7 år for Rachel
Efter syv år som kasserer i grundejerforeningen blev en flyttekasse med dokumenter endelig udskibet
Ved morgenkaffen checkede jeg som sædvanlig mail. Der var en masse mail fra grundejerforeningens nye bestyrelse, Birthe spurgte om hun kunne komme og hente Grundejerforeningens papirer.
Så jeg rigtigt? Jeg troede ikke det var alvor, da Lene igår spurgte om hvor meget arbejde det involverede at være kasserer i grundejerforeningen, men nu kunne jeg se sort på hvidt at der var en ende på arbejdet – jeg påtog mig det for 7 år siden fordi der ikke var andre ved generalforsamlingen, ja der var ikke engang nok til at bemande bestyrelsen.
Afslutningen på syv år var forude! nu kunne der blive tid til musik, skriveriet, til familien, haven og huset.
Okay, lidt støv i stuen og en bunke gamle studenotater er ikke ligefrem livstruende, men jeg vil gerne kunne glæde over mit hjem. Der er stakkevis af bøger og it-kursusmaterialer, som kan ryddes ud og gøre plads til noget mere dekorativt.
Igår ved mødet var jeg faktisk i tvivl om, hvorvidt Lene virkelig ville overtage. Jeg synes hendes svar lød mere som “Jeg vil gerne vide, hvor meget arbejde der er” end som “Jeg siger ja.”
Men Birthe gjorde det klart i den mail: Jeg kunne overdrage jobbet – de havde forstået at jeg faktisk er en del ældre og er svækket af sygdom.
Jeg gjorde, hvad jeg kunne, for at få bryggers og køkken til at se anstændige ud – det er dén indgang, jeg bruger; bordene blev ryddet, opvaskemaskinen fyldt. Jeg tørrede endda en dør af.
Præcis kl. 16:01 bankede Birthe forsigtigt på døren. Det var dejligt! så jeg hentede arkivkassen, der stod klar, befriet for spindelvæv og støv. Jeg bar den selv ud til hendes bagagerum, for tanken om at give den videre fyldte mig med en glæde, som gav mig Goliat-kræfter. Normalt undgår jeg tunge løft på grund af lændesmerter, og især fordi min Scheuermann-ryghvirvel ikke tåler overbelastning. Men jeg klarede det.
Det var en dag, der ændrede resten af mit liv.
The Handover: Seven Years, One Box
After seven years as HOA cashier, a quiet shift brings relief, dusted cobwebs, and the promise of reclaimed time.
When I got up and made coffee, I checked my email. One message stood out: a note from Birthe and Lene asking if they could come by and collect the HOA archive from me—the final act of taking over the cashier job.
This could mean the end of seven years of frustrating duties that have taken time from music, practicing, writing, and even from family, gardening, and house maintenance.
Okay, nothing in that last category is life-threatening—but I’d like to feel proud of my home. And I have plenty of old books and computer-course materials that could finally be discarded to make room for more decorative elements.
At first, I wasn’t sure I dared believe that Lene was really taking over.
At the meeting yesterday, I may have misheard her response. It sounded more like, “How much work is it?” than “I’m ready.”
But today it was clear: Birthe, Lene, and Tina had made a plan.
So I did my part. I cleaned the kitchen-entrance, cleared the tables, ran the dishwasher. I even wiped down a door. When something might be final, you pay attention to detail.
At exactly 16:01, Birthe knocked gently on the door. Voilà—the archive box was ready, dusted and free of cobwebs. I carried it to her car myself.
The happiness gave me Goliath powers.
Normally I avoid lifting heavy things—partly due to lower back pain, but especially because my Scheuermann vertebra doesn’t appreciate surprises. But today, that small symbolic weight felt light.
It may not seem like a dramatic day from the outside, but from here—inside this quietly humming life—it was a good day. The kind that gives you back a little energy, and a little time.
Consciousness First
or: Is the Universe a Relationship?
A few centuries ago, two thinkers disagreed about the nature of space.
Newton saw it as something absolute—a grand, invisible container where matter moves.
