Every nation is more than a geographic, political boundary or an economic indicator. It is a story told through its children, as they learn to look at the world. Yet too often, educational reforms arrive from elsewhere, confident in their universal models and unaware of the deep structures that define a people’s collective psychology. To design a curriculum without listening is to build a house without understanding the ground on which it stands.

A society is the result of centuries of sedimented experiences. Languages, mythologies, rituals, the places where families gather, even the fears parents hold for their sons and daughters: all of these form an anthropology that shapes how a people think and feel. Education becomes the transmission of this invisible heritage. And so, when we imagine a curriculum, we are not simply deciding what children should learn, but what a nation chooses to remember about itself.

The collective psyche does not change at the speed of reforms. It resists. It questions. It filters what is foreign through its own grammar. This resistance is not a barrier to modernisation. It is the identity of a country defending itself. When curriculum experts overlook this, their proposals remain sterile, unable to become part of the lived experience of teachers, families, and communities. They operate on imported logic, while children continue to learn through the habits and symbols of their ancestors.

Therefore, listening is not a poetic suggestion. It is a political necessity. To understand what a school should be, one must first understand where the school is. What is the place of the child in the local cosmology? How do communities conceive authority, creativity, the body, and the divine? What metaphors shape childhood dreams? The answers to these questions reveal the authentic architecture of learning.

A curriculum that emerges from listening becomes credible. It speaks the language of the people, not only in words but in values. It offers continuity rather than rupture. It respects what has existed while opening paths to what could be. It honours the confidence and dignity of those who will bring it to life: the teachers, who translate policy into daily gestures, and the children, who transform knowledge into citizenship.

The anthropology of a people is not a constraint; it is the fabric of possibility. When we listen, we are not romanticising tradition. We acknowledge that every innovation must take root in a specific place. Only then can education fulfil its highest task: helping a nation imagine its future without losing itself.

Every nation is more than a geographic, political boundary or an economic indicator. It is a story told through its children, as they learn to look at the world. Yet too often, educational reforms arrive from elsewhere, confident in their universal models and unaware of the deep structures that define a people’s collective psychology. To design a curriculum without listening is to build a house without understanding the ground on which it stands.

A society is the result of centuries of sedimented experiences. Languages, mythologies, rituals, the places where families gather, even the fears parents hold for their sons and daughters: all of these form an anthropology that shapes how a people think and feel. Education becomes the transmission of this invisible heritage. And so, when we imagine a curriculum, we are not simply deciding what children should learn, but what a nation chooses to remember about itself.

The collective psyche does not change at the speed of reforms. It resists. It questions. It filters what is foreign through its own grammar. This resistance is not a barrier to modernisation. It is the identity of a country defending itself. When curriculum experts overlook this, their proposals remain sterile, unable to become part of the lived experience of teachers, families, and communities. They operate on imported logic, while children continue to learn through the habits and symbols of their ancestors.

Therefore, listening is not a poetic suggestion. It is a political necessity. To understand what a school should be, one must first understand where the school is. What is the place of the child in the local cosmology? How do communities conceive authority, creativity, the body, and the divine? What metaphors shape childhood dreams? The answers to these questions reveal the authentic architecture of learning.

A curriculum that emerges from listening becomes credible. It speaks the language of the people, not only in words but in values. It offers continuity rather than rupture. It respects what has existed while opening paths to what could be. It honours the confidence and dignity of those who will bring it to life: the teachers, who translate policy into daily gestures, and the children, who transform knowledge into citizenship.

The anthropology of a people is not a constraint; it is the fabric of possibility. When we listen, we are not romanticising tradition. We acknowledge that every innovation must take root in a specific place. Only then can education fulfil its highest task: helping a nation imagine its future without losing itself.

Every nation is more than a geographic, political boundary or an economic indicator. It is a story told through its children, as they learn to look at the world. Yet too often, educational reforms arrive from elsewhere, confident in their universal models and unaware of the deep structures that define a people’s collective psychology. To design a curriculum without listening is to build a house without understanding the ground on which it stands.

A society is the result of centuries of sedimented experiences. Languages, mythologies, rituals, the places where families gather, even the fears parents hold for their sons and daughters: all of these form an anthropology that shapes how a people think and feel. Education becomes the transmission of this invisible heritage. And so, when we imagine a curriculum, we are not simply deciding what children should learn, but what a nation chooses to remember about itself.


