellish the top of his Triumphal Arch in Rome, in celebration of his sizeable military achievements.<br />
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The <a href="http://www.antiquesage.com/history-lost-art-mercury-gilding/">gilding method</a>, in particular, points to the emperor. It concerns a cumbersome and costly procedure, with the labourers involved being condemned to painful disease and certain death. Who but an emperor could order such work?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQQA5FdDO0rKEuPVN1OxWSW2aBlW5Uz8f3C39UlCoBvnOghXc_edKwQv02uzz-voLy-dwH8EQR0hPP_CA0AKIzhTLhvZqT3pfmsHcoQtE1_PvjLI9xOvWs_R4qGXUx5EEAEtYoS82Pv0/s1600/Septimius+Severus+Triumphal.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="900" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQQA5FdDO0rKEuPVN1OxWSW2aBlW5Uz8f3C39UlCoBvnOghXc_edKwQv02uzz-voLy-dwH8EQR0hPP_CA0AKIzhTLhvZqT3pfmsHcoQtE1_PvjLI9xOvWs_R4qGXUx5EEAEtYoS82Pv0/s400/Septimius+Severus+Triumphal.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triumphal Arch of Septimius Severus in Rome. The Quadriga long gone!<br />
Source: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rome_Forum_Romanum_Arch_Septimius_Severus3.JPG">Wikimedia</a></td></tr>
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However that may be, the statue would not have remained in Rome for more than a century. In 330 AD, a new Roman Capital was dedicated in the East, called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constantinople">Constantinople</a> after its founder, Emperor Constantine the Great. Constantine put great efforts into getting this new seat of power up to imperial splendour immediately. To that effect, he pilfered sculptures, memorials, prominent obelisques, etc. from all over the Empire to adorn his "Second Rome".<br />
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It is therefore plausible that such a prominent sculpture as Septimius Severus' Quadriga would not have remained unmolested on top of Severus' Triumphal Arch. The rebuilt and enlarged <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippodrome_of_Constantinople">Hippodrome</a> in Constantinople had a four-in-hand to show for it on top the Northern facade, with its start boxes. This most probably is Severus' Quadriga.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restored overview of ancient Constantinople, with the Hippodrome in centre<br />
The quadriga is just about visible on top of the Northern facade. Artist: <a href="http://www.antoine-helbert.com/fr/portfolio/annexe-work/byzance-architecture.html">Antoine Helbert</a></td></tr>
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The Quadriga throned on the Hippodrome for a whole 900 years! It took a holy cruisade to remove it. To be precise, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourth_Crusade">Fourth Cruisade </a>got "confused" and plundered, in 1204 AD, Constantinople instead of conquering Jerusalem! The Venetians, led by Doge Enrico Dandolo, participated in the plunder. Dandolo hastened to have the horses dismounted and shipped to Venice as spoils of conquest. There they were put on the facade of Saint Mark's Basilica and are from then on known as "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horses_of_Saint_Mark">The Horses of Saint Mark</a>".<br />
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You may be led to believe that this is the end of the story. Far from it, several events remain to be told. Granted that another 600 years passed by without incident. But, anno 1797 AD, a modern day emperor was in the making. Napoleon had invaded Italy and now occupied Venice. Like a Septimius Severus reborn, he ordered the Quadriga to be moved to Paris, so that it eventually could crown his very own Triumphal Arch on Place Vendôme, known as the "Arc de Triomphe du Carousel".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Military review in front of the Arc de Triomphe du Carousel. <br />
Quadriga on top. Artiste: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippolyte_Bellang%C3%A9">Hippolyte Bellangé</a></td></tr>
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But, as we all know, Napoleon's power and glory came to a timely end, about 15 years after this move. Post the Congress of Vienna, Emperor Francis I of Austria, who by then had become sovereign of Venice, ordered the horses to be returned to Saint Mark. And there they have stayed, with the exception of two shorter deviations, an excursion to Rome in WWI and a visit to Padua in WWII.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Horses of Saint Mark, now residing within the Basilika... <br />
Source: <a href="https://archive.lessingimages.com/theme/103">Erich Lessing</a></td></tr>