Leibniz saw it differently. Space, he said, isn’t a thing in itself. It’s a pattern of relationships.
No objects, no distances—therefore, no space.
That was already radical.
But in a quiet moment, sipping tea, we might wonder:
Is it even radical enough?
Is the universe still there if no one ever observes it?
It’s not the old riddle about trees falling in forests. It’s deeper than that.
It’s the reverse of saying that biology creates consciousness. Of course you can’t see and think if there is braindamage, but compare with a car: if you cut the fuel pump you can not say that the car is the fuel pump. It can not work without – true. But that which works, that which observes, is a person, a human. This leads to so called dualism views.
Can the universe exist without consciousness? Some physicists say: yes, absolutely. The cosmos runs whether we’re here or not. That is just as radical as saying “no consciousness == no universe”.
Philosophers, mystics, quantum theorists—wonder: Could it be that space is not just shaped by matter (Leibniz)? Would a universe void of Earth and humans have any meaning?
Perhaps the cosmos is a silent machine, enabling consciousness, but not creating it.
And here in North Zealand, a retired man stirs honey into his tea and listens to a podcast on cosmology. He falls asleep to Paul Sutter’s voice explaining why atoms aren’t miniature solar systems, and wakes with a quiet question in mind:
If consciousness isn’t added to the universe,
what if it was always part of the equation?
Bouillon, Fever, and a Half-Remembered Evening
There are days when everything seems to blur into a haze—not from forgetfulness, but from a body too busy fighting its battles to spare energy for clarity. Yesterday was one of those days.
I had been sick. Ill. Whichever word fits better for a fog that clings to body and mind alike. After answering a few emails and tidying up the kitchen just enough to call it morning, I gave myself permission to lie down. The nap wasn’t planned, but it came easily. When I woke again, I made some tea with lime and found a little food—what exactly, I can’t recall.
Around 19:30, I remember putting a pot on the stove with a bouillon cube—well, technically an oblong block, but it’s still called a cube. I set the heat to three out of nine, low enough, I thought, to avoid splashing or overboiling. Then I lay on the sofa again, just for a moment.
Three hours vanished.
At around 22:00, I woke up. It wasn’t the smell of scorched bouillon that stirred me—it was my stomach, coaxed into action at last by the laxatives I’d taken earlier. The room had a scent vaguely like chicken soup. I even wondered if the neighbor was cooking with their window open. But the smell was mine. The bouillon pot was blackened, dry, all water gone. I considered throwing it out. But I seldom give up on a good pot.
A little elbow grease and 33% acetic acid worked wonders. The pot came clean, and now it rests in the dishwasher, waiting for its final shine. Still, the incident wasn’t really about the pot, or the bouillon. It was about a state of mind—that thin line between “resting” and “losing track.”
Somewhere between frustration and fog, I resolved to make bouillon again—this time successfully. Hot liquid for the throat, and maybe for the immune system, too. It helped. I relaxed, watched some old crime shows, and finally went to bed, unsure if sleep would come.
Surprisingly, it did. Despite the afternoon naps and sluggishness, I slept deeply and woke at 08:25. After a trip to the toilet and a bit of aimless scrolling—tweets, YouTube, the usual—I drifted off again, this time while watching a documentary on hydrogen. Yes, even in illness, curiosity lives.
The video—Tales From the Periodic Table—explored hydrogen, deuterium, tritium, even the hydrogen bomb and Castle Bravo. I rewatched the end, then decided: Maybe this is as good as it gets today. Sometimes, that’s enough.
My body still feels strange—low-grade fever, tingling thighs (likely from the CIPN), a stomach that refuses consistency. But my throat is better. My nose is still congested, but the mucus has slowed. My ears are sensitive, especially when playing piano—the volume feels harsh at first, but softens after a while, as though my hearing has to warm up too.
Blood pressure was high earlier—140/77, even 150/77—but it settled at 120 after Carvedilol and Ramipril. Temperature peaked at 37.8°C after breakfast but started at a modest 36.5°C.
