SoyViking

Some people collect stamps, some people collect baseball cards. I have realised that I collect spices. My small spice cupboard is full of jars, bags and bottles of different spices and it is a giant mess. I always have to take ten different things out of the cupboard to get what I want. It is annoying and takes a lot of time.

I would like to have some boxes to put inside the cupboard. Then I could just take the box out, get what I want and put it back.

I could buy some plastic organising boxes and be done with it but there are many spices and the cupboard is small so I can't afford to lose any space. I need something that fits snuggly in the cupboard so I have to make it myself.

I would like some good ideas on how to make the boxes. Ideally they would:

• Be made of thin material not to take up space
• Be strong enough to hold a box of salt or a bottle of soy sauce.
• Be easy to clean, or at least able to withstand being wiped with a damp cloth
• Be easy to make without access to a proper workshop
• Be cheap

I don't know if any of this is possible. Thin wood would be nice but it can get quite expensive and would need more time and tools than is feasible for my situation. Cardboard covered with something moisture resistant would be easy and manageable to make but I'm not convinced about it being strong enough or about if it is able to withstand cleaning. It would be cool if you could make custom-sized plastic boxes but you can't do that, right?

There once was an overseer on the Hellerup estate who was a real scourge on the peasants. He rode around the fields to make sure peasants worked hard enough and he was keen to use his whip on the serfs. Once he struck so hard that a peasant died from it. The overseer didn't get any peace in his grave though, every night he had to ride the fields where he had done his injustice. He rode a white horse and it was especially in the Southern Woods and around the Fjerritslev farm he hung out, until a peasant met him one night and - in the name of God - pulled him off the horse and gave him a beating. The horse ran away and the overseer suddenly disappeared in the hands of the peasant. He was never seen again.

Following Chairman Mao's call to go down to the countryside, I spent a day connecting to the dark heart of whiteness and avoided revealing military secrets in the process.

I had never heard of that village until the day that a friend of us called and told us that they had an annual market going on there and asked if we wanted to go. There would be stalls where you could buy all sorts of crap, beer on tap and rides for the kids. So me, my partner, our kids and our friend loaded up our cars and left the multicultural wokery of the big city behind to spend a day among the hardworking salt of the earth people who constitutes the real Denmark.

The market was organised by the village citizens' association in order to raise funds for local amateur sports and similar activities. Upon arrival, we were greeted by members of said association dressed in yellow vests who directed us to park on the muddy patch of grass that was the parking lot for a seven dollar fee. People there still follow the old ways, so when our female friend drove up to them with our queer short-haired teenage daughter on the front seat, they assumed she was the man in charge of the vehicle and tried to solicit payment from her, until our friend insisted that she, as the adult driving the car, was going to pay.

Then we went to the market, a mix of tents, caravans and rides put up on an empty field outside the village. A road divided the grounds into two and we went to the left where we quickly found a beer tent with wooden benches and a stage in front. We bought pints for the adults and sodapop for the kids. The beverages were cold and refreshing as we sipped them from the disposable plastic cups that are ubiquitous whenever beer is sold in a field. Nearby, a stall sold fried pork sandwiches, and we had the dubious pleasure of having direct view of the stand of a fascist party adorned with a big banner airing their latest grievance: "Save Danish agriculture!" Apparently, farming is about to be ended by an upcoming carbon tax.

The police had sent the two youngest and blondest female cops they could find to the market to mill around and smile at people. In police lingo, this is called "safety-creation." You have to hand it to the fuss on this one, the marketgoers were exactly the kind of people who would feel reassured by the sight of cops. Apart from a Native American guy selling pan pipes and dreamcatchers, we hadn't seen a single non-white person among the guests and merchants. We would soon find out why.

A bearded man in his 60's, wearing glasses and a baseball cap, went on stage singing and playing a Stratocaster. He was covering popular 1980s and 1990s pop songs, the kind anyone coming of age in Denmark during those years would know. Was he any good? Certainly not. Was he good enough for the job? Absolutely. He even had the courtesy to move his head away from the microphone whenever there were notes his voice couldn't reach. A few older people were dancing in front of the stage, the sun was shining, and the mood was good.

