Morning Stories

Hmm. All right. Let’s start with a little brain teaser. Imagine you’re a member of a venerable old club. One member – let’s call him Uncle Andrew – gets kicked out of the club because he was friends with a certain Jeffrey Epstein. Understandable. Embarrassing. Out he goes.

Fair warning — that was a pun. And it only really works in English. Which is precisely why this version exists. In German, the same line collapses into something flat: "Ach, vergiss es, Gapminder." That's the curious magic of language: meanings drift, shift, or simply fall apart in translation. Still, I found the sentence funny when I woke up, and even funnier once I was fully awake.

Motion is pure physics. Emotion is purely human. E-Motion is an electric vehicle. Anyone who has emotions — and occasionally shows them — has more than just trace elements of humanity to offer.

For fifty years, the family has lived next to the same neighbour. Every morning, a friendly nod across the driveway. They share an access road, a river, a history. Life and community work seamlessly and peacefully. Then one day, a dark cloud appears — one nobody saw coming. The cloud arrives as a document in an anonymous envelope in the mailbox. This single sheet of paper is pure dynamite for the neighbourhood. The document states that you and your family represent a serious and present threat to your neighbour’s interests. Excuse me?

When someone does business with the sick, something is wrong with the system. The association forced itself on me when I took the German word “Krankenkasse” — health insurance, literally “sick cash” — a little too literally to heart. Then I turned westward and noticed “Health Care” in Canada. Which translates, roughly, as “help for the ill.”

The impact was less hard than expected. But the burning on my cheek was impossible to ignore — and good advice was hard to come by. It felt like a clap in the face. Though this very thing — advice in certain situations — is often an uninvited guest. Or the fifth wheel on the wagon.

"Your story today is political again, Christian." Hmm. True. But that wasn't intentional — there was no deliberate plan to make this story political. Why? Because the perfectly ordinary lives we all lead always carry political weight.

The elegant living room has always been an aspiration — ever since civilization, and interior design, were invented.

He wasn’t suddenly there in the room. He’d been present for quite some time. But nobody wanted to notice Dumbo. Or worse: talk about Dumbo. That would be what you might call an absurdity. An absurdity by the name of Dumbo.

Risk? What reads here like the name of a chocolate bar turns out to be far more complex in practice — and rarely comes with any sweetness attached.

A sentence heard often and understood rarely has burned itself into memory. Precisely because it was blown into the air — the hot air — so many times. What could the underlying motivation have been, to push those four words plus exclamation mark into a small boy's ears?

First, there was doubt. The critical looking, the questioning of conditions. The condition of the world. The condition of the soul. Or the condition of the situation.

How America lost its allies — and they started building for themselves.

"Excuse me, what?" When two umlauted vowels land in the same word, things get suspicious — and decidedly Basler. "Wottsch e weeneli im Chläppergässli spaziire, hösch?" (Do you want to go for a walk on Slap Alley?) is a prime example.

Oh no! There he is again – popping up out of seemingly nowhere, without warning. When a word gets dissected into its parts, the original meaning starts to crumble a little. But the variants that emerge are all the more revealing. More often than not, the man – or, well, the man – steps out from the shadow of the word combination and makes himself at home. Again. Or maybe he never left.

Well, another word has nestled itself into the conversation — one that carries this particular, wake-you-up quality: Hopeium. A blend of hope and some metallic-sounding suffix, -ium. Hope is metallic? No. Hope is magnetic.

When the thing is pointed the wrong way, picks up speed, and the obstacle appears out of nowhere – that’s when it gets expensive. Three times the reverse gear in a tin box has handed me the bill.

My dual citizenship is demanding. And binding. I read the Swiss news, watch Swiss broadcasts, and follow the country that shaped me for sixty years.

Two-edged? Isn't that just standard in the production of a sword? Anyway, the comparison doesn't limp — because the sword hasn't been used yet. Or so I think.

What does "cyranomising" mean? Christian Wehrli explores why Cyrano de Bergerac reveals more about language, love, and communication than any textbook. An essay on Rostand, rhetoric, and the power of words.

"So, Eve, how are you doing?" "Oh, thanks for asking. I think I'm doing well." "Eve — were you even asked?"

Every human shares this fate — and yet the whole world congratulates us for it every year. An essay about humanity's most universal black out.

