I noticed that WordPress is like a daily newspaper. The old stories/news are quickly forgotten. I wrote this one in 2009 (four years younger ?) so here it is again, something for fright night. I added a photo of my chief feline Nera (now did I alter this or not?)
If bloggers had their own Halloween and could go from blog to blog collecting “treats,” what would your blog hand out?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us TREAT.
Somewhere in a country called Switzerland there was a supermarket chain. Their turnover was lagging behind the competitors, they needed new ideas. During the summer they were successful with their ice cream, bar-b-q items, plants for the garden. The days were drawing in, the evenings were darker and the temperatures were sinking. Something had to be done to revive the buying power of the customers.
In a public relations office in the main building, Fridolin Schweizer had a brain wave:the evening before he had been watching the film Halloween with his family on the television. “That was it, our business needs Halloween”. He was sure this was the solution. The Swiss people had been starved of tricks and treats and things that scream In the night. It was time to awake the Swiss from their autumn lethargy and the sales of Halloween sweets, ornaments and plastic pumpkins would be the hit of the year. Fridolin Schweizer’s brain was overflowing with ideas. He could see the happy smiling children persuading their parents to buy, buy, buy. Visions of chocolate witches, orange sugar pumpkins, liquorice broomsticks were arriving.
The departments in the largest branches would be decorated with nylon cobwebs hanging in the corners, there would be costumes for Halloween parties. Skeletons, vampire teeth, pointed hats for witches and perhaps even severed fingers dripping blood and hands as props. Switzerland would become the most frightening country of Europe. It would be taken over by the Halloween fever.
Fridolin Schweizer convinced the management that this would be the rescue of the declining turnover in Autumn and so it came to pass that various orders were sent to buy the necessary articles for the shops in countries with such names as Hong Kong and China.
Unfortunately for the Swiss, Halloween was something strange, another import from the big country over the pond. The Swiss had their All saints Day in the catholic areas when the cemeteries were visited. Wreaths and flowers were placed on the graves in remembrance of the departed. It was far from the Swiss citizen’s mind to celebrate such an occasion. Of course the younger generation always like the idea of an excuse for a party. It was fun, but Halloween was not the event of the year.
Fridolin Schweizer had visions of children dressed up as Jack the Ripper, Michael Myers, Dracula, Freddy Krueger knocking on doors, ringing the bells of unsuspecting neighbours and threatening with tricks or treats. Unfortunately the Swiss neighbours had no idea what was going on and a hoard of young children dressed up as horror figures were not their idea of fun and there were no boxes of treats to be had. Tricks were dealt with in a negative sense, some neighbours threatening with police action and telling the children they should be ashamed of themselves.
The supermarket chain sold all the Halloween props at half price during the month of November. Those remaining at the end of November were to be bought at a quarter of the original price and Fridolin Schweizer was transferred to the warehouse.
Is this fact or fiction? A little fact, and some fiction. A few years ago there was an effort to introduce Halloween to Switzerland. The shops were selling candies, skeleton costumes, witche’s hats. There were even a few small groups of children (accompanied by their parents) on a trick and treat excursion, but no-one had any tricks or treats at home. The attempt failed and today Halloween is just something they celebrate over the pond.
This evening I will not be disturbed by any knocks at the door and might watch a horror film on the television. Tomorrow is a holiday in the catholic Kantons of Switzerland for All Souls Day. The cemeteries are full of visitors placing candles or Autumn wreaths on the graves of the departed.
You ask what treat I would leave if anyone would call. Actually my apple tree was very fruitful this year and I have a whole basket of apples, so if anyone calls (are you hearing me daily prompters) then there will be an Angloswiss apple for each of you.
Trickytreat Pingbacks
Tell us about your first day at something — your first day of school, first day of work, first day living on your own, first day blogging, first day as a parent, whatever.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us BEGINNING.
