Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Dear Ndugu,
I wonder whether you know this new "twitter" service. It connects people around the world in the whip of an eyelash.
Sy, GS
I wonder whether you know this new "twitter" service. It connects people around the world in the whip of an eyelash.
Sy, GS
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Ski
Dear Ndugu!
I finally reached the train. Many people carry their skis to the mountains! It seems to become a nice sports day...
Take care. Yours sincerely,
girland
I finally reached the train. Many people carry their skis to the mountains! It seems to become a nice sports day...
Take care. Yours sincerely,
girland
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Snow
Dear Ndugu,
please forgive me for not writing for some time. I was on a journey which brought me through wonderous lands, to mysterious people, high mountains, and above all, snow. Snow is like rain, only lighter, and whiter. The snow-drops falling from heaven are called snow-flakes. When it snows, there is a white glim in the air, even at night. In the morning, when you wake up, streets, cars, trees, everything you see is covered with a white blanket. It needs to be cold for rain to turn into snow, and Ndugu, believe me, it was quite cold in those mountains. You need to wear solid shoes if you want to walk outside. Snow is also silence. Unlike raindrops, snowflakes tumble down from the skies in complete silence. So it is beautiful.
Snow can also be dangerous: once in a while, there is so much snow that it piles up much higher than a tall man's hight. In order to go shopping, dear Ndugu, you would then need to carve a tunnel through all that snow. Can you imagine?
But now comes the best part: 150 years ago or so a man living high up in the North (it's a place called Norway) had the fantastic idea to cut two boards of wood. He polished them nicely, and fixed them to his shoes with leather belts (this is actually the fantastic idea!). Instead of sinking in the high snow when walking, he could now move easily on top of the snow. When going downhill, he was even faster. This is called skiing.
With the sunshine above - because, as you must know, dear Ndugu, sunshine follows after snow, just as it does for rain in your country - in the clear blue sky, and the snow all around, it is just like heaven.
Here is a little something for you to watch. Goodbye now, and take care.
Yours sincerely,
Ge.
please forgive me for not writing for some time. I was on a journey which brought me through wonderous lands, to mysterious people, high mountains, and above all, snow. Snow is like rain, only lighter, and whiter. The snow-drops falling from heaven are called snow-flakes. When it snows, there is a white glim in the air, even at night. In the morning, when you wake up, streets, cars, trees, everything you see is covered with a white blanket. It needs to be cold for rain to turn into snow, and Ndugu, believe me, it was quite cold in those mountains. You need to wear solid shoes if you want to walk outside. Snow is also silence. Unlike raindrops, snowflakes tumble down from the skies in complete silence. So it is beautiful.
Snow can also be dangerous: once in a while, there is so much snow that it piles up much higher than a tall man's hight. In order to go shopping, dear Ndugu, you would then need to carve a tunnel through all that snow. Can you imagine?
But now comes the best part: 150 years ago or so a man living high up in the North (it's a place called Norway) had the fantastic idea to cut two boards of wood. He polished them nicely, and fixed them to his shoes with leather belts (this is actually the fantastic idea!). Instead of sinking in the high snow when walking, he could now move easily on top of the snow. When going downhill, he was even faster. This is called skiing.
With the sunshine above - because, as you must know, dear Ndugu, sunshine follows after snow, just as it does for rain in your country - in the clear blue sky, and the snow all around, it is just like heaven.
Here is a little something for you to watch. Goodbye now, and take care.
Yours sincerely,
Ge.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Yoga
Dear Ndugu!
In my lunchbreak today i practiced Yoga in my office.
Do you know that?
It means to stretch your body in different ways,
bend your head down to the ground
and the legs high up to the ceiling.
It's an old Indian way to feel and be healthy.
Now it's modern for working People in Europe to do Yoga
to avoid stress.
They meet in large groups to practice together
and then they return to work.
That's reality! Can you imagine?
Yours sincerely, GG
In my lunchbreak today i practiced Yoga in my office.
Do you know that?
It means to stretch your body in different ways,
bend your head down to the ground
and the legs high up to the ceiling.
It's an old Indian way to feel and be healthy.
Now it's modern for working People in Europe to do Yoga
to avoid stress.
They meet in large groups to practice together
and then they return to work.
That's reality! Can you imagine?
Yours sincerely, GG
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Problems
Dear Ndugu!
Right now i am having a break from listening to the people`s problems. That´s my job, can you imagine?!
Yours sincerely, GG
Right now i am having a break from listening to the people`s problems. That´s my job, can you imagine?!
Yours sincerely, GG
Death
Dear Ndugu,
something very strange happened to me yesterday: i was surfing the internet and randomly googled for medieval recipes, because that's what I like and what I am interested in. Soon I came across a website which specialised in this topic. I was happy to notice, though, that their collection was not complete. However, and in brief, this lead me to join a newsgroup on the subject, and I was proud to send my first post. Later that day, I wanted to get in touch with the moderator of this group. It seemed strange to me right away that his e-mail address was marked as "does not respond". I googled the person's name (as this and his town were displayed in the newsgroup) - it turned out that he has been dead for two years.
Now, dear Ndugu, this does raise a serious bigger issue: whatever happens to all those e-mail accounts, and especially webpages and newsgroups whose owners happen to die? Will all their stuff be floating on the internet for eternity, with their photos smiling at us, their user profiles telling us what they like (or don't like), what their hobbies are, and where they want to meet up? In the particular case of my newsgroup, the deceased (which, dear Ndugu, is another word for a dead person) was the only moderator of the group. So now what: is this now floating headless in cyberspace for eternity?
It struck me as strange, and I felt a little bewildered by the thought that death in cyberspace, and death in real life, do not necessarily coincide: they do not occur at the same time. Death in real life does not mean immediate death of the dead peoples' image and identity on the net. They are still around... for how long, for how long?
take care, dear Ndugu, and see you next time. Sincerely yours,
Ge.
something very strange happened to me yesterday: i was surfing the internet and randomly googled for medieval recipes, because that's what I like and what I am interested in. Soon I came across a website which specialised in this topic. I was happy to notice, though, that their collection was not complete. However, and in brief, this lead me to join a newsgroup on the subject, and I was proud to send my first post. Later that day, I wanted to get in touch with the moderator of this group. It seemed strange to me right away that his e-mail address was marked as "does not respond". I googled the person's name (as this and his town were displayed in the newsgroup) - it turned out that he has been dead for two years.
Now, dear Ndugu, this does raise a serious bigger issue: whatever happens to all those e-mail accounts, and especially webpages and newsgroups whose owners happen to die? Will all their stuff be floating on the internet for eternity, with their photos smiling at us, their user profiles telling us what they like (or don't like), what their hobbies are, and where they want to meet up? In the particular case of my newsgroup, the deceased (which, dear Ndugu, is another word for a dead person) was the only moderator of the group. So now what: is this now floating headless in cyberspace for eternity?
It struck me as strange, and I felt a little bewildered by the thought that death in cyberspace, and death in real life, do not necessarily coincide: they do not occur at the same time. Death in real life does not mean immediate death of the dead peoples' image and identity on the net. They are still around... for how long, for how long?
take care, dear Ndugu, and see you next time. Sincerely yours,
Ge.
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