Why is Canada renaming the Americano to Canadiano? CanaChris tells the story behind the viral coffee rebrand — from WWII history to 2025 politics.

"Who is the most interesting man in the world?" a friend asked me ten years ago. Hmm. What does he expect? Should I name someone? I stayed silent.

For a long time, Kurt had slipped from my memory. But here in 2026, he's back: Kurt Tucholsky, the passionate, pen-wielding fighter against war.

On the 115th International Women's Day: why women hold only 64% of legal rights worldwide — and why leadership belongs to the most competent.

A word. An idea. A necessity.

What exactly does this norm look like — the one that every person in a community is supposed to be, look like, and behave according to? The norm, or rather normality, is a chameleon in both meaning and effect. Come again?

Missing — the act of missing someone or something — is anything but pleasant. The emotional rollercoaster only helps so much when it comes to dealing with the experience of missing someone.

When your hair quietly fades into a socially acceptable shade of silver, you've officially joined the club. The silver-haired among us — all around the world — now have the chance to settle into a comfortable, worry-free life. Many do exactly that, provided the finances allow for it.

Around the turn of the 21st century, a few music enthusiasts got the blues. And they weren't about to let it go to waste. A stage had to happen. From a vague but passionately pursued idea, the Aurora Blues Festival was born.

"Stand up! Right now!" How can anyone resist such an enticing and friendly invitation? After all, it's not every day you're graced with such a request. And yet you do it anyway — that whole standing-up thing. Who wants to be known as someone who was "left sitting" or "left lying around"? Exactly.

"The whole thing is going down the drain. Because the thing is the prognosis." — Unknown

Art is Art. And Art means Art. Every single facet that artists shape, form, and live within their immeasurable imaginations.

Whatever happened to the days when that collection of fairy tales was called "One Thousand and One Nights" — and not "One Thousand and One Powers"?

"Hey, USA! You used to be a land of dreams. A land of unparalleled opportunity. A land of freedom. A land of movies. A land of diversity. What on earth happened to you?"

"She's giving him the cold shoulder." Oh really? If he's a gentleman, he'll put his jacket over her shoulder. If. Or if that same shoulder is still cold, then an honest apology is probably in order. Not to the shoulder, mind you. To its owner.

Oh my goodness. Yesterday she walked into my life. Full sail ahead, without any barriers whatsoever.

A tossed-aside word must feel pretty miserable. Before it fell into the void, it was a word with meaning, with purpose — fulfilling a role in the system of language.

It took a few centuries for these small, sweet guinea pigs to stop being embarrassed by their name. Back in the heights of the Andes in South America, they were called something entirely different.

"That's just my opinion!" Well said. It's someone's personal view on... well, on some topic or another. Having an opinion is one creative thing. Releasing that opinion to the public is another wonderful thing that democracy has to offer.

Domino, in and of itself, doesn't go in for showmanship-effect. Because domino is the effect — the moment things start to fall. All it takes is a single tile as the trigger, and the wall begins to tumble. Really, you only need a modest construction, seasoned with a bit of imagination, to build something elegant and evenly spaced. And then the domino effect simply takes its free fall.

There are words that don’t go over well—especially with the female members of the global community. Words that male participants should never—let me repeat: never—blow into the world without serious thought.

No, not just one. There are thousands—millions—more who keep on doubting. How did that old saying go again? “He who doubts, thinks. He who thinks, doubts.”

Not sure if “teambuilding” is actually an abbreviation. But if it were, maybe it stands for: “Terrific—someone else does it.”

It’s astonishing what this group of imaginative teenagers keeps coming up with. Their sole mission each day seems to be driving every authority figure they encounter straight to madness. They’re true pubescent creatures — and will surely go down in human history as The Unruly.

“Oh boy! Cott the crap!” That’s how I used to understand the word boycott, at least when I heard it from an English-speaking mouth. And even clearer understanding dawns when the thing called a boycott actually takes effect.

“You’re not normal.” At first, it was meant as a mild insult. But what’s actually offensive about someone living outside the norm?

Sometimes it takes a while to get going. And when you finally do, a new sign appears on the long road of life’s journey: “Shift into reverse.”

Good grief – how inspiring were the boyhood years, when cowboys and Indians populated the black-and-white, tiny little television screen. When Colts were constantly smoking, the Bonanza Ranch hosted the first men's group home, and the giant John Wayne was busy cleaning up the Wild West. Good grief – how discoloured and yellowed this romance appears today. Isn't it?