![350[1]](https://i0.wp.com/farm4.staticflickr.com/3777/10574642955_3245ac6967_z.jpg)
Remember I am now a golden oldie and this all happed approximately sixty-three years ago
My first school, the photo taken on a trip to London a few years ago. It has not changed very much outside. It was originally a so-called infant’s school catering for children from 4-7 years of age, the first experience of education in the brain. It was a mixed school, boys and girls together. The school has been transformed over the years and is now for boys only. Actually it is the only school still standing from my childhood. The other schools I visited have been deleted to make room for something bigger and better, but no longer schools: more high rise blocks of flats. New schools are to be found in other places.
So there I was, ready to go, be educated and mix with the others. Mum was also ready to go. She gave me a good face scrub in the morning just to make sure I was nice and shiny when I arrived at the school. She accompanied me on my first day, and accompanied me on my second as well. I think she actually walked with me through the complete first year until I told her I now knew the way. It was a five minute walk from home, but you never know. I could have been hit by a car, held for ransom (we actually had no money), or got lost. Mum was not alone, there was a complete army of mums bringing and fetching their children from school. I suppose it was a dangerous neighbourhood, although I never really noticed it. Jack the Ripper had left at least eighty years before.
I remember entering the class on my first morning and being shown to my place. We were all new (all had shiny faces) and it was quiet. Probably we were nervous, although I think the mums were more nervous. Then it happened, it was time for mum to go (at last). I had no problem, I was free and could embark on the adventure. One girl I remember very well, she was not happy. What did she do? She screamed, grasped her mother by her skirt and pulled her back. She was desperate, hysterical. The mother also became hysterical and the teacher did her best to calm the situation. I suppose it was fun for me really: a complete distraction to the nervosity of the first day at school. Eventually the mother left her tearstained daughter, who was still moaning, but she seemed to calm herself eventually.
Funny thing was I remember this heap of hysteria quite well. We became schoolfriends until our schoolways parted. She was a very thin girl, practically no flesh on the bones. The next time I saw her we must have been about 17 years old. It was from a distance in the local market and she was about six months pregnant, so it seemed she had overcome her childhood anxieties.
Now we were on our own. I do not remember what happened next, I do know it was not the age for writing in books and each of us were given a small blackboard and chalk, that was the way things were done at that time.
We soon had our first playground break. We were confronted with a crate filled with small bottles of milk, and each of us were invited to take one. Milk was free to school children. It was a remainder of the olden days when children suffered with rickets, bone weakness. Milk was good for you and so the schools supplied it, making sure you actually drank your bottle of milk. My first problem: I hated milk, especially the sort that had a think chunk of milk cream on the top. I managed to tip it away or give it to a milk addict in the class. A couple of times I actually had to drink this disgusting liquid, although my stomach refused to accept it (it was all psychological I suppose). I do not remember exactly the outcome of this force feeding, but the problem followed me through school life until I went to high school.
Mum picked me up and took me home for dinner (lunch was not invented in those days) and brought me again to school in the afternoon. And so school life continued. We were all products of the year 1946 meaning the baby boom. Imagine thousands of soldiers returning from a woman-starved wartime army. They did their best to replenish the population. We were on average around 40-50 children per class.
This was the first day of many, I even made it to high school. It is a strange coincidence. I have a school photo on a “friends reunited” site on the computer. I almost forgot it was there, but today I received a notification from one of the boys in the class who had discovered the photo talking of some of the others in the photo. Must look him up on facebook.
First Pingbacks
This was not an easy task. At the risk of breaking a leg by falling from a ladder to reach the top of the book case, I found it: one of the few rare pieces of my grandmother’s legacy. I do not even think it is so rare. When I examined Internet I found hundreds of various sizes and forms in memory of the Coronation of George V and Queen Mary of Great Britain. The things I do for Creative Challenge.
So who were this George and Mary? George was the son of King Edward VII who also happened to be one of the many children of Queen Victoria, making them all quite full blooded members of the Royal Family. Queen Mary was less known. Actually she should have married George’s brother, but unfortunately the brother died before the wedding took place. So has luck would have it, George had to have a wife and what could be better than doing Mary a favour and letting her join the British Royal family (as second choice?). Mary’s full name was Mary von Teck (a German?). No problem, the complete Royal Family were desecended from the House of Hannover.