The collective psyche does not change at the speed of reforms. It resists. It questions. It filters what is foreign through its own grammar. This resistance is not a barrier to modernisation. It is the identity of a country defending itself. When curriculum experts overlook this, their proposals remain sterile, unable to become part of the lived experience of teachers, families, and communities. They operate on imported logic, while children continue to learn through the habits and symbols of their ancestors.

Therefore, listening is not a poetic suggestion. It is a political necessity. To understand what a school should be, one must first understand where the school is. What is the place of the child in the local cosmology? How do communities conceive authority, creativity, the body, and the divine? What metaphors shape childhood dreams? The answers to these questions reveal the authentic architecture of learning.

A curriculum that emerges from listening becomes credible. It speaks the language of the people, not only in words but in values. It offers continuity rather than rupture. It respects what has existed while opening paths to what could be. It honours the confidence and dignity of those who will bring it to life: the teachers, who translate policy into daily gestures, and the children, who transform knowledge into citizenship.

The anthropology of a people is not a constraint; it is the fabric of possibility. When we listen, we are not romanticising tradition. We acknowledge that every innovation must take root in a specific place. Only then can education fulfil its highest task: helping a nation imagine its future without losing itself.

I spent Saturday doing a short print run (all my runs are short; hand-printing gets me tired quickly). One was of my first lino block, which I am now retiring – I hope to rework the idea, and get something I’m more satisfied with; and the second is the second stage of a reduction print valentine I’m working on.

The valentine/reduction print is not turning out quite as I had hoped. Part of it is skill – I’m not experienced in reduction printing (this is my first), so I have things to work on regarding the best order to color-application, ink on the block, and print registration (to start with). I think, too, part of the problem is that I’m using speedball oil ink, and I’m just not particularly impressed with it. I’ve got Gamblin black, and the consistency, spread, and results are like night and day. So, it seems, it’s worth spending more money on the color. I wish I was surprised, but I am not. Another issue is the cardstock I’m printing on – probably not the best paper for it.

It is annoying to me that introductory, or entry-level, tools and resources for any hobby are of such low-to-mediocre quality. Many people quit because they can’t afford the good stuff and think they’re shitty artists, when the results they’re getting would be improved immensely by better tools. If I lived closer to anything, I’d be finding a print center or art co-op to join, so I wouldn’t be footing the bill for all the stuff myself.

ok a few words about the concert.

My friend and I went there with our daughters.

The only people who weren’t excited about the show were the medics, their reflex vests marking them plainly in the wild sea of mostly black clothed objectively cool-looking people.

Their concern was of the ever growing mosh pit.

And of the singer, cheering them on, daring them to even crazier stunts, ”but don’t sue us”, he said.

Anyway as it gradually grew wilder, we navigated from mid centre to a calmer area where we sat down on the shaking floor and listened from there. Because we were either too young or too old to go bananas in there.

Arguably.

One thing I missed is this: I saw a man wearing a beanie just like mine but black. With an anchor on it and everything.

I felt he could’ve been my brother, had I not stored mine in the wardrobe.

I feel better today

The music I chose was old but new while the morning was bathed in fog and my Dad got to see the northern lights last night far away from the bog

The worries of the world aren't far away but there's no sense in letting them own me today a new year started time for me to venture out into the world

She doesn't care about people her charge is all of it the seasons feed the changes that grow all things she loves

The universe is vast but we won that great numbers game the lottery for life and there must be more out there wondering about here and until I know what else there is to know all that matters is kindness

#002287 – 02 de Setembro de 2025

Venho do futuro confirmar que uma sombra paira sobre a Europa e chama-se Trump.

#002286 – 01 de Setembro de 2025

Chuva, croissant de pistáchio a fazer tempo para ir ao Cinema Trindade, altíssimo foco na missão de não perder mais um guarda-chuva.

I was never a person who could do plenty of things in parallel. It’s difficult for me to switch contexts. I usually stick to one topic and work on it until it’s done or I get distracted. But hopping back in is hard for me, which makes using AI in parallel a lot harder. That said, using AI is not the problem here. Me not being good at orchestration tasks at this level of parallelism needs to be fixed. In general I'm not bad at such tasks, but every so often it is just too much to handle.

In the last few weeks, I tested this setup, and it is quite overwhelming because every open thread competes for attention. I frequently scroll through session histories or ask Claude, “Where did we stop last time?” or “What's next on the plan?”.  I wish I could just focus on one topic and complete it. This could remove the friction I'm experiencing.