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This about ends my New Year's Retrospection; even if somewhat longer than usual, it still contains, at the very beginning, a short glimpse at my main achievement during 2018! But what about my New Year's Resolutions? Well, I am a senior citizen by now and understand the limits of my free will. What I am able to accomplish, I will of course pursue; but no pledges from my part about activities that I am well aware to be unable to carry out. Instead, permit me to put forward some pious wishes for the future. They concern the fruit of my creative labour. By this I mean, especially, the best of my Stockholm pictures.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCfkQ6VIxZZIi7DMpnkiZKjMI8h9RMY-js7r7aV-LUp-SHUaDm4MhWKdGOXeLynUwpJWT0ZUmSutgWE_TV9pOY7zBIkc7GpuSRn3f9mYXZbZ2r3dnJpBnf9hcTKeuBnqzmGYrzWAUKzAY/s900/Half+Quadriga+Display.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="900" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCfkQ6VIxZZIi7DMpnkiZKjMI8h9RMY-js7r7aV-LUp-SHUaDm4MhWKdGOXeLynUwpJWT0ZUmSutgWE_TV9pOY7zBIkc7GpuSRn3f9mYXZbZ2r3dnJpBnf9hcTKeuBnqzmGYrzWAUKzAY/w400-h309/Half+Quadriga+Display.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... and the copies on the front of the Basilica<br /><i>Photographer</i>: <a href="http://www.prohaska-hotze.at/index.html">Jürgen Prohaska-Hotze</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These pictures lead a life rather more precarious than my two <a href="https://www.bokus.com/cgi-bin/product_search.cgi?authors=Emil%20Ems">photographic books</a>. The latter are safely preserved in the Swedish Royal Library, as long as that venerable institution will persist. But the fine prints I am producing will depend on the "kindness of strangers". Only if there are people gracious enough to acquire them and hang them on their wall will they have a life of their own. All <b><i>I myself </i></b>can do is to gift them the potential to last of up to a century, if well taken care of by their owners.<br /><br />
So let me wish the acquirers of my fine prints, in particular of the "Venetian Horse on Blasieholmstorg", a long and fruitful life so that they can cosset this creative child of mine. Let the print bring them an understanding of the almost two thousand years of history behind it. Let it induce them to hand it over to their children and them to <b><i>their</i></b> children, so that it can last the life span given to it by its creator.<br />
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In this spirit, I would like to wish all the dear readers of this blog<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-22457547563430805062018-08-14T11:55:00.002+02:002020-09-04T13:01:12.858+02:00DANCE ME TO THE END OF LOVE ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last blog post was about a Siberian High, causing Hammarby Sound to freeze over. This seems like a world apart today. The past month proved to be the hottest hereabouts in recorded history (dating back to the mid 1700s). If 35° weren't enough, humidity went to the extreme, envelopping us in a wet blanket day and night and leaving us no place to escape. Our apartments here in Stockholm are built with generous windows, granting the sun free access to us sun-loving Northerners. It now dawns on us that sun-flooded rooms are not what the doctor ordered. Even if my apartment is facing north, the sun starts sneaking in around 6 pm, getting up the heat just in time to prevent me from having a healty sleep.<br />
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Extreme times crave desperate measures. I discovered that a daily visit to the neighbourhood (Swedish style) Sauna was the way out of misery. After sitting about 10 minutes in it, sweating out at 90° (Celsius) of dry heat and taking a cold shower afterwards, 35° outside heat appears almost normal!<br />
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In the same spirit, I decided, in the beginning of last week, to take a quick trip to Southern Turkey. There, temperature surpassed even 40° in daytime and humidity was at its outmost; just like in a Sauna, but a <i>Finnish</i> one. The idea was to spend three days there and return to a more moderate Stockholm, cooler by at least a few degrees. Now, that I am back, I am glad to say that Hammarby Sjöstad has cooled off considerably during my absence. Or is it the contrast to Lykia in Turkey that makes me believe that?<br />
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The recent heat wave got me to recognosce up-to-date findings about climate change. Not bothering with reading the most recent articles in scientific journals, I contented myself with gathering insights from Youtube videos in the field. Don't ridicule me! There is quite serious knowledge to be gained there. As an example, let me point to a recent lecture by Professor Wadhams of Cambridge University. He is a convivial enough fellow, hardly prone to exaggerate.<br />