Luckily gran bought a coronation memorial jug and now I have it. Must remember to dust down the top shelves of the bookcase, one of those places I do not often visit.
We all know someone who could use a pep talk… so write them one!
Photographers, artists, poets: show us CHEER.
“Come on, chin up and smile. What’s the worry?”
“Huh, someone talking?”
“Yes, me up here.”
“Who up here, I can only see the sky.”
“Yes, that’s it, See the dot in the middle – that’s me just passing through, so I thought I would say hi and what’s up.”
“You mean there is a …….”
“Now let’s not get enthusiastic.”
“But it is not every day that the sky talks to me, and I did not know that the sky talks.”
“I am talking, but sky is something else. I told you to concentrate on the dark bit in the middle.”
“OK, I am concentrating, but only see a dark patch surrounded by one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.”
“Well that is just a coincidence, all done by the weather conditions, light reflections and things that make you go “Wow” in the evening. So, why worry?”
“It’s all very well for you to ask, you are just floating past. I am here to stay and now I am really worrying about that dark patch in the sky. Are you from another planet, ready to conquer the world?”
“No, nothing like that and if I was I do not want your world wrapped up in pink ribbons as a gift. You make enough problems down there.”
“I suppose you have a point.”
“Of course I do. Wars, starvation, catastrophes, corrupt governments and you think you have a problem. What is your problem that cannot be solved or conquered?”
“I am …. No, you are right Mr. Dot in the sky, I do not have any problem in comparison to others in the world. I will survive, and the next time you float past, can you bring another sunset with you like the one I can see now.”
“Will do, if I happen to be in your piece of world again, although it might be another colour, the sky does what it wants and not what I want.”
And the dark patch moved on hoping that the wind would carry him to a place where he could weep a few tears to keep everything in balance. There were some places in the world where rain would be a blessing.
Peppy Pingbacks
Khalil Gibran once said that people will never understand one another unless language is reduced to seven words. What would your seven words be?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us SEVEN.
So let’s talk about Seven. The photo shows the path to the part of the village where I live and in the background is the ever present first chain of the Jura Mountains. There are altogether seven chains, beginning at the northern edge of the middle land in Switzerland. If you climb the first chain you arrive in a valley and then appears the second chain and so on over seven mountain ridges until you arrive in the flat lands again. From my area you would be reach Basel if the Jura was not in between, which is also on the border to France and Germany, so imagine that language mixture which bring us to the subject of the blog.
Naturally, being an ignorant infidel, I had never heard of Khalil Gibran. Not wanting to be left out I had a quick look up. It seems he died somewhere in the middle of the 20th century, being born in the 19th so we never had the chance to meet. I had a glance through his works and discovered it is probably not my sort of thing, although I would not say that his books are not interesting. He seemed to have a few quotes in stock with sense behind them, but reducing language to seven words is rather extreme.
I noticed some of my blogging colleagues mention George Carlin. Basically I do not know this person so well although the name rings a bell. I discovered he is a comedian and even found seven valuable words to use, although more for using when angry, injured or annoyed, so-called swear words. I also have a few in my vocabulary, even in two languages: English and Swiss German. Believe me Swiss German have more than seven and some can be quite colourful.
I am now not going to bore you with my choice of seven words to replace the many others in our language, but I gave this problem a thought and decided to base my research on the process of elimination.
Who needs definite and indefinite articles, they are superfluous (so is that last word). The Russians never even have them in their language. Do we really need adjectives? They can become the words of insult, so let us cancel them. If you happen to be speaking or leaning one of those languages where you have case forms, then adjectives complicate everything. You have to conjugate them. There we can be thankful that the case forms in English have either disappeared or no longer play an important part. Now if you are speaking Latin (no wonder it is a dead language today), German or Russian, you will never get the hang of it. You can learn it, but when speaking time is lost by exploring which word to use in the correct version and I definitely dislike losing time when speaking, it is a waste of time and energy.