We browsed the stalls to see what was on offer. The shopkeepers' attitude towards taxation was best described by the "We love cash!" sign prominently displayed at one stall. The goods fell into two categories: old stuff and new stuff.

In the old stuff category, items ranged from garage sale junk to what you’d expect in low-tier antique stores. Several stalls sold old hand tools in varying states of disrepair. One stand's inventory looked like the going-out-of-business sale of a 1995 hardware store teleported to the present day.

The new stuff category offered goods you can't find in proper shops: the world's fakest football jerseys, cigarette lighters with skulls on them, a live poodle, cigarette lighters shaped like guns, supplies for dog and horse ownership, USB-charged cigarette lighters, 20 dollar Gucci watches, and cigarette lighters shaped like muscle cars with watch movements in them. There was also an abundance of food products of inscrutable provenance that were either disgusting health and safety hazards and/or much better than anything you would ever get in supermarkets.

As we browsed the stalls my partner noticed that shopkeepers were treating her weirdly. Being born and raised in Denmark and having a name so stereotypically Danish that JK Rowling could have come up with it, she has also inherited her stunning black hair and slightly darker skin tone from an Italian grandparent. People often mistake her for being Turkish or otherwise non-white. In the immigrant-run stores at home, this usually results in nice discounts, but here, it was a different story.

The shopkeepers clearly didn't like her. When I or our friend looked at the goods, they were nice or indifferent. But when my partner did the same, they immediately stopped what they were doing to closely watch her, as if she might steal their old silverware or porcelain figurines. They had decided she was one of "them." One shopkeeper directly asked her to leave, while another angrily told her to "talk Danish" when she spoke Italian to our kid.

We were deep in the heart of whiteness, so it wasn't surprising to see the Home Guard had set up a stall. The Home Guard is a Cold War relic of civilians LARPing as soldiers a few weekends a year. They offer the easiest way to get a gun and a uniform in Denmark, accepting those too fat and out of shape for the police or military. They hold a special place in the hearts of chuds, some of whom fantasize about being the white vanguard in an upcoming race war.

Their stall featured a jeep and an assortment of rifles, all firmly secured to the table with chains, that the public could hold. We were greeted by a woman in military uniform who looked the exact opposite of how you imagine the ideal elite soldier. "Come in!" she said, immediately trying to recruit me for the defense of the fatherland by enthusiastically mentioning that they had enlistment forms inside. I smiled and nodded.

Unlike me who have not even been a boyscout, my partner over spent a few months as a recruit and she is familiar with military hardware. "Do you have an M/75 in there?" she asked, referring to the long-time standard-issue rifle of the Danish military. "We have all sorts of stuff in there!" The Home Guard woman said, clearly confused. I am not sure if her confusion was caused by the technical nature of the question being above her expertise or if she was thrown off by the question coming from my partner and not from me.

Our kids had great fun holding the guns and my partner reached for her phone to take some pictures. "You can't do that!" the Home Guard guy overseeing the stall said. If pictures of children holding guns was posted to social media it could "hurt the image"of the Home Guard, we were told. The guy explained to my partner that "we don't have child soldiers in Denmark", as if that needed clarification.

We didn't want to stay after this visit to the people keeping us safe from Putin. The vibes in that area were nasty and my partner felt unsafe. We went across the road to the other hand of the grounds and things were a lot better there. We began to see other skin colours than pig pink and people were noticeably less nasty. Signs of civilization like kebab stalls and Asian grocers emerged.

We went to the area where the kids could try different rides. The rides were mostly operated by seasonal workers from Eastern Europe and each ride was blasting it's own playlist of either current hits or 1980's Eurovision songs into the air. As the kids were having fun in a bouncy castle next to the employees' restrooms I noticed how the restrooms were segregated with one reserved for Danish and Polish workers and the two others for Romanian workers.

After the kids had finished their rides we needed refreshments so we went into a big beer tent and sat down at an empty table scattered with the remnants of several of the giant hot dogs, giant burgers and giant kebabs offered for sale nearby. You don't buy normal-sized food at events live this. We looked at the beverages offered, a few sodas, beer by the buckets and lots of moronic shots sold in tiny tubes, and decided that we had had enough for today and that we would grab something to drink from McDonalds. On our way home instead. As we exited the grounds I noticed how someone had been so overjoyed by the selection of beverages offered at the market that they had emptied the contents of their stomach beneath the sign at the entrance.