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My research, albeit sporadic, leads me to conclude that we already seem to have passed "the point of no return". Even if we drastically diminish carbon dioxide emissions forthwith, we will still surpass the red line (the 2° temperature increase) early on in the next decade. Thereafter, and with sizable methane emissions from the Arctic continental shelf and from melting Siberian permafrost, climate change will accelerate and lead to a more than 3° increase within the following decades.<br />
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An increase by more than 3° may not sound a lot, but it will most probably put an end to the main conduit of global food production, the grain belt girdling the northern hemisphere; not to speak of rendering the subtropical regions, Southern Europe among them, into deserts. So the writing is on the wall.<br />
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Interestingly enough, Scandinavia, as well as Great Britain, Ireland and Iceland, may not be exposed to the same degree of heating as the world at large. The global deep sea current transporting warm water north-eastward is already getting weaker and will no longer lend support to the Gulf stream (which is mostly driven by wind), thus counteracting to some degree the overall heating up.<br />
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Should we find comfort in this? I fear not! Think about the hundreds of millions living south and east of our borders and getting ever more desperate, as deserts spread in Africa and Southern Europe and food supply is drying up further north. The Völkerwanderung of the 5th to 7th century AD is just an inkling of what lies ahead of us! To get an idea of what this means, look no further than to the failed states in the Middle East and the millions from there streaming into Europe just two years ago!<br />
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What can be done about this? On a global scene, probably nothing. That is, unless geo-engineering at hitherto unexperienced scale could be enacted within the near future, which is hardly likely, if even feasible. Better to look at it from a personal angle. Here we have a problem: climate change is not happening in a linear fashion. Feed-back loops are pushing to the forefront and will greatly accelerate the change, even if we at present still appear to experience only a modest and gradual warming. This makes it difficult for us humans to grasp the high probability of a timely demise of civilisation.<br />
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To fix ideas: imagine that a meteorite will strike the Earth in thirty years' time, enveloping the Earth in huge dust clouds and rendering food production infeasible over all of Earth for a number of years, except in north-eastern Europe. How would you as a person prepare for such a catastrophe? Speaking as an old-timer, my life would go on as usual, with maybe a bit more propensity to nurture friendships and family relations. For our children, they will have to be more philosophical; we all have to die, sooner or later, and it may just be a bit sooner for them. It is the grandchildren whom we should pity. They will be in the prime of their life and, instead of fulfilling all their dreams of family and career, they will be in constant war and struggle to fend off the hungering hordes invading the few territories where food can still be obtained.<br />
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This leads me to suggest a collective action that still could be taken to make life a bit more bearable for those poor grandchildren. Why not re-introduce comprehensive conscription for all 18 year olds, boys and girls, starting a decade from now. Why not borrow experts from the Israeli army to help introduce an efficient training programme involving weapon use, martial arts combat and living off the land. With an intensive training of this kind, we will at least provide these poor youngsters with a minimum of crafts to cope with the coming catastrophe! This quite apart from maintaining the regular army, manned by professional experts, as is the case at present.<br />
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Am I an extremist? Probably so, but I think that I will be considered a moderate ten years from now, when the red line of 2° warming will have been crossed and warming will accelerate. A pity that I probably won't be around then to feel righteous about it! Instead, why not enjoy the good life as long as it lasts, and let art and music come to the rescue, when my thoughts risk becoming too dire.<br />
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2317232932164381368.post-2870992073097483422018-02-28T15:03:00.000+01:002020-09-04T13:03:16.881+02:00IS THIS SIBERIA?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freeze-over at 6.55 am on 25 February</td></tr>