You want to speak arabic, then you have a problem. They even have sun and moon letters and slip the word for “and” (wa) in between each word in a list. Yes, they have very long lists – bread and butter and tea and fruit and jam and and and etc. We have now reduced the use of adjectives and articles. Prepositions can also be a means of complication. Some need the dative case, some the accusative and some another case belonging to some other language. One way or the other who needs them, so just eliminate them.
Nouns? Why not, just point at the object you mean. The object is not present? Then do not use it. Do we really want to talk about things we cannot see? Just save it for a time when we are there and can point to it.
We have verbs describing an action. Does it really interest anyone what you are doing, thinking or saying. Your actions are clear to be seen, so why use a verbal description?
Basically I think I have just eliminated language as such. There is not very much left, except for the swear words, so perhaps George Carlin is right.
Personally I think this Khalil whatshisname missed the point somewhere. Reduce my language to seven words? What a boring life. I love talking, having a conversation, I even talk to my cats when no-one else is here. There are times when alone that I have quite an exciting conversation with myself and seven words would never suffice. As far as understanding is concerned, if I want someone to understand I manage. Sometimes having a loud clear voice suits the purpose. And if I something annoys me, I drop a hammer on my foot or shut a finger in the door – then I can always revert to the George Carlin linguistic talents.
Words of Pingback
6:00AM: the best hour of the day, or too close to your 3:00AM bedtime?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us DAWN.
I could now get all sloppy and poetical
I embrace the golden sun rays of the dawn
New beginning to a new day
Full of hopes
Reflections of rebirth at the local supermarket
No, this is not the idea. Looking at my photos, I do have a section labelled as sunrise where I found this specimen, but containing only approximately four photos. What on earth was I doing at the local supermarket at such an unearthly hour in the morning? Actually it was probably not so early, but in the depth of winter the sun rises later, if it rises at all. My sunset file contains at least twenty photos, yes I am a morning grouch (finding this word in an online dictionary).
WordPress you are playing with my internal clock today, a sequel to what happened this morning at 3 a.m. when we had to put our clocks back to 2 a.m. Is this the opposite of daylight saving time, known perhaps as daylight unsaving time? Who cares, I got one hour more sleep and that is OK with me. Who wants to wake and rise to see the dawn? I suppose some do, but that is not in my time table. I let the birds get on with it in summer, singing their pretty little heads off at the crack of dawn, letting us all know it is time to rise. Since being a golden oldie, this no longer impresses me, sometimes I hear them and sometimes I do not. I just make another turn in bed, am thankful for small mercies, and dream on until 7.30.
This morning I had a feeling of satisfaction, at last the hour that I lost in Spring had been found. I left my bed at 7.30 a.m. feeling refreshed for a good night’s sleep with the positive knowledge that it was actually 8 30 a.m., what could be better. I do not even think the birds accompanied this with a song; they were also catching up on their lost sleep, or perhaps waking everyone in the Southern half of the world.
I am also not a computer addict that I have to stay online until three in the morning, making sure I miss nothing. What happens in the cyber world through the dark hours is not my problem. Generally I am offline around 7.30 in the evening; sometimes perhaps 9.00 p.m. according to what brilliant idea I may have for a super prize suspicious blog. I am the proud possessor of an iPad, so if necessary I can always keep in touch whilst sitting in my comfortable armchair. Naturally I really only use my iPad in the evening for reading purposes (my Kindle app is on the iPad). So I usually hit the hay (I think I got that one from my friends across the pond) around 11.30. Yesterday I risked until midnight due to daylight unsaving.
The best hour of the day: definitely not the morning hours when I am occupied with housewife chores hobbies such as cleaning, shopping and cooking. Perhaps the hours after lunch when I have my golden oldie refreshment sleep. I noticed today that instead of receiving my daily prompt at 2.00 p.m. when I am usually taking my afternoon refreshment sleep, I now receive it at 1.00 p.m. This is no real problem, I can dream about what to write during my midday sleep. On the other hand I found at least 30-40 contributions already on the list when I arose, so mine will now be later.