Since the start of December, I achieved more than I did in all of 2025 combined. It is crazy. I just need to find a sane way to juggle all this in my brain without going crazy.

Still, this is so much fun. I enjoy every day at the moment. I learn so much, and with every day, I’m a bit more confident in topics I never touched.

It is really exciting to see where this will all continue or end. But no matter what, I learned something and got better in every aspect.

For now, I don't really have an adequate solution. But looking into the past year, I made good progress in working with AI. So I'm sure I can find a way to handle AI orchestration as well. For example, setting better priorities could help.

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89 of #100DaysToOffload
#log #ai
Thoughts?

Even before I was an adult, I lived in an HOA neighborhood (right, Mom and Dad?). What I remember is that they organized fun events for us. We had phenomenal block parties and we knew each others’ names and where all the kids belonged.

I have no idea how much it cost my parents in monthly HOA fees. And I do not remember any angry or concerning conversations about HOAs or our neighbors. The only thing I have a vague memory of is changing the house and shutter colors while making sure that the house did not look like any of the neighbors’. Uniformity was not the goal.

On a surface level, I understand that HOAs maintain standards in a community. And those standards are mostly regarding the physical appearances of the property/neighborhood in order to keep the property values high.

Can I paint my house a different color and if so which color?

Can I get a fence and if so what type?

It wasn’t until I lived in HOA neighborhoods as an adult that I understood the finer things in life like:

Your grass is too high. Cut it by Saturday or you will be fined. (No excuses: My lawnmower was being repaired.)

There are weeds growing through the cracks in your driveway. Remove them before the week is up or else you will be fined. (No excuses: I swear they only checked the day before I was about to remove them!)

There is a brown patch of grass in your lawn. Get rid of it before the end of the month or you will be fined. (No excuses: The brown patch was definitely there before I moved. In fact, the entire neighborhood had brown patches.)

Taking it up a notch:

No, you cannot park on the street in front of your house. You can park in your driveway but, if you do that, you cannot block the sidewalk, so it is preferred that you park in your garage which, hopefully, you did not make into a living space because you cannot do that either.

No, you cannot leave your trash can in front of your garage or on the side of your house because trash belongs in your garage which shouldn’t be a problem because your garage is not allowed to be a living space, so make sure you put your trash out no earlier than dawn and remove it before 6 pm regardless of whether you are home from work or not.

Yes, you can get a fence, it just has to be the type, color, height, and area that we say so, so make sure you put in a request for our permission first and also know that once you get it installed, we will not be cutting your lawn but you will still be paying for the lawn service as there is no financial opt-out.

Abiding by the rules makes the neighborhood look good. Not abiding by the rules makes the neighborhood look bad. Good also means uniform in presentation. I never knew life outside a military installation would be the same as it was on one. Well, actually, it feels worse.

Looking good on the outside says nothing about the character of the people inside [the HOA] except that they like for things to look a certain way…by any means necessary including intimidation, threats, and sprinkle in some lies and isolation tactics. And the law is on their side. But why your HOA cannot talk to you like you are an adult and a neighbor is beyond me. Basic behavior principals state that you don’t threaten people [with policies/ordinances/laws]. You reinforce appropriate behavior. Also, what happened to “seek first to understand”? Minimally it could like this:

Hey, we noticed that your grass is a bit overgrown. It is usually not like this so we are concerned. Is anything going on that you would like to share with us so that we may be able to assist you in remedying the problem? I know you want to contribute to keeping the community looking good…

And then you problem-solve from there.

But that is not where we are as a society. So, perhaps it is best to understand the motivations of the people who represent the HOA and to explore the origins of HOAs in the United States…

link: Was blind but now I see

When the Church got into the habit of making faith simple or easy and doctrine reasonable and flexible to fit the times and situations of the people, the pews emptied. But when the full measure of what faith is and requires was laid before the people, they took up the cross and followed Him. The easier and simpler we try to make faith and the easier and simpler we try to making following Him, the worse it will be for the Church. It is in the desperate doubt that has surveyed every other option and found none that the broken are restored, raised up from despair and disappointment to follow Him. It is in the hesitance before the call of God that saints are made from sinners and the strong forged from the weakest of stock. Make worship easy and simple and fun, they said. But they did not come and those who came did not bother to stay. But hold up the mystery of the faith and invite the doubts to rest in the arms of the one and only who has seen the Father and, well, the Church lives.