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The above view is a very rare one indeed! Why do I say this? Well, you can expect to see it only about once in every four years. Several rare events have to coincide to result in this outcome. First, temperature the day before should not be much lower than 0° C, to prevent partial freezing over of Hammarby Canal. Second, there must be a sudden and large drop in temperature after midnight (after the last boat has passed the canal). Third, this drop of temperature has to be accompanied by a slight snowfall. Third, the snowfall must stop before dawn. And, fourth, I must have the good luck of looking out of my kitchen window just slightly before 7 am this time of the year, when dawn is already in motion, and before any ship has passed or crossed the canal.</div>
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Last week was a heavy one for me. On Monday, I had a jaw operation, which is preventing me from eating solid food until the stitches are taken out (will be tomorrow). As a result, I am living at the moment with a diet of cottage cheese, soup and yoghurt. This has a surprising effect on my contours, since I have lost more than 5 kilos in weight already. But it also somehow dampens vitality, with the body attempting to heal the wounds and coping with being sustained only by fluids at the same time. </div>
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On top of that, I also caught the flu. This actually dampened my longing for fast food, but compounded the loss of vigour and caused my sleep to be troubled, short and interrupted. So it happened that I was driven out of bed already a bit after 6 am on Sunday last. A pity, since it was still dark and I had to turn on all the lights in the apartment to enliven spirit. But, gradually, as I was preparing breakfast [making coffee and opening a can of cottage cheese ;–)], dark changed to dawn and I started to glimpse a first rosy shimmer above Hammarby Sound. My kitchen table is located smack opposite, so I could watch it through the window without having to put my nose out into the cold.<br />
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And what a view it was! Silence supreme was reigning over Hammarby Sjöstad, not a sound, not even with a window slightly ajar. The lake surface looked like a newly painted hospital floor, white and even and, above it all, the perfect trimming of a rosy dusk. </div>
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Alas, serenity did not last. As I was surpling my Nespresso, and the hour advancing versus sevenish, suddenly, the first ferry started up on the Southern Island and started its traverse towards our side of the Sound. This was no silent process, I can tell you! The vessel had to labour hard to get going! And the sound, the sound! Like a giant cracking giant hazlenuts! On and on the boat laboured, first forward a meter or two, then backward again to push off and get going again. Eventually, after 15 minutes hard work it reached the opposite berth, a traverse that usually takes only about four minutes.</div>
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This Sunday was special for yet another reason. The sun kept shining until early afternoon, a rare sight indeed in Stockholm winter time. Under a blue sky, and as the day progressed, large ship after large ship passed Hammarby Kanal in their voyage from the Baltic to Lake Mälar or vice versa, breaking up the ice and providing me with yet another view, this time smack below my balcony, and far more common than the view shown in the head picture.</div>
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How does Siberia come into the story, you may well ask. Very simple, our part of the world is at present subject to strong North Eastern currents, stemming from a high pressure zone hovering around Northern Siberia. They cause exceptionally cold air to stream over the still warm waters of the Baltic Sea, sucking up moisture as they go and unloading it in the form of <i style="font-weight: bold;">very cold snow </i>on us poor Stockholmers. Ever since last Sunday, each morning is greeting me with the picture you can see below.</div>
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Getting to my usual breakfast haunt, for a cup of coffee and a newspaper, means bulking up, wading through decimeter high snow drifts (plowing on my street is starting first later in the day) and being blasted by a storm of sharp icycles. How will this all end, I ask you! Will climate change bring consolation? I fear not! Whilst the continent down South will getting warmer, the Gulf Stream, a giant pumping action from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic, and warming Scandinavia (not to forget Iceland and Greenland), will surely start to subside, changing our climate up here to become more like that of Alaska (Stockholm is at the same latitude as Kodiak after all!). So I fear that we have to see this Siberian interlude as a first sign of things to come. God help us!</div>
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Emil Emshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07815643585218883358noreply@blogger.com19