Morning Stories

How empty does something have to be before it becomes good? Or at least seems good? What could possibly be so wonderful about an object full of nothing but warm air and a hint of optimism?

Kids can be uncomfortable. Kids can be annoying. Kids ask too many questions.

For a long time, even Canadians themselves didn’t really know who was living up there at the northernmost edge of the Arctic. This mysterious group had settled long before the first Europeans ever arrived, struggling to survive in the biting cold.

As I’ve mentioned before, my Morning Splinters usually begin with a single word — the first one that drifts across the horizon of thought. But this morning, when the word Greenland appeared, a small red warning light blinked in my head. “Nooo, not that one!”

Some words are so loaded with emotion that they practically hum when you speak them. Barely have the first two letters appeared around the corner, and entire worlds of feelings are already in turmoil. Associations, it seems, have a power of their own — wild, uncontrollable, and often irrational.

Please, separate your words correctly. That’s what modern spelling rules suggest, at least. Because when you split a word the wrong way, you might sprinkle a little confusion into the mix.

Owning one — or even several — doesn’t make you special. Practically all human animals and animal-like humans have them: those lightning-fast flashes of thought — ideas.

Those who dare to feel before they find the words for it are already doing quite well.

The little rodents are Canadians. Among others. They live in the Arctic — in large numbers. As long as there’s enough food, that is.

Anyone who stays at the surface can afford to slow down now and then. Because just beneath that polished layer lies the unknown — the vast, restless sea of everything we don’t know.

When ICE takes control of the roads, the sand in the box suddenly has a lot of work to do. That gritty helper improves traction on slippery streets, and every creature with a vehicle hopes its gears won’t get too close to the ground.

Days and nights used to be long — and rarely entertaining. Life in the northern world, hundreds of years ago, was sparse: a bit of fog, bone-deep cold, a view of the next hill, and endless forests with no exit.

Language doesn’t live on words alone. It thrives on change — and, more than anything, on meaning. Whether written or spoken, language (and rhetoric with it) is a fascinating adventure. And we are the adventurers of linguistics.

When Peter Tosh passionately sang “Legalize It” fifty years ago, smokers everywhere perked up and stood tall. Finally, they thought, the haze of prejudice around the so-called “devil’s weed” might lift.

When attraction grows powerful, when enthusiasm lifts to new heights or curiosity dives deeper—and when excitement keeps intensifying—then fascination is fully at work.

Usually, I write my Morning Splinter story when a first — sometimes a second — word comes to me early in the morning. That word becomes the foundation of the story.

A man gathered his old band, brought two of his favourite musicians into the studio – and the iconic song “Heroes” was born 49 years ago. Back then, none of the musicians working with David Bowie knew they were creating a timeless classic.

This year is at its end — and honestly, it looks exhausted. 2025 is limping across the finish line, battered and breathless. Time itself seems to have been grinding its crooked teeth all year long.

Someone once said, “Time is like a roll of toilet paper — the closer it gets to the end, the faster it spins.” What a wonderfully precise thought for a place designed for letting things go.

Take a compass and place it right in the centre of the Arctic — at the North Pole. That’s the point, or rather the region, that exerts the strongest pull on most compass needles. The North Pole has always been magnetic — in every sense of the word.

Schampar? What a peculiar word — and what a shining example of Swiss linguistic creativity. It’s an expression used to amplify intensity. In other words: it means very, really, or extremely. But only in Switzerland. Everywhere else, it means absolutely nothing!

What a brilliant invention — and what a monumental gift to humanity — to finally have intelligence available on demand. No more wasting personal brain resources! A golden age of thinking and opinion-outsourcing has begun. If it can’t climb the tree of intelligence on its own, we simply let AI do it for us.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been at war with the word stupidity. Not because of the word itself — a word is just a word — but because of how it’s used.

Sleepy eyes gaze at the table — beautifully set, almost sacred. Salmon, fresh rolls, butter, and right in the middle: the enormous, still-untouched turkey, waiting for its cue. The Chrunch can begin.

Who are the people who keep sending their questions out into the world? Children and journalists, of course.