Pr. Peters has written another fantastic piece, this time on the difficulties of the Christian faith and the disastrous results that came with our attempts to make Christianity easy and appealing. This article is worth five minutes to read slowly and hours of consideration regarding how we put this into practice in our parishes.

#life #theology

Que se passe-t-il réellement lorsqu’une cryptomonnaie rend son dernier soupir ? Contrairement aux êtres vivants, il n'y a pas d'enterrement, pas de cérémonie et rarement une nécrologie dans les journaux. Pourtant, ces décès numériques se produisent à un rythme effréné, atteignant des records historiques ces derniers temps. C’est une réalité qui hante les portefeuilles numériques, la mort silencieuse des actifs.

Pour comprendre ce phénomène, il faut d'abord regarder les cadavres les plus célèbres. Le décès le plus marquant reste sans doute celui du TerraUSD. Autrefois géant parmi les stablecoins, censé maintenir une parité parfaite avec le dollar, il a entraîné sa cryptomonnaie sœur, le Luna, dans une chute vertigineuse. En l'espace d'une semaine chaotique, sa valeur a plongé de son ancrage de 1 $ pour atteindre 14 centimes, avant de s'effondrer vers les 2 centimes, zone où il stagne depuis comme un fantôme.

C'est l'archétype de la mort financière. Bien que renommé USTC et bien que des transactions aient encore lieu de temps à autre pour des fractions infimes de dollar, l'actif est cliniquement mort. Techniquement, tant que la blockchain fonctionne, le token peut être transféré. Mais cet épisode démontre parfaitement la première leçon de tout cours d'économie, une chose que personne ne veut n'a aucune valeur de marché. C’est la définition même de la mort économique.

Si le cas TerraUSD était spectaculaire, il n'était que l'arbre qui cache la forêt. Une récente analyse de CoinGecko révèle que la faucheuse crypto n'a jamais été aussi active. En examinant ses registres remontant à 2021, la plateforme a recensé plus de 20,2 millions de tokens lancés sur le marché. Le constat est sans appel, la majorité d'entre eux, soit 53,2%, ont cessé toute activité de trading. Ils sont morts. Le plus effrayant réside dans la temporalité de ces disparitions. Sur les millions d'échecs enregistrés, 11,6 millions (soit 86,3% du total des échecs) se sont produits l'année dernière. Autrement dit, 2025 n'a pas été une simple année de correction, mais une véritable extinction de masse pour les actifs numériques.

Comment expliquer une telle hécatombe ? La réponse tient en grande partie à la facilité déconcertante avec laquelle on peut désormais créer une monnaie. 2025 a été l'année de l'explosion virale de Pump.fun, une plateforme décrite comme un casino social décentralisé. Son but ? Permettre à n'importe qui de créer une cryptomonnaie en quelques secondes, pour quelques centimes, sur un coup de tête. C'est ici que le marché a basculé dans l'absurde. On a vu défiler des créateurs fumant de la méthamphétamine en direct, des avocats ivres donnant des conseils juridiques douteux, ou des streameurs promettant de ne pas dormir tant que leur “coin” n'atteindrait pas une capitalisation boursière délirante.

Dans ce contexte, favorisé par une atmosphère politique aux États-Unis où l'on s'autoproclame “président de la crypto”, la spéculation a remplacé l'utilité. Ces millions de monnaies mortes ne sont pas des projets technologiques qui ont échoué mais plutôt des blagues qui ont cessé d'être drôles.

Contrairement au crash du TerraUSD, ces memecoins ne meurent pas dans une explosion médiatique. Ils se figent simplement. Ils sont abandonnés dès que l'attention se porte ailleurs. Il ne faut jamais oublier une vérité fondamentale, derrière chaque cryptomonnaie morte, il y a un portefeuille. Chaque cadavre numérique est la preuve que quelqu'un (peut-être un investisseur naïf victime d'une arnaque, ou simplement le créateur qui a ri un bon coup) s'est retrouvé coincé avec l'actif. C'est ce qu'on appelle “tenir le sac” (holding the bag). Et dans ce cimetière numérique en pleine expansion, ces derniers sont de plus en plus lourds et de plus en plus nombreux.

So I have a sourdough start now. At 8 days old now it's doing all the things it's supposed to do. It smells good. It floats. It doubles when I feed it.

