The Weekly Slice 11; . Of Coffee, Jelly Beans, and the Art of Paying Attention

Over the last week in the Brida Community, the conversations didn’t try to be impressive.
They tried to be true.

What emerged wasn’t a theme announced in advance but one that revealed itself slowly, almost accidentally: presence — in the body, in language, in tiredness, in humour, in values, and very specifically… in potatoes, jelly beans, coffee machines, and badly behaved drivers.

Let’s walk through the voices that shaped this slice of Pineapple time.

🦸‍♀️ Janita Le Grange — The Superhero Philosophy

Janita begins exactly where a philosopher probably shouldn’t: by accidentally naming her ChatGPT “Greta” and then noticing Greta has six toes.

Instead of brushing it off, she pauses. Wonders. Smiles.
And from that tiny, strange detail, she builds a reflection on superheroes that is quietly profound.

Her superheroes aren’t flawless saviours. They’re people who keep going when things feel heavy. People who choose courage over comfort. People who show up — not loudly, not dramatically, but again.

One of the most grounding moments in the piece is her reminder that AI can help us do many things faster — but it cannot replace laughter, eye contact, or the subtle courage of human connection. In a Brida context, that lands deeply: language isn’t a skill to optimise, it’s a place to meet.

The charm of this article lies in how lightly it wears its wisdom. You don’t feel taught. You feel reminded — that heroism often looks like staying human in a world that rewards speed.

☕ Ralf the Grillmeister — The Taste of Being Tired

Ralf doesn’t complain about tiredness.
He describes it with flavour.

There’s a particular tired he recognises: not sleepy, not end-of-day tired, but the heavy midday tired where the body sinks and the head keeps running. And for that tired, he knows exactly what not to do.

Chocolate? No.
Meat? Too heavy.
Salmon? Distrusted on a geopolitical level.

Instead, he goes for salad, fresh fish, sashimi — and always, first, coffee.

And not just any coffee.

We learn that:

• he travels with a thermos of three large mugs
• he keeps an espresso machine in the back of his car
• he has four coffee machines at home (one in repair, one in storage)
• he trusts maybe five restaurants on the planet to make coffee properly

There’s humour everywhere, but also something deeper: Ralf knows his body. He listens to it with respect. Coffee isn’t addiction here — it’s ritual, care, familiarity.

The article ends not with a moral, but with motion: thermos full, engine on, road ahead.
You don’t finish this piece wanting advice. You finish it wanting to pay closer attention to your own rhythms.

⏳ Bruce Lloyd (via AI) — A Poem About Time

This one is deceptively quiet.

Bruce prompts an AI to write a poem about time — and what comes back is unexpectedly tender. Time isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s dust on windowsills. Saplings becoming oaks. A glance that costs more than it seems.

The poem’s most unsettling line might be this reversal:

“It does not flow; we are the stream.”

That idea lingers. Especially in a community that keeps circling back to rushing, distraction, and the sense that years collapse into months.

The magic here is restraint. Bruce doesn’t analyse the poem. He lets it sit. And because of that, you read it slower than you planned to — which feels like the point.

🧠 Janita Le Grange — The Presence of Mind: Escaping the Rushing Mindset

This Lunch conversation starts with shoe sizes and laughter — and then Rosii says she’s exhausted.

Not tidy tired. Not funny tired.
Heavy tired.

From there, the conversation deepens without forcing it. People talk about rushing, about answering too quickly and regretting words, about bodies sending messages we ignore. One person showers in the dark for fifteen minutes a day just to reclaim herself. Another notices that the faster she pushes her child in the morning, the clumsier and more frustrated she becomes.

There’s a beautiful line that stays with you:

“The more you speed, the more problems you have.”

Presence here isn’t framed as mindfulness perfection. It’s framed as listening — to knees, backs, moods, irritation, silence. And the humour never disappears; it softens the honesty instead of hiding it.

You come away thinking: these are people who know how to sit with a question without killing it too quickly.

🚌 Sarah — Language, Transport, and Being Present

On paper, this is an English lesson about transport and superlatives.

In reality, it’s a portrait of learning in motion.

Sarah hesitates, guesses, laughs, corrects herself. Walking is cheapest. Motorbikes are dangerous. Flying is exciting. And then, casually, she says something that matters:

“I’m the most sociable in my group of friends.”

Later, the lesson shifts. She talks about getting a disappointing mark at school. Speaking feels easy. Writing feels impossible. Exams feel unforgiving.

Instead of fixing it, Fruitloop listens. They talk about thinking in English while brushing teeth, reading novels without understanding every word, letting meaning come before perfection.

By the end, transport vocabulary has turned into confidence. Language becomes less about correctness and more about presence — being where you are, with the words you have.

It’s gentle, funny, and deeply human.

🧩 Babette & Janita — Puzzles, Pastry, and the Language of Home

This article feels like sitting at a kitchen table.

Babette talks about puzzles — 1,000 pieces spread across the dining table, carefully rolled up on a puzzle mat. She talks about dream catchers started on Saturday and finished past midnight. About baking that feels joyful and cooking that feels like a chore. About children answering in English at home because it’s convenient.

There’s a quiet moment where you realise: Babette isn’t “learning English.”
She’s living it — between hobbies, family, food, and laughter.

The warmth here comes from ordinariness. No performance. No pressure. Just language doing what it’s meant to do: hold daily life.

🐢 Topic of the Month — The Power of Slowing Down

This piece sets the tone with humour and gentleness.

Slowing down is framed as a superpower. Mayor Frank strolls through FruitBowl at “one peaceful step at a time.” Fruitloop discovers that tea tastes better when you actually taste it, that multitasking is a myth invented by stressed squirrels, and that a ten-second pause can feel like a holiday.

The genius of this article is that it doesn’t demand change. It invites play. Walk ten percent slower. Eat one orange slice like it’s the first orange ever created.

You don’t feel judged. You feel welcomed back into your own body.

🥔 Peeling Potatoes — Episode 33 (Mayor Frank & Fruitloop)

And then there’s Peeling Potatoes — the warm, absurd, deeply serious heart of these two weeks.

Where else do values get explored through:

• jelly beans that taste like boogers, bandages, dead fish, and dirty dishwashers
• integrity compared to snacks (jelly bean vs reliable toast)
• a potato declared the vegetable with the most integrity because it’s “salt of the earth”
• a traffic story where the aggressive driver arrives at the same red light anyway
• clapping sarcastically at bad drivers instead of shouting
• an AI assistant that refuses to be funny for one person but happily jokes for another

The humour is ridiculous — but the warmth is real.

Underneath the jokes, real questions surface:
What happens when respect disappears?
How do values show up when you’re tired, late, or irritated?
Can you forgive without an apology?
Why does the word “security” excuse so much bad behaviour?

And somehow, between potatoes, birds stealing crumbs, running shoes that are too precious to get muddy, and Zoom AI discrimination scandals, something honest emerges:

Values aren’t what you announce.
They’re what leak out of you when life presses in.

That’s why Peeling Potatoes feels like home. You don’t have to be polished. You just have to be present.

Why this slice matters

Taken together, these articles don’t tell you how to live better.
They show people trying — with humour, self-awareness, and a lot of grace.

They make you think:

• maybe I don’t need to rush this much
• maybe tiredness is information
• maybe language is about belonging, not performance
• maybe absurdity is how we survive seriousness

And if, while reading, you caught yourself smiling, nodding, or thinking “I’ve felt that” — that’s not accidental.

Others have spoken.
In all their different ways.

There’s still plenty of room at the table.