Despite all this, I feel something else: optimism. That elusive, inexplicable lift. And yes, annoyance too—because being “off” takes time I wish I could use elsewhere. But life doesn’t always ask our permission for such pauses.
Even so, the sun is shining. And somewhere in it all, I smiled.
How Does a Machine “Read” a Book?
(A gentle reflection on language, metaphors, and large language models)
The capabilities of computer programs have become almost invisible to us—we take them for granted. We care more about having a “modern” web interface (whatever that means) than about where the server is located or whether the network is being used efficiently. We live in a time of abundant computer power, and we treat it as natural.
That’s part of what makes the new generation of chatbots so fascinating. Many people, myself included, are surprised—and delighted—that we can ask them questions about anything from cultural history to philosophy and receive surprisingly coherent summaries.
Recently, a journalist spoke on the radio about these systems—using the correct technical term: LLM, Large Language Model. She explained that the LLM had “read millions of books.”
That’s where I stopped to reflect.
📚 But what does “read” mean here?
If a computer has “read” millions of books, does it now understand determinism? Integrationism? Pantheism?
Not exactly.
When we say the model has “read,” we’re borrowing a human word and stretching it far beyond its usual meaning. The system didn’t sit with a book in its hands. It didn’t form opinions, question assumptions, or compare one author’s voice with another’s. It scanned tokens—tiny chunks of language—and calculated how they appear together in billions of different texts.
We might more accurately say:
“The model has absorbed the statistical patterns of how words appear together.
It doesn’t know the story, or what it means.
It only knows how similar stories tend to be told.”
That is not to say it’s useless. Far from it. But it’s worth being clear about what it is we are interacting with—and what metaphors we use to describe it.
Because language matters. And when we use human metaphors too loosely, we risk misunderstanding both the tool and ourselves
Afterthought
OK – I haven’t posted for several months, I know, but I have literally 1000 pictures, some good, and a handful stories to tell. But first, let me say there is reason to write and talk more truth.
It is such a sad thing that a real analysis of economy can be turned, spinned, spun, so that it seems that the 34 times sentenced candidate and his hopeful supporters have any truth when they say the economy was better.
As Obama said: He, T, got my economy in 2016, that is how.
But there’s much more to say about economy, industry, work salaries, production, imports. Here I’ll just say that to evaluate economy it is necessary to look at many things.
American fox + Danish fox
Work in progress
Denne ræv står på en sten i min kusines have i Los Altos, San Francisco Peninsula, og ser sig om, – det er Vigén, som har fotograferet. Efter denne visit kom den tilbage med tre hvalpe, og jeg fik også video’erne med dem. En kunstner Amy Rattner, som bor i området, maler dyrelivet på halvøen, der er mindre end Jylland, men dog stor så der er meget natur og (vanskeligt beboelige) bjerg/bakker. Amy var glad for at få dyrebillederne.
This fox stands on a stone in grand-cousin Linda’s garden, Los Altos, San Francisco Peninsula; it looks around. Vigén took the photograph. After this visit it came back accompanied by three puppies. Vigén and Linda managed to take some video shots, which I’ve also got.
The pictures below are from Wikipedia, which writes about the Gray Fox: The gray fox (Urocyon cinereoargenteus), or grey fox, is an omnivorous mammal of the family Canidae, widespread throughout North America and Central America. This species and its only congener, the diminutive island fox (Urocyon littoralis) of the California Channel Islands, are the only living members of the genus Urocyon, which is considered to be genetically basal to all other living canids. Its species name cinereoargenteus means “ashen silver”.
By Charles J. Sharp – Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=133022731
U. c. fraterculus Tikal, Guatemala
Compare with a red, Danish fox, again picture from Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_fox#/media/File:Vulpes_vulpes_ssp_fulvus.jpg
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_fox
Eastern American Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes ssp. fulvus) observed in Algonquin Provincial Park, Ontario on January 2017. Photo: Joanne Redwood.
