Ping?

I was “pinged” – for the first time: In my comments a so-called “pingback” showed up. I followed the link and came to a site calling itself “wikipress”-something – but it seemingly had nothing to do with “press” in the sense of “news”: Tons of advertising were flashing about google-ads and “putting your money to work” …
I deleted the back-pinging-comment and will from now on allow no more pingbacks: It’s a standard-ly activated option when you write a new article, so I will standard-ly remove the yes-click in the box.
Basically this pingback-thing seems quite nice, but I can not see what it should be good for here. Since I use WordPress I never became “pinged” before. It only created artificial traffic: My site was clicked twice as much than average and even if I like the idea that some people read this without commenting or making a sound – doubling it within a few hours (I last looked sometimes this afternoon, so it may be 7 hours) is not realistic.
I do not want to be involved in someone’s click-based money-making.

I may be totally wrong about “ping” and stuff, so any further clarification is welcome.

Call it Sunday Music

In a way we ALL are left behind.
Those who lived on this earth before us – how many millions? – they all went one step further. And we are to follow into the unknown land.

Since I started to follow blogs, many of the good people who allowed me to peep into their lives and who in turn looked in mine, had to deal with death. They, like myself,  tried to express, to cope with or overcome their loss, the sadness, the payne. We lost life partners, parents, close family members, friends, and – worst of all – the own child. It’s simply not right, when a mother has to bury her child. The Universe seemingly works and functions in cycles, and here a cycle is broken.

The last days again saw  two – dare I say, friends, loose humans close to them, members of their family. Again cancer. If you have read here for a while you know, that I lost friends to that damned thing over the years, members of my family earlier.

Where shall this post lead to? It is no sermon, I have not much to offer. I do not like tearful sentiment or Larmoyanz. It damn hurts and crying is our human way to express our payne. What stays behind are memories, good AND bad, but thankfully our brain has the ability to forget.

In the end, what stays with us, with all humans, is love. The love we gave, the love we received.
The only thing that makes being a human bearable.

This song is about love.

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Postscriptum
And if you want to hear words of wisdom, just go to Savannah‘s and listen to Abbey Lincoln.

How to start?

How do you start your day?
English breakfast and half-a-bottle-of-champagne? Igor-like with loud bonk-bonk-noise you call music? A swig-o-booze for the warmth? A sandwich with grilled swine? Cereals?
I am curious.

I get up not before nine o’clock, because the world is in color then; I need coffee. To prepare good coffee you need coffee-powder made from coffee-beans, not too fine, a little rough. One big spoon put in that thing: What is the name of this?

Is it a colander? Add a tip of salt; pour over hot water, directly into the cup; enjoy. Have a glass of water with it. Two of that cups and the day is your friend. The first look into the web, reading the news. Then bath, clothes, off to library, bureau, desk, whatever …

In earlier times part of breakfast was the first cigarette, selfmade or filter, my mother used to have Peer 100, I was on Gauloise, before they went weak and used brown tabaccos … But it’s no fun to cough out your ass in the morning; I’ll always remember the taste of filtered coffee and virginia tabacco, liked Camel a lot but couldn’t use it anymore after two years because of the perfume they put in; best virginia was in Sweet Afton but nobody bought that here or Nil, so I went to the locals Rothaendle or Reval that is, black tobaccos, and it was satisfying. For the afficionados of my age: Schwarzer Krauser was too heavy even for me!
Today the smell of cigarette smoke triggers a lot of memories – and I learned that I can not stand it at breakfast time – it makes me vomit.

Breakfast is coffee and first information. Quiet. Undisturbed. It’s a ritual I need more the older I get – I feel uneasy and disturbed when this routine is off the rails. After that holy hour I am ready for anything, be it heavy thinking at the desk or babysitting, working the library, going to an archive, writing, reading, speaking – but without that hour and this two cups I am ready to kill you with every drip of acidic misanthropy I am capable of, I can get real mean.

How do You start the day? What are your rituals? What makes you going? What kills your good mood? What keeps you going in the morning? Do you have coffee – and how do you prepare it?
I would like to hear.