You have to feed a sourdough starter. It's a living community that you care for, like some kind of strange collective pet that you also eat. I've grown plenty of plants, and mushrooms. I had a water kiefer culture that I used to use partially for the yeast to make bread. I also had a regular kiefer culture that turned milk into a soft cheese about once a week. The whey is perfect to kick start pickles, and I would pickle anything I could. I once pickled choke cherries with salt and anise to get something that could probably have been about as passable a substitute for li hing mui as one could make from all local Washington state ingredients. We had chickens that gave us eggs. I also pickled those. They were amazing.

I miss all of that, so now I'm sort of starting again small. We have our little plants in the apartment, clippings of anything I can grow in water. I had a water kiefer but it was never quite the same. The yeast was strong but the bacteria was weak, so the flavors never developed the way I had hoped. I gave up because I'm not interested in sugar beer.

But I've been slowly tending these jars of flour and water over the last week or so, watching them grow and change, until I have something I can use. All of this, mushrooms, plants, pickles, chickens, requires an attention and flexibility. We didn't use any (human made) chemicals on our plants, Our whole thing was informed by permiculture. All of this forced me to slow down and observe, just be present and be with the natural cycles of things.

Last night was the first time I was able to use my start, or at least tried to, to make bread (instead of relying on commercial yeast). Each time you feed the culture, you discard some. At a certain point that discard goes into your cooking. I hadn't really thought about what I was going to do with the culture. See, I hadn't really been using commercial yeast when I was in the US but I've been forced to use it since I got here. I just wanted to change that. So here I was with a bubbling jar starter, trying to figure out exactly what I do with it. So I watched a video about it, and I reminded me of all of this.

Though out the video she's just kind of feeling things out. Nothing is exact. She's interacting with this thing, this culture, that she's gotten to know over the past 11 years. It's not something that can easily be taught, because it's something that one learns to feel through experience. The chickens, the mushrooms, the plants, all the various cultures and things, they all have a life of their own.

They don't fall into easy and predictable schedules. They don't conform to mechanization. They refuse rigid time tables. They are alive. They respond to the weather, the humidity, the temperature. They defy the exact rigidity that we, humans, are forced in to at work.

There's something about that connection, to food, to life. There's something about a fluid involvement that stands in stark contrast to tables of fake metrics, concocted to pad resumes, that obscures the complexities of the world.

Maybe that's the thing I have against buying yeast. It has been bread to be regular and predictable, and in doing so has lost the chaos and complexity that forces you to understand it rather than control it. Control. This is the inescapable anathema of the capitalist life that brings death itself. It is for this purpose that our lives our fractured, we are isolated, and algorithmically fed mind-melting garbage until we snap. And yet, that control is an illusion.

There is something about being in a different relationship with food or medicine. Food, that thing that is so central to our lives, that we experience so often as forgettable transactions. But it becomes so visceral when you are part of it. What an interesting coincidence that capitalism has so prioritized separating us from this experience, enclosing the commons, removing our self-sufficiency, severing our relationship with our food, that we may be forced into the factories to become more predictable, controllable, quantifiable…. domesticated.

Some wild things are poorly adapted to domestication. Some things cannot be quantified, contained, controlled. I didn't always feel the walls, but, interestingly, it's through food that I feel them most intensely now.

Casa Legal is een advocatenassociatie die aan een fractie van de kost voor de Staat een succesvol antwoord biedt op de oproep van het federale regeerakkoord van 2020 om via proefprojecten slachtoffers van geweld juridisch beter bij te staan. Concurrentie! Roept het controlerende monopoli van de Orde van Vlaamse Balies, hun Balies en BJB's. Dat moetten en zullen zij stoppen met SLAPP's 8504 en 8574 voor niemand minder dan het Grondwettelijk Hof! Gezien alle vorige parlementaire en andere onderzoeken weet de Staat dat er een probleem is van geïntegreerde hulp aan slachtoffers. Je mag alle psychologen en sociale assistenten van de wereld inzetten, zolang hun steun niet verworven wordt met degelijke juridische steun blijven we dweilen met de kraan open.

De Vlaamse advocaten klagen steen en been dat ze slecht betaald worden. Hun belangenverenigingen – Bureaus voor Juridische Bijstand, Balies, Orde van Vlaamse Balies – vinden dat, ocharme, advocaten te weinig zouden worden vergoed. Maar, ze staan wel te drummen om daders met hand en tand te verdedigen alsof hun eigen leven ervan afhangt.