WordPress you surprise me by thinking that we all get this daily prompt at six in the morning, when the first sun rays break over the cyber horizon. We live in a big world with a date line in between. We, in Europe, receive it at the beginning of the afternoon, and the Australians – they have to wait until the late evening hours.
And as the golden sun sinks slowly in the West, we dream of another dawn that will wake us all refreshed with its golden rays of new life (whilst I am still sleeping).
Golden Pingbacks
Tell us about a habit you’d like to break. Is there any way it can play a positive role in your life?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us BROKEN.
Where shall we start? One of the habits I have at the moment arrives in the evening. Our twilight zone scenes of sundown are habit forming if you enjoy taking photos. Yesterday it happened when I was getting ready to eat a cheese tart fresh from the oven accompanied by a plate of minestrone soup. I was just about to raise the first spoon full of soup to my lips and someone said (Mr. Swiss?), look at that beautiful sky. Soup and cheese tart forgotten, a grab for the super Nikon DSLR camera and I was wading amongst weeds, damp earth and grass to arrive at the place outside near the garden to catch the last sun rays. I naturally took more photos when I was there and this is one of the last as the sun was almost disappearing. The tower in the distance is the St Urs Cathedral of our local town, framed with various bushes and trees from the local surroundings. Luckily my soup and cheese tart were still warm when I eventually returned to the table: the trials of a photographer trying for a Pulitzer prize (have I said that before?).
Habits are many, but I have conquered them all. I stopped smoking (a packet a day) about fifteen years ago, I stopped biting my finger nails a long while ago, although I shifted towards the skin surrounding the nail. Even that has almost been conquered because …. I am too busy writing and composing works of literature for my daily prompt. I have followers, disciples, views to maintain and entertain. Imagine the disappointed like clicking fingers when my contribution would be missing: Even the WordPress people might miss me. It is now almost a year and I have done it every day, although I do have another life.
As I sit in the kitchen typing this pièce de résistance, I look through the window to the garden, noticing there are a few yellowing leaves and remnants of the summer to be cleared away. I am thinking of the pizza I will compose for the evening meal and of a photo challenge I have to complete in blogger returning my thoughts to the computer. I have, however, decided I do not want to break this habit. It is harmless, takes an hour of my time during the day and fills in a few minutes when I view the other contributions.
Actually I would have been in England over the past week to visit my father, but things have taken a negative turn with him and he now needs care. The wheels of care turn slowly in England, if at all, and I am only prepared to go when I can do something. His neighbour is leaving and he no longer has someone near to see to his needs. In the meanwhile this is being organised, although I am now onto finding a safe place for him to live, be it a home or sheltered accommodation. This means I will be here for some time until something happens and then suddenly I will be gone for a week or so.
Back to the habits I should break. I broke the Facebook habit about a year ago, when I stopped gaming and building cafés and farms which do not exist. WordPress pointed me in the direction of making my own site in Facebook and that is where you will find me. This is also now a habit, cross posting my brilliant blogs into this new site. Facebook is now only there for this or for saying happy birthday to a few colleagues. All the “I love my mother and father, cat and dog stuff” I have left behind me. I even noticed today that someone is telling everyone her dresses have arrived, or that someone has decided to ignore their partner, huh?
I can honestly say all the habits that remain I enjoy and do not want to break them. Perhaps cooking for the family is a habit, but they all seem to depend on food, and we cannot afford to engage a cook.
Breakdown Pingbacks
NASA is building a new Voyager spacecraft that will carry the best of modern human culture. What belongs onboard?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us CULTURE.
There exists a story that Adolf Hitler collected the cultural art treasures of the third Reich and emerged them in Lake Toplitz in the Austrian Alps somewhere near Salzburg. A plausible statement, Hitler having his mountain residence Berghof in this area, so he knew what he was doing, or did he? I am not an authority, but I believe that despite many searches looking for this wealth of culture goods, it has never actually been found. Other items crop up now and again in other places much to the delight of researchers.