Spending a day like this, connecting to my cultural roots, was an educating experience and I am happy to report that I had so much authentic Danish folkishness that I will not need to go again any time soon.

The elder tree held a magical reputation in Western European folklore, deeply intertwined with goddess cults such as those of Venus and the Norse fertility goddess Freya. In Scandinavia, planting an elder near your house, especially by the kitchen, was believed to protect the home and fill it with love. Elders were thought to be immune to lightning strikes, offering further protection. The tree was also seen as a portal to the spirit realm; standing under an elder on midsummer eve supposedly enabled one to see the king of the elves.

Elder was highly valued in folk medicine despite its mild toxicity. The plant contains prussic acid, which can cause vomiting or diarrhea in small doses. It was believed that elder bark cut from the bottom upwards acted as an emetic, while bark cut from the top downwards served as a laxative. The flowers and berries were used to treat colds and flus. To ward off evil spirits and relieve toothache, people would put a twig from an elder tree in their mouths.

However, one couldn't just take from an elder tree without consequences. The tree was believed to be inhabited by an Elder Mother or Elder Woman, a protective spirit (some say she originated as a localised version of Freya) who would avenge any harm done to the tree. People would ask her for permission three times before picking out cutting anything from the tree. Cutting down an elder without planting a new one was considered bad luck, with folk stories recounting the deaths of those who did so, presumably at the hands of a vengeful Elder Mother.

The Elder Mother also disapproved of using elder wood for furniture or tools. Stories tell of her disturbing babies who slept in cots made from elder wood or in rooms with elder paneling by pulling their legs. However, if treated with respect, the Elder Mother, and sometimes an entire elder family with elder women, men, and children, would help busy housewives by churning butter or polishing copperware at night.

Some stories even tell of the elder tree itself being sentient and animate, with one story from Copenhagen telling of how the elder tree in a courtyard would move to a new position every night and look through the windows of the rooms inside.

The Elder Mother exemplifies traditional Germanic belief in wights, collective spirits or deities connected to a locality like a landscape, river, or farmhouse, and sometimes to families or bloodlines. Wights are neither good nor evil but are forces of nature to be reckoned with. Respect them, and they will help you; disrespect them, and they can destroy you.

I made myself chana Masala for dinner tonight using this recipe. It is awesome! The perfect blend between warm hot spices and soft chickpeas.

I didn't know about amchur powder until a couple of months ago but oh my God it is good! It is dried unripe mango and gives a fruity acidity to anything you add it to. The tanginess from the amchur really brings the dish together and elevates it from being just chickpeas and canned tomatoes into something amazing.

Early modern South Scandinavian folklore tells of the Gravso (grave sow), also called Gloso (glowing sow), Glumso (gloom sow) or Church Sow when sighted near a church.

First mentioned by a Copenhagen priest in 1587, the Grave Sow is described as a large boar or pig, often with long bristles and sometimes headless. Her eyes are red or glowing. Some stories tell of the back of the Grave Sow being razor sharp and able to cleave a man in half if the sow runs between his legs. She is often seen near the churchyard but can also be found in other places like near highways. Sometimes she is followed by a farrow of seven or twelve piglets.

The Grave Sow would come out at night, especially on dates considered magical. Seeing or even hearing the Grave Sow was often considered an omen of death or calamity and people who saw the her sometimes fell sick or lost their minds. Some stories tell of the people and horses being spellbound by the sow and suffering memory loss. Some accounts tell of the Grave Sow being especially dangerous to people carrying pouches made from pig bladders or clothing made from pig leather.

The Grave Sow has many similarities with other ominous revenant animals connected to churches but unlike creatures like the Hel-horses which legend has was horses that had been buried alive and sacrificed during construction of the church, the Grave Sow was believed to be the spirit of an unbaptised illegitimate child that had been born in secrecy and buried. It followed that a Grave Sow could be laid to rest by finding the remains of the child and given them a proper Christian burial. Common for many supernatural phenomena of the day, the Christian god was believed to be able to protect believers from the Grave Sow, like in one story where a peasant makes the Grave Sow disappear by reciting the lord's prayer.