Slachtoffers, en hun hulpverlening, staan letterlijk op straat.

In 2020 kwam in het regeerakkoord te staan dat de regering proefprojecten wilde om slachtoffers betere juridische ondersteuning te bieden.

Casa Legal ontstond. Een proefproject met oog op nationaal uitrollen ten voordele van slachtoffers. Met hun niet OVB aanpak hielpen zij meer slachtoffers van geweld dan wie ook in België ooit had voorgedaan aan een fractie van het budget. Zo ook ten voordele van slachtoffers van seksueel geweld op minderjarigen.

Wanneer Casa Legal preliminaire resultaten kenbaar maakte, die zo succesvol waren dat ze elke Vlaamse poen scheppende advocatenverbeelding tarten, begon de OVB SLAPP procedures tegen Casa Legal bij niemand minder dan het Grondwettelijk Hof. Rolnummers 8504 en 8574.

De financiële belangen van het door de Staat financieel in stand gehouden monopolie van de OVB leden die de middenvinger opsteken naar slachtoffers stonden publiekelijk voor piet snot. Zoals het enkel de advocaat eigen is schoot de OVB in een ego kramp, Casa Legal mag en zou niet bestaan zonder dat zij dat vanuit hun monopolie financieel zouden controleren.

Het parlement loeit, hoor de koebellen luiden, maar doet concreet niks anders dan lucht verplaatsen.

In afwachting dat de OVB en haar Balies de wurggreep die zij al 6 weken uitoefenen op het Grondwettelijk Hof en de rechtstaat lossen, en de procedure in het voordeel van het belang van alle slachtoffers vooruit zou kunnen gaan, lees hier hoe je Casa Legal kan steunen.

Je kan natuurlijk ook aan de oren van onze ezels in de kamer trekken door hen aan te schrijven. In bijzonder de klepels van de commissie justitie. Hoe meer dat doen, hoe beter.

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alle informatie op deze site, zoals maar niet beperkt tot documenten en/of audio-opnames en/of video-opnames en/of foto's, is gemaakt en/of verzameld en gepubliceerd in het belang van gerechtigheid, samenleving en het Universele Recht op Waarheid

children for status is een onafhankelijk collectief dat schuldig verzuim door de Staat ten aanzien van seksueel geweld op minderjarigen en kinderhandel oplossingsgericht documenteert en aanklaagt

Ve Zmrdovci prdí každý. Prdí se v hospodě, na zápraží, při loučení i místo pozdravu. Většinou rychle, halabala a bez ambicí. Jenže málokdo tuší, že někteří dědci to berou vážně. Tak vážně, že si kvůli tomu založili tajný spolek. Ne kvůli moci. Kvůli kvalitě.

Spolek kvalitního prdu tvoří dva dědci a světe div se-jeden jelen. Scházejí se na nenápadném paloučku, kde se neprdí pro efekt, ale s rozmyslem. Každý prd se pečlivě dávkuje. Když je dobrý, nikdo nic neřekne. Když není, panuje trapné ticho, ve kterém si všichni uvědomí, že se to nepovedlo. Jelen má na starosti hloubku a lesní charakter, dědci drží stabilitu a konzistenci. Je to týmová práce. A funguje to.

Napětí nastalo ve chvíli, kdy se chtěla přidat sova. Přiletěla tiše, vypustila prd plný sebevědomí… a čekala uznání. Jenže prd byl pisklavý, chaotický a rozpadl se dřív, než se stihl usadit. Jeden dědek si odkašlal, druhý se podíval jinam a jelen jen otočil parohy. Verdikt byl jasný. Neprošla. Sova odletěla uražená a od té doby prdí naschvál dědkům za okny a tiskne na okenice svou velkou prdel.

Celé to dění z povzdálí sleduje kocour. Dědci o něm nevědí — a je to tak lepší. Kdyby zjistili, že někdo vidí, jak si nejlepší prdy nechávají bokem a veřejnosti dávají jen průměr, byl by malér. Kocour ale mlčí. Ví, že svět drží pohromadě právě díky těmhle malým podvodům.