Now the NASA has decided to pack a new Voyager spacecraft full with the best of modern human culture. I assume we are to decide what the best of modern human culture is. I find my photo is one of the best examples, a field and mountains laced with trees: living space for wild life. In the part of the world I live, this is not an exception, although these scenes are becoming rarer; humans occupying more land for their housing, roads, motorways and whatever. Even the air is not as clean as it was.
Of course this whole theme could be interpreted as modern art works, statues, sculptures, literature. This NASA Voyager spacecraft is going to be full quite quickly, people all standing in the NASA headquarters holding their own specific signs of modern cultural life. I would minimise my offerings and just bring the hard disk from my computer showing a little bit of everything. However when I gradually reach the top of the queue one of the official NASA people say, sorry full up, no more room in the inn ship and I am turned away disappointed that my idea of modern cultural life on Earth in refused.
The person behind me is also disappointed, and so the chain reaction occurs. Fights break out, for the right to put your own cultural memories into this space ship, the entrance to the ship is bombarded with disappointed humans wanting to spread their own idea of culture into the planetary system. The army is called in, a few shots are fired and eventually, when the injured and dead are removed (have we ever solved a problem without this happening?) everything is organised in a military way. So it seems that the human race cannot agree on what would be important to send in this ship. Everyone wants to steal the show.
One day this symbol of worldly culture will arrive on a barren planet where life has not yet evolved. A few thousand years later, or more, this planet will be civilised, perhaps by green men with four arms and one leg (they hop), but they live. One of these future creatures will dig a hole and discover a rusty broken Voyager where our culture goods are spilling out. Perhaps a child might begin to play with its contents, or if we are lucky a future scientist will recognise the value of what he has found. What does he think? He thinks look, this is how the beginning of our world was, this is how our ancient cultures wrote and thought. What did we think when we discovered the Egyptian hieroglyphics? We spent time analysing them, deciphering them and we were proud eventually to be able to discover their meaning. We were convinced they were the first Earth civilisation (my cats are convinced the Egyptians were the slaves of Bast, after all they did worship the feline race – OK, I am going off the point).
So would this strange one legged race carry out their investigations with our cultural treasures? Imagine a future planetary world, all having Facebook showing one legged creatures with photos of their planet, containing likes and dislikes about their politicians, above all this would be the new culture of this strange world and just because the whole idea of this NASA rocket was from Mark Zuckerberg.
Oh, what the universe has to thank us for.
Cultural Pingbacks
Tell us about a time you couldn’t quite get your words or images to express what you wanted to express. What do you think the barrier was? For bonus points, try again.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us EXPRESSION.
“Look Mrs. Human, I am expressing myself.”
“Nera you are always expressing yourself. I always get the message when you have something on your nine lives.”
“I thought this would be a good idea to start your blog, this is my expressive expression,” although I think she was just asking when do I get the next tuna fish meal.
To carry on, there are more times I do not get my words or images to express what I want, that it would be easier to write about when it succeeds.
What the barrier was/is/will always be: my character, my inability to say what I want to say in a clear, cool way that people know what I am aiming for. First of all I generally have to express it in a language that I did not grow up with. Everyone around here speaks German Swiss German which seems to have at least two or three words for the same thing. It is not even a written language, and just exists in speech, although I stand corrected. The Swiss can and do write Swiss German, but it is a free for all, a do it yourself according to which dialect you happen to speak. A simple example is the word for “I”, in German “Ich”. A Swiss can write “I” or “Ig” according to how he says it.
This is just the tip of the ice berg. I love to see the messages the Swiss write to each other in Facebook in their dialect. It is almost a secret language, only understandable to the natives. I sometimes join in, one of the advantages being that there are no real rules, so just write what you say and hear, although I have a feeling that my Swiss friends just humour me when they write an answer. An English person writing the “everyone can join in” language of the Swiss Germans can be the cause of “huh” and “what is she talking about”.