Juni – impression
Her er lidt opsamling – billeder fra min matrikel + et enkelt minde fra de mange gange, jeg tager til stranden for at se solnedgang. Det første billede er en glansbladet hæg, også kendt som Cherry, der giver et hårdt træ egnet til møbler; den betragtes som invasiv art eller landskabsukrudt, noget, som jeg ikke vidste da jeg fik dem fra min svigermors have engang for 38 år siden. Jeg er ikke sikker på at det havde afskrækket mig, for gennem 16 år havde vi fulgt denne art – og andre – i min svigermors sommerhus-have.
Det andet billede viser bl.a. en gul vortemælk, som næsten kan luge selv, dem skal jeg se at få delt, så de kan passe mine bede. De andre er storkenæb, geranier, der også er selv-lugende. En citron-melisse eller mynte har også bredt sig, men er ikke så tydelig. I forgrunden en jordbær mellem fliserne. Den har givet mange jordbær, men jeg fik ikke rigtig plukket og passet på, så der har været mange snegle – måske fuglene dermed også har fået mad?
American fox
Work in progress
Denne ræv står på en sten i min kusines have i Los Altos, San Francisco Peninsula, og ser sig om, – det er Vigén, som har fotograferet. Efter denne visit kom den tilbage med tre hvalpe, og jeg fik også video’erne med dem. En kunstner Amy Rattner, som bor i området, maler dyrelivet på halvøen, der er mindre end Jylland, men dog stor så der er meget natur og (vanskeligt beboelige) bjerg/bakker. Amy var glad for at få dyrebillederne.
This fox stands on a stone in grand-cousin Linda’s garden, Los Altos, San Francisco Peninsula; it looks around. Vigén took the photograph. After this visit it came back accompanied by three puppies. Vigén and Linda managed to take some video shots, which I’ve also got.
Last day visit to SF Bayshore Preserve
The last day of my 3 week stay with family in Los Altos, San Francisco, was a sunny day, and I had lots of time to return the car and find the boarding gate. I left just after noon and had 4 hours to visit the bird preserve at the San Francisco Bay; here there are nature which helps migrating birds from the north seeking southwards to California Bay in the winter.
The first part of the trip – after a picture of Linda’s and Vigen’s beautiful living room, – was Antonio Rd, which ends at the Bayshore Preserve. On the road I noted a Chevrolet pickup from way back, probably an enthusiast’s veteran car.
On my own
There were so many things to see. Of course the posting “Long time no see” could not recapitulate 3 weeks of tours, visits, shopping and so on. Here, therefore, is a posting about a walk in Nature Preserve near Palo Alto. After that little walk I had time to go to San Francisco, walking the Harbor Area called “Fisherman’s Wharf” before driving to the West – the Pacific Coast – where grand cousin Tim had invited me to dinner and also to see the old home of my moms cousin, Gohar, who emigrated from Tehran before she was 20 (!) and settled alone in San Francisco. Unfortunately I forgot to take picture from Tim’s home but will ask him if he can send some – later.
Mornings at Via Ventana
The first morning I woke up in the guest room at Vigen’s and Linda’s house, the sunlight painted a bright sun-window on the wall, like it did at my first visit on October 20th last year. This visual echo brought a sense of delightful continuity to my stay; it was as if the room welcomed me back with the same radiant greeting.
The roomy house, the beautiful view from the windows, the big bed, everything was so comfortable. When Vigen later asked me to give my niece his compliments and remind her that she and her family were welcome to visit – and that I should remind her that it was 1st class accomodations – I could not help smile and felt that this holiday stay, 3 weeks in these surroundings, with the possibility to visit family, and the opportunity to research the nature and history of the San Francisco Peninsula, was the best gift I could ever get.
As I have said, Malte, my son, and I visited Vigen and Linda in October, and back then Vigen complained that we only had one day when he could show us around. Now we had the opportunity to catch up, and we did.
In a different conversation about the visit, Vigen joked, ‘We may have created a monster,’ referring to a visitor who stays too long. However, I never really felt he meant it.
We mostly entered through the garage.
I rented a Dodge Hornet – a “muscle car” and thus the Casco insurance was quite stiff, but alternatively the Avis clerk offered me a Cadillac, even though I had asked for a small car class C.
Skriv løs 