Jag har aldrig riktigt fattat varför man behöver en laddbox till sin elbil. För mig har det länge känts som en sån där grej som bara dök upp när elbilarna blev vanliga, lite som ett dyrt tillbehör som alla säger att man måste ha. Samtidigt har jag ju läst och hört överallt att det är farligt att ladda direkt i ett vanligt vägguttag, och där någonstans började min förvirring. Vad är det egentligen som är så annorlunda med en laddbox?

När jag började läsa på lite mer insåg jag att det inte handlar om själva elen i sig, utan om hur laddningen kontrolleras. Ett vanligt uttag är ju gjort för tillfälliga apparater, inte för att leverera hög belastning under många timmar i sträck. När man laddar en elbil drar den ofta mycket ström under lång tid, och då kan uttag, kontakter och kablar bli varma utan att någon riktigt märker det. Laddboxen är däremot byggd just för det här. Den pratar med bilen, ser till att strömmen bara släpps på när allt är rätt kopplat och kan stänga av direkt om något ser konstigt ut. Det var först då det klickade för mig att säkerheten sitter i övervakningen och kommunikationen, inte bara i sladden.

Jag har också förstått att laddboxen ofta har inbyggda skydd som man annars måste komplettera med i elcentralen. Den kan till exempel känna av felströmmar som ett vanligt uttag inte bryr sig om, och den kan anpassa laddningen så att husets elsystem inte överbelastas. Det känns rätt skönt att veta att det finns något som håller koll i bakgrunden, särskilt när bilen står och laddar på natten och ingen är vaken.

När jag tänker på vad man ska tänka på när man väljer laddbox så känns det mindre mystiskt nu än innan. För mig handlar det mycket om att den ska passa hur jag bor och hur jag använder bilen. Har man begränsad huvudsäkring kan det vara viktigt med lastbalansering, så att bilen inte tar all effekt när man lagar mat eller duschar. Det verkar också klokt att välja något som är godkänt och installerat av en elektriker, även om det lockar att ta genvägar. Jag har insett att laddboxen inte är där för att krångla till det, utan för att göra något som faktiskt är ganska avancerat både tryggt och bekvämt i vardagen.

När jag väl accepterade varför laddboxen finns började jag fastna i alla de där valen runt omkring, sånt som jag först tyckte kändes överdrivet men som faktiskt påverkar vardagen mer än man tror. En sån sak är om man ska ha fast kabel eller inte. Instinktivt tänkte jag att fast kabel är smidigast, det är bara att ta sladden och plugga in bilen utan att rota fram något ur bagaget. Samtidigt finns det något tilltalande med en box utan fast kabel, särskilt om man vill ha det lite prydligare eller om flera olika bilar ska använda samma laddare. Då slipper man fundera på om kabeln passar alla, men man får leva med att koppla i och ur sin egen sladd varje gång. För mig blev det tydligt att det egentligen handlarda alternativen är bra, men på olika sätt, och att valet mer handlar om hur lat eller ordningsam man är än om teknik.

Sen finns hela den smarta sidan av laddboxar, som jag först avfärdade som onödigt krångel. Men ju mer jag tänker på elpriser som hoppar upp och ner och på hur mycket en bil faktiskt drar, desto mer logiskt känns det. Att kunna styra laddningen till de timmar då elen är billigast känns nästan som en självklarhet, särskilt om bilen ändå står still hela natten. Jag gillar också tanken på att kunna följa laddningen i en app, inte för att stirra på grafer varje dag, men för att ha koll på vad det faktiskt kostar och hur mycket el bilen använder över tid.

Samtidigt märker jag att det är lätt att gå vilse bland funktioner som låter smartare än de kanske är i praktiken. Jag har fått känslan av att det viktigaste är att det grundläggande funkar stabilt, att uppkopplingen inte strular och att boxen inte blir värdelös om tillverkaren slutar uppdatera sin app. Det finns något tryggt i lösningar som inte kräver att man loggar in eller uppdaterar hela tiden för att göra det de ska, även om smarta funktioner absolut kan vara ett plus.

Jag har också börjat tänka mer långsiktigt. Kanske byter jag bil i framtiden, kanske ändras elavtalet, kanske vill jag koppla ihop laddningen med solceller eller annat längre fram. Då känns det vettigt att välja en laddbox som inte är låst till en enda lösning, utan som går att anpassa utan att man måste byta ut allt. För mig har laddboxen gått från att vara en mystisk pryl man tydligen måste ha, till att bli en ganska central del av hur hela hushållets el faktiskt används. Och det var inte alls så ointressant som jag först trodde.