I have been bothered by some mild sciatica for the past week, probably brought about by two days of long-distance driving during a recent family vacation.

I have sore spot on my right side close to the spine that sometimes sends jolts of pain when I walk. I've had it before and seen a doctor about it who confirmed it to be harmless although annoying.

Do anyone have some good examples of good stretches to do in this situation? Most of what I could find online targets the muscles slightly below where my pain is located and doesn't seen to reach the spot that hurts.

And now for the rant:

When using Google to find information, the results were full of SEO optimised links to physical therapists and chiropractors trying to sell me stuff. Among all the bullshit I managed to find a page about it on a public healthcare site where very little effort had been made to make the text pop up in search engines.

The text was written by a named specialist and cited sources. It said that there's little to do about mild sciatica besides keeping active, improving workplace ergonomics, taking OTC painkillers and waiting for it to go away by itself. It was honest about that most of the time it was impossible to explain exactly what mechanism causes the pain. It said that there's no documentated effect of heat or cold and explicitly advised against lumbar support bandages.

I then visited one of the commercial sites, hoping to find some stretches to do. And what was the first thing I saw? Without giving any sources they claimed that cold packs and lumbar support bandages are effective and tried selling them to me.

The individual private physiotherapist might be good at their job and able to help people but the profit motive incentives them to upsell people snake oil and quackery. This in turn makes everything they say less trustworthy. It might very well be that you can benefit from some product they are selling in some situations but you can never be sure whether they're advising you to use it because they want your money or because it is actually going to do you any good.

Meanwhile medical doctors, who almost all operate within a single payer public healthcare system around here are one of the most trusted professions since you know that the likelihood of them having ulterior motives is very low. (Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of problems with classism, racism, sexism and God-complexes in the medical profession but at least your GP is not trying to inspect your wallet)

I feel stressed and overwhelmed with the constant amount of stuff I have to do all the time. There's work, there's family, there's chores, there's personal finances, there's my health, there's personal relations, there's a thousand little things that screams for my attention. Somewhere in there there's also the desire to one day relax and maybe do something because I want to do it instead of it being something I have to do.

There's just so much and the pile of tasks keeps growing and growing. I don't have the time and energy to do half of what I feel I'm supposed to do and almost no time and energy to do what I have to do. I'm exhausted and stressed and I feel guilty all the time for letting people down.

I feel like I never have the time to do things right or to handle the problems that are draining my time and energy. Instead I'm constantly running around and putting out fires. If I were to put enough time and effort into actually improving some of the things that are stressing me it would mean I would have to let go somewhere else and suffer the ramifications.

I was diagnosed with ADHD a few years back. I got meds and they have improved things a lot but nobody helped me figure out how to organise daily life with ADHD. I don't even know if time management would help, I don't waste my time, I get things done, I just never get enough things done. And besides, what good is a schedule if there's constantly some external factor demanding a change of plans?

How do you manage this?

I found the blog of some curry enthusiast and he talked me into making a big batch of a base curry sauce which I plan to freeze in small portions so I can make curries quick and easily on weeknights.

So far so good. I've just had an awesome butter chicken but now comes the question of what to make the next time.

Does anyone have suggestions for good curries, especially the milder ones as my kids and partner doesn't share my fondness for and tolerance of spicy food.

I would like to extend my best wishes to all, even the haters and losers, on this special date, September 11th

Libs are seething and coping

It's a red flag with a steam train on it. How cool is that?

The picture is from a recent visit to a railway museum where they had an exhibit about the cold war. Being written by western libs the text next to the flag talked about how civil defence at places like the railway workshops was complicated when "everybody didn't agree on who the enemy was" and called the communists a "fifth column". Apparently, as all workers had to take part in civil defence still and know about plans in case of war, authorities were worried that the large communist presence at the workshop meant that they would tell the USSR about the plans or use their knowledge to sabotage the railways in case of war.