The word “trust” belongs in the top tier. Not just as a sound, but as an expectation — a fundamental condition. Trust is the glue. The mortar. The invisible thread that holds a society together. And that’s why people are so careful about how — or whether — they give it. Or avoid it altogether.

Oh no—not again. A sentence that, in just two words, unites two languages. «Stau» is a dense German word for traffic jam; «big» is the large word in English. No, this isn’t a critique of the author—i.e., me—but merely an observation that, by the end of this sentence, turns to dust. Sorry.

Either it was a one-time thing, a two-time thing, or maybe it happened several times—but “former” just sounds sad. Because that means it’s over, gone, vanished, extinguished. No—ended. Was that really the idea all along? When someone, in a moment of careless inspiration—probably over a beer—blew this notion into the void and then into law?

Anyone who can count to ten has probably already got one foot in Zen Buddhism. After all, Zen is the heart of this philosophy of stillness. When a circle of people — yes, even round people — settles into a certain posture, they do one thing above all: focus on their breathing. In… Out… In… Out… So far, so breath-fresh.

Staying flexible when the rest of the content ages — that’s the challenge. Anyone over fifty who hears their bones crack and lets out a small groan when standing knows the value of Flex. But Flex is never satisfied with just one action. Flex is so flexible it switches on automatically — almost reflexively — whenever needed. Flex in the reflex, so to speak.

This feathered creature is barely known to the public. How could it be? The animal — or is it a bird? — is even more elusive than the thing in Loch Ness or the monster in the Yeti mountains. And indeed, it is precisely among such accumulations of rocks, valleys, and remote terrain that the Valley Duck nests and survives. That is, if it hasn’t flown off in search of food.

Walls are, by nature, rather unsympathetic boundaries. Those who build them rarely engage in open conversations. And when our thoughts keep running into walls, frustration quickly sets in.

The breakup didn’t go well. Zoom Out — that would be the proper term, at least according to any reasonably written lexicon.

“Be Quem.” An ancient Latin expression once shouted across Roman courtyards filled with warlords, feudal politicians, and pleasure-seekers of all kinds. Literally translated: “Help yourself.”

A day never has enough minutes to stay silent in thought and remembrance. To offer someone the quiet, respectful tribute they deserve. Silence is sometimes louder than any speech — or any scream.

My subconscious must have been busy last night. I fell asleep with The Boss — and woke up because of - the boss.

Tennessee Williams could never have imagined how famous his portrait of a 1930s family would become. Yet it did. The Glass Menagerie captures the fragile beauty — and the quiet despair — of an American family.

Do babies still feel comfortable when they realize, right after birth: “Ouch — I’ve landed in the women’s group”? The gender ranked at the lower end?

There’s something about a Tracht. Something special — both in meaning and in memory. It’s tradition you can wear.

“Don’t play with the mucky pups. Don’t sing their songs. Go to the Upper Town. Be like your brothers.”

In bright, glittering letters, her T-shirt read RESIST. The shirt — and the woman wearing it — celebrated resistance. Ah yes… but resistance against what, exactly?

The first thing that stands out are the first four letters: M U S K. Those four characters of the linguistic universe have gained global weight.

The Ghostbusters film series remains a fascinating example of how a clever mix of humour, horror, and special effects can create a lasting and beloved piece of pop culture.

His face revealed nothing. No sign of tension, no flicker of doubt. The patient — the world — waited in silence for the diagnosis.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” That’s one of those classic questions adults ask children — often right in the middle of a sandcastle project. Most kids freeze when they hear it.

Strictly speaking, the plural would be correct. There isn’t just one house where the mad rewrite the fate and story of humankind.

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.

Oh yes — this phenomenon has quite a large team of perpetrators. And they wield a powerful tool: the ability to make life together fair, kind, and deeply human.

Was that a battle cry back in the flower-power seventies? Make Love, Not War — the slogan that blossomed under the shadow of Vietnam — wasn’t just an invitation to a freer love life, but a bold protest against the madness of war.

Lighting up the dark December days is a brilliant way to chase away a bit of the gloom. How? Oh, that’s not what you meant by “light figures,” right? Hmm.

45 RPM singles have always been a hit with rock’n’rollers. On the tiniest space, with an A-side and a B-side, magic was born.