Even in my mother tongue I would have problems actually saying what I mean, although as Mr. Swiss often reminds me “not everyone understands your humour”. At least it is meant as humour, although perhaps sometimes a little too much on the dark side. Watching the TV programme “East Enders” (a Cockney soap programme) with Mr. Swiss can be a grammatical exercise. “What did he say”, “what is he talkling about?” I do my best to explain but all languages change over the years and even I sometimes have problems in recognising the newest expressions.
As I have never received bonus points for a blog when promised, I will not try again as it is not worth the effort. There you have it I did not express what I really wanted to say, but I have already moved on. I do not even understand what the intended meaning is of those “bonus points”. Do I get a prize? Blogger of the month complete with a star showing my bonus points.
Then why should my words express what I really want to say. We have our politicians, governments, leaders who are telling us how good they are, convincing us with their words that they are the best we can have, especially when it is time for elections. They are the professionals, the ones that say how it is with clear arguments. Do we believe them? Of course, they are the professional figures of expression. After they are elected we realise they have already forgotten what they promised, what they expressed: no bonus points there.
As you can see, this blog is a typical example of how not to express yourself. I still do not know what I really wanted to say and my feline Nera has now fallen asleep to have an expressive dream of her meal of tuna fish this evening.
Daily Prompt: Express Yourself
Expressive Pingbacks
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain!
My "bump" was in 2016 when, aged 48, I suffered a stroke. This blog charts my recovery. (Header clipart licensed by pngguru.com.)
Enjoying life and the empty nest while easing into retirement,
Fiction Writing
I am Ahmed Abdi, a Wordpress blogger and storyteller who searches for stories that inspire people. I love writing because it’s a reflection of how I perceive the world around me. Lost in a world of endless chaos in my childhood, Unforgettable moments of tragedy and triumphs taught me the art of storytelling where I found myself through letter writing and then turned into stories but then sadly had lost everything I wrote for years. In 2018, I decided to create a Wordpress blog site that would allow me to store and retrieve every piece. Stories from my community, city and people are what make my writing so interesting and inspiring! I’m a tea lover so a cup of tea sometimes makes my blog.
Dil se Dil tak...
My site is all about my travels around the world and in Australia, plus daily life photos!
Je crie, donc je suis
photography, poetry, paintings
It's just banter
Coaching, Communicating, Guiding, Healing, Making a Difference!
This site focuses mainly on photography, but also discusses just about any topic.
One Day at a Time
Beauty is everywhere waiting to be captured
There are 11,507 stories in Haddonfield; this is one of them.
Everyday Thoughts and Musings
My writing and photo journey of inspiration and discovery
Dreamer, believer and a curious folk
A QUIRKY LOOK AT MODERN LIFE
I set up a blog that no one will read where I can talk about movies.
A garden for birds, bees, bats, flowers, fruit and beauty!
Enjoy Photography and sometimes Writings 😋
Martha Ann Kennedy's Blog, Copyright 2013-into perpetuity, all rights reserved to the author/artist
Welcome to the Anglo Swiss World
Lets Go Nuts Together
NO LONGER ENCUMBERED BY ANY SENSE OF FAIR PLAY, EX-JOURNALISTS RETURN TO ACTIVE DUTY TO FIGHT THE TRUMPIAN MENACE!
Mississippi life culture lifestyles inspiration
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
Playing with dolls is not just for kids.
To See a World in a Grain of Sand...
Places in Australia waiting for your "G'day"
The Art and Craft of Blogging
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
Aspiring Author & Life Juggler
It will all be the same in a hundred years.
explorations on the journey of living
Journey Of A Travel Blogger To Live the Travel Life
Creating & Capturing Life's Precious Moments
.... my journey to a healthy life, making new memories and so much more
Because everyone knows who the pet is
In pursuit of discovering beauty in my daily adventure of being a mom of nine
Getting through the frustrations and celebrating the